4.34. The Difference Between a Guild and a Business

Syrophenikan assists Cheeseus's 10-Man, Juicebox Bandits,
in killing 12 aberrations within 10 seconds,
Blackwing Descent

The Wrong Man for the Job

The first order of business was to contact Riskers. As Herp Derp's Tactician, it was up to him to maintain order, ensure that group was playing well together, and communicate any team deficiencies to me for recruitment purposes. Most of all, the Tactician was there to keep a close eye on the behavior of the group, corralling any ill intent. The common sense rule had been violated far too often.

Maybe I should have been more up front with Cheeseus and the members of Eh Team, back in Wrath. "This thing that you are doing is actually in direct violation of the guild rules and you are not to do that anymore." Seems silly and pointless; it is neither. Tacticians had clearly defined marching orders: Ensure your team stays within the boundaries outlined by this guild. You are responsible for your team's behavior. If they misbehave, it falls to you to resolve.

That's a lot for a team lead to shoulder, but was necessary in order for me to stay directly connected to DoD's extremities, especially when said 10-Man teams tended to keep to themselves. Those with more obstinate, cynical personalities required the closest scrutiny: they ran the risk of devolving into a burgeoning echo chamber, amplifying each other's resentment.

Things got off to a bad start.

Guildies privy to Ben's shenanigans unleashed a shaming campaign on the boards, shutting down his troll-like antics, dismissing anything Ben had to say. Beyond the internet acronyms and badly constructed thoughts, Ben had little to contribute to the conversation. But Ben had a few friends left in DoD and they rallied behind him...

...namely, Riskers.

Riskers was one of the former 25-Man progression players who chose to step down in favor of the 10s at the advent of Cataclysm. But, he didn't contribute an alt to the 25 in his off-hours (as some 10s did). The side-effect was a lack of awareness around Ben's events unfolding the night I hellbanned him from Vent.

Lacking this context, Riskers made a move not entirely unsurprising, immediately going to bat for Ben, his friend and teammate. Forum Karma spiked up and down as guild members sided with either Herp Derp or "the authority" before I even had a chance to get online and corner him.

"Wait, something happened with Ben?"

"I would definitely consider it 'something', Riskers."

I revealed the drama-soaked story to Herp Derp's Tactician, and waited to see how he'd respond. Riskers' tune completely changed. No longer defensive, he expressed genuine concern for the livelihood of the guild. As he learned of Ben's transgressions and Drecca's lackluster problem-solving skills, I could tell that an uncomfortable realization was setting in: he had been a fool on the boards.

As Hanzo examines his alt, Syrophenikan,
Gunsmokeco discovers Dadsdeath's guild,
Orgrimmar

Damage Control

"God, I'm really, really sorry about this. I had no idea."

"It's over and done. Let's move forward and solve this."

"Should I delete the posts?"

Part of me wanted him to reply to the thread, stating he was now aware of the larger narrative that needed addressing. By doing so, he'd have an opportunity to apologize to the guild for being so defensive. But, it would also mean leaving the initial thread (and attacks) as a permanent public record of Riskers' inability to handle "his" team with any degree of leadership. There was the possibility of excising the individual posts themselves -- a tactic Dalans frequently employed…

Quit doddling and make a decision.

"Nix the posts."

He did as instructed, then sought direction for next steps.

"Should I try to get them to come back?"

I chuckled. Like that will ever happen.

"Y'know, Riskers, I'm not opposed to hearing them out. If you feel like you can get a conversation going between us, I’m willing to give them an ear. I actually don't think this is beyond repair, but that first step is going to be tough. Both Drecca and Ben need to take responsibility for their poor decision making, and I have a feeling that's going to be a tough sell. But DoD is not their doormat."

Riskers agreed, and assured me he would do what he could to convince them to see the error of their ways. Before he left Ventrilo, I gave him a parting thought.

"If you can't convince them otherwise, you may need to start considering the alternative: dropping them entirely from the team, and putting a new tank and ranged in their place. It would suck to have to do that; it's never fun to boot people from a team that jells. But if they continue to remain defiant in the belief that they're right and I'm wrong, there's potential for them to do some serious damage to the morale of that team. It could even result in a mass exodus. I'd hate for that to happen, as there are still good people in that team – present company included."

Riskers thanked me for the advice, heading off to an alien vent server, to see what he could repair.

He's "really sorry about this"? What kind of a team lead is he? Why wasn't his very first decision to come to us immediately to figure out why Ben was being attacked, instead of creating more of a mess for us to clean up?

Because he was the wrong man for the job. Riskers didn't earn Tactician, nor want it. He was appointed...to get the guild leader out of someone's face, so that more important things could be tended to.

Syrophenikan assists members of DoD in tricking
Lady Naz'jar to kill one of her own minions,
Throne of the Tides

Keeping the Pieces

With clears of Blackwing Descent and Bastion of Twilight still freshly under our belt, Blain was not yet ready to push the team into Heroic 25s. Many of the normals had proven to be complex, demanding nearly heroic-like skills to execute with any consistency. An early push could certainly end in disappointment. I trusted Blain, now in his seventh year with the guild, who had long proven his innate ability to read the roster and determine if the gear, skill and mindset was competent to stand a raid trial. Blain had accrued a few days vacation, back in the real world, and said we would discuss heroics further when he returned.

In the meantime, Jungard fronted raid leadership for the 25 in Blain's absence, while I stuck to my raid roster micromanagement. It was a day-to-day effort, checking with each 10-Man's Tactician, working out who was locked and who wasn't -- dealing with last minute emergencies, and finding any filler possible that could play the role needed. And even though class shouldn't have mattered, it did. Just as the Paladin (or Warrior) vs. Death Knight tanking kit demonstrated superiority in encounters like Nefarian, other classes brought (or left) significant favor when joining the 25-Man. We did what we could, and farmed the content dry, bleeding bosses for any semblance of upgrade to anyone and everyone that participated.

I took care to step over the cracks in the sidewalk, but put on a good face to keep the negative vibes at bay, opting instead to vent my frustrations to folks like Cheeseus over IM. I ranted to my Wrath-era raid leader about how difficult Blizzard had made things this time around, how their "good intentions" had left me with a lot of extra paperwork, and how more difficult raids with no better reward only caused guildies to see the 'exit' sign that much clearer.

