4.10. GFY

Mature participates in the reclamation of
the Echo Isles, earning "Zalazane's Fall",
Durotar

Keeping Tabs on Tyranny

The Echo Isles were under attack. I raced Mature to southern tip of Durotar, preparing to rid Kalimdor of Zalazane. The troll's never-ending cycle of life and death had been in the hands of millions of Horde toons leveling their way out of starting areas, but this transition promised to end the cycle. Zalazane's Fall, the first of several events indicating the coming Cataclysm, would forever change the course of the zone. Future generations of trolls would begin their lives here, once the Echo Isles were returned to the Darkspear Tribe. In doing so, players implicitly restored Vol'jin to power in that part of the continent. Vol'jin had long acted as a faithful adviser to our warchief, and the troll had been rising in prominence, as of late.

An adviser of my own was about to get similar treatment.

"I'd like to give you a bit more authority than what you're used to."

Jungard sounded curious, "Oh yeah?"

"Look, you remember how it was. Bustin' ass in Mount Hyjal. Raids weren't easy. We needed discipline..."

He finished my thought beautifully, "...and the 'tyrant' was there to dish it out."

Jungard knew exactly who I spoke of. When he was a freshly recruited warrior, participating in his first DoD raids, Jungard kept his mouth shut, listened and learned. He knew how Blain led every raid with precision, the rogue's ability to pinpoint and correct minutia remained unmatched in DoD's leadership history. But with Blain's perceived super human attention to detail came the drama of players unable to handle his critique, his adjustments, his identification of their badness. They called him a tyrant, and Blain owned it. He even insisted that his rank be displayed as such, continually harassing me to update it to display "Blain - Tyrant" after every rule revision.

"You may have heard that our infamous tyrant is making his return to raid leading in Cataclysm."

"It'll be a welcome return."

I continued my broken responses, in between driving Shadowmourne into Zalazane's followers, "...here's the thing, Jung. I know now, after having lived through it the first time...Blain's honesty doesn't often mix well with the majority. Any other situation...I'd put this out of my mind. Except..."

I paused to gauge my phrasing.

"...we aren't going to have the same luxuries in Cata as we do today. Recruitment is going to be much more difficult. We're going to have to nurture more of who we have, rather than straight up discarding them. This is where you come in."

Jungard was the compassionate one. He, much like Neps, was the type of player who would drop what he was doing and help a guildy in need, regardless of their tenure. I never intended to be completely hands-off with mediation in Cataclysm, but I had the sneaking suspicion that my administrative needs would increase. Anything I could hope to delegate had to be identified; game/life balance was still a priority to me. Blain needed a better half; a number two that kept him in check.

"There's no more Ater, Jung. They worked very closely together. Ater mapped out strategies; Blain implemented them. Blain had no interest in putting up with people's excuses, but Ater added that human touch...he fought a lot of fires. There's no more Ater...but there's you. I want you to take this role up in Cata."

"Co-Raid Leader?"

"Well, I was thinking a little bit more..."

Blain fields a complaint from a guildy that was left
out of a 25-Man raid due to poor performance,
Black Temple

Who Offices the Officers?

The plan was as follows: restructure the guild ranks, putting Jungard above Blain in the hierarchy. Responsibility wise, they would lead raids together. Jungard would be Blain's backup to help manage the menial tasks that were proven to drive him overboard. My former raid leader attributed his burnout to the constant re-explaining of strategy, and to his lack of patience toward excuse makers. Having Jungard take these responsibilities off Blain's shoulders was a burnout reduction tactic...but it was only one part of a larger strategy.

Blain already shared his own plan with me for Cataclysm, and promised to make an announcement post on the forums to set the record straight. We had gone soft. We had grown too fond of farming as means of excusing progression decay; it was the Loot Paradox, all over again. Blain blamed this on Bretthew and Omaric's style, having shifted the mentality of the 25 too far into casual-land. It was music to my ears; I loved everything he planned to solve. But, it would be a tough pill to swallow, especially for the "Wrath babies": players who'd never experienced the pleasure of four hours a night, twice a week, for five weeks...on a single boss. I wouldn't have questioned Blain's iron fist in any other situation, but Cataclysm was too grim. If I'd learned anything thus far, there was an identifiable absence of self-esteem among a vast majority of the player base. It didn't make them all bad. Some could be saved: turned around, re-trained, and sculpted into half decent human beings/raiders. They just needed a bit of extra TLC, and this is where Jungard came in.

By putting Jungard over Blain, I explained to him, I could give Jungard final say. He could sit alongside Klocker and Neps in the advisory pool and give another empathetic, thoughtful voice to our progression strategy. Blain would push hard, that was never in question...and we needed to. But, by having Jungard above Blain in the pecking order, I'd have a solid enough voice to back me up, in the off chance we were pushing a little too hard.

"You have the eye for it. I trust your judgement. You'd co-lead in the instances, keeping Blain's plate clean. And in the off hours, keep your finger on the pulse of the guild. Are we keeping a good pace? Or pushing too hard? Those are the kinds of questions you'll be asking yourself."

