4.16. Remember, Remember

DoD defeats Yogg-Saron in the absence of all four
keepers, earning "Alone in the Darkness (25 Player)",
Ulduar

October 31

One month remained before the launch of Cataclysm, and the guild was hungry for that which lay just out of reach. Achievements remained incomplete, and a calculated movement quickly grew among the ranks to solve for x. I had the good fortune of being looped in on many of these invites, and ramped up my availability to meet the needs of the guild. We kicked things off in haste on Hallowe'en night, returning to Ulduar after nearly a year of uninterrupted raiding in Icecrown. The mission: face the Old God once again, sans assistance from the four Keepers. 

It was grueling, even with our ICC-quality gear to offset the difficulty. We had a 20% handicap across the board: we took more damage, pushed out less damage, maintained less health, moved slower...and the 40% less healing taken was the cherry on top. Whatever safety net previously existed was now absent. There was no protective gaze to give us a free life. There was no restorative sanity wells available to keep us from madness. And the brutality of the third phase showed us the true face of the Immortal Guardians: they would not die. It was a race against time to wring every last drop of DPS into Yogg's many mouths, while an encroaching army of Immortal Guardians threatened to dog-pile us into oblivion.

Tentacles surrounded us, grabbing players and slamming them into the floor, and Mangetsu joked, "This reminds me of an anime I watched last night."

We spent an hour and twenty minutes in the darkness, attempting to defeat Yogg-Saron without Fraya, Thorim, Hodir or Mimiron. His thousand gaping maws screamed out in agony as we delivered a final blow, and the golden achievement flashed up "Alone in the Darkness (25 Player)". Our reward was a guaranteed drop of the coveted Mimiron's Head mount. Per DoD's rule, everyone present was allowed to roll on the mount, and Sixfold walked away the winner. We would repeat this kill one more time before Cataclysm, and the second Mimiron's Head went to Mangetsu.

Mature, Falnerashe (and others) execute a clear of 10-Man
Naxx without a single death, earning "The Undying",
Naxxramas

November 9

A month had passed since first reaching out to Falnerashe. I kept interactions to a minimum, trying not to come on too strong, trying not to overwhelm. I pinged at random, just to check up, to see how things were, what was going on, if she had any plans for the day. She, too, was attempting to wrap up outstanding achievements, and I took the opportunity to offer help where I could. I never counted on having Falnerashe rejoin DoD, but she was a star healer, so I would have been a fool not to try. When I finally made the pitch, it was as transparent a pane of glass:

Whatever problems you have in DoD, whether they be raid or people related, I will take care of them. At any time, you can shoot me a concern privately -- it doesn't matter how trivial it may seem. Even if all you need to do is rant about stupid people...rant to me. I give you my word: you won't be ignored again. The days of rewarding bad players in this guild are long behind us.

She said she would consider the offer. In the meantime, I walked a fine line between proactivity and harassment. On the 9th of November, we assembled a group to attempt to wrap up an arch-nemesis: The Undying, requiring us to clear an entire 10-Man Naxxramas without any player in the raid eating shit. The Immortal, long since blown, was a write-off by this point, but both Fal and I wanted The Undying...even if the Plagued Proto-Drake was no longer on the table.

Fal brought a few of her friends; I corralled a few from DoD. We 7-manned our way through with a perfectly logical explanation. With less people come less opportunities to die. Slow and steady wins the race, and with care, the seven of us cleared the instance and drew a line through the achievement.

Two days later, Falnerashe accepted a re-invite to Descendants of Draenor.

Mature, Falnerashe, Zedman (and others) defeat Mimiron
without anyone dying, completing "Champion of Ulduar",
Ulduar

November 13

Zedman, now an official member of Descendants of Draenor (and still a full-blooded achievement whore), led his own charge to color in those unfulfilled golden bars. He cracked the whip on a Saturday afternoon, looping us in on a clear through Ulduar, attempting to wrap "Champion of Ulduar" -- the Ulduar equivalent of The Undying. Again, the focus was on not dying, but this time, the design was a little more digestible: each boss was handled individually and could be knocked out in chunks, rather than executing the entire achievement over a single lock. As it stood, nearly all of us needed only Mimiron, the boss most famous for blowing players away at random.

We knocked out achievements along the way: "With Open Arms (10 Player)", "Getting Cold in Here (10 Player)", and "Con-speed-atory (10 Player)"; at every boss, we attempted some kind of achievement for anyone present that required it. By the time we got to Mimiron, things were looking good. We managed to have the giant mech turn a rocket strike back upon his own minions for "Not -So-Friendly Fire (10 Player)"...

...and then he turned a rocket to me. Horse-blinded while in my role as a tank, I missed the targeting reticle and died instantly upon impact.

I could hear the disappointment in Zedman's voice; Fal was silent in vent.

"We are going to get it before Cata," I typed over to Fal in a whisper, "I promise you this."

One week and two days later, I kept my word to Falnerashe. We re-assembled, defeated Mimiron without a death, and earned the achievement and title.

