4.66. Pander Express

The Priest talent tree in Cataclysm (left) vs. Mists of Pandaria
(Source: GKick.net)

You Say Potato, I Say Casual

The remainder of BlizzCon 2011 played out like a turn-of-the-century medicine show. Every new "feature" and each new "bonus" filled me with suspicion rather than excitement. Each presenter traveled down that familiar road with, "Players are really gonna love this new ______" Which players were they referring to? I was an in-the-flesh representative of their core demographic, having loyally contributed my $14.99 for seven years, never wavering, never cancelling. They might as well have been speaking another language because few of their proposals made sense to me. And so my suspicion grew as I tried to figure out exactly who was getting the short end of the stick.

The Mists of Pandaria panel went off the rails faster than a Sony executive giving a security presentation. Talent Trees, long the staple of character progression in WoW, were gone for good. In their place were flattened, non-hierarchical utility rows sporting exactly three options. The developer panel declared that this new type of talent specialization allowed players to "geek out with more interesting character builds than ever." Interesting was a stretch, to say the least.

When questioned about the failure of the old trees, Blizzard stated they "provided false choice, constantly forcing players into the same cookie-cutter builds." Who decided that was necessarily a bad thing? The panel made zero acknowledgement of legacy talent trees serving a vital game design purpose: confirmation of proficiency.

There is something to be said for learning the ropes, playing around with options, discovering newer, stronger combinations, eventually working your way up to maximum effectiveness. That a select few theorycrafters streamlined this process didn't render the design of hierarchical talent trees ineffective, obsolete, or most importantly not fun. Recruitment just became an order of magnitude more administrative. If Blizzard thought I was going to believe that "all players spec'd into X" were worth vetting, I'd have asked them if their hiring practices allowed for a trial period of every single applicant that sends Blizzard a resume.

Suspicion eventually turned to outright disbelief as the panel revealed more planned features for the next WoW expansion. I shook my head through the entire portion of the panel dedicated to Pet Battles. Instead of watching their PowerPoint deck unfold, I just kept looking at the developers on the panel, trying to get a read on what they actually thought about their intention to blatantly ripoff Pokémon. Were they sitting upright, leaning forward, eyes wide, excited, thrilled even? Or were they lounging in resignation, tired, disengaged from the presentation. I had to know. Were they personally invested in these new changes? Or were these the actions of acceptance in surrender, like a Hemingway in search of shells?

I didn't get any vibes. Neither excitement nor complacency. Nothing. The developer panel carried themselves with the reserved professionalism of a corporate seminar delivering a road map.

The level of detail Blizzard put into the
Pandaren facial expressions was especially vivid and lifelike.

Reading From the Script

A few other DoDers managed to make their way to BlizzCon that year: Insayno, one of our newest members, met up with Goldy and I, as did Bonechatters, Zedman, and even-old schoolers Turtleman and Volitar made the trek to Anaheim. It wasn't nearly the showing that DoD made the previous year, but was respectable nonetheless.

I wandered the conference room floor aimlessly, sometimes with guildies, sometimes by myself, bumping shoulders with both civilians and Minecraft-themed Paladins. Goldy and I waited in line for a shot at the Diablo III PvP arena; it was surprisingly fun and was one more reason to look forward to the game's release.

Having come all this way meant a hands-on taste at the next expansion as well. I leveled a Panda through the starting area with conflicted emotion. The visuals, especially the animation, felt more alive than ever. The Pandaren were incomparable to any previous race added to the game. But the feel of the Monk and its resource system just felt...off. Their energy bar regenerated exactly as a Rogue's would. This new class was an opportunity for Blizzard to do something radically new, something unheard of in an MMO. Something (dare I say it) cool.

In my mind, I pictured an alternate resource system: a pendulum swinging back and forth (think Boomkin Eclipse bar, but at the speed of a metronome) that would reward a player for timing their attacks. As a player successively nailed each attack with the tick-tock of the pendulum, this would, in turn, increase the speed of the bob, faster and faster, eventually capping out at a frequency just fast enough to warrant practice and mastery. If successful, this would transport the player into a Kung Fu movie -- the player would feel like Bruce Lee, chaining attacks together with lightning speed. How awesome would that be?

But of course, that resource system would never fly. Too complicated. Too inaccessible. Too many moving parts and things to learn and guides to read and timings to master. Strategy guides would be replaced with forum rants, like BS monk resource system forces me to practice, or Thanks Blizzard, Monks unplayable because I lack rhythm. Players don't want homework. They just want to press buttons and get loot. 

Which players wanted that?