Was Jungard up to the task?

"Oh, definitely...I'm definitely up for it. There may be a bit of scheduling I need to work through with my night classes, but I think I can manage."

"Good, let's make it last as long as we possibly can."

I told Jungard I would announce the co-raid leadership appointment next, then deliver the actual promotion in October. Keeping the two announcements separate was by design. To every guildy, Blain needed to be seen as the ultimate raid authority for DoD, and if there was even a hint that Jungard's promotion might undermine that, it was my responsibility to eliminate it. Once we set foot into Cataclysm raids, Blain called the shots. No questioning, no second guessing.

Tyranny would lead us to victory.

Elephantine and Graulm pose outside of Gadgetzan,
Tanaris

Sentimental to a Fault

"Gettin' a little work done, there? Good for you!"

Dave's voice was loud enough to break through the WoW music coming from my earbuds. I popped them out and spun around to face him, the eqDKP-Plus site behind me, and gave him my best Peter Gibbons impression,

"...well, I wouldn't exactly say I'd been missin' it, Bob..."

After slaving over the company websites for nearly three years, the boss and I both earned the right to mock the work (or lack thereof). Whether it was he, cursing at ridiculous requests behind his office door, or myself, cursing at ridiculous bugs behind my code, we'd gone through it together. We understood one another; we both wanted things to not suck.

Dave and I shared our love of things that sucked the best way we knew how: sarcastic mockery of items broken, and of attitudes needing adjustment. You can't always get away with that tone in a professional environment, though. But where there's a will, there's a way: a client-facing "code phrase" to use in public situations, free from HR scrutiny, and we'd wield it like a fucking machete. You'd like another round of completely unwarranted changes that have absolutely no merit whatsoever? Good for you!! You'd like me to undo all the work that I've just done? Good for you! You're having me stay late on a Friday because you left things to the last minute? GOOD FOR YOU!!!

"Good for you" happened to share its initials with another three word phrase...one that more accurately conveyed our feelings on the subject:

Go Fuck Yourself.

---

I took advantage of the downtime between projects, loading screenshots into the eqDKP-Plus gallery. I was a sucker for sentimentality and lingered on shots featuring the core's first appearance; players that made DoD what it was. A shot of me helping Kadrok with a quest in Ashenvale. A shot of Kerulak doing the happy dance alongside Gutrippa, shortly after purchasing the guild tabard. A shot of us about to take on Immolthar in Dire Maul, partnered with a priest who would go on to become my healing lead through the duration of Vanilla. So many faces...gone. Waxing melancholy skewed my focus, wishing for things that once were. Looking back with fondness was a perfectly human thing to do, so long as it didn't cloud your judgement.

I browsed through disorganized images hastily burnt to CD, and pulled one up that hit me right in the feels. It showed two players on mounts, just outside of Gadgetzan. One was an undead mage, an alt of mine named Elephantine. The other was a warlock, sitting atop his dreadsteed, his violet robes and shoulders matching a purple mask that covered an orcish grin.

Graulm.

Memories rushed to the surface. In the days before Graulm, guild leadership was little more than /ginvite and /gkick. Back then, "difficult" decisions were whether to run Zul'Farrak or Sunken Temple (it wasn't ST!), and the most complex logistics of any guild-related coordination was figuring out who had the key to Upper Blackrock Spire. Ater may have dominated my leadership mentoring-related memories, but turning the pages back further reminded me that others were no less important.

A Quiznos between Arapahoe and Curtis on 17th St., was where Graulm and I met for several lunches, back in '05. He told stories of EverQuest, and the demands of running a guild in a day where the 1% was a measure of who raided, rather than of financial worth. He gave me those first steps; the sorts of things that were taken for granted today. Why take the extra time to hand out Zul'Gurub tokens to guildies, instead of letting them roll? Loyalty. When you hold the keys to the car, players are less willing to look for another ride. Why do we need a private area of the forums, specifically for officers? Discretion. You mediate behind closed doors, particularly when the strategy isn't agreed upon. When officers debate an upcoming decision, it gives off an appearance of instability to lower ranks. For leadership that extended beyond basic button presses, Graulm advised on appropriate behavior, and helped keep tabs on unruly players who ran the risk of tarnishing our reputation. DoD had a six year long, rock-solid foundation underneath it, and Graulm was one of the first to pour the concrete.

The feels continued to ache from the blow of pulling up that screenshot. I considered Graulm a friend. I'll never forget the day he showed up at my front door, an air conditior gripped tightly while he barked out, "Where do you want this thing?" I pointed up our rickety staircase. With a single shake of the head, he gave me a "Damn!", then stomped upstairs with the 100lb unit in tow.

Over an in-game conversation, Graulm discovered I had no AC in my house. Jul, the kids, and I were at the mercy of a ventilation system from 1890, far too old to support a centralized air system. Without giving me a chance to decline the offer, Graulm produced one of his own unused units from his garage and brought it to my house as a gift, latching it in place in our master bedroom window. It ran faithfully for about 10 months before coughing and sputtering in a final gasp of freon-scented smoke.