Mature, Neps, Fred, and Hellspectral join a group of
Deathwingers to kill Archavon, Emalon and Koralon
at once, earning "Earth, Wind & Fire (25 Player)",
Lake Wintergrasp

Zedman was unrelenting. He pounced on any opportunity, day or night, to knock out an achievement, and was keenly aware of events transpiring on Deathwing-US...even if my attention was focused on the guild. Late into the evening on the 13th, the Horde reclaimed Wintergrasp, and Zedman took the reins in fielding a crew willing and able to attempt the ridiculous. When the invite arrived, I eyed the roster; there were a few familiar DoDers present -- Fred, Hellspectral and Neps. The rest were strangers.

[From: Zedmann]: Can I give them our Vent info?

[To: Zedmann]: Of course. DoD's policy on vent is open door. Share as needed...with discretion.

The group of random players slowly joined our vent, and Zedman meticulously described how we would pull all three watchers at once: Archavon, Emalon and Koralon, killing them within 60 seconds of each other. We made pull after pull after pull, each one closing the gap on the achievement. But as the Wintergrasp timer ticked away, Zedmann was unable to stay, his RL schedule intervening. We bid him a good night, stayed to defend Wintergrasp when the battle resumed, then reassembled to continue our attempts...

...and completed Zedman's achievement without Zedman. He would go on to earn "Earth Wind & Fire (25 Player)" six months later.

An all-star 10-Man crew of DoD defeats Heroic
Lich King, earning "Bane of the Fallen King",
Icecrown Citadel

November 16

On the 16th, I was honored to be looped in on an all-star 10-Man group intent on defeating Heroic Lich King.  I would tank alongside Drecca, while Neps, Fred, and Gunsmokeco manned the heals. Chosen to push out the maximum possible DPS were Hellspectral, Jungard, Ben (on Boomkin), Larada, and Mangetsu. Three paladins, two death knights, a priest, a shaman, a warrior, a druid, a hunter and a warlock: this was our line-up for Arthas, and our chance to claim any sort of Heroic Lich King kill, 10-Man or otherwise.

Our 25-Man's practice was still burned into our brains, so adapting to the 10-Man version required little adjustment. Phase one's major obstacle was the quick avoidance of shadow traps, which when stood on, would blast players off the platform, plummeting to a grisly death at the base of the citadel. Sending players out quickly to have dispelled Necrotic Plague jump to Shambling Horrors was automatic by this point. Months of practice and built-up muscle memory made this an easy order to digest.

The urgency to clean the platform of Val'kyr was no less real in heroic: they dropped players at 50% health (rather than at death) but had more health, and siphoned life until they were defeated. DPS had to burn every trick they could to maximize their killing strategy. Jungard exploited all opportunities to cleave, while Hellspectral levied massive Howling Blasts on the Val'kyr.

In phase three, the entire raid was pulled into Frostmourne. We zig-zagged our way through a path of Wicked Spirits, DPS desperately trying to apply their trade and prevent the spirits from exploding with crippling AoE damage. It was frantic, challenging, and chaotic; adrenalin pumped throughout each attempt.

There was no shortage of effort that day. After about a half-dozen attempts. Arthas finally met his match in heroic mode, and our small group earned "Bane of the Fallen King (10 Player)". It wasn't 25-Man, but it was still something to proud of....

...and yet, one achievement remained just out of reach.

The all-star team returns to Ulduar and defeats
Algalon utilizing only 226/232 gear, earning
"Herald of the Titans"

November 17

The all-star team returned to the field the next day. Zedman took the place of Ben, while Fred's healing spot was switched out for DPS via Omaric; the rest of the lineup remained unchanged. And on this day, the task at hand was perhaps the most challenging of all: defeat Algalon the Observer (automatically a heroic encounter), while only using gear acquired from Ulduar...or worse. There was no way to fudge this, no opportunity to take advantage of gear from higher tiers as we had with all bosses previous. Even the Lich King encounter could be made a hair easier by pulling gear from 25-Man Halion (ilvl 271), when ICC normally dropping ilvl 264 gear (for 10-Man groups). This achievement allowed no such padding.

Armor could not go above ilvl 226, and the highest allowed weapons were ilvl 232. We took off all our exceptional rewards, collected from ICC over the past year, replacing them with junk. This achievement was going to be about raw skill and discipline, nothing else. If there was ever a fight that proved Blain's long standing claim that "gear doesn't make a bad player good", this was that fight.

Algalon was just as brutal as the day we began practicing the encounter. Simple accidents meant instant wipes. Transitions for Big Bang had to be fluid, and healers had to be on their game to grant death-preventing saves on the tanks before they stepped through their portals. And the lingering one-hour timer produced little beads of sweat on my mouse hand.

Some raiders might argue that the freshly launched 4.0.1 patch, delivering new abilities and talents, might have made this a bit easier on us. For Death Knights, blood was now the only way to tank; fine for me, I had been tanking as blood for months. But the healing from Death Strike had been reduced significantly, justified by a new Blood Shield mechanic, allowing us to absorb damage along with our self-heals. But the potency of the Blood Shield came from Cataclysm's new stat, Mastery, which didn't start showing up on gear until 85. Whatever baseline Blood Shields I produced were quickly eaten by Algalon's brutally fast attacks.