Every week there was a new guildy issue on hand. Soot was proving less available than originally intended, keeping me shackled to a tanking role more frequently than I would have liked. One of the shining stars, Ignismortis the warlock, withdrew his Samurai app, citing personal circumstances that unfortunately stood in the way of the the responsibilities expected of the role. It felt grim, and the only way to keep that feeling at bay was to recruit -- keep that steady flow of raider material coming through the front door, in the hopes that we'd land some significant contributors that were in this for the long haul.

In the back of my mind, the Drecca / Ben fiasco lingered. I wanted desperately to put it out of my mind. You lose people. It happens. You put measures in place to plan for situations like this. Forget it and move forward. But I couldn't.

The Sentras of the world bitched about how I ran DoD like a business; an observation that is grossly oversimplified (to him, it simply meant following rules). But there is one way running a guild will never be like a business, and is too easy for a guild leader to lose sight of. You don't choose who you work with, but you do choose who you game with: you work with colleagues, but you game with friends.

When people leave your company, it's time to move on to bigger, better things; a grand new opportunity. When people leave your guild, it's inherently personal. Feeling betrayed is natural, if you consider it a friendship someone walks away from. That's the part that makes guild leadership the most difficult, or any kind of leadership, for that matter. Which is probably why Riskers wasn't up for the task, or wasn't thinking on those terms. Only crazy people volunteer for this kind of work.

I pondered the next possible 'betrayal'. Would it be someone unaware of the events unfolding in DoD, or someone intimately aware of what was going on? Would he be someone that would side with Drecca and Ben out of stubbornness and immaturity, or would he be someone more likely to choose the path more convenient and secure? Would he be someone I trusted, someone with legitimate concerns I wasn't addressing...or would he be more likely to lie to my face when I put him on the spot? Would he even tell me the truth, even after this all came crashing down?

To respond to all these questions, I say to you, loyal reader:

What makes you think it was a ‘he’?

4.6. Alignment or Death

Sir Klocker displays his Tabard of the Lightbringer, while
Neps and Ben (Aeden) stare into the light,
Dalaran

Doing the Devil's Work

Preoccupation defined the weeks ahead. Mapping it all out helped focus on the solution, rather than languish on the inevitable. Getting the dots on the page, connecting each one, painting the picture of where we were, and what we were about to take on. I followed in the footsteps of my Wrath rewrite, building on what had already proven successful. A bump to the minimum age requirement. The handling of the 25-Man progression team. New ranks. Loot rule revisions. It was the path to Cataclysm; the mother of all to-do lists. Knocking out a bit each night was also healthy. Idle minds are far more sinister than hands, and mine had a tendency to chip away at positivity. Keeping busy kept the inner voice at bay.

If I wasn't raiding, I was back in Google Docs, scribbling digital notes, analyzing lessons learned from Wrath. How had the Raider / Elite ranks worked out? My gut said overwhelming success, but there were still edge cases like Ben: expertly played, yet still immature enough for me to exercise restraint in promoting. The shadow priest that was equally loved and loathed in DoD struck me as a kind of gun-for-hire, showing up conveniently at Lord's behest, then exploding enemies with an ear-piercing digital scream. He had his own code, but honored DoD's as well. Romanticizing Ben's loyalty might have been a stretch, but there were hints of a Samurai in there. The prospect of a third rank warranted further investigation.

Thinking of Ben chained into thoughts of other candidates rising above, particularly the warlock Mangetsu. His bursts of silliness macro'd into raid chat were mixed wonderfully with steadfast determination at "rocking the meters". I dropped the Alt-25 on his shoulders and he rose to the occasion, not only taking it on, but cultivating progression-quality expectations in the process. He took a rag-tag bundle of players not quite ready (or able) to hit progression, and schooled them in the ways of the guild. Mang was professionally played, yet humble. Serious enough to lead, yet loved laughing and making people laugh. Officer material, but not an officer. Something needed to be done, because there were more like him. Most notable of these newer faces was the paladin Drecca.

A meteoric rise to stardom wasn't pushing it. Drecca joined DoD at the most opportune time: Bretthew was "done" at the wrap of 25-Man ICC (normal), leaving Omaric to shoulder the raid-leadership load by himself...and not the easy part. He tired of his tanking role and I wanted to free him to join DPS, but that meant a dedicated tank filling that spot...and certainly not one that required training. Drecca required neither training nor flexibility in his schedule: he began one Friday and was present every progression night from that point forward. From the moment we hit go, Drecca behaved like the most expertly played folks in the guild. It wasn't long before you couldn't really tell the difference between him and a long-time, weather-worn veteran of DoD.

Team BoA Alliance defeats The Lich King in 10-Man,
Icecrown Citadel

Push It To The Limit

Drecca's dedication wasn't easily rivaled. He quickly offered his services to Mangetsu in assisting with the Alt-25, carrying with him that same DoD mindset: expect more from yourself, put in a bit of effort, do a little reading, a little gear tweaking. There are no excuses for bad play, so get in, and get going. Drecca's natural tendency to take charge, clean up mistakes, and point people down the right path eventually freed Mangetsu from having to be present at every Alt-25. For many that ran it in those later months of 2010, the Alt-25 was, for all intents and purposes, Drecca's raid. This worked extremely well, as putting all the eggs in Mangetsu's basket would've left the Alt-25 hanging, if the off chance something horrific were to happen to the 'lock.

In a guild where there is no mandate to be online for x amount of hours, I was very thankful for the select few that were always available, and Drecca was certainly near the top of this list. Beyond his participation in both progression and Alt-25, the paladin answered Neps' call in joining up with a group of similar hardcore folk. Neps' challenge: roll Alliance alts, and with BoA gear, grind them up to 80 and knock out ICC again. And so with names like Phame, Moolickalot, Fishee, Sarge and others, Team BoA Alliance wrecked the Lich King by bringing three bloodlusts. In Drecca's words, it was an "undeniably pro strategy." It was fair to say I was colored impressed:

Hanzo » Drecca: (+5) For being hardcore enough to level Alliance characters and kill the LK again.