...and it was the best 10 months of sleep I'd had since moving in. Before the unit, and after, my bedroom doubled as a kiln in the summer months.

I missed Graulm, and I hated how things had ended. I missed the early days of Vanilla, partnering up with him, exploring Azeroth, running dungeons, helping set the stage for our raiding days. I missed his screams of victory in those early months of our first steps into 40-man content. I didn't expect that Graulm would ever come back to the game; an unavoidable tragedy. When some players walk away from WoW, it's official. But perhaps some could be coaxed back, those still floating in the amorphous soup that was Deathwing-US.

I believed wholeheartedly what I told Jungard: when it came to recruits, the pickens would be slim in Cataclysm. Anything we could do to build and maintain our core was of the utmost importance. And if I was directing Jungard into putting effort into those who might be, did it not make sense for me to put effort into those who were? Forgive. Forget. Reach out to former guildies that I'd wronged (or had wronged me), agree that we'd made mistakes, come to terms, and move forward. Band together, for one last hurrah.

Oh, so that's what it's come to? That's what Cataclysm is going to force you to do? Sacrifice any remaining integrity and self-respect by going back to the people that wiped their feet on DoD and compel them come back to progression?

Good for you.

3.49. Married to a Pillow

The Fleshwerks,
Icecrown Citadel

The Experiment Ends

Mature hovered on the back of his Ironbound Proto-Drake, several dozen feet above The Fleshwerks, an army of undead minions growling and clawing at each other in bloodlust with the scent of the fresh meat in close proximity. As I continued to scout for rares, my chat window turned purple as it received a whisper.

"Hey Mature, can I borrow you for a sec?"

It was one of my newer members, looking to squeeze into a regular raiding schedule.

"Sure, what's up?" 

"Well, I tried to get into the Alt-25 tonight, just like you recommended, I mean. I have all my gear gemmed and enchanted and I know the fights. But I was told there wasn't any room." 

"Ah, that sucks. Did you get on a little late tonight? The invites usually start about 30 minutes prior."

"See, that's the thing, I was on 30 minutes earlier, like you said." 

"...and Bloody told you there was no room?"

"Yeah." 

I pressed 'J' on my keyboard to bring up the guild roster. Sorting by location in the world, I scanned down the list to see who was currently in the Tournament of Champions alongside Bloodynukels. There were twelve guildies total.

"Are there any 10-Man teams in ToGC at the moment?" I typed into officer chat. 

Sir Klocker fired back, "mm, not that I know of." 

Neps added his two cents, "Pretty sure Starflex runs on either Tuesday or Thursday." 

"Tuesdays," confirmed the newly promoted Jungard, now able to contribute to the officer-only chat. 

"...and Eh Team is retired, atm, right?" 

"Far as I know, yeah. I mean, half of 'em aren't even on atm." 

I looked back at the twelve guild members in ToGC. Why the hell such a bizarre number? And more importantly, why wasn't it twenty-five when people were contacting me about not getting in? Was there room...or not?

---

"I'm getting reports that guildies are being left behind during invites."

"We had no more room because a few people were late logging on."

"I was told that he was on 30 minutes prior to the first pull, which is standard practice around here. The question stands. Why are you leaving people in the guild behind during invites?"

"Well, once I have everyone from CAFN and DoD in the group, there isn't much…"

Whoa whoa whoa. Stop.

"Hold on a second. What do you mean 'everyone from CAFN'...you mean the guild?"

"Yeah, I have a bunch of friends there that still need loot off of the twins."

He spoke with the confidence of a leader fluent in the language of some other mystery guild far, far away from our own. Like this decision he made was OK with me. Like he had thought it through carefully. Like its ramifications had been considered. Rationalized it.

"So let me get this straight. When you do the invites for Alt-25, you start with CAFN, and then fill the remaining spots with us?"

"Well, not exactly, I mean...it is really just sort of who sends me the first tells, and then I invite like that."

"So what makes you think that it would be in our guild's best interests to run another guild's members through a raid before our own?"

There was no response.

"Effective immediately, I'm going to need you to invite from DoD first. Always. And forever."

"I can't really give my friends in CAFN the cold shoulder..."

"But you have our guild tag under your name."

"Right..."

"So, what part of 'this is an officially sanctioned DoD guild run' do you not understand?"

Again, he had no answer. His silence marked the official end to the "Bloodynukels experiment".

"Sounds like your heart is with another guild. I think we're done here. I'll have someone else pick up the Alt-25 next week. Thanks for taking it for these last two times."

"Does this mean I'll lose the title?"

You mean the temporary officer title I gave you as a convenience to access officer chat in the hopes you'd use it to coordinate invites with the guild, rather than inviting your friends from Discord first?

"It was done as a convenience to assist you with coordinating the Alt-25. You won't be needing it."