There were other changes. Vengeance now scaled our tank damage as we bore the brunt of the boss. I gained access to Bone Shield, formerly exclusive to Unholy (as was Anti-Magic Shield, now a baseline ability). But, my dealing damage would not make or break this fight, Bone Shield charges were eaten just as fast as Blood Shields, and Anti-Magic Shell wasn't going to save me from a Big Bang...or Algalon's physical strikes. Whether the 4.0.1 changes were a boon or a curse to Death Knights still at 80, I perceived no added bonus. We were going to have to defeat Algalon the old fashioned way: with effort.

...and we made it so.

There were no benefits, no brute forces, no tricks or tactics to exploit, and no exceptional gear from the next tier to ease the pain. We defeated Algalon on the same terms that world first guilds used when racing one another to finish line, and I consider that a real achievement, even if it was only in 10-Man. I set Mature's title to "Herald of the Titans" that day, and haven't changed it since.

4.11. Cataclysmic Tactics

Vanilla era, Zanjina prepares to PvP while Bovie makes
an excellent suggestion for the future of WoW,
Orgrimmar

The Unforsaken

When Bovie confessed to us that she was, in fact, a 'he', it was admittedly both historic and awesome, but was not the most impressive thing I remember about him/her. S/he came out of the woodwork of Deathwing-US very early in DoD's history, when Vanilla was ripe, gold was scarce, and soloing level 60 quests often ended tragically. I secretly suspected. There were no shortage of female toons; digital busts, hips and waists powered by the hormones of teenage boys and middle-aged men uninterested chase-camming a dude. I was as guilty as any of them, having already rolled Uld, a female orc rogue, and Zanjina, a female troll priest. Gal players were out there, but they were far and few between. Many chose to downplay their gender in real life, an unfortunate necessity of the culture: in my experience, they were nearly always subject to harassment and rash judgement of their ability. Now, Bovie certainly didn't run around Orgrimmar announcing her lady parts to the server -- s/he was quite demure about it...which is exactly why DoD never really knew for sure.

I got that it was a tremendous weight lifted off his shoulders. The guild got a good round of jabs in, and the druid took it all in stride. For DoD, it was historic and awesome, but not the most impressive. The most impressive story about Bovie is that, mid-way through TBC, he took me aside in vent and made another confession: he was headed to law school. I asked how long it would take him; he guesstimated about three years, from baby to the bar exam. I told Bovie that we would miss him, but that as long as WoW wasn't going anywhere, neither would DoD, and I assured him that I would keep his spot warm in the guild. The virtual seasons came and went. TBC carried on, as did our struggles and redemption, concluding with Illidan's defeat. DoD was torn down and rebuilt. New stories unfolded in Northrend; Death Knights were everywhere. Naxxramas, all over again. The epic adventures in Ulduar. Breaching the gates at Icecrown, slicing through rotting flesh and undeath to put an end to Arthas. Now, WotLK was at the end of its life. And in the entire time, Bovie sat offline in the roster, his 'last logged in' status a constant reminder of the promise I'd made. 1 year offline. 2 years offline. 3 years offline.

...and then, one day in October of 2010, I opened the roster and saw his last logged in status: Today. DoD's official litigator was ready for his opening arguments.

---

Thorim's voice called out from inside my jacket. I was parked outside my son's school, concentrating on capturing Ho-Oh when Thorim began repeating his infamous phrase. I flipped the DS into the passenger seat and answered the phone. It was Joredin. I hadn't heard from him in years. He quickly brought me up to speed on the events that had transpired since he'd last set foot in Azeroth. We exchanged stories of job changes, of life changes. I told him of changes that were coming, both to the game and to DoD. He revealed the hacking event that caused his first retirement from WoW. How many players were lost to hacking over the years? Only Blizzard knows. Thankfully, they did something about it.

I told Joredin about the latest addition to the game: authenticators applied to player accounts could now be verified by guild leaders. I'd be tying certain ranks to their presence; additional permissions to the guild vault that wouldn't normally be considered sane. Trust goes both ways, and if I gave a little, I expected a little in return -- authenticators would be the first way to guarantee that trust was in place. In a virtual world shrouded by so many layers of anonymity, players sloughed off accountability like so much dead skin. "My account is secure, Hanzo, honest!" carries very little weight. In Cataclysm, I wouldn't be able to promote you to raiding status until an authenticator was attached and confirmed -- the game would physically prevent me from pressing the promote button.

Joredin liked the sound of that, and wanted to know what he could do to return to DoD.

"You've already done it," I told him, "be ready for your re-invite when I log on."

One of the few rare moments Mature pulled ahead
of Zedman in achievement point whoring
(Source: wow-achievements.com via The Wayback Machine)

Unhealthy Obsessesions

I stalked the shaman relentlessly for the better part of Wrath of the Lich King. Who was this orc that had the audacity to stay ahead of me in achievement points? Folks in the server-first raiding guilds like Enigma and Inertia had a valid excuse: they got through the toughest stuff before we even had a chance. But Unbridled Apathy, as far as I could tell, were either neck and neck with DoD, or falling behind. Yet, this player named for the last letter of the alphabet was continuing to stay first in this unofficial race to who had less of a life. And it ate away at me like "nerd world problems" tended to.

