3.52. The Case of the Sinister Squashling

"The Headless Loser"
Artwork by Sum (After-Eleven)

The Righteous One

There were bodies everywhere.

The entrance to the Scarlet Monastery's graveyard was awash with bones. A massive assault between the Alliance and the Horde had taken place here, racing against one another toward the swirling glow of the instance door. Nestled deep in the northeastern hills of the gloomy Tirisfal Glades was a low-level dungeon WoW players had all grown familiar with, and one of the first memorable instances of Vanilla. In the days of yore, the Scarlet Monastery was split into four separate wings, and entrance to each was gained by its own respective doorway. As far back as I can remember, WoW players attacked these individual wings in the order of right to left. The eastern-most door exposed the Library, the end of which revealed a key that, in turn, granted access to the next door to its immediate left -- the Armory. Once through the Armory, players shifted left again to the Cathedral, ending with the death of High Inquisitor Whitemane. As the silver-haired zealot breathed her final breath, WoW players typically patted each other on the back and went their separate ways. Oft ignored, the fourth and western-most door led those few players who took note of it down into a torture chamber, eventually emerging at the entrance to a graveyard. There was little loot of importance in this area and no quest chain directed players to it, so the rows of headstones went largely neglected by the player base. Most players didn't even know it existed.

That is, until Blizzard added the Hallow's End world event to the game.

During our in-game version of Halloween, many a World of Warcraft player's speakers are filled with the blood curdling laugh of the Headless Horseman. For a week in October, a ghostly spectre gallops across the night sky on the back of his fiery warhorse, pitching pumpkin-head bombs down onto the rooftops of various towns throughout the land, leaving them ablaze in his wake. Players seek him out in his penultimate hiding spot: the Scarlet Monastery graveyard, in the hopes of acquiring his coveted Horseman's Reins, awarding the player the very same fiery warhorse the horseman rides. The Headless Horseman also happens to drop a number of other unique items that players use to augment their gear, and even has a chance to drop a unique pet -- a tiny plant-like creature boasting a jack-o-lantern as a head. Many completionists strove to collect pets like these, so the Sinister Squashling could, at times, be as important to a player as the mount.

Upon my arrival at Brill, the Horseman's echoing voice recited his infamous poem which preceded his cackle of delight.

Prepare yourselves, the bells have tolled! 

Shelter your weak, your young and your old! 

Each of you shall pay the final sum. 

Cry for mercy, the reckoning has come!

I watched as the Horseman gleefully fire-bombed the town, watching as low level noobs scrambled to figure out the water brigade mechanic; a terribly simple point-and-click targeting system allowing them to toss buckets of water on the fire. As was typical of the new players, it wasn't simple enough, and the town burned while they spun randomly in place, shouting obscenities in general chat in frustration. I was too busy to help them, currently en route to the Scarlet Monastery.

"Are you the guild leader of Descendants of Draenor?" an anonymous player asked as a whisper arrived

"I am. What can I help you with?"

"I want to report one of your players for being a ninja."

I couldn't tell if my screen went red because I had aggro'd some new monster...or because all the blood was rushing into my eyeballs with fury. It was not going to be a good day for a guildy.

All of the bosses in the original four-wing
version of Scarlet Monastery

In Contempt

I proceeded to field whispers from the anonymous alleged victim who claimed there was a ninja stowing away aboard my ship. Arriving at the entrance to the graveyard now peppered with the bones of slain players, his story continued to unfold.

"What was the item in question?" I asked the player.

"Squashling," was the lone word typed back to me. 

"And who is the supposed ninja in question?"

"Hellspectral."

The virtual rolodex spun in my head; his name was only vaguely familiar. I knew he was a fresh recruit, finding his way into the 25-Man rotations a number of times. He did respectable damage as a death knight. Now, more than half way through Wrath of the Lich King, death knights were everywhere. Their uniquely powerful abilities coupled with their ease-of-play and expedited leveling (starting at 55 rather than 1) quickly made out death knights to be labeled the supreme douchebags of the game. It saddened me, because I felt class was more fun to play than any other. They were attractive because they were new, because they were overpowered. To both seasoned and amateur players, death knights appeared to require no skill whatsoever. This assumption simply added to the illusion. Regardless of what impassioned death knight players knew as fact, the court of public opinion had long since rested their case. Even the hardcore death knight players managed to crank up the asshole quotient on the Elitist Jerks forums, leading moderators like Kaubel to shorten the rope to such a degree that nearly every single post in the DK thread was deemed worthless. Even within the protective sphere of Descendants of Draenor, an expression was repeated jokingly that I had to take in stride:

Not all death knights are bad players, but all bad players play death knights.