Bloodynukels sulked away into the background, the conversation never actually coming to a definitive close. This is the beauty of dealing with players over Ventrilo: it excuses them of the social norms a person typically exhibits in the real world. You wouldn't start a chat with someone at a water cooler, then walk away mid-conversation...a habit that was commonplace in WoW.

Especially when one of two people didn't particularly like the way the conversation was going.

Bloodynukels left the guild on his own shortly thereafter, and his infamous brother Divineseal followed suit. Several weeks following their return to CAFN, both players went missing-in-action, and their eventual whereabouts remain unknown to this day.

---

With the Alt-25 now leaderless, I needed someone to fill his shoes and erase the damage he had done. My initial fear was word would quickly spread about "how we were running a discriminatory elitist guild that made up rules as it went." If that rumor was flying, I needed to shoot it out of the sky before it got too far. But with who? Options, as always, were limited. The existing leadership pool was already stretched thin; it was important to not load them up with so much administrative shit that they began to loathe logging in. But consider the alternate: arbitrarily promote someone else? That worked magnificently with Bloodynukels, an experiment blowing up in my face. I couldn't risk that again…

Someone spamming guild chat caught my attention.

[Mangetsu]: Folks, you only need this macro to improve your dps
[Mangetsu]: O o
[Mangetsu]: /¯/___________________________ ________
[Mangetsu]: | IMMA FIRIN' MAH LAZOR! BLAAAAGHH!
[Mangetsu]: \_\¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯ ¯ ¯¯¯¯¯¯¯

Chat lit up with a series of 'LOL's and smileys, something you didn't see a lot of in DoD. Most of the guildies conversed in Vent. I had to hand it to Mangetsu, he had a way with making everyone chuckle, and always had something funny to...

Mangetsu!

Typing a mile a minute, I rattled off a tell to him. We needed to speak in Vent. Immediately.

Mature and co. complete "Hadronox Denied",
while Mangetsu (via Amalgam) yells out in guild chat,
Azjol-Nerub

Otaku

Mangetsu was up to his neck in geekdom. Pick any time of the day at random and you might find Mangetsu scrutinizing the work of Studio Ghibli like muggles analyze their fantasy football teams. He spoke of the dark recesses of 4chan, and held no reservation in discussing its shady subculture. He was a purveyor of internet memes and a conissouer of animated gifs. He started the "You Laugh, You Lose" topic on the DoD forums shortly after getting comfortable with his fellow guildies, and it took off like a rocket, growing to become the most visited and posted-to thread on the boards. And although it was still roughly a year away, Mangetsu would eventually begin referring to himself as a 'Brony', wearing the badge proudly like the rest of us did with our Ironbound Proto-Drakes.

Mangetsu's most controversial behavior was that of his profound expressed love of an anime-themed pillow case that he squeezed with childish glee when the lights were out. His "waifu", Mang proclaimed, would never judge him, never nag him nor make him feel bad about his decisions in life. And when the guild chuckled at this childish playfulness, which walked the fine line between raw geekdom and total embarrassment, I couldn't help but feel that some (myself included) were envious of this openness, this simplicity to observe and engage life. My own experiences with sharing my passion for gaming and geekdom had been met with mixed results throughout history. It would have been refreshing to be able to talk to anyone I wished about such gaming related addictions, without fear of judgement or discriminate bias. But, I carried with me that particular ability to sense vibes, stripping away what people said while remaining attuned to people's intent. Normally shielded by thir polite language, those mannerisms were the social norms we've come to understand, work into daily rituals so as not to offend one another. Mangetsu, in his delightfully positive attitude on life and the people in it, harbored no such skewed perceptions. He played no political game. He was wildly aware of the fact that not everyone would think his infatuation with a pillow-case would come across as 'normal'. And he didn't care. Which meant he had no problems being 100% honest with anyone and everyone.

In short: he was leadership material.

---

"I need your help, Mr. Mangetsu."

"Yes, sir! What can I do you for?"

"How much experience have you had running your own raids?"

"I have had to take a few PuGs into their weekly quests for points. That usually has mixed results, but for the most part, we get things accomplished without too much pain or suffering."

Mangetsu referred to Blizzard's recent addition of a weekly quest, based out of Dalaran. Much like the distant cousin of the daily quest, this new 'weekly' asked players to kill a raid boss somewhere in Northrend. Possibilities were usually things like Patchwerk in Naxxramas, Flame Leviathan in Ulduar, and Lord Jaraxxus in the Tournament of Champions -- all bosses fairly near to the entrance of their respective raids. Doing so awarded a newly introduced currency which we stockpiled to augment our raiding gear, a godsend that would've served us well back in The Burning Crusade. And Vanilla. The 25-Man progression raid knocked this weekly quest out as a part of our regularly scheduled work; we never gave it a second thought. Other non-raiding guilds had to suffer through the act of spamming general chat for a pickup-group to be put together in order to accomplish the same seemingly trivial act. I couldn't even fathom what chaos and insanity might lie behind those "pickup raids", especially ones without a dedicated leader to keep everyone focused and on task.