It was at the point where I was filling out spreadsheets just to determine the fastest, most efficient path to beating him. Some achievements might only take a few hours worth of work, while others would take weeks and weeks of grinding (particularly the ones involving reputation gains). Every time I gained a small lead on the Zed Man, it would only be a matter of days before he closed the gap and pulled ahead once more. I carried on in tortuous agony, queued for the worst kinds of PvP, participated in mindless clickfests, and camped for desperately sought-after creatures. I was determined to stay ahead of a make-believe nemesis who, quite possibly, had no idea I even existed.

[From: Zedmann]: Loq? He won't be up for another 3 hours. :(

I eyed the random whisper.

[To: Zedmann]: I hate my life.

He'd spotted me, hiding near some foliage in the southeastern corner of the Basin, one of the known spawning locations of the rare spirit beast, Loque'nahak. I needed him to finish Frostbitten. Every other hunter needed him to bring some concentrated coolness to their Beast Mastery game. The result was that he was never up. Never.

[From: Zedmann]: I've got them all on a timer now. It's a 6-to-8 hour window, his comes up again around 10:00pm. Only way to keep ahead of the hunters.

[To: Zedmann]: Staying ahead of you is a full-time job. You realize that, don't you?

[From: Zedmann]: lol, only thing we can do to compete with the hardcore raiding guilds.

The in.

[To: Zedmann]: So what's the deal with UA? You making progress over there or what?

[From: Zedmann]: Long story. It's all over the board, and I have RL stuff that keeps me out of the regular schedule. People are losing interest at the end. Raids are spotty.

The pitch.

[To: Zedmann]: Come join us. Our forces combined, no other guild could compete with such ridiculous levels of achievement whoring.

[From: Zedmann]: lol. It's complicated. ;)

[To: Zedmann]: Try me.

He was close friends with the leader of Unbridled Apathy, and in discussing it further, felt an obligation to remain. He was loyal, to a fault. Zedmann shouldn't have had to suffer the failings of a disappearing raid roster because of his friendship with the person in charge. I would never have demanded the same of my own people, nor expected such blind faith during imminent collapse. But Zedmann truly felt a bond with his guild leader, and assured me that he would be staying in Unbridled Apathy.

...which is exactly the reason why I continued to stalk him.

That kind of loyalty is hard to find. If I could wrap it up, package it, and sell it as a How To Guild Leadering LOL, I'd expect to make a small fortune. So whenever I re-engaged achievement whoring mode, I sent him whispers, and continued to harass him. I explained how he shouldn't have to bear the brunt of a collapsing guild, or a raiding roster not in tune with his restrictive RL schedule. I broke the Zed Man down, chip by chip, until eventually, the guild title underneath his name read Descendants of Draenor.

You've made a wise decision, achievement whore. It will be you, Joredin, and Bovie, that take up the mantle of our first 10-Man Tacticians.

If you're reading this caption, Zedmann, then
you know why I'm including this screenshot,
Zul'Gurub

Why We Want Your 10-Man

In order to support official 10-Man teams in DoD, I put together a list of all the things 10-Mans had failed at in the past.

• Assembled via word-of-mouth, leading to hard feelings / ostracization / accusations of double-standards
• Poaching of members between teams, due to miscommunication
• No guild-sanctioned title or leader, thereby shirking responsibility / accountability of the behavior of the team

My attempt to solve these problems came in the form of a new rank I introduced to DoD for Cataclysm: the Tactician. Tacticians were the new pseudo-officers of the guild. Thanks to the flexibility of eqDKP-Plus, I was able to grant them the ability to announce and schedule their own signups. This was especially helpful, as players like Joredin were forced into managing a schedule on a shared spreadsheet. Workable, but we could do better.

eqDKP-Plus took it a step further: they could even manage their own DKP pools, if they chose. These tools, coupled with the ability to see all the other 10-Man team schedules (and, of course, the 25-Man schedule) meant that the Tacticians weren't only asked to keep in communication with one another, they had no excuse not to. All the data they needed to coordinate schedules between teams was a single click away. My intent was to have this be the end to poaching, once and for all.

Outside of all the publicly announced rules and perks associated with running a 10-Man, players who chose to take up the Tactician mantle received an unofficial briefing from yours truly, to ensure there was no opportunity to misinterpret the needs of the guild:

The health of the 25-Man is of the utmost importance in DoD. Anything your 10-Man team does to jeopardize that health will fall harshly on your shoulders. Do not, under any circumstances, appeal to the members of the 25. If they reach out to you, fine; I'd ask that you clear 25-to-10 transitions with me first, before you approve their induction into your team. You will not sell the magnificence of your team to the 25.

If they could do me this one small favor, I guaranteed that they would be subsidized in raiding costs, guild repairs, ample raiding resources (flasks, mats to craft, etc.) from the vault, as well as granting them first dibs on any BoEs that the 25 produced. I would also expedite any recruitment they brought to the table, getting individual players or groups of players, grandfathered in -- so long as they met our minimum requirements. On digital paper, we had many rules, the result of so many common-sensical decisions gone horribly awry. Behind closed doors, I shared with the Tacticians the only one true law they needed to abide: Wheaton's Law.