Drecca held the limelight so well, I wasn't even aware that Neps was the one responsible for the idea.

---

"You really have him wrapped around your finger, don't you?" said Blain, catching me off guard.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Blain noted the green text of guild chat. People were up in arms over the proposed incoming changes to Real ID. In typical form, players that didn't understand what was involved were bent out of shape. It appeared Drecca's stance was that of my own: It's a bit too early to be freaking out over any proposed sweeping changes. Nothing's in stone. Keep calm and loot the hound.

"He uses your name like you're the leader of a cult."

I continued to scroll through guild chat. Yadda yadda yadda, I agree with Hanzo. Yadda yadda yadda, Hanzo's got a post on the forums. Yadda yadda yadda, if you don't believe me, check with Hanzo.

"So what? He's keeping the peace. It's nice to see players moderating. Guy's only been here a few months and already knows what's inappropriate to be bitching about."

"I changed my mind," he added, "I don't like him. He's too negative." Negative about what? Blain was being indignant. Or jealous. He of all people should have known that hard truths don't often come with a silver lining. It struck me as ironic that Blain, who had been called 'dictator' by those unappreciative of stark criticism, was telling me that a practical rebuttal was coming across as 'negative'.

Why obsess over things that might be? Let's solve problems we face in the here and now. I could spend these next few months buried beneath layers of doubt and depression, wallowing over what might transpire in Cataclysm. Or, I could sit down and attack it with every bit of energy at my disposal. We might go down, we might not...but we wouldn't be doing either without a fight.

I needed pragmatism now. I needed folks to be the pillars of DoD by marching forth with solutions, not long diatribes on how Blizzard's great conspiracy is to rob people of their money or their privacy. That meant calling upon anyone in the guild that could act as the best and brightest of us, reinforcing what it means to be in DoD. That you give a shit. That you're not looking to make excuses. Let's all be on the same page.

And if players like Drecca chose to invoke my name to add some punch to that reinforcement, so be it.

Blain summons Mature for tanking duty,
Orgrimmar

Corporate Misalignment

I faced a sickening decision: banish all 10-Man teams from Descendants of Draenor. The thought crossed my mind increasingly as summer vacation approached. 10s had traditionally been an afterthought in DoD, so much so that our earliest 10s managed to send hardcore raiders scurrying to new guilds. Lesson learned: don't forsake its importance in progression if the 10 and 25 are tightly coupled...say, for example, on the off-chance Blizzard randomly decided to include tier 4 tokens in Karazhan.

Luckily, I was able to side-step administrative scrutiny of the 10s in Wrath, thanks to Blizzard's very clean, well-drawn line in the sand. 10s and 25s were two different worlds. Different effort, different reward. All my focus could therefore be poured entirely into the 25-Man. Aside from general guidance, I left the 10s to fend for themselves. And they performed admirably, I might add. Aside from the occasional misunderstanding regarding poaching, the 10s managed themselves. Starflex did its thing independent of Eh Team, which in turn had no need to submit to the whim of Si Team or Cowbell. They set their own schedules, their own priorities, their own loot systems. As long as their overarching goals remained aligned with that of DoD's, they required no intervention.

The thought of potential 10-Man administration in Cataclysm gave me pause. Not many details were yet in stone, so I worked with what was available. The most recent reveal came a month earlier, providing insight into a concept the community referred to as downshifting. 25-Man raids would gain the ability to split into multiple 10s to further their progress. Additionally, the raid lock system would gain flexibility in that Raid IDs would be as tradable as Pokémon cards, freeing players to move from one lock to the next in order to proceed through the instance. On top of all of this, Blizzard clarified once again that while 10s were intended on being easier in Wrath, this was not to be the case in Cataclysm.

Piecing together a solution was difficult, as little of it made sense. Would it become commonplace for players to hop Raid IDs, exacerbating the potential for poaching? It certainly could! I would have to put rules in place to govern how the 10s interacted with one another, carefully outlining the etiquette for exchanging members without burning bridges. Would the 25-Man progression team start spouting excuses on "why aren't we just dropping to 10-Man to finish this?" Blizzard claimed the two difficulties would match, but would my most hardcore raiders be convinced? The 25-Man raiding rules would have to include clarifying text: "Dropping to 10-Man will not be considered as an option to overcome obstacles". I suspected many would secretly think it, whether told or not. The one thing players were good at were giving me reasons to doubt their alignment with the guild -- so much so, that an entire rule was crafted to shutter the lack of common-sense.

None of these changes (and their to-be-determined solutions) spoke to an undeniable fact: as long as loot/rewards remained equal, the 10s would forever undermine the work that was being done in the 25. I already learned this lesson when adopting The Five Dysfunctions of a Team into Why Raid Teams Fail. Two different levels of contribution with one set of rewards produces resentment, hatred, in-fighting -- all viruses to team health. Yet, this is what I was facing. Preference A vs. Preference B. Old-schoolers vs. scrubs. The personable vs. the awkward and anti-social. The rep-grinders vs. the altoholics. The gamer mentality vs. "I prioritize real life first!". Solutions vs. Excuses. The melding didn't strike me as an incredibly alien concept -- it happens in the real world all the time. When it does, the results often end so predictably bad, it's a running joke in professional circles. Alignment seemed nigh impossible; a stretch, at best.

So...set a new rule to cut that 10-Man cancer out before it spreads? Or become the cliché mirrored in corporate America?

4.4. Fools Seldom Differ

DoD congratulates Jungard on acquiring
the guild's second Shadowmourne,
Icecrown Citadel

Number Two

It was time to celebrate. Spell effects filled the screen as guildies hopped like freaks or knelt in nerdy honor, paying respect to DoD's second Shadowmourne. For once, I was satisfied with my decision. Months earlier, it came down to Jungard or Crasian, and Jungard's long, patient wait from promotion to prominence was over. The warrior that Annihilation took a chance on, that fateful day back in The Burning Crusade, had come far. Today, we celebrated him. Jungard proudly wielded the frozen axe, and assured me that my short-lived days of dominating the melee meters were about to end.