I mean, honestly. Who, in their right mind, could conceive of an entire raid of strangers all working together to kill a raid boss? Thinking about its success rate gave me chills like someone had walked over my own grave.

To even consider taking on such a task demonstrated balls of steel. Yet, Mangetsu pulled this off consistently. His candidacy grew.

Some example Anime pillows not unlike
the one Mangetsu was married to

The Secret Ingredient

I proceeded to give Mangetsu the situaton, "The Alt-25 is without a leader at the moment."

"Ahhhh, OK. Isn't Crasian running that? I thought I saw him in there."

"You're correct. He did run the show for a bit, after Anni handed it over. But Crasian is taking off for the holidays to ski."

"Got you."

"And, well...I've had an incident with another guildy, which I'm sure you weren't even aware of. Guy by the name of Bloodynukels. Divine's brother."

"Can't say that the name rings a bell. Sorry to hear there was a problem, though."

"It doesn't matter, he's already left with his tail tucked between his legs."

Mangetsu's voice changed to express concern, "Uh oh. Something not go as planned?"

I sighed. "For starters, Mang...the guy was inviting people from other guilds before our own people. And to top that off, he was exploiting mechanics on some of the bosses."

"That's no good. Was it the Val'kyr-doorway thing?"

"Aye."

"I read about that. Still no official word from Blizzard?"

"Not yet. But when they do...which I expect they will...I'd prefer that our hands remain clean."

"Totally understand. So, when would you like me to start?"

"This weekend, if possible. Keep it pro, just like you've come to expect in the 25-Man. Loot rules up front, vet the people you take, don't let anyone try to squeeze in with inappropriate gear. Nobody should get any special treatment. And for God's sake, I shouldn't have to say this, but you will always fill with DoD first."

"Question, sir. If I could make it work, and I really think I could...what would you say to me trying to bring people from other guilds? I mean on purpose. Each week. Because some of those bosses really don't need to be done with a full raid. So there really is no reason to bring strangers, unless..."

"Unless what?"

"Well, it would be a great opportunity to show them what we have going here, which could work to our benefit if you still recruit."

"I'm always, recruiting, Mangetsu. It never ends."

"The other kickback comes from GDKP, which has been successful for the PuG raids as of late. People pour their money in at the start, we rock out, and then if players stay to the end, they get a portion of it back. The up-front costs can be funneled in to the guilt vault. Repair money! And whatever else."

I shook my head, stunned.

"Mang, are you sure you haven't led a guild before?"

He laughed. The man who was married to a pillow was the new leader of the Alt-25.

3.45. Decisions, Decisions

"Scourgelord"
Artwork by Zeon-in-a-tree

The Warm-up

The screen was ablaze. Flames licked at my heels. I shifted bit by bit, pouring in as much damage to Mimiron as I could while Omaric and Bretthew dragged the enormous robot through fire. Flaming trails weaved toward the group, creeping up slowly, keeping us from holding any one position for very long.

"Careful, he's winding up..."

I glanced up at the robot's body. The dual Gatling guns in place of arms were coughing and sputtering to life as they prepared for a laser barrage. I rotated Mature around the edges of the tank's treads as he was being pulled along the circumference of the room. It was a nightmarish carnival ride. The spray of purple lasers backed by a deep chugging sound soon died down -- another barrage successfully dodged. No deaths. The tanks continued their slow death march, feeding crumbs of threat to Mimiron, and the giant robot continued to focus its attention on them, repeating its relentless attacks around the perimeter of the Spark of Imagination. A frost bomb -- new to the heroic version -- landed near us. Crasian announced its arrival.

"Bomb...BOMB!"

I turned to look for an exit strategy, but was surrounded by a wall of flame. I popped Anti-Magic Shell, held my breath, and ran through the fire to get away from the explosion. The radius of the frosty explosion barely missed me. Safe. I raced back to the clockwork contraption and laced into it with whatever DPS I could muster. Bulwinkul added encouragement while the moonkin brought down a shower of stars onto Mimiron.

"Keep 'er goin'. Almost there."

Flames continued to dart around the bot, and for a brief moment, I had a flashback to Archimonde's Doomfire. Mimiron's flames weren't nearly as fatal, yet still exhibited the same tenacity. They closed in on us, and I braced for suffocation. Suddenly, the great clockwork machination sagged in defeat, and the flames that were inches from our heals had vanished, replaced with flashes of golden bars signifying achievement acquisition.

"Nice! Good job, all."

"Phew! That was pretty slick. I like that fight!"

I addressed Jungard in raid chat, "Well! That wasn't so bad now, was it?"

"No, not bad at all," he replied, "first time seeing these guys in action. I have to give 'em credit."

I agreed. "Yeah, you boys definitely made this look easy."

Bretthew acknowledged the praise. "Thanks, Hanzo."

"Now if we can just get this done in the 25-Man version, we'll be home free."

Jungard and I thanked The Eh Team for giving us a taste of Mimiron's hard mode mechanics first hand. One month would pass before we'd return to this room and commence with the real work.