---

The dungeons and raids panel was more of the same. "We really want you to feel special" came across as inauthentic against the backdrop of a game increasingly designed to ensure no player could make a bad decision. Cory Stockton explained their approach to Raid Finder, slated for 4.3, reiterating the message that raids were still inaccessible.

"I never disagreed with that," I leaned over to Bonechatters, "but this isn't the right approach."

Dungeons from the outside! flashed up on the screen, as if this was some new concept never before heard of in WoW.

Bonechatters leaned back to me with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, "So, you mean like Zul'Farrak?" I nodded.

When the Q+A began, I crossed my arms, "This ought be good." What colossal injustices had been levied on the community? Having to work with other players to earn achievements cramping your style? Pressing a button to join a raid still too complex a task for you to wrap your head around? Typing in your username and password too much of a chore?

One of the Blues Brothers asked how kicking and the queue system would work in Raid Finder. Cory responded with Blizzard's algorithm intending to monitor abusers historically. "We want to allow people to kick, but we also don't want people to be kicked for no reason."

"Good answer," I said to Boney, "but it doesn't work today in Dungeons. Rando players make boneheaded judgement calls all the time."

"I've been kicked from LFD plenty," Boney whispered back.

"Exactly. How's this gonna suddenly start working for Raid Finder?" Boney just shrugged back a response.

Another fan stepped up and asked why legendaries couldn't be designed so that guilds could assign it to the most deserving player rather than a class, letting the item take the form appropriate for that player's role. I loved that question. I struggled to find ways to acknowledge specific star performers and wished for flexibility like this.

Cory rebutted the idea by starting off with, "I think you'll lose the luster of the fact that anyone can get it at that point..."

"Wait a second," I whispered back to Boney, catching the contradiction, "It's OK to get everybody into raids, regardless of their competency, but it's not OK to give everyone everything they want?"

Boney broke out the self-deprecation, "Sounds a little duplicitous to me."

Handy translation for the BlizzCon 2011 Dungeons & Raids panel:
1. Make the game easier.
2. Make the game easier.
3. Make the game easier.
4. Do things we've done before but call them something different.
5. Throw 1% of our players a bone, since 99% of them will queue
for a dungeon with a button click.

Poker Face

One player asked if Blizzard might consider splitting the 10- and 25-Man achievements back up, in order to more accurately acknowledge the effort, and difference in difficulty, separately.

But I thought 10s and 25s were exactly the same in difficulty!

That's when I caught my first vibe of authenticity. Not in the answer, but in what came before it. Just before responding to the question, Scott Mercer let out a deep sigh. Frustration. Contention. An ongoing battle waged behind closed doors, of designers divided, and of second thoughts on good intentions. It didn't really matter what Scott said after that. The tell said all that needed to be said.

The panel announced the final question. A kid in a hoodie, braces across his teeth, and Scott Pilgrim hair, leaned into the mic.

"Hi, what's going on? I was just wondering how, in Ulduar and, y'know, heroic Lich King...like, when you did Zero Light and you did heroic Lich King, you would get Invincible...you would get...uh... y'know, the no-head mount. It was 100% on hard mode. But in Firelands, you guys made normal mode people get the firehawk mount. And it made people, like, who got Firelord...it was just kinda like a bummer that...you can see these, like, noobs or whatever...running around on mounts that you kinda have to work for to get, y'know? Do you, like, plan on continuing to do that? Just keep giving these awesome mounts to people who don't deserve it?"

The crowd cheered for the first time during the panel. Had the kid struck a nerve? I leaned over to Boney, "You need to recruit Michael Cera after this raid panel is over." Color me impressed.

Less impressive, by far, was Blizzard's answer.

Scott looked at Cory and began his response after a chuckle, "On heroic you did get them every single time you killed them, on normal I don't think that's the case..."

Cory shook his in his disagreement, confirming Cera's observation, "It was random drop."

As if he had said nothing at all, Scott ignored Cory's clarification and continued his response, "...so, you were rewarded more, like...y'know..."

Cory tossed in some help to save his drowning teammate, "...and it's a different color!"

Silence washed across the crowd, save for mild muttering amongst one another, musing on the non-answer. To break the awkward silence, Cory immediately rolled into why good rewards would be kept out of raid finder and reserved only for the normal/heroic raids in Mists of Pandaria.

I looked back at Bonechatters and said, "I think my favorite part of Cataclysm is how it was all just one big experiment."

I left the Dungeons and Raids panel rethinking my stance on Mike Morhaime's free Diablo III offer. The more Blizzard opened their mouths, the more I came to believe there was a new WoW demographic they were targeting. It disappointed me to think that the core subscribers -- those diligent, loyal subs that had paid the bills all these years -- were now the guinea pigs.

Blizzard's attention was solely focused on ruining their MMO by designing for players whose defining characteristic was that they didn't like MMOs.