This across-the-board punity towards death knights would be Hellspectral's only saving grace...if he were to get any at all. Loot problems were abound and the most recent events had left me fuming. He picked a shit-poor time to violate a fundamental rule in DoD and I would not stand for it. Ethical indiscretions were the most egregious. If the anonymous player spoke the truth, Hellspectral would soon be on the receiving end of a swift boot in the ass out of the guild. This was a non-negotiable, no second chances, no "just hear me out" type of rule. Break it...and you're dead to me.

"I'll have a word with him. Thanks for the report and I apologize in advance. If it turns out to be true, I expect he won't be in the guild much longer."

I popped open the roster, and saw him online.

"Hellspectral. Need a quick word with you."

"Yep."

"I just received a report that you ninja'd an item."

"Yep."

Wow...the balls! I admired his honesty; the cojones on some players were made of far thicker steel than I could imagine. My itchy trigger finger hovered above the "Remove Member" button in the guild roster. As I debated taking this a step further, I remembered the promise I made to myself early on in the reboot of the guild. You can't save everybody. Put the energy into only those you deem saveable. You have a life to lead outside of WoW and can't spend every waking minute trying to convert people to your way of life. If they aren't going to take that path on their own, it isn't your job to hold their hand.

"Thanks for being up front with me. Sadly, we don't behave like that in this guild. Best of luck to you."

I clicked the bright red button, and in an instant, Hellspectral was purged from the guild. As guild chat lit up with the typical curiosity surrounding a member's removal, I typed a message back to all of them:

"Hope the Squashling was worth it."

Unbeknownst to me, a freshly appointed melee officer was moving quickly behind the scenes. It was an attempt to repair the damage caused by a short-tempered guild leader fed up hearing about loot issues.

"Sinister Squashling I Choose You"
Artwork by Wendy Harmon

A Roll of the Dice

I stood at the doorway to the graveyard, bones scattered randomly at my feet. A night elf druid turned a corner and shifted into cat form, racing for the door as the familiar sprint sound effect kicked out of my speakers. Some Horde players collapsed onto the feline and tore it apart as it struggled to shift out the barrage of snares. I dropped a single Chains of Ice onto the druid while the remaining Horde finished him off, and the purple-skinned abomination fell lifeless inches from sanctuary. Whispers began to arrive in my chat window.

"Jungard says I should tell you the story anyway."

The damage is done, I thought. Why waste my time with this any further? But if what he said was true, I owed it to Jungard to hear this ex-guildy out. After spending as much time as I had debating who to put into a role of leadership, it seemed counter-intuitive to not consider Jungard's opinion if he felt the issue demanded it. I owed it to him.

"I'm listening."

"K, just a sec."

I took a deep breath and remembered the recent events surrounding loot, waiting for Hellspectral's full confession. Had I let these events cloud my judgement? Or was it the fact that he was just another douchebag death knight, the likes of which few in WoW were giving the time of day to. Before my conscience wracked me with guilt, the ex-guildy shot over his first response:

"What happened was we killed the horseman and the pet dropped and we all rolled need. The other guy and I both rolled a 77. Then the pet went to me."

A tie-breaker. In Blizzard's loot system, if multiple players tie on a roll of the dice, the game is programmed to re-roll quietly and automatically issue the item to those who tied the first roll. In other words, World of Warcraft itself breaks the tie, completely out of the hands of any player. In this case, Hellspectral pulled ahead as the lucky winner. So where did the 'ninja' part come into play? I kept my cards close to the chest to see what else he'd cough up on his own, the kind of strategy I commonly employed to extract info from unsuspecting players.

"Go on."

"Sec."

The temporary quietness around the graveyard’s entrance was a bit unnerving. Suddenly, Moonfire spam boomed out of my speakers from behind me. I spun Mature around to see another druid headed toward the door. My death knight reached out with an icy grip and snared the druid with another Chains of Ice cast. The druid shifted, its icy chains shattering and falling to the tiled floor, and its cheetah form bolted for the door. Instantly, the druid was stunned in place by a charging warrior who appeared near me, driving his blades into the druid's spotted fur. The night elf cried out, spun, and toppled quickly. I watched while the warrior stood atop the fallen druid and performed an MC Hammer-themed dance as a sign of victory. Another wall of text arrived in my chat window.

"So then the other guy says it was tie we need to roll again to be fair. And I said that ain't gonna happen. And he got all up in my face about it and said he was going to report me for being a ninja and I said make sure you spell my name right."

I laughed.

"That's it?"

"That's it."