Jungard and Mature assist The Eh Team in
completing "Firefighter (10 Player)",
Ulduar

Cross-Examination

"You do know that he has a pretty good track record in the guild with helping out people in 5-Man heroics, right?"

"Absolutely. I'm pretty sure he was first in the guild to get the red proto?"

"That's my understanding," I replied, "but doesn't seem to have slowed down helping anyone else do the same."

Jungard continued with praise, "He's also put out some incredible damage since joining the 25. Consistently top deeps."

I gave him my devilish detective voice, "Aha! So you've noticed?"

"Well, I notice when he beats me."

I laughed. "Oh, I see how it is. This is personal!"

This time, Jungard got the laugh, "Yeah, heh. Guess you could say that. But all around, melee is in a really good spot right now. It's easily the strongest part of the 25 at this point. Boney is going to do pretty well, and Riskers is already top notch."

Jungard began dropping names on players he'd been keeping an eye on. "Boney" was our nickname for Bonechatters, one of the newer faces clamoring for a spot in the 25-Man. With Cheeseus gone, Bonechatters enjoyed a heightened priority of rotations, seeing more consistent raids as a result. Jungard also made note of Señor Riskers, a rogue who had become a staple in progression; it was his stun-locks that helped give me breathing room on Storm Lasher during Knock Knock Knock on Wood. Since it was clear that Jungard had the capacity to observe and understand what was going on with melee, I pushed further to see what else I could glean.

"How do you stand up next to Abrinis?"

"Y'know, funny that you mention Abrinis. I notice he's been struggling lately. Which is weird. Because you know he pretty much took me under his wing when I first joined progression, back in Hyjal. He always kind of kept challenging me to do better. But lately, I'm not sure what's up...he's definitely fallen behind a bit."

I pitched him a curveball, "Maybe his gear?"

"Y'know, I don't think so! Gear's never really an indicator...to that degree, know what I mean? A little bit, OK sure, but for bigger discrepancies...I dunno, maybe he's just distracted or getting burnt out. I'll have a talk with him at some point."

Skill vs gear. Check. Empathy and insight into others. Check.

"Ranged still fluctuates a bit."

I could sense the dismay in his voice as the pitch turned downward. Jungard and I obviously saw eye-to-eye on this. I took a deep breath as I acknowledged his observation, "Yeah, it's been an ongoing struggle since as far back as when you joined. Well, probably earlier. Blain pointed it out to me on more than one occasion."

"If Ben would show up more frequently, that would definitely be an improvement."

I agreed, but was careful to point out Ben's improvements in the responsibility department, "Ben's been getting much better about it. Did you know he's actually texting if he's going to be late, now?"

"Wow, really? Ben is?"

"I know, I know. You may have to sit down in order to let that sink in."

Jungard continued to share his opinions, seeing if there was a way to shine some hope on the ranged situation.

"But I like Mangetsu a lot. He's really making a name for himself."

I chuckled. "Mang is definitely quite the character, and his DPS is nothing to laugh at. How about Omaric and Taba taking over as dual raid leaders? What's your opinion there?"

"I think it's fine. Both really talented guys, and they've been around a long while. I never expected to see two raid leaders at once, though."

I gave him my reasoning on the subject, "Well, it's really no different than how Ater and Blain did it, back in the day. Only difference now is that I have things a bit more formalized. Though I have yet to actually write that down. It's on my never ending to-do list. But, I think they're off to a good start."

"Ah, Blain. I bet he would love to hear that Bretthew is running the show now."

"Not exactly from the same schools of thought, now, are they?" I laughed. Jungard agreed, acknowledging the vast differences in Blain's by-the-book policies -- a stark contrast to Bretthew's laid-back, chatty raids.

The conversation between Jungard and I went well that day. I went in to the interview asking about Crasian, but the discussion soon turned to the raid as a whole. He reflected on many facets of progression, both good and bad, not just the stuff that was easy to talk about. Jungard saw the big picture. That was an important consideration when contemplating the possibility of his promotion. It's easy to focus on the small things like a fury rotation. But, to be able to step back and see the big picture -- that takes something else entirely. In many cases, the difference between a player and a leader is really just giving a shit. A leader can speak honestly about players, and know if they are doing well or languishing. They show compassion and empathy towards their fellow teammates. Jungard was hitting all the nails on their heads.

---

Jungard gave me his opinion on a good many things during that interview, but it was what he chose to keep to himself that would confirm I was leaning in the right direction. He had the perfect opportunity to rake Crasian across the coals that day, and instead said nothing about it. The fact in question: the day he and I had been invited to take part in a 10-Man Firefighter was the only time he'd ever been a part of an Eh Team run. It was a minor observation, but one that resonated as I weighed my options for promoting my next melee officer.

I walked down my fact sheet after concluding both interviews. Crasian had expressed little interest in Jungard, offering up only the most commonly-held knowledge about his warrior counterpart. By comparison, Jungard revealed insight into many of his fellow team members, focusing the conversation on them rather than himself. Additionally, a subtle inconsistency flowed over Ventrilo the night I interviewed Crasian. If our assist with 10-Man Firefighter was the first time Jungard had been present in an Eh Team run, why had Crasian stated otherwise? Was it simply an oversight on his part? Or was an attempt to massage the truth?