I felt a strong kinship with Jungard; we both believed in the value of effort. In his early raids with the guild, he never once demonstrated fatigue, insolence, or rage. Jungard was every bit enthusiastic to participate, whether it was the first attempt on Illidan, or the forty-first. When I reflect on my guild, wondering why everything went the way that it did, I can't help but feel a certain extra bond to the guildies that predated Wrath of the Lich King.

They knew the meaning of difficult.

Jungard's ideology transcended WoW. He erred on the side of treating people with kindness and respect and watched his words carefully; he knew how easily a lack of context could so ruthlessly corrupt a simple message's intent. Jungard took care to consider people's feelings, even if discussing unquestionable math -- a topic people still felt the need to interpret. It's easy to tell someone they suck. With all things he approached in the guild and in life, Jungard preferred not to take the easy way out.

Having an officer that thought as I did worked wonders for DoD leadership -- trust came much more easily, felt natural. I felt relieved to have him in charge while I was away. In a game of cretins perpetually brofisting each other, Jungard's attention to social skills was a rarity that few awkward gamers could claim. And his hard-working ethic translated from the real world into WoW, demonstrated by his exceedingly high damage and constant focus to improve. Jungard didn't tell people how to play...that wasn't his style. His was more of a set of friendly suggestions, things to try, interesting facts to point out. He humbled me, in both his treatment of the guild and how he inspired the 25-Man progression team to accomplish great things.

Shadowmourne found an adequate home in Jungard's titan grip.

---

"I wanted to talk to you about a possible recommendation, if you're interested."

"I'm all ears. Whaddya got for me, Yungard?"

I took pleasure in keeping the J silent. It's the little things that count.

"I think you should give Fred a chance. He's put in a lot of hours, and not just with the 25-Man. He's been in nearly every Alt-25 since starting. Really trying to better his play and grasp on the game."

I wasn't surprised at the suggestion. I knew they were close: Fred had ties to Starflex, the 10-Man team (formerly a guild) run by Jungard's brother, Randyflagg. "It's nice to see someone dedicate themselves to improving. Especially in the healing department. So many players sweep it under the rug...what did you have in mind?"

"I really think he'd do well as a Healing Officer."

Officer? That seemed a bit much. I filtered my response; I knew Jungard would pay me the same courtesy, "I'm not certain he's ready for that level of responsibility." He's not a good enough healer.

Jungard acknowledged my concern, "There's been some rough patches, sure. But he's definitely working on improving, and really has the guild's interests at heart. He's a team player, first and foremost."

"I wouldn't argue that for a moment. But healing lead requires more than just being a team player. It means being sharp across the entire role. Knowing the strengths and weakness of all the healing classes, being able to direct traffic, assigning the right people to the right responsibilities." And those were just game mechanics. None of my speech addressed his ability to lead people, which he couldn't do if he didn't have their respect. I couldn't say for sure that DoD saw him as credible; I needed that consistent demonstration of proven knowledge. And if my optimism couldn't put a finger on it, how would skeptical Elites see him?

"Maybe you could talk to him, discuss a few things he could work on?"

I agreed. It was a perfectly fair starting point. Fred was making noticeable improvements in healing, and was a likable, friendly guy. But when it came to leadership vibes, I drew a very weak signal off of him.

Finish It

"It's all lies, I swear." Fred joked as I pulled him into officer vent. We both laughed. "What's Jungard said about me this time?"

"Retadin - Blood Elf Paladin"
Artwork by Duneboo

"There's no need to mention any names. Jungard told me to tell you that."

"I'm in deep shit now, aren't I?"

"Breathe easy, Fred. In fact, there's good news here: Jungard's recommended you for a promotion."

"Wow, really? That's cool."

I slowed down, punctuating words with the hopes of conveying some significance in what I was about to say: "I like Jungard. A lot. I trust his judgement. The guy's been one of the most consistent people ever to set foot in this guild. He's earned his stripes. So, when he has a good thing to say about a person, I take it seriously."

I paused, in case Fred wanted to inject anything; he remained silent, so I continued.

"I think there's a little bit of housekeeping in order, first. I haven't made any decisions about changes in the lineup yet. But I am in the midst of revising rules. So, if a position opens up, you're going to want to have your ducks all in a row...if it interests you."

"Right."

"What that means is: I need you to be an expert healer. Hear me on this. Not just an expert pally healer. An expert healer, period. You need to have all the bases covered. Be able to know the strengths and weaknesses of each healing class. Be able to look down the list of healers at your command and determine who is the right guy or gal for the job, boss-to-boss. The raid leader is going to rely on you to deliver healing assignments that are appropriate for the boss and for our group."

"Got it. What would you suggest between now and then?"

"Well, Jungard tells me you've been contributing to the Alt-25 in your spare time. Get with Mang and Drecca. Offer up your services for healing assignments. Keep a cool head, get some practice leading people....which also means practice dealing with their shit."

"Well, I typically don't do a lot of healing in the Alt-25...mostly I just bring my enhance shaman...."

I waited for Fred to finish his sentence. The part where I expected him to say "...but I can switch to heals next week, to get started mastering resto..." His sentence dangled, and I waited for him to finish. Hoped he would finish it. For Jungard's sake. And for Fred's.

The ending never came. 

His answer just trailed off into silence, silence that told an entirely different story, "I only bring my enhancement shaman, so I'm not really sure how I could possibly begin the task of learning restoration." He never spoke those words, but that's what I heard.

I came out of the conversation no more convinced of Fred's ability to assume leadership than I was going in. Time would tell if he had the inclination to turn it around. But time was limited, and Cataclysm drew near. I hoped Jungard's recommendation panned out, because I trusted his judgement; he thought as I did. I hated the thought of having to tell him his first bad call was one that misjudged a close friend.

Neps powers up his rocket-powered ram,
with help from Drecca and Mature,
Dalaran

Everyone Has One And They All Stink

"F U Cata, and F U Blizzard, this is so fucking dumb", said Riskers, "These changes have really been pissing me off as of late."

"I actually like the change," said Omaric, "I can spend the same amount of time in game that I do now, but have two fully geared characters instead of boring myself to death on one."

I watched the forum drama unfold to see where allegiances would fall. Drecca's topic, "Looks like no more 10 man teams in Cataclysm...", produced a variety of stances. An astute observer might catch a glimpse of a guildy's future, just by watching how emotional they got over this touchy subject. Perhaps someone might even play their hand unintentionally.