Joredin, Bovie and Zedmann all fit the requirements for Tactician beautifully. They very much wanted to be a part of the 25-Man, but had their own reasons for spinning up a 10, whether to sate an unbridled hunger to raid non-stop (on alts, if it had to be so!), the unpredictability of their careers intervening at impromptu times, or of the demands placed upon them by their families. Each had their own reason to lead a 10-Man, and with Tactician in place, we could scratch each other's backs.

Heed my words, Tacticians: Do not let the 25 die.

3.43. Showtime!

The 25-Man Progression Team defeats The Twin Val'kyr in
under three minutes, earning "Salt and Pepper (25 Player)",
Tournament of Champions

The Definition of Insanity

Cheeseus had taken a bow and exited stage right. Upon his exit from DoD as raid leader, some significant hurdles remained. Omaric and Bretthew took control of our 25-Man progression team at a time when it was most critical for DoD. Only three meta achievements remained outstanding in our quest to complete Glory of the Ulduar Raider, but they were arguably the most difficult ones of the bunch. All eyes were on them as we returned to our instance locks that Sunday at the start of October 2009. How would they approach it? Would Omaric's voice impressions and Bretthew's chatty nature distract the team from focusing in on the most brutal of these final Ulduar achievements? Would the raid follow their direction, or get caught up in unrelated conversations as they began to wipe to trash? Did the boys have the capacity to keep the peace and identify problematic players, or were we headed into attempts that Blain warned me about years before; attempts where you repeat the same thing over and over, changing nothing yet expecting results. Would Omaric and Bretthew deliver? Or would they slowly drive us insane?

The lights dimmed, and the curtain went up on their first act.

For their first trick, Omaric and Bretthew drove the raid up through the Tournament of Champions and had us target a three-minute burn on The Twin Val'kyr. A month earlier, The Eh Team had knocked out "Salt and Pepper (10 Player)", so this achievement was a safe play for them. I casually suggested that they keep their strategy and opinions hidden away in officer chat. We needed to keep a handle on the perception that The Eh Team's influence was broadening in scope. Many of us had first-hand experience in performing the 10-Man version by this point, so it was common knowledge that "Salt and Pepper (10 Player)" was an order of magnitude easier to accomplish. Repeating this information to the twenty-five as a teaching device would have been a bad idea. That tactic could have been misinterpreted as "we beat it a month ago because we're better than you" -- a situation not so difficult to imagine in a game where the difficulty between 10 and 25 was blurring in the public eye every day.

After securing "Salt and Pepper (25 Player)", their next trick involved Mimiron. We were dodging mines, bursts of damage from mechanized guns, and making our way into phase three. Omaric directed the raid to leave an Assault Bot alive in an attempt to force Mimiron to destroy it with a rocket strike. As it turned out, I had an Assault Bot on me, and kited it around while Mimiron transitioned into his final phase, combining into a giant clockwork monstrosity. I scanned for the rocket blast targets being painted on the ground while the raid began to chip away at all three parts of Mimiron's body. I missed the first target by inches, but remained diligent, zooming my camera out and spinning it like a top, watching for new crosshairs to paint. Another showed up across the room and I made a mad dash for it, squinting as I prepared to mess up in some horrific fashion; the guild leader ever-confident in his abilities.

The Assault Bot tailing me sputtered, whirred, and fell backwards, while achievement spam lit up guild chat: "Not So Friendly Fire (25 Player)". We were clear to burn through Mimiron, and the steampunk Voltron soon sagged its shoulders as it ran out of power.

Their opening act was a success. The main event was yet to come.

DoD defeats Freya with all three Elders alive,
earning "Knock Knock Knock on Wood (25 Player)",
Ulduar

Knock Knock Knock

To say there was a lot going on would be an understatement.

Freya's adds made up the majority of our suffering. While Ancient Protector himself wasn't terribly oppressive (as the raid very quickly moved under mushrooms to evade the silence from Conservator's Grip), a random person would be selected for Nature's Fury, doing repeated damage to players in close proximity. If players were sharp, the Nature's Fury target would zip away from us in no time at all. It didn't always play out that way. The ring of Detonating Lashers were also not much fun. A warrior tank could deliver a Shockwave to AoE stun them, allowing the casters to chain into a massive shower of AoE damage, while we gained a safe distance from their explosives deaths.

It was a pity, then, that our warrior tank decided to become a druid.

Meanwhile, I had my own struggles to deal with. Snaplasher, Storm Lasher, and Ancient Water Elemental all spawned together, and required us to kill them within twelve seconds of one another. Yet, the "group up and AoE down" method wouldn't fly here, either. While Storm Lasher's chain lightning could be mitigated with stuns, Riskers was having a tough time of it on his own as the sole remaining rogue in progression. Ancient Water Elemental had a tendency to want to charge out in a random direction, and made it difficult to keep damage focused on him. As it turned out, both of these adds were my responsibility. Meanwhile, Snaplasher was kited away, its own damage growing as its health dropped. In 10-Man, the Snaplasher would eventually be frozen into position, affording the kiter a buffer of freedom. In 25-Man there was no such allowance. Poor timing on the part of the kiter would cause player death as Snaplasher's own life came to an end.