To be honest, it didn't matter. What mattered was my perception of his attention to details.

If it was an accidental oversight, that told me Crasian really couldn't care less about Jungard -- or anyone else in melee, for that matter. It meant his focus really truly was on himself by default. And that wasn't necessarily a bad thing...just not something I wanted in leadership. Of course, there was the other side of the coin to consider as well. If he was being purposefully deceptive...he had no business in officership, period. Confronted with these realizations, the decision to promote Jungard was the most sound, logical one.

...but I stopped short when it came time to decide on the legendary.

Mimiron blankets the raid with a
Laser Barrage during phase four,
Ulduar

The Golden Ticket

In wrestling with the decision of who to promote next for melee officer, the decision surrounding Shadowmourne continued to follow me like Mimiron's flames, never letting up or allowing me to catch my breath. Whomever I promoted would most certainly be first on the weapon's list. Crasian was the best death knight in the guild -- possibly the entire Deathwing-US server -- so denying him the axe would surely be a waste. But there was Jungard as well, a trusted player, skilled warrior, and Crasian's only real competition in the guild from a melee perspective. I got so caught up in struggling with this decision that I lost sight of a possible third option: myself. I'd been too busy trying to figure out how to equitably distribute the golden ticket to some other bright-eyed kid. They dreamed of a chocolate factory tour, and here I was, able to partake of the candy at will.

Instantly, doubt lingered there.

The moment I gave the option even the slightest consideration, a wave of guilt washed over me. If I take this axe first, what will the guild think? Will I come across as some kind of ruthless dictator who just takes what he wants because he can? True, I had turned the guild around from its failures early in TBC. Yet when pondering the decision of taking Shadowmourne myself, I collapsed back into my old fears as the impostor syndrome wrapped its grip tightly around my neck. This is a joke, right? You don't know what you're doing. You're the laughing stock of the guild. The only reason people follow you is because Fraya isn't recruiting stupids for Enigma. Your competency with the death knight falls somewhere between pathetic and outright embarrassment. Why don't you go ahead and taunt some more? That'll make it look like you're contributing. It's amazing you can even log in without drooling all over yourself. Go ahead! Take the legendary first...and watch your guild walk away in disgust.

For shame. Is this how Ater would've behaved?

I snapped out of it.

At some point, you have to give yourself credit. I'd dedicated five years of myself to Descendants of Draenor, rejoicing our triumphs and suffering bitterly our losses. I had made mistakes and swallowed my pride repeatedly as a result. I built up the 40-Man raiding machine from a mere Popsicle stand, then watched it splinter, crumble, and collapse under its own mismanaged weight -- an embarrassment of uninvested players repeatedly wiping to trash. Then I rebuilt it, getting us back on the map; back on track. I mediated drama and painstakingly detailed out every new rule, wrote out every single bit of common-sense I felt players could use against me if they didn't see it for themselves...or couldn't see it. Wouldn't see it. And I pushed them. We could be a family-friendly guild but still hold ourselves to a higher standard, without a lot of excuses and whining. We stood on the precipice of glory, nearly able to reach out and feel the cold metal plating stamped along its cobalt purple wingspan.

Maybe after all I had driven us to accomplish, I could justify some small reward for myself. Now would be the most opportune time. I had two solid tanks as raid leaders, and my own interests drifted elsewhere: a return to the damage meters. Perhaps, at last, this would be my opportunity.

If you do this, you had better be prepared to stop at nothing to top the meters. A guild leader with a legendary that can't perform will be stripped of any and all credibility. A cliche. A joke. Other guild leaders will use you as an example to outline what happens when absolute power corrupts absolutely.

I understood the stakes. This wasn't going to be an excuse for me perform like a chump. I would have to hold myself to the same high standard I expected of every individual in progression. Failing that would not only reflect poorly on Descendants of Draenor, it would prove that I had no business wielding a legendary, or remaining in charge of the best damn guild on Deathwing-US.

So, rather than hiding the golden ticket inside a random candy bar, I tucked it in my pocket instead.

3.44. Bullet Points and Lies

What Their Body Language is Telling You
Source: 9gag.com

The Read

When you sit across the table from someone, leafing through their resume, you're trained to pay attention to the cues that are present. The stranger staring back at you is now more than just a name and some impressive typography printed on fancy paper. When their credentials first hit your desk, the best you can hope for is to look beyond the literal content and examine the little things like their choice of fonts, how they've decided to prioritize their education or their experience. If their name is enormous in the header, are they demonstrating a mastery of Microsoft Word or are they overcompensating for a deficiency in their confidence? Do they describe their work history as a series of things they've done or ways they've made their former companies successful? When you look them straight in the eyes, it's much easier to read the nervousness, the constant uncomfortable shuffling; the body language of folded arms shielding them from the onslaught of incoming questions. When they're in the room with you, it's a little bit easier to tell if they mean what they say, or if the resume you hold in your hands is just a series of bullet points and lies.