I shook my head at the audacity of some players; you could cut the sheer entitlement with a butcher knife. It was as if the game was made for them, and them alone. Apparently the "massive" part of massively multi-online means nothing. Then...the realization set in. I had made a terrible mistake. Recent loot events had prevented me from giving this random death knight an opportunity to give me his side of the story. The World of Warcraft player base had collectively decided to label death knights as outcasts, and err on the side of not bothering to give them the time of day. Now I stood among them. The hypocrite.

Hellspectral has joined the guild.

I typed a response back to the unjustly crucified death knight.

"Please accept my sincere apologies, Hells. You behaved exactly as anyone would be expected to. We're respectful to other players but that doesn't mean we bend to their every demand, especially outrageous ones. Thank you for being honest. And for giving a shit about being a member here."

Hellspectral was gracious and humble, "no prob."

Whispers arrived shortly thereafter from Fred mirroring Jungard's position. Both were glad to hear it had worked out; they regarded Hells as a quality member regardless of tenure. Leadership is not a one-man show. If I had put a player less attuned to the needs of others in that role of responsibility, Hellspectral may never have set foot in Descendants of Draenor again. I took comfort in the knowledge that I was putting the right people in charge, and was appreciative that this mistake could be reversed.

I would soon learn the value of being called out on my decision. An emergency situation would cause me to turn to the nearly-ejected death knight to solve a problem that, once again, came completely out of left field. I needed a solution, and fast. The strongest arm of my 25-Man progression raid hung in the balance: the melee team.

3.25. ...IN THE MOUNTAINS

The 25-Man Progression team defeats Ignis,
wrapping "Heroic, The Siege of Ulduar",
Ulduar

Unnecessary Nerfs

The strangest part of the Ulduar nerfs wasn't that they started coming in after the first week.

The concept of struggling on each boss in an instance was quickly fading into obscurity. As we drove our siege engines into battle, sowing fiery chaos and tearing Flame Leviathan apart in one pull, memories of brick-walling on Razorgore the Untamed seemed as though it were a bad dream. Those encounters that demanded our undivided attention for weeks on end were swept to the back of the room to collect dust while achievement spam flashed on our screens like fireworks. Even I had trouble remembering some of those events now. My attention would drift like a bored kid in school. Was Kael'thas four weekends of work? Or was it five? Vashj was three, so it must have been four...yeah, that's it. Then, I'd be jarred back into reality as the fireworks went off. "Heroic: Nerf Engineering". "Heroic: Disarmed". We pressed on, deeper in Ulduar, the walls of the ancient city telling stories of events that had also become the stuff of legend.

The strangest part of the Ulduar week-one nerfs was that they were to bosses we'd already defeated.

As Cheeseus set us up for our first attempts on Ignis the Furnace Master, I pondered the need for nerfs after only one week. By now, we'd gotten used to the typical ebb and flow of raid instance evolution. They'd hit the PTR, get tested by the hardcore guilds, providing Blizzard with valuable feedback on what was both over and undertuned. They'd adjust, considering the public commentary along with their own internal testing test results. Eventually, the instance would come out and, they peer into the Matrix, watching closely, monitoring how quickly raid teams cleared through, balancing against how frustrated players would be with a certain encounter. Blizzard's modus operandi had always been to err on the side of "too difficult", then relax the reins a bit when the time came. In those early days, nerfs were far and few between; C'thun alone went for months without an adjustment before both the players and Blizzard came to a "mutual understanding" that he was unbeatable in his original form.

Of course, C'thun was under Tigole's watch, not Ghostcrawler's.

The room shook as Ignis crashed to the ground, and my screen lit up with "Heroic: The Siege of Ulduar", indicating we were officially one quarter through the instance. There was no rest for the wicked. We plowed through XT-002's playpen, and crossed the bridge formed by Kologarn's fragemented body, at last coming to a wide circular room, exposing four exits along its compass points. The center of the room was hollowed out, providing a balcony-like view down into a pit that bore a single female figure of giant-like stature, perhaps Vrykul. Our attention wasn't toward the stranger in the pit, however. Instead, we eyed another woman that patrolled The Observation Ring, flanked by feline guards. When I caught my first glance, images flashed into my mind: The Maiden of Grief. The Maiden of Virtue. Ironaya.

Watchers for the Titans. This was Auriaya.

After only a few attempts, a blood curdling scream filled our headphones, and the cursed titan watcher fell over dead, the screen flashing with "Heroic: The Antechamber of Ulduar". At the end of the second week, we were half-way through Ulduar, and had yet to come across anything even remotely considered a roadblock. Yet the nerfs continued to roll in. By the start of the third week, every boss we'd defeated had been nerfed, save Flame Leviathan. Two of them, the Assembly and Kologarn, had been nerfed twice. For many of the raiders, it was a serious boost to their ego. All I could think was: we're good, but c'mon...were we really that good?