The deficiencies of modifying a 10-Man strategy for the 25 were starting to rear their ugly head, and the audience grew restless.

Mangetsu, along with his warlock officer Eacavissi, worked  in tandem to perfect an extended Shadowfury chain, which Turtleman helped augment with a Frost Nova tagged on the tail. This was our best bet to eliminate the threat from the ring of Detonating Lashers. Meanwhile, Bretthew, Omaric and I worked on our own system: Ikey-bear held Freya while Bretthew AoE taunted Snaplasher, Storm Lasher and Ancient Water Elemental. Without skipping a beat, Ikey would pull Freya back (as she was also subject to Bretthew's AoE taunt), while I gripped Storm Lasher and Ancient Water Elemental, facing them away and keeping tabs on Riskers so he was in range for stunlocks.

The baby steps slowly emerged over the course of the evening. The Detonating Lashers remained in place just a bit longer. Those with Nature's Fury moved away from the group a bit faster. The Snaplasher dealt far less fatal blows to random players in the raid. But it was grueling to perfect, and our attempts filled up the evening. Even when all looked good and we transitioned into the final phase, Freya still managed to play us, locking random players down with grasping roots, only to end their lives with the toss of spore-like bombs that we needed to avoid.

The worst part is when you feel like you have a phase down, only to be awakened to the brutal truth that you have absolutely no handle on what comes next -- and the work begins anew. In the days of Kael'thas Sunstrider, this sort of raid mentality was par for the course: entire weekends spent working on one phase, while four more waited in the wings. But now, in a new era of raiding where everything was a "pushover", getting a taste of what got us here was a bitter pill to swallow.

"Knock Knock Knock on Wood (25 Player)" eventually wrapped late that evening, in DoD's trademark famous last pull of the night. We sealed the deal eight minutes past our raid end time. Exhausted, we congratulated one another and retired for the night, replenishing our energy in preparation for the remaining two metas. The raid retired, rather. A guild leader's business, as they say, is often never done.

Jungard and Crasian go head-to-head in Recount as
the guild wraps up "Con-speed-atory (25 Player)",
Ulduar

An Axe to Grind

The decision on Shadowmourne still hadn't been made; a melee officer promotion hung in the balance. With two tanks now leading raids, melee lacked guidance -- a role formerly held by Cheeseus. I was lucky that talented players like Riskers were able to work through their own issues as he had on that evening's boss kill. But our guild needed to provide a better support mechanism than that. We weren't a true hardcore raiding guild; it was unfair to expect that every player could act as their own troubleshooter. It was our job to provide an official person in which to assign the responsibility. If we claimed to take players of all shapes and sizes (read: skill levels), we had an obligation to prevent them from impeding the work of our existing successful core. I needed a melee person that excelled to such a degree that they could not only keep their own shit straight, but had the capacity to clean up after other people's messes as well. Weighing the options on deck, two names rose to prominence.

First on this list was Crasian, the Eh Team's resident death knight who demolished the damage meters each night in our progression raids. Having climbed up to Elite rank, he was one of the primary drivers behind Descendants of Draenor's melee DPS being absurd throughout Wrath. Crasian was a likable guy, full of energy and carried with him a completionist mindset -- he was one of the first guild members to finish Glory of the Dungeon hero, earning a Red Proto-Drake in the process. Crasian had been sacrificing much of his spare time to help others knock out these heroic 5-man achievements, demonstrating that guild spirit I often looked for in people. Still, he was reasonably new to the guild, so his perceived selflessness had to be tempered carefully against other criteria. Crasian made a regular habit of checking in with me on the status of my decision regarding the legendary, and I assured him it was my number one priority. One thing was certain: putting Shadowmourne into his hands would secure his place in the #1 DPS spot for many months to come, and when I imagined how many heroic mode kills his boosted DPS would guarantee us, flashing images of golden achievement bars filled me with glee.

A second option existed, the yin to Crasian's yang. The warrior we called Jungard had been a steady source of high quality melee DPS since joining our 25-Man progression raid late in Mount Hyjal, way back in The Burning Crusade. Jungard was less of a show-boater than Crasian, but no less timid than the death knight when wrecking the meters. Jungard had recently helped grandfather his brother's guild into ours, augmenting the roster and adding another 10-Man team to the weekly clears. Jungard and I saw eye-to-eye on a good many things, and shared conversations over IM. He supported my changing guild structure as we moved from TBC to WotLK, and never once missed a raid he hadn't cleared with me before hand. Jungard was one of those few individuals that had never red flagged me once; never for a moment giving me a question to doubt his loyalty or honesty -- and with every bit of praise I showered on to him, he remained humble, thankful, and ready to prove himself worthy at the start of the next raid weekend. It stood to reason, then, that Jungard wielding a Shadowmourne in one hand and a Shadow's Edge in the other would be a force that few on Deathwing-US could threaten.