"It's not so much about the same character in the same content," Drecca replied to Omaric, "The social dynamic is different as well. I’m all about killing internet dragons, but I want to have fun doing it -- which includes people."

I couldn't agree more. Again and again, players wanted to see how they could bend and shape the game to suit their own needs, forgetting that this was WoW, that dealing with other human beings was baked into the admission fee.

Jungard remained skeptical, "Sometimes the difficulty difference between 10 and 25 comes from the margin of error you have, based on who you bring. If WotLK was any indication, I'm not entirely convinced they can balance the difficulty between both." Jungard continued to demonstrate the traits that drew me to him initially: a perceptive eye and a cool head, so necessary in analyzing every change that trickled down through the patch notes. Jungard understood as I did: It's OK to be critical of the things you love.

"It reminds me of TBC," added Lexxii, "If you'll recall, our T4 tokens came from Kara, Gruul and Mag," referring to Blizzard's insanity asking us to collect our first tier from both a 10 and a 25 man. It was a situation that had less than stellar outcomes for DoD. "I'm still debating the positives of this. Not everyone can be a part of progression. Forcing us to spread our time across alts would definitely liven things up. But, it could also mean the death of the 25. Personally, I don't think Blizzard will let this happen." Lexxii was optimistic, but concerned.

Anyone worth their salt would be concerned.

Bonechatters was next, "25s will always have a different setup than 10s. If anything, this means we'll be able to gear out toons faster. I don't see anything negative to this. Maybe someone can explain?" Bonechatters was still reasonably new, still had that tinge of youthful naiveté common amongst the younger crowd. I didn't hold it against him; we all start somewhere. Guild leaders rarely get the chance to bring any insight on people to the table -- it isn't asked for. Their concerns were of raid rotations, of forum account activation, and of adequate repair gold subsidies. Few cared about behavior. I wasn't an expert yet, but offered what I could to this seldom broached topic:

"Pretend for a moment that you're the leader of guild comprised of multiple cliques. Some of the players in one clique aren't necessarily the best of friends in a group from another clique. Also, both cliques participate in the 25-Man Progression team. Now tell them they can reap the same rewards from their own clique running a 10-Man version of the raid, as opposed to running with a bunch of people that rub them the wrong way. Do you ever think they would show up in the 25 again? If you believe so, explain how."

A few minutes later, Boney changed his stance completely, "In posting, I didn't see the part about the 10 and 25 locks being shared. I retract everything I said. This is a shitty decision and fails hardcore."

Allegiance pledged.

3.69. Blizzard's First Mistake (Revisited)

Visualization of The Public Goods Game
(Source: FieldOfScience.com)

The Public Goods Game

When I said Blizzard never repeated their first mistake...I lied.

An economics experiment that teaches about human nature and cooperation was all the proof Blizzard needed to cast doubt on their latest revelation. Whether their designers knew of the experiment's existence or not was moot, as the announcement of 10-Man and 25-Man being joined to a single lock in Cataclysm, producing the same rewards, was peppered with the colorful language of "good intentions". Sadly, good intentions are not enough to divert years of evolutionary adaptation away from the hard wired ways we fool ourselves. Spending only a few moments reviewing this simple textbook experiment should have convinced Blizzard that what they were about to embark on was going to have lasting, powerful repercussions, and 25-Man guilds would never be the same.

Imagine for a moment, that you are sitting around a table with nine strangers. Each stranger is given $100.00 and told that, in each round of this "game", you are free to contribute any amount of money from your holdings into a pot. At the end of the round, the pot is doubled, and all winnings are divided evenly back amongst the group. Depending on how fast you catch on, you come to realize that by withholding less and less of your own money from the pot, you begin to turn a much larger profit than the other players of the game. Over time, other players will pick up on this trend, and begin to do the same. Eventually, the economy of the game crashes, because all the players stop putting money into the pot. After all, why join the others and only come out $10.00 ahead...when you could put nothing in, and get $18.00 back? Why would anyone in their right mind be content with contributing, just to break even, when they could do nothing and turn a profit?

Things get more complicated when punishments and rewards are introduced to the Public Goods game. Punishing the stingy keeps the economy flowing through the pot, yet rewarding good behavior causes an economic crash again. It is a bizarre reflection of human nature that flies in the face of all logic, since on the surface, it makes sense that as long as everyone contributes, everyone will profit. But buried deep in the synapses of the highly evolved human brain, the rational often gets suppressed by the emotional. When you see other people gaming the system, you instinctively feel that they should be punished, as bad men/women should be. Just how that behavior manifests is subject to the type of game being played. In this experiment, it means that you withhold your funds from the pot, just as the others do, until no money remains.

In World of Warcraft, it manifests nearly the same...the only difference is that it isn't money you withhold from the pot, it's effort.

Contributions during the Public Goods game,
with and without punishments
(Source: AskWhy.co.uk)

Tragedy of the Casuals

Nobody wants to feel like they're being taken advantage of, yet this is exactly what happens when you look at two different levels of effort that both produce the same reward. Instead of tossing money into a pot each round, you're weighing all of the variables that help you decide which size of a raid you're wishing to run that week. And there are a lot of variables to consider. What kind of effort goes into dealing with that boss each week, trying to set aside a new schedule so that you are available for your raids each week? Maybe it means sitting down to a have a talk with your significant other, running the risk of it escalating into an argument over whose time is more valuable. And what of the risks involved in the actual raid itself? Any player worth his/her salt knew well that heading into a 25-Man raid was going to be a bigger challenge that a 10-Man; all the evidence in Wrath of the Lich King had proven 10s were the easier gamble by this point.

It all boils down to risk aversion.

Our free time is valuable to us; what we decide to put our off-hours into can mean more than money itself. With each decision we ponder regarding the allocation our free time, risks are constantly weighed against payoffs. We're more likely to avoid risk if a loss is possible, yet illogically we favor risk when only gains are on the table -- just ask any financial investment expert. As the blue post began to circulate the Internet, risk aversion chemicals had already begun their flow through the brains of raiders across the world. So, I can do a 10-Man, which I already know is easy-sauce, or take a chance at maybe getting my foot in the door of a 25-Man...for the exact same reward?