Or was it that the rest of the player-base was really that bad?

Auriaya falls, completing
"Heroic: The Antechamber of Ulduar",
Ulduar

Controlling Our Own Fate

May 1st, 2009 marked the start of our 3rd week in Ulduar, and for us, that meant the start of cranking up the difficulty. Cheeseus announced to the team that we would begin by leaving one tower up for Flame Leviathan. The "increased difficulty" had the impact of a mosquito bite. After one try, "Heroic: Orbital Bombardment" was added to our completion list. From there, we quickly moved to Ignis to try our hand at another achievement. In the standard execution of the Furnace Master, Iron Constructs come to life and are picked up by the off-tank, dragged through Ignis' fiery circle of molten flames that painted the floor. Once super-heated, they are then dragged to pools of water, instantly cooling them -- and making them as brittle as glass. This was the signal for one of our top ranged DPSers to blow them apart in a single blast of no less than 2000 damage. The achievement Cheeseus set us up to perform involved coordinating two Iron Constructs to be exploded within five seconds of each other. We accomplished this without much effort, earning us: "Heroic: Shattered".

Boss after boss met their fate at the hands of the 25-Man Progression team, without cause for fear or concern. "Farm" status may have lost the prestige it once held, but with that loss also went the threat of RNG jeopardizing our progression schedule. In Ulduar, I felt like we truly had the power to control our own fate. Staying dedicated and adhering to the basic expectations I levied on our raiders, we always made one step forward...and never two steps back. We could count on clearing every boss we had defeated, which allowed us to more accurately gauge how realistic each week's new goals were. It was empowering to be able to say "Our goal is to get through Thorim", free from the concern of not even reaching him because "XT-002 didn't want to play nice" or Kologarn's eye-beams were "completely random and unavoidable".

Just because you had a boss on farm status in Vanilla...didn't automatically make it a loot piñata.

---

Thorim required us to split our raid into two groups, one focused in the amphitheater, while the second raced down a gauntlet-style hallway. The amphitheater team dealt with waves of iron dwarves and vrykul, while the gauntlet team worked their way up the staircase that led to a rear entrance of the stage on which Thorim and Sif were perched. This was the easy part. Once the gauntlet team surprised Thorim, the encounter shifted into its second phase. Thorim lept down into the arena as our teams converged. Two tanks traded holding him in the center, switching when afflicted with Unbalancing Strike, a debuff that would kill us in a single hit. Meanwhile, Thorim's lightning crackled across the room among a series of rods along the outer rim. Avoiding the lightning was vital; striking any one of us would chain the electricity from person to person, slaying players in the process. And if by any chance that lightning happened to jump back to the two tanks, they would be destroyed in an instant, making a wipe imminent. Two tanks were absolutely necessary due to the debuff; only one tank meant eventual swift death.

So, me being face down in the dirt wasn't boding well for our attempt.

An expired Mature watches as Poprocks (Annihilation)
performs emergency tanking on Thorim,
Ulduar

Tools of a Death Knight

There was a fundamental difference between Death Knight tanks and tanks who'd come before us. Warriors and Paladins each had a specific spec to tank in, Protection, and with that spec came a multitude of tools to mitigate incoming damage. The Death Knight differed in that it could Tank and DPS from any spec, and while they still relied on gear to push crits off the table, the magic came from the simple switch into frost presence. And since a Death Knight had damage mitigation talents in all three specs (Vampiric Blood for Blood, Unbreakable Armor for Frost, and Bone Shield for Unholy), Death Knights were extraordinarily good at diminishing the impact of incoming damage. These tree-specific abilities, when coupled with the tools native to each spec -- be they Icebound Fortitude or Death Strike -- made a DPS Death Knight a near complete replacement for a tank in an emergency.

Of course, we'd have to be lucky enough to have a Death Knight on hand that was crazy enough to prioritize mitigation talents over raw DPS. Perhaps a player that prioritized survivability in PvP over mindless boss kills in raids.

A player like Annihilation.

---

Phase Two was chaotic as we struggled to spread out, a tactic we'd consistently performed poorly over the years. I continued to swap during Unbalancing Strike, waiting for the next Lightning Rod call. I urged the raid to move into "Gauntlet Mode" for fights like these, swiveling the camera so that it faced directly down onto the group, a top-down view like the classic video game from which it took its name. In this view, the direction of the lightning was clearly visible, so players could move before it lit them up. But positioning was still a challenge. The healers struggled to keep Dalans and I alive, our new positions continuing to plague the rest of the raid with health spikes as lightning jumped across players.