With my sights set on both Crasian and Jungard, the next quest in my log was clear to complete: Promote a New Melee Officer. It was time to schedule some interviews.

3.32. Implications

XT-002 Deconstructor's heart is destroyed,
earning DoD "Heroic: Heartbreaker",
Ulduar

Grief from the Hardcore

The truly hardcore players...the ones who did everything in their power to re-arrange their real-life schedules to be present...were the ones I had to fight the hardest when it made sense to cancel a raid. Father's Day weekend was fast approaching and, like Mother's Day, had a handful of people choosing to spend it with their folks. It didn't make sense to force the raid to happen when so many players would be absent. Yet I knew exactly what was going to happen the minute I proposed the cancellation.

"I want us to raid that weekend, why does it have to be cancelled?" Cheeseus typed over an IM to me.

"Look, we have a ton of people already standing down. You want me to fill it with a bunch of players that don't know what they're doing? That sounds like a horrible idea if our goal is now hard-modes."

"They're not that hard!"

"Not to you, they're not. But what about Prodigie?"

Cheeseus was over 1500 miles away from me, but I could feel him wince at the suggestion of rotating in Divineseal's druid.

"That is the reality of the situation. You want me to make the Father's Day raid happen? You’re going to be looking at folks like him in the roster. Hey, if you can make it work...”

I had already delivered the news to Divineseal -- he'd be raiding on Prodigie from here on out. To continue to allow his sub-par healing in rotations would be a detriment to the raid, especially as we were now working to knock out Heroic: Glory of the Ulduar Raider. The short-term strategy was simple: put Divine into raids under a different name and role. Healers were the glue that held progression together; attempting to short-change the raid of their ability to survive spurts of panic and chaos wasn't a very sound business decision. By bringing his Boomkin, he could do far less damage to the raid. Meanwhile, the long-term strategy was already in play. Continue to recruit, bloat the pool up further by bringing in fresh meat. Hopefully, a shining star would step forward and push his way up past Divine...eventually squeezing him out of rotations completely.

Cancellations continued as we pushed into July, and there was more down the road to make me nervous about. My annual vacation was approaching, wherein I'd return to my Father's farm in Northern Saskatchewan, leaving me out of the rotations for a week. Furthermore, Blizzcon 2009 would take place a week past that, and while I'd already made up in my mind that we would be canceling raids that weekend, I knew that I would more than likely have to face Cheeseus' wrath amid his disgust with not pushing forward. With Cheeseus' continued pressure on me to make a decision regarding Crasian, coupled with my hesitance to lock down an entire role -- risking the loss of that group in anger -- I was forced to go back the drawing board on my approach.

Descendants of Draenor defeats Ignis
the Furnace Master in under 4 minutes,
earning "Heroic: Stokin' the Furnace",
Ulduar

The Vacation Tactic

The Elite rank couldn't continue without an adjustment. I had more people to promote and no available slots to play with, at least not without locking an entire role out of rotations. My only option was to pursue a modification to the Elite expectations, changing the verbiage from "You are expected to be present at every raid," to "You are expected to sign up for every raid." This negated one of the primary perks of being Elite: their guaranteed spot. If the verbiage wasn't right...if I didn't handle it with enough delicacy, I risked a mutiny of the core 25-Man progression raiders. These being the very folks whom I sought desperately to prevent alienating in the first place. My tactic would be to do it in such a way as to make the player feel that they were making the choice.

I had finally arrived at a point where a full roster of Elites for a particular role were in my hands. My guild's current ruleset dictated that they should all be expected to show up each week. This provided no floating spots for Raiders to be rotated into. With no Raiders floating into raids week-to-week, they would grow bored, neglected, and begin to seek shelter elsewhere on Deathwing-US. It was imperative that I took a handful of Raiders each week; I could never bring a raid fully comprised of Elites. But Elites were required to raid every week, per my explicit rules. I didn't want to take their guaranteed spot away. They'd feel betrayed, their hard work which separated them from the "casuals" tossed aside, making them feel insignificant.

I insisted on keeping the line between Raiders and Elites separate.

I thought about what Cheeseus had suggested -- that while I chose Raiders to be rotated out week-to-week, Elites themselves would be the ones to choose. This implied a focus on the player taking vacation. The model of Elite was already based on what struck me as the perfect employee: someone who is communicative, hard-working, goes above and beyond the call of duty. This was something Ater had pointed out to me in those many lunch hours we spent together in '07. So, in approaching Elite as a star employee, I focused my attention into the most noticeable perks of their loot, title, and guaranteed spot. What I needed to do was highlight another important part of what keeps a loyal, dedicated employee happy: time off.

It was time to crunch some numbers.

---

"You know all of the requirements around Elite, right?"

"Yup. Yeah, I read through, seems pretty straight forward," Crasian replied in Vent, "So, like, with time-off, I can take that whenever?"

"Absolutely. One night off every three months of raiding you accrue. But keep in mind any hours you've banked as a Raider will be available when you get promoted."

"Ah, sweet. So, do you like...track that on the website, or…"

I lied.