Cataclysm was still months away, but I already saw a crystal clear picture of what was to come.

Risk aversion is our default mechanism to fall back on when evaluating how we allocate our spare time. The situation is exacerbated by the fundamental need to want to punish "wrong doers"; its our mind wanting closure in a just world that otherwise doesn't exist. And when we see other players putting in less effort for the same rewards, our instincts aren't to "show them the right way", it's instead to come up with justifications on why we should do the same. We don't want to feel like we're being cheated out of money in the pot. We can't beat them, so we join them. We can't take a risk on the 25s...so we fall back on the 10s. It's safer, it's easier. Easier to roll with a small group of friends that aren't judgmental in watered-down mechanics, than deal with the possible criticism of a raid leader attempting to turn you from a mediocre player into a great one.

The pool of 25-Man options dwindle as a result, a term coined by Garrett Hardin as the "tragedy of the commons". The only way to combat it is the punishment of those "free riders", those folks unwilling to contribute to the pool. Blizzard may not have realized it, but the punishment of those free riders had already long been in place: the separation of the 10 and 25 by their individual loot tables. Players who wanted to take the easy way out, dumping out of a 25 in favor of a 10, were punished implicitly -- they no longer had the option to reap the achievements and rewards of the 25. I liken this separation of rewards to the guardrails that come down over a bowling alley lane, protecting an easily manipulated ball from rolling into the gutter. When the 10s and the 25s were merged to a single lockout and a single set of rewards, the guardrails went away.

Blizzard's opinion expressed bewilderment at the proposition that "one group of players doing something you didn't want to do" would somehow take something away from you. And the bewilderment was understandable...provided you look at the issue from that same skewed perspective. Unfortunately, the situation was never about "10-Man players get the same rewards as us 25-Man raiders, and we're not having fun now!"...

...it was "10-Man players are going to get the same rewards as 25-Man, and they will...which means whatever pool of players existed to fuel 25-Man guilds will all but dry up."

When players can take the easy way out, they do. I saw it once before in The Burning Crusade, as players came/went from the 25-Man as if the front door to our raid was a steamboat propeller. Because they could. They didn't need a warlock's Malefic Raiment from Black Temple...they could slough off any accountability a raiding guild attempted hold over their heads, and pull Vengeful Gladiator's Dreadgear out of a few weeks of smashing heads together like coconuts. Once that pool runs dry, the economy of available raiders crashes as a result. It was a matter of perception. Blizzard simply refused to "perceive" the issue the way 25-Man raiding guilds did.

Klocker stands naked atop the bank next to Annihilation,
Haribo, Crazzyshade, and Demus (circa Vanilla),
Orgrimmar

Promoting the Perv

Even as Descendants of Draenor were preparing to dig their heels deeply into the first heroic encounters in 25-Man ICC, I feared that the 10/25 decision would spell the end of many 25-Man raiding guilds, including our own. Blizzard felt confident that 25-Man raiding guilds would live on and thrive, but not paying attention to the fundamentals of human behavior, blinded by their "best intentions", was without a doubt Blizzard's Third Mistake in World of Warcraft. Amusingly, this was a far worse version of their first mistake in The Burning Crusade, having both PvE and PvP sets share the same visuals, something many wagered they had already learned from. Of course, the damage done during TBC was minimal (if any), and amounted to inconvenienced guild/raid leaders losing occasional PvP players from their raiding roster. This time, the change had the potential to reach far deeper into the blood of each and every raiding guild that wasn't listed on the first few pages of WoW Progress. It didn't look like Blizzard was going to budge on this one, so I mentally prepared for the devastation it would levy on the roster, each night going to bed, lost in a cloud of ideas on how I could save Descendants of Draenor from something that it couldn't be saved from: human nature.

First on that to-do list was to find a replacement for Dalans; he'd been gone over a month now. I always felt comfortable with he and Neps in charge, in the off-chance I were to be hit by a bus. In the absence of Dalans, I grew concerned that serious issues wouldn't get the clarity they needed by just Neps and I. We tended to agree on most generic stuff -- there wasn't anyone to play devil's advocate. This lead me to return to an oft overlooked player. Sir Klocker was one of my few remaining core members from the days of Vanilla, his years of experience making him one of only a handful of players that knew the guild inside out. Newer members like Bullshark, Jemb, even Mangetsu didn't carry the baggage associated with our early days of struggling in SSC, withstanding the setbacks of losing guildies to competing hardcore guilds like Pretty Pink Pwnies, or being subject to months and months of work in Ahn'Qiraj and Naxxramas (40), only to turn away empty-handed.

Sir Klocker had been there for it all.

If anything, Klocker would bring his veteran experience to the table, keeping reason in the face of irrationality. If players in the roster were to ever express disinterest in pursuing the 25, I could place a safe bet that Klocker would be one of the few to argue my side -- because he had lived through it himself. He knew what sacrifice went into real raiding and would staunchly defend it if challenged. With Blizzard's hand played for the next expansion, I wagered that keeping similarly-minded folks in the officer core was going to be our best chance at survival.

Sir Klocker had been shortchanged in the officer department several times already. When I shifted to role officers at the start of Wrath of the Lich King, Klocker ended up on the unfortunate end of the stick, as I had no place for him in the core. I re-arranged guild ranks to finagle his way back into officer chat, but this move was simply a band-aid taped across a much larger wound. Now, Klocker could finally make the move into a role befitting of his knowledge of the game and experience of the guild's people. He obliged at my request, and took up the rank of 2nd-in-command, alongside Neps. Once promoted, he wasted no time at all at bringing up a long-standing concern:

Loot.