In the last attempt of the evening, it was my turn to eat dirt. Whether it was due to the healers becoming used to the fact that I took the least amount of damage, or due to a series of chain events leading to their death, I can't say for certain. All I remember is that as Thorim's health dropped below 10%, I was killed in an instant while Unbalancing Strike was still on the other tank. It was at that moment that Annihilation, my trusted ex-Warrior officer and steadfast PvPer -- who happened to be present on his Death Knight that evening --flipped his frost presence on burned Icebound Fortitude while the raid continued to pour every ounce of damage they could into Thorim. As Unbalancing Strike continued to tick off of Dalans, the healers kept Annihilation alive, as he churned through more cooldowns, his health spiking wildly...but never emptying out. Unbalancing Strike finally hit Anni, and he handed Thorim back to Dalans, while DPS continued the burn. At last, Thorim halted the fight, awakened from his hypnosis, indicating that we'd completed the encounter.

Saved by a Death Knight.

3.2b. Master of One

Mature, near the end of The Burning Crusade,
before being sacrificed to The Lich King

Kerulak of All Trades

"Just wanted to let you know I really like all of the changes I've read so far."

I glanced down at the IM window on my desktop, then drew the window's focus to the front just long enough to fire back a response.

"Thanks! Burned a lot of hours on it."

I dragged the IM window to the side and returned to my code. I had a suspicion the conversation wasn't quite over yet. Sure enough, a status bar left hints that more digital letters were en route.

Ekasra is typing…

"And I really want to be a part of that core team again. Whatever DoD needs, I want to help. Which is why I'm asking if there is anything you think I should do differently this time around."

I stopped typing a moment and began to process his request. Instincts buried deep in the recesses of my brain screamed out as muscle memory reached for the keys. Remember your new rules. Don't start flushing them down the toilet now. You haven't even given them a chance yet. I listened. I wanted to fire off the first impulsive answer that came to mind, the same thing I had told a hundred other players when asking for a spot in the guild: we need healers. There were never enough healers. And as much as I knew Ekasra struggled with the role, I knew we'd need them. And falter without them.

But.

It went against the new guild order. Buried among the layers of documentation that read like an employee handbook sat my new declaration on changes to the Application Process.

We will no longer tell people what we need; we will ask them what they enjoy playing.

This was one of the most important fundamental changes I put into place for Descendants of Draenor at the start of Wrath; a methodology that erupted from my own volcanic experiences as a raider.

---

There was a time, near the beginning of the game, where the shaman filled me with a deep sense of importance and belonging. Out from behind the administrative desk of a guild leader, I played the role of healer. Every waking moment in-game was spent learning and re-learning the mechanics. Keyboard layouts were changed. Gear was min/maxxed. Mana management was a constant challenge, and I learned about the 5 second rule, as well as the difference between proactive and reactive heals. The biggest challenges came from learning to move and heal, a feat nearly impossible to do well as a shaman in Vanilla. In the early days, my attention was undivided -- Kerulak, or GTFO. Because of this focused attention, I emerged with enough healing expertise to act as a mentor to others.

When a crisis struck the guild halfway through The Burning Crusade, it became apparent that I was the only viable person in the roster to rely on for a shadow priest. I did exactly that and it never felt right. The raid had replenishment, but I experienced neither enjoyment nor fulfillment. I liked the class well enough, but the loss of control was palpable. Meanwhile, there were various strikes against Zanjina. Her race/class combo wasn't optimal for raiding; undead shadow priests dominated the meters with their additional dot Devouring Plague...and Berzerking simply didn't make up for the lost damage. Itemization was exceedingly poor. Shadow priests often waited until tier 6 before opting to slough off their crafted gear while their fellow raiders enjoyed tier 4 and 5 upgrades along the way. More than anything, I felt I lacked expertise as the result of being pulled in both the direction of the shaman and the priest. I was spread too thinly. It was difficult to act as a leader when I gave off all the tell-tale signs of a novice at the wheel. The sacrifice I made for the guild may have helped us get over the hurdles of TBC, but I wasn't having fun.

Thinking about those struggles with Zanjina reminded me of all the players who fought tooth and nail to get into the roster as a specific role I told them to adopt because 'the guild needed it'. And then watched them flounder, flopping around like some useless Magikarp out of water. They wanted to experience the end game, and I felt obligated to jam square pegs into round holes to make it happen. That misguided compassion produced a very mediocre group of raiders; a handful of players unenthusiastic about their role in the team. Unenthusiastic...and unskilled.