4.13. Return to BlizzCon

A mage with polymorphed target,
BlizzCon 2010

If You Could See What I Hear

In the first episodes of "The Guild", a hyperkinetic gamer faces her worst fear: the people she games with become a part of her real life. As Codex's dual realities collide, awkward shenanigans follow. The show's beauty is in how comically accurate Felicia Day's characters mirror common stereotypes: The Antisocial Introvert, The Model Parent, The Infatuated Stalker, The Bitch, The Commander Obsessed With Practicality, The Kid That's Not a Kid And Tired of Being Treated Like One. The Guild's portrayal of gamers is meant to be light-hearted and satirical, but peel away the jokes and the show's accuracy hits closer to home than you might think. We don't often get an opportunity to interact with our rosters in real life -- it's an invaluable trove of peripheral data that helps you understand motivations and intent. Navigating the personalities of your guild is already a challenge, and if you aren't paying enough attention, you may miss the cue that walks you directly into a tree.

Options for getting face time in Descendants of Draenor was limited. The locals were the most obvious contenders: Graulm, Evilexan, Selga, Volitar, Kizmet. Those who traveled to (or through) Denver were the next best bets. Burburbur flew in for his twin brother's wedding one year, and we hooked up at the Mongolian BBQ near Market Street Station. He was burly, with a thick head of hair and a beard covering a wide grin. Bur was the kind of guy you'd expect to prefer game hunting as a hobby, rather than moving a digital warrior in and out of a Vaelastrasz rotation. As if to fulfill some prophecy, he famously held up a boss pull one evening to put a bullet between the eyes of a raccoon getting too familiar with his garbage.

Bheer was another visitor, showing up for a conference one year. I bolted out of the office and raced down 16th St., to meet him for beers in a hotel lobby. He was a big boy, perhaps a reflection of the love of his namesake, but to be fair, it isn't difficult to dwarf me. We sat for hours in that lobby, drinking and sharing tales of Vanilla raiding, how the game had changed, and what was next in store for DoD.

Last on the opportunity list were those I visited when travelling, and those options were far and few between. Work took me to Dallas, TX on corporate sponsored trips, stomping grounds to my warlock officer Eacavissi. I got a chance to sit down and listen to him unravel the mysteries buried deeply in organic nanomaterials. His Ph.D. was still several years away, but Eaca's knowledge of solar cells was intimidating, if not borderline obsessive...at least, to the lay person.

Those who lived near me, those who came to visit, and those who I visited, didn't even add up to a baker's dozen. The only other opportunity to meet guildies face-to-face was at the pivotal event for all things Blizzard. This time, I'd face nearly twenty of them at once.

Chris Metzen delivers the "Geek Is" intro,
BlizzCon 2010

California Dreamin'

BlizzCon eluded me for four years. I was able to fit the initial event in, back in 2005, but obstacles conveniently got in the way in the years to follow. Blizzard took 2006 off, assumedly to focus on getting The Burning Crusade out the door. When BlizzCon returned in '07, the fall date had been pushed forward, conflicting with our trip to the Great White North. The timing was right for '08, returning to October, but their freshly launched online ticket purchase system had other plans. I spammed F5 as best I could, but only the very lucky made their way to the 'Con that year. As for BlizzCon 2009, it once again crossed over the family vacation, so I traded the company of nerds for those invested in hydraulic fracturing.

At long last, plans to attend BlizzCon finally came together in 2010.

Goldenrod was my host and chauffeur. Slightly taller than me, his brownish hair and beard bore the faintest tinge of red, and he greeted me at the airport with a warm smile and a firm handshake. We darted through the traffic of a surprisingly busy parking garage, ending up at his Scion, which he affectionately referred to as his "toaster on wheels". As we drove off into the night, my phone unrelented with non-stop arrival announcements.

"This is my life," I said, Goldenrod laughing in response, "even when I'm not online, I'm guild leading."

---

The morning of October 22nd was layered a thin, almost fog-like mist. It was nothing at all that I expected of California, but Goldy confirmed it not uncommon in that climate, guaranteed to pass. We ate at Ruby's on Balboa Pier, the pacific ocean painting a backdrop behind my guildy. I watched his mannerisms carefully as he spilled his guts. The breakfast confessional began with his history in DoD, WoW in general, his love/hate relationship with mages. Soon, he transitioned into real life: relationship struggles, his faith, career aspirations, and living in California. As the conversation carried on, he was attentive and nodded frequently, shoegazing at times with particularly difficult reveals, but looked directly at me when acknowledging his past. There were no surprises here: he hated his mistakes. I reassured him not to dwell, "Join the club." I told him to put his first guild exit out of his mind, and agreed that emotions govern more than what we'd like to admit. "You're aware of it, now. That's huge. More than can be said for a huge group of humanity that lives in denial." The rattle of my phone snapped us both back into reality, and it was then that I noticed Goldy's prophecy fulfilled -- the mist was gone.