3.68. Fall

One of many opinions on Ensidia's exploiting
The Lich King encounter (source: Allakhazam)

Apples to Oranges

Weeks before Descendants of Draenor began to scratch the surface of the final encounter in Icecrown Citadel, it was common knowledge that The Lich King had already been defeated. The victor? Blood Legion...but the recognition they received was muted, for it was the 10-Man version they had scored a world-first of -- something other hardcore raiding guilds paid little attention to. Guilds clamoring for a world-first title were instead pouring their effort into a 25-Man defeat. Two days after Blood Legion's 10-Man clear, the European guild Paragon wrapped up the 25-Man version, and went on to defeat Ensidia by clinching the world first 25-Man heroic clear, even though Ensidia had wasted Arthas first. Details leaked out about Ensidia's dubious strategy, forcing Blizzard to strip them of their title. While the WoW media was busy covering the drama between Ensidia and Blizzard, debate raged further on where the line should be drawn between "clever use of game mechanics" and "full-on exploit". All eyes and attention were on them, and Blood Legion's "world first" quickly fell out of the limelight.

Granted, only nine guilds in the world had defeated the Lich King in 25-Man heroic by this point -- Arthas was far from what even the seasoned raider would call "trivial". One thing was certain: WoW Progress's landing page, listing the world-first guilds who had put Arthas in his place was a short list, and one in which our resident server's celebrity guild was nowhere to be seen. A viewer had to click deeper into WoW Progress or GuildOx to determine what 10-Man standings existed. It was quite clear that the attention was focused squarely on 25. Players certainly cared about 10s, but the weight they held from a competitive standpoint still had little credibility. This argument was further backed by Blood Legion's continuing delay to wrap up their own 25-Man heroic kill of Lich King. The difference between Paragon's kill and Blood Legion's eventual one wasn't a matter of hours or even days...it was weeks.

It was pointless to compare the 10 to the 25. But that didn't stop players from doing it.

Time and time again, each boss encounter was defeated first and foremost in its 10-Man iteration, sometimes well before its big brother, and was easily explained. Blizzard never intended for 10s to be a challenge; at one point during Wrath, they even debated leaving the 10-Man heroic mode completely out. Yet in the face of the 10-Man being a non-factor, complaints persisted:

"10's are more difficult!"

"There's less room for error!"

"They need to be nerfed!"

So the nerfs continued to flood in. Marrowgar became less touchy between transitions. Saurfang refrained from casting Blood Nova on Mark of the Fallen Champion targets. Sindragosa's instability debuff was decreased in potency. Changes to Festergut. Changes to Rotface. Changes. Changes. Changes, so that players' concerns were sated. No member of Descendants of Draenor ever voiced such a concern throughout our entire career in Wrath of the Lich King. Because there was no need to. There was no concern.

Raiding in Wrath of the Lich King had finally reached the right balance. We were proof.

Many of us had first-hand experience with the raids of yore, and the pains and struggles of those days were still fresh in our memories. Our greatest struggles thus far, bosses like Blood Queen Lana'thel, Professor Putricide, Algalon, Yogg-Saron, these bosses didn't hold a candle to the likes of Illidan, Kael'thas Sunstrider, and Lady Vashj. And these bosses weren't even the worst of The Burning Crusade! Cheeseus shared horror stories of the nightmares in Sunwell Plateau, an instance that would've chewed up and spit out so many of these entitled players. But from our own perspective, so many lost weeks on bosses like Magtheridon made Yogg-Saron look like a child's plaything. Boo hoo, it took you an entire weekend to kill one boss? Try months of work on one boss...then we'll talk. But therein lay the problem. It was taking guilds months of work...it just happened to be on bosses that didn't require it.

I'd scan blog posts from guilds throughout that final year of WotLK, chock full of frustrated guild leaders. Months of work wasted on bosses like....Freya?? Sartharion?? It was true. While Descendants of Draenor buckled in to begin work on our first kill of 25-Man Lich King (normal!), there were still guilds that hadn't yet completed Naxxramas.

Even though I felt confident that Blizzard had reached exactly the right balance in Wrath, the overwhelming majority continued to prove me wrong.

The 25-Man Progression Team poses next to
The Lich King at the start of the encounter,
Icecrown Citadel

Defiled

The Lich King was a three phase fight, connected by two transitions. Arthas brought forminable techniques to the table, so the only way to master them was practice, practice, practice. We began the weekend of March 5th-7th, which primarily consisted of refining our handling of his phase one abilities. Drecca fastened the Lich King in place while Bretthew distracted the swarming army of undead drudge ghouls and shambling horrors clawing their way out of the frozen earth beneath us. DPS wound up slow and steady, taking care to not deploy any area-of-effect abilities that might cause Bretthew's adds to run rampant. Their positioning away from Arthas' was important: at various intervals, a player would become afflicted with Necrotic Plague. While ticking away precious health, healers instinctively wanted to cleanse the disease away, but had to stay their hand. Decursing Necrotic Plague caused the disease to not dissipate, but rather, leap from its target to the next closest. This meant players afflicted with the Plague needed to run quickly from their group, and stand near Bretthew's adds. Then, and only then, could the plague be safely decursed, as it lept from our raid to the undead monstrosities themselves. Turning the Lich King's Necrotic Plague back upon his own undead army was the primary focus of phase one...that, and dealing with blasts of Infest -- shadow damage that not only ate away massive chunks of health, but continued to do so until targeted players had their health topped back off to full. When Arthas' health dropped to 70%, the first transition began.

The Lich King charged to the center of his icy platform, sending out a steady barrage of Remorseless Winter, a constant stream of biting snow that would quickly kill any player in close proximity. Winter had a radius that stretched so far, the raid was forced to the very edges of his platform, our heels inches away from chunks of ice breaking off -- every transition, we risked losing our footing and plummeting to an early death. During this transition, Remorseless Winter was not the only thing that raged. Raging Spirits would spawn, needing to be picked up by tanks quickly, as their tendency was to one-shot whatever they faced. Tanks needed to move quickly in positioning them as to not cause additional strain to the healers, while DPS burned the spirits away as fast as possible. On top of all of this, Ice Spheres would appear from the Lich King, slowly heading towards our position along the jagged edge of that platform. Casters needed to turn their attention to the Spheres quickly; if left alone, they would cause an explosion of enough force to knock handfuls of players clear off the mountain's top. By the end of the first weekend of work, phase one and its subsequent transition was safely behind us.