That would come to an end in Wrath of the Lich King.

Snippet of the
Raid Slot Template

Don't Ask, Don't Tell

Along with the rest of the guildies now madly racing to level 80, I directed Ekasra's attention over to one of my newest forum posts. Titled "Raid Slot Template", it was a forum post tailored for a very specific mission. Down the left-hand column of the post were familiar names of both old and new guildies. Three headers sectioned each group of names off: Tanks, Healers, and DPS. Next to each player's name, a cryptic set of letters and numbers marked each entry:

Bretthew (T:212) (M) (H:198)

Contrary to popular belief, these were not chapters and verses of the King James Bible. They were, however, very carefully coded updates which would inform both the officers and the guild itself about our progress in becoming raid ready. In the above example, Bretthew, a paladin, had currently acquired tanking gear pushing his average ilvl up to 212. Meanwhile, he built an alternate set of healing gear which sat at ilvl 198. Bretthew had absolutely no interest in melee DPS, and therefore, wasn't pursuing it, didn't have any items that could fulfill it...and most importantly, I would not consider him for a role in it. He would never ask, nor would I ever have to tell.

Thanks to the raid slot template, all players focused on joining the 25-Man progression team could post what gear they had acquired, which in turn, allowed me to see what role they desired. That desire was reflected not by a thinly veiled statement like "YOU NEED HEALERS? I CAN HEAL!!!", but rather, as quantifiable progress that player was making in the acquisition of gear. As posts filled this forum thread, the officers and I continued to update the original post, keeping the channels of communication flowing at all times. Day or night, anyone could check where our deficiencies lay or surpluses overflowed. The raid slot template empowered players to make judgement calls about either switching gears, or treading the beaten path toward their original vision of end game raiding.

The beauty of the raid slot template is that it drove the raid team's balance by itself; it effectively removed me from the decision-making process. Guilt no longer hovered over me as it had when I compelled players to take on roles they didn't know nor enjoy. Likewise, if players couldn't find a spot in progression, they had nobody to blame but themselves. There wasn't some dark conspiracy at work, no evil villains named Sir Klocker or Dalans lurked in the shadows, twirling waxy mustaches in diabolical laughter as handfuls of guildies "who weren't their friends" were excised from raids.

Everything a player in DoD needed to know to join the 25-Man progression team was right there in front of them. No more excuses. Just the plain truth. Here's where we are; here's where we need to be. Choose wisely.

---

Ekasra, like many others, used the Raid Slot Template to help guide their own decision making process in finding a spot they could call their own.

"Based on what I'm seeing, looks like we're still a little light in the warlock department. Maybe I should try that."

Remember your new rules.

"Do you enjoy warlocks? It would be quite the shift from a shaman."

"I do, actually. I think I could bring a bit of DPS."

"Sounds like you have a plan, then. Let's see what you can bring to the table."

A few hours later, the raid slot template received yet another update.

Nestonia (T) (H) (M) (R:211)

Not bad, Ekasra. Not bad at all.

Mature the death knight, leveling at the
start of Wrath of the Lich King,
Nagrand

Eating My Own Dogfood

If I was going to recruit players based off of what they loved playing, I felt an obligation to treat myself the same way. Kerulak had been in retirement for far too long, and the call of the healer just wasn't ripe for the picking. It didn't matter; the Raid Slot Template was doing its job, informing me of a wealth of shamans mass leveling toward various roles in progression. For a short time, I contemplated the viability of bringing my red-headed troll priest back to raids, but apathy toward the class lingered. The shadow tree looked mediocre: Dispersion screamed PvP, and while Mind Sear looked good on paper, its lackluster first-hand experience in the beta was overshadowed by some unbelievable coolness dripping from other classes. It was hard to justify sticking with Zanny when warriors were dual wielding 2-Handers and warlocks were transforming into enormous winged demons.

Another wild possibility entered my thoughts.

I had yet to experience melee DPS or tanking. The newest addition to WoW, the death knight, could do both. Their history was deeply entrenched in Warcraft lore; I was a card-carrying nerd, famous for spouting off trivia references that went over most of the guild's head.

Circa vanilla, much of the guild didn't even know what a "Draenor" even was.

Everything about the death knight reeked of awesome. They raised undead minions from the cold earth and sent them into battle. They could dual-wield weapons, something I've always felt gave certain classes an additional edge. They even spoke with a creepy, echoing effect -- their faces pale and icy, glowing eyes devoid of emotion and soul. Tanking without a shield? Check! (no offense, Druids). Resurrect a fallen player as a Ghoul to squeeze out some emergency damage? Check! No question about it, Blizzard poured every last drop of concentrated coolness into the death knight they could summon.