Goldy dropped me off at the convention center, then disappeared back to work, hoping to finagle an early dismissal. I meandered my way through the massive line-up wrapping around the convention center, snapping pictures of cosplayers and searching for my next guildy: Joredin. He found me, and spent a few minutes catching up, having to yell over the occasional wave of FOR THE HORDE screams that cascaded across the crowd. It was great to have him back, and the work he'd done for the guild's 10-man team management helped set the stage for the Tactician rank I was about to bestow upon him.

The line began to move, and we wove our way into the convention center. Before long, we were seated and watching Chris Metzen deliver his infamous "Geek Is" introduction. After digesting a barrage of reveals like the Demon Hunter and DOTA for StarCraft II, I was eager to navigate the conference floor, but the loss of time was dizzying as we bounced from one display to the next. The buzz of incoming text messages continued to flood in, and I elbowed Joredin, "That was Taba. There's a handful of them at the hotel." As we headed toward the doors, Chris Metzen himself stepped out of the crowd of faces, just long enough for me to stop him for a picture.

Joredin (left), Chris Metzen, and Hanzo,
BlizzCon 2010

Information Overload

Taba waved me up to second floor from the balcony. I climbed up the steps, slapped Taba on the back, and shoved my way into his hotel room as a pushy guild leader should. Four more faces awaited Joredin and I. Taba's girlfriend Nikada, freshly inducted into DoD as a Death Knight, was there, her most noticeable feature being long, dark black hair. Omaric rose to meet me with a handshake, "In the flesh." I was immediately struck by how short he was. "Omaric, what the Sam Hell is going on?" I glanced past him to see Sixfold and his girlfriend, immediately locking in on his hair swept up into a fauxhawk,  and a single silver loop punctured through his eyebrow. I bypassed the formalities, "Did you bring them?" Six rustled around his suitcase and produced a small red box with a label that read du MAURIER. He handed me the familiar Canadian brand of cigarettes, and I tore the plastic off. Taba looked surprised, "Wow, Hanzo. I didn't know you smoked."

"I don't," I said, shooting him an unwavering stare while I lit and inhaled, "Let's eat."

---

Sixfold lounged in his chair, the glint of the afternoon sun occasionally bouncing off his eyebrow ring. His ultra laid-back casualness was in stark contrast to Taba, who seemed to fidget in his chair, shifting constantly as he discussed the 'Con. Omaric reached across the table to grab a handful of nachos, "So, Hanzo. You upset about them cancelling the contest?" Both Omaric and I came to the 'Con prepared with a arsenal of possible options for this year's voice talent contest, only to find that the contest had been cancelled due to lack of interest.

I took a drag off my cigarette, "I'm fucking distraught over the decision, to be honest."

He laughed. It would've been a great challenge to go up against Omaric's incredible vocal talent. My plan was to hit the audience with a recreation of the entire Wilfred Fizzlebang/Lord Jaraxxus intro, complete with a new hilarious ending that the raiders of the 'Con would appreciate. Alas, it wasn't meant to be. As Omaric revealed his own plans to knock out a kick-ass impression of Prince Malchezaar, I was continually struck by how much presence his voice carried, not at all matching the frame of the guy sitting next to me. Omaric was easily the shortest and youngest looking of the group, with large blue eyes and tufts of whiskers struggling to burst forth from his chin. He was tearing his way out of boyhood with ferocity, his commanding, deep voice leading the charge.

Taba definitely gave off that youthful vibe; easy, considering he was ten years younger than me. I kept going back to his glasses: rectangular (like mine), but with much thinner frames, and more prominently squared off at the corners. I can't tell you why I hyper-focused on this particular attribute, yet I was continually distracted by it. I watched as he trading talking for drinking, slowly bleeding the pitcher of beer away amid random bursts of cheers and excitement that he'd been known for over Ventrilo.

I turned to the gal sitting next to Bonechatters, revealed as Rainaterror, who had been quiet thus far. I quizzed her on career choices in an attempt to learn more about the people comprising my guild, "So what do you do?"

"I'm a teacher."

"Ah, nice. Education. And why'd you go that particular route?"

She shrugged, "I dunno. Something to pay the bills, I guess."

Who becomes a teacher...to pay the bills?

My phone rattled again, this time, from Moolickalot:

Drecca's here.

I thumbed back a response that we were on our way, then sat up and made an announcement to the table, "Let's wrap this up, folks. We've got another Pally in the house."