Mastering phase two, along with its transition, took us well into the third week of March -- its learning curve bent sharply thanks to Defile. A disgusting blackness broiled and bubbled in an enormous circular area beneath unsuspecting players, and it took the concept of "standing in the fire" to a horrific new level. Not only would players standing in Defile suffer enough shadow damage to kill them in mere seconds, the physical act of standing in Defile caused it to grow uncontrollably. This meant that the weakest links in the roster -- the ones with the slowest reflexes -- most certainly held the power to transform an otherwise typical raid encounter into a linchpin. All it took was one wrong person to stand one moment too long in Defile, and a manageable disc of black death transformed into an oozing monstrosity that blanketed the entire platform, devouring us in the process. Defile was relentless and suffered no fools. It was devastatingly swift and turned many of our excellent attempts into instant failures. By all measures, Defile was the mouthbreather's worst nightmare. In order to turn the tables on Defile, we would have to leverage the power of a very special kind of healer.

Arthas annihilates the 25-Man Progression team
during an attempt on The Lich King,
Icecrown Citadel

Disciplinary Action

After scouring reports from World of Logs, one thing became imminently clear: Discipline Priests were becoming the rockstars of the Lich King fight, as their unconventional "bubbling" of players absorbed precious milliseconds of damage at the start of each Defile. Theoretically, lightning fast disc priests could bubble players targeted for Defile, granting those victims a window to escape before the thick black mass multiplied across Arthas' platform. Until this point, we ran with one and only discipline priest: the infamous Neps. This newly uncovered information, however, made a solid case for Lexxii to drop from Holy and adopt a bubbling spec as well. She did so, and as expected, the 25-Man progression team was defiled a little less with each attempt. In learning about the absorbs, we identified other abilities that gave us "room to move" within Defile; I myself was able to pop Anti-Magic Shell to help stave off the blackness.

Soul Reaper forced the tanks to hand Arthas off to one another throughout these phase two attempts, but it was a trivial mechanic to deal with. Far more menacing (other than Defile) was the Val'kyr that the Lich King commanded, plucking various players from the platform and slowly carrying them over the edge of the platform to be dropped helplessly to their doom. The 25-Man progression team prepared for this by prioritizing their positions as close to the center of the platform as possible. This gave us the largest window to burn holes through the Val'kyr before they dropped members of our roster over the edge. Work continued in this manner, coordinating the right positions for tanks to hand the boss off to one another, defile targets racing away from the group, and a sychronized collapse to the center before Val'kyr spawned. From there, it was on to second transition...which was more of the first, save for less room being available near the edges of the platform. Again, Raging Spirits needed to be controlled and burned, while Ice Spheres slowly crept up on us, ready to blast players off the edge if not burned down in time.

After a month and a day of work, the chaos of the Lich King was nearing completion. Phase three pushed the entire raid to its limits. Arthas still leveraged Soul Reaper on the tanks, and he continued to Defile the progression team. Additionally, Vile Spirits were added to the mix: slow moving ghostly apparitions that carried an explosive area-of-effect with them. Vile Spirits were subject to snare effects, so while Drecca and Bretthew maneuvered Arthas around the far edges of the platform, Jemb and Bullshark would ice-trap the center, allowing the AoE frenzy to unleash hell. Ben's Mind Sear, Hellspectral's Howling Blast and Mangetsu's Seed of Corruption quickly turned the Vile Spirit packs into fireworks, detonating safely away from melee perched along the edge. But Arthas still had one more trick up his sleeve.

  

The final moments of Descendants of Draenor's
first kill of The Lich King in 25-Man,
Icecrown Citadel

Eve of the Soul Harvest

In one swift motion of his hand, Arthas reached out into the air and grasped nothing, squeezing an invisible neck tightly. I lost control of my death knight, as Mature was lifted up off the ground, choking, and in an instant, I was transported inside the very essence of the runeblade Frostmourne. In this alternate dimension, the ghostly image of Arthas' slain father, King Terenes was locked in eternal combat with a Spirit Warden. This was Arthas' last attempt to defeat us, dividing and conquering through Harvest Soul. I stood alone, separated from the raid, which continued to battle The Lich King on the outside world, and so rushed to Terenes' aid. Mature swung Shadow's Edge, layering the Spirit Warden up with diseases, pummeling him with Scourge Strike, and I watched, waiting for Soul Rip. There. The Warden began channeling a devastating spell, draining King Terenes' spiritual essence; instantly, I fired off a Mind Freeze, and Mature stopped the Spirit Warden's channeling, saving the ghost of Arthas' father. Together, we turned back to the Warden and tore him apart.

In a flash, I was back outside. In the center the platform.

"Move, move! Get out of the center, Spirits spawning!"

The melee and tanks were far off to the edge of the platform, well away from me. I dashed towards The Lich King and resumed the fight, while Mangetsu's Seeds of Corruption flew past Mature's shoulders, igniting the Spirits behind me. Arthas' health was nearing the 10% mark. Like the flash of a supernova, the raid was instantly obliterated. All twenty-five members of the progression raid team lay dead at Arthas' feet as he laughed, preparing to raise us as his own undead army. It was at this moment that Tirion Fordring, who had been frozen solid through the duration of every attempt, finally freed himself with a single blast of holy light, an explosion which shattered Frostmourne in the process. The souls of every man, woman and child that Arthas had desecrated were freed, now enveloping him, trapping him...becoming his own prison. Fordring refused to stand down. Determined to end Arthas' reign, King Terenas II's spirit manifested long enough to cast a spell of Mass Resurrection, and the 25-Man progression team was instantly restored to life, emptying every last attack into what remained of The Lich King.

---

Descendants of Draenor stood triumphant that day, snapping up our first kill shots as Arthas lay dead at our feet. The once noble paladin, long a slave to his cursed runeblade, was finally put out of his misery on April 11th, 2010. A story that had stretched as far back as 2002 had finally come to an end. But although Arthas' story had concluded, there was still some story left to tell about Descendants of Draenor before turning to the final chapter in our history. As Wrath of the Lich King waned, DoD would dive deep into heroics, drama would continue to unfold between both old and new guildy alike, and a veteran of the guild would make a startling revelation that would shift the course of the guild once more. But before any of these events transpired, Blizzard would do us the honor of kicking things off by revealing their plans for Cataclysm -- plans that can be more accurately described as Blizzard's Third Mistake.

Descendants of Draenor pose for their
first kill shot of The Lich King,
Icecrown Citadel