Even factors outside of raiding made me ponder the class further. The potential to dominate PvP was a major factor; they absolutely demolished other players. Villainy that lurked in the shadows for four years had grown accustomed to the secrets of the other classes, becoming experts in their various vulnerabilities. Unsuspecting gankers were ill-prepared for this new class "death-gripping" them across the map, shackling them in position with freezing Chains of Ice, dicing them into a meaty pulp with glowing runeforged blades. The more I considered the death knight, the more it made sense.

Any doubt that lingered about focusing on this new class was flushed away during the beta. After gaining the opportunity to beta test the expansion, I rolled a death knight to get a feel for how the class played. Upon entering the starting area for the death knight, a floating fortress known as Ebon Hold, I was greeted with a familiar musical track. Booming through my speakers came bone-chilling horns blanketed by the death rattle of a snare. I instantly recognized it as music from the death knight wing in Naxxramas, many years previous, and the hairs on my arms stood on end. As I listened to the track, Kerulak and Zanjina fell away into the fog of a distant memory, a previous life on which I would no longer dwell. Now, all waking moments, all research, experience, practice, all of my focus would be here.

The decision was made. In Wrath of the Lich King, my main became a death knight.

3.2. The Grand Reveal

Zanjina sees a bugged core houd pet at
the release of the 3.0 patch,
Shattrath City

Officers React

"So", I said, "any questions?"

Silence followed, as the new looting system began to sink in. What remained of my officer core at the end of TBC sat in a admin-only channel in Vent. The leadership roll-call consisted of:

Priest Officer Neps: Having been with us since the tail end of Vanilla, Neps rose to the rank of priest officer, taking over for Haribo. Humble and quiet, Neps spoke volumes with his healing ability in both raids and PvP; he was the type of person who would drop everything to help a complete stranger in need.

Warrior Officer Kurst: One of the older players, Kurst was a family man and recently became a father. He, too, dated back as far as Vanilla, acting as one of the most consistent warriors throughout our illustrious career. Kurst had recently taken the responsibility of officership at my request, after Ater's exit from DoD and WoW.

Warlock Officer Eacavissi: Eaca (pronounced "ekka") was a university student, pursuing a PhD in physics. He'd been with us throughout The Burning Crusade, and was the only reliable warlock in progression to speak of. Eaca had built a reputation for doing extraordinary amounts of damage -- so much that he would often pull mobs off even the best of tanks. As his impending fate stomped towards him, Eaca would exclaim "DPS HARDER!", an in-joke demanding the boss die before it reached the warlock.

 
Hunter Officer Larada: Larada had become a major contributor to DoD's progression throughout TBC, and with my previous officer Skarg retiring (taking his radio-quality voice with him), Larada became the next best candidate.

Paladin Officer Klocker: A funny and extremely well-played healer, Klocker stood side-by-side with Kerulak throughout our 40-Man career. His time in DoD surpassed all the other officers, prompting the guild to knight him "Sir Klocker".

Rogue Officer Blain: I knew Blain was already on the way out, as we had previously discussed. Nevertheless, I made a special request that he be present for the discussion.

Druid Officer/Number Two Dalans: I trusted the hot-headed, take-no-prisoners guild member to rule DoD with an iron fist in my absence; he had essentially become the guild's new main tank (post Ater), and had little tolerance of incompetent players. His treatment of Wyse remained especially fresh in my memory.

Vacancies remained in both mage and shaman officership. Goldenrod the mage exited WoW in frustration at Blizzard's handling of PvP and BlizzCon '08 ticket sales. And as for the shamans, I'd not yet come to trust anyone as deeply as Kadrok since his departure for Elitist Jerks; the role of shaman officer remained unfulfilled. Until which time that a suitable replacement made him/herself known, I unofficially managed the shamans (which meant I managed Ekasra), and the other officers ran their own ship.

...until today. 

It was the proverbial come to Jesus meeting, where all hands were on deck to listen in on the changes, provide whatever feedback they needed to, and then make a judgement call as to whether or not they were aligned with our new direction. As predicted, the officers got directly to the point, addressing what they felt was the biggest question mark on the list: loot.

50 DKP Plus

"So...certain people will get to bid on an item before anyone else?" asked Dalans.

"Correct", I replied.

"What's going to keep people from cleaning up and preventing noobs from gearing out?"

"The point is not to use 1st-round bids on every item that drops", I answered, "The point is: we're giving players...the really good ones...an opportunity to bid first. If an exceptional item drops. Part of this is going to be educational. We're going to get the raiders into the habit of learning when the appropriate time to engage in a 1st-round bid is."