"Yup. Yes, it's all woven into the DKP. I cross-ref it with a spreadsheet I store on Google Docs. If it isn't clear, you know you can ping me. Just let me know ahead of time and I'll adjust it automatically."

Something I clearly planned to do reactively.

"Sweet." 

Crasian liked to punch his T's hard. Listening to him was like reading the phonetic pronunciations of each word in the dictionary. According to him, Sweet had three syllables instead of one.

"Now that more Elites are coming into the roster, there's going to be a need to move back and forth between various Elites, so that everyone gets a shot. Of course, you'll still always get priority over a Raider…”

"...oh, no doubt. No doubt."

"Yeah. So, if you want to sit for another Elite, y'know. Just come to me. Let me know ahead of time so that I can work it out on the schedule. Likewise, if I have to move people around, and you have to sit for say…"

I grabbed someone from The Eh Team.

"...Omaric, then you won't have to worry about eating into your vacation hours. I won't dock you for the ones that you don't step out of on your own. Make sense?"

"Totally", replied Crasian, "Should work great."

"Alright well...gratz on the promotion, Crasian. Welcome to the Elites! Let's see a little bit of that Eh Team skill in these 25-Man hard modes, eh?"

I pressed the "Promote Member" button. Mission accomplished.

Thorim is defeated while DoD is under the
influence of Aura of Celerity, earning them
 "Heroic: Who Needs Bloodlust?",
Ulduar

Proving Worthiness

As we worked our way through the rest of June, the 25-Man team scratched more achievements off the list. The weekend after defeating Yogg-Saron produced a two-tower kill of Flame Leviathan, and a Heroic: Heartbreaker. Killing XT-002 Deconstructor in hard mode was a sprint we narrowly hit with our gear level...so the addition of Crasian to the roster didn't hurt at all. His Death Knight was a damage dealing machine, and previously unreachable goals were once again within grasp. The final week of the month claimed two more achievements. The first was yet-another-sprint: Heroic: Stokin' the Furnace, defeating Ignis the Furnace Master in under four minutes. The other, Heroic: Who Needs Bloodlust?, forced us into a gimmicky kill of Thorim, one that had our priest Arterea mind-controlling a Dark Rune Warbringer, granting nearby allies Aura of Celerity for the kill. We punched out our time card at the end of the month, and thanks to the two sprints, our Heroic: Glory meta tally was at three of the needed thirteen. 

The weekly achievement spam made it feel like we were further ahead than we actually were, but no less motivated despite it. Ulduar overflowed with achievements...and this was a good thing. In the wake of Wrath's raid difficulties plummeting to unrecognizable lows, a steady stream of rewards flashing onto the screen was a constant reminder that we were doing something a little bit better than the average raiding guild -- pushing ourselves a little bit harder, straining ourselves to reach for that carrot. Ostensibly, this is one of the reasons why Ulduar remains so vivid in the memory of longtime World of Warcraft raiders. Though the first tier of Wrath (Naxxramas, Eye of Eternity and Obsidian Sanctum) did have their own hard mode achievements, Ulduar was the first to truly embrace them. The performance of a highly skilled raid was tied directly to the activation of some of these hard modes. It wasn't just a raid setting in the UI. You flipped the switch if...and only if you could reach it. 

Many could try, but only raiders that brought the complete package to the table would have a shot at reaching for the switch to activate a hard mode. This is why Ulduar felt like it had real purpose and challenge layered into its depths. In the old days, the requirements to raid were severe and not for the casual-at-heart. Attunements alone kept most players far, far away from the floating necropolis, or the commandeered Auchenai spaceship floating above Netherstorm's cracked remains. But come Wrath, the flood gates opened wide, and so many long-time raiders looked upon the new instances with contempt and disgust.

And yet…

Ulduar kept secrets beyond that of what simply resided in the lore, for it contained a far more impactful gating process -- one not tied simply to quest execution or an arbitrary gold sink. At the dawn of a new era of raiding which embraced the masses, Ulduar's real challenge lay protected behind gates that only the accomplished and proven would reach. Unlike Naxxramas, The Eye of Eternity, or Obsidian Sanctum, where players could throw themselves at hard modes without having a shred of competency to stand on, there were specific encounters in Ulduar that tested your worthiness. It was not the type of instance that favored smashing your head against a brick wall -- again, and again, and again.

You had to have the DPS necessary to break XT-002's heart. 

You couldn't destroy any Saronite Vapors. 

You needed to get to Sif before she left Thorim's side… 

...You had to defeat Yogg-Saron minus keepers in order to craft Val’anyr.

These tests of worthiness, in turn, bled their consequences over those remaining hard modes activated by more trivial means. Raiders were compelled to choose those hard modes judiciously, to be prepared...as opposed to raiders of the past, mindlessly throwing themselves at Patchwerk in blissful ignorance, wondering why they were nowhere near the 3-minute kill achievement. In Ulduar, progression was palpable, not a thing used to describe an abstract concept, a quantity of boss kills, or a toggle on the UI. It's path was very real. You could see it. You could reach out and press it, as if it were a gigantic red button, buried deep within the Spark of Imagination.

Pressing it...had implications...