"When do we figure out who gets these Elite promotions?" asked Kurst.

"We're gonna have a trial period, the first tier of raiding in Wrath. At the start, everyone will be on the same playing field. We'll watch signups, rotations, run damage and healing reports, see who performs at the top of their game and is reliable. Those are the folks who'll receive the first round of Elite promotions."

"Ah, OK...so everybody gets a shot at loot out of the gate, then", said Dalans. They're starting to get it.

"Exactly. From our perspective it's business as usual when raiding starts. Because we won't know, right? It's going to take time for some players to ramp up and demonstrate ability. Find out who the rock stars are. By the time everyone's fully decked out from that first tier, and we transition to the next, then the Elite rank will demonstrate its effectiveness. We're going to lose people...I'm planning on it. The difference this time around is that I want to make sure to protect the players that are in this for the long haul."

Blain broke his silence, "Do the Elites have to pay any special prices?"

"Nope", I replied, "they follow the same rules as everyone else." 

Suddenly, a bunch of voices all chimed in once with groans of concern. Blain spoke for them, "You're gonna have an inflation problem."

"Yeah," Klocker added, "if these 'Elites' pay no penalty for first rounding, and they don't go up against anyone else, they're going to sit on huge pools of DKP."

"Massive!" laughed Blain, feeding Klocker.

"Right...like we need any more reason for folks like Blain to hoard DKP."

I pivoted. "OK, let's talk this out. What do you all think is a reasonable minimum bid to get into the 1st-round?" Various answers shot out as the group weighed the pros and cons of each numerical value. Eventually, they came to an agreement on 50 DKP.

"Alright", I said, "I'll amend the rule so that if an Elite wants to exercise his option to bid in the 1st round, he'll have to start the minimum bid at 50." The officers in Vent agreed this was a good move to make.

Blain added a final note, "It's still not going to solve the inflation problem...but it'll be better." A few folks remained quiet. "Eaca, Larada...thoughts?"

"It's good. The changes are good", Eaca answered, "I think people have an incentive now to actually show-up and perform." Larada concurred.

"Neps, what do you think?"

"I think they're horrible and I'm gonna go join Pretty Pink Pwnies!"

Everyone laughed.

I breathed a sigh of relief; the officers were on board. Next up: revealing our intentions to the rest of the guild.

Uld the Rogue,
Darkwhisper Gorge

Frequently Repeated Questions

I obsessed over revealing my intentions to Descendants of Draenor so much that I mapped out my entire 'reveal' schedule in a spreadsheet. The plan was to slowly dole out bite-sized chunks over the weeks leading up to Wrath. I didn't want to overwhelm them. The reveal began with a forum post entitled Who We Are, and Who We Are Not, the intent of which was to realign our goals as a guild. If there was ever any doubt as to what we were here to do, that doubt would be gone by the time the guild had completed reading that post. No more excuses. No more "I didn't know that's what you meant."

Next, I revealed the age restriction, limiting new recruits to 21 years of age. Soon after, out came the new hierarchy of ranks, listing out every specific requirement that needed to be met. I made an effort to draw attention to the matching reward structure for each accomplishment, easing anxiety that no particular rank was expected of you. Participate as much (or as little) in the guild as you want to -- and you will be treated appropriately. After that, I revealed the new application process, concluding with the changes to raiding rules and how the Elite rank would be affected by them. Now that the floodgates were wide open, I funneled the rush of questions toward a forum topic, encouraging one and all to engage.

Initially, the discussion was heated. Many players began to express concern around the rigid structure. The officers swarmed into the forum topic and began to defend the changes I proposed. They voiced opinions on how many of our rules were simply "written down versions of common sense" things, to which I clarified, "common sense is something we've noticed a lot of players lack." Better to be safe than sorry.

"Do we have to become an Elite?" -- Absolutely not, no rank will be enforced. You play as you like, and based on your level of commitment, and you'll earn the appropriate rank that matches said level of contribution.

"Are Elites going to bid 1st round on everything?' -- No, they'll save their 1st round bids for important items, so that brand new players can't come in and take away your hard work in one raid night.

"Do I have to be a Raider to earn Avatar?" -- Not at all, players of all shapes and sizes can be great contributors to this guild, and we'll recognize all of the players that do so.

One by one, the officers and I put their minds at ease.

Do you hear that sound? That's 'buy-in'. It's working.

Indeed, it seemed like my once biggest fear, the total collapse of my guild, had been averted. On the contrary, players were warming up to these new rules and this new structure. With the officers and the troops both won over, it was time to lead by example once again.

I had to start by applying our new rules and vision to myself.