But if you never get them in a room, it becomes more of a Herculean task to get a good read.

There aren't so many cues when you run a guild. You don't get the luxury of a professionally written resume, and there is no table to sit them at; all the body language is absent from the equation. Without these cues to help bolster your ability to read their true intent, you're left with what floats to the surface: their actions, their measurable contributions, and if they treat both stranger and friend alike -- the kinds of things you might consider when judging a person's integrity. If the person is genuine, it is a simple task to walk your list and scratch check marks next to the ones demonstrated by candidate X. But when a person has another agenda in mind, the items you check off your list become their strategy. The key is determining what parts of their behavior are just for show, and digging through the dirt to reveal their actual motivations.

I know this strategy because I've employed it myself. I've changed my own line of questioning to suit an agenda I felt my interviewees wanted to fulfill, and it may very well have been the deciding factor in gaining The Final Cut back in Vanilla; my last real opportunity to leapfrog into 40-Man raiding. When I began to ask about how they would handle fixed schedules, strict start times, the administration of DKP...it all added up to the same underlying theme: we're a casual guild that has the professional approach of the hardcore. In actuality, we hadn't pulled off a single, successful raid by that point. But it was enough for them to take a gamble on us, thankfully, and it paid off in dividends.

I was closing in on my decision regarding who to go with for melee officer. I had conferred with Neps and Dalans, rounded the candidate pool down to two options, and attempted to wrap my arms around who was more aligned with the best intentions of the guild. For Descendants of Draenor to continue down its current path of success, leadership had to be just right, and I was becoming hyper-vigilant at scrutinizing my decision-making process. Mistakes of the past coupled with recent events made this a choice that I couldn't gloss over.

It was time to sit both Jungard and Crasian down and determine who was going to be the best fit for my next melee officer position. I wanted their perception of things. In my mind, listening to them explain how they saw events unfolding would paint a clearer picture of who I was considering. This, in my mind, would be the best opportunity to get a read of the candidates. And when I stepped into the interviews, I prepared myself for the same treatment I dished out to The Final Cut years before. If players were prepared to tell me what I wanted to hear, how would I be able to cut through their bullshit?

I did this by asking them their opinion of each other.

---

"So, which do you like more right now?"

"I dunno, I really like the idea about armor pen at the moment, and Blood is pulling some sick numbers but you really need the gear for it. Having to re-gem everything across the board like that? Doesn't seem very practical. I mean, I like to change it up a bit, and I can pretty much do that now if I want to flip between Frost or Unholy. Strength is strength, y'know?"

"Yup."

"I'll probably give it a go at some point but right now I'm getting the numbers I need from Unholy. The rotation gets a bit dull but it's doing more than Frost at the moment, so I probably won't change it up anytime soon."

"You don't mind losing Frost's burst?"

"Well, there are ways around that. It's just a lot of Death Knights aren't paying attention. Y'know? I mean everyone seems to have a DK but that doesn't mean they know what's going on. Simple things like spreading diseases before dropping a DnD on the twin valks. Most DKs could give a shit. It's pretty common knowledge. But instead they have to resort to exploits and pulling the valks into the doorway, or whatever. Sad."

"Crasian, let's change the subject quickly. What's your opinion on Jungard?"

"Ho, boy. Jungard? Um, he's a good guy, I guess...I can't say I really know too much about him, y'know? I mean, like...we've run some stuff together. He's offered to help out on a few fillers in the Eh Team runs, so we've brought him along for those. But I know he's helping his brother run Starflex throughout the week, so other the 25...I don't get much of an opportunity to hang out."

"Do you think Jungard's competent enough to lead the melee team in 25?"

"Oh, no doubt. No doubt at all. Yah, he's sharp, he knows his stuff."

I waited to see if Crasian would offer anything else up in Jungard's favor.

"So...how's the decision on Shadowmourne coming along?"

And just like that, the discussion shifted to more important things.

"Still deciding. I'm getting close. Just a few more loose ends to tie up."

"Sweet! Yeah, let me know how it goes!"

I went into Crasian's interview with a hunch. His responses confirmed where my head was at.

"Yogg-Saron"
Artwork by Dan Scott

Insane in the Brain

Omaric and Bretthew made it clear to the 25-Man progression team that in order to execute One Light, the keeper we would have to leave alive was Thorim. By phase three, we'd already be stretched thin by moving slower, taking more damage, and receiving less heals. We'd probably be down a few folks as they lost their minds to the gaze of Yogg-Saron. All of these hindrances would add up to a drawn-out phase three; we'd need every last ounce of help during the final burn. That meant Thorim had to help us kill those Guardians. So it was decreed. During our clear toward Yogg, Omaric and Bretthew directed players to talk to Mimiron, Hodir, and Freya, removing their protective gaze from the Antechamber.

Omaric's primary tactic was, first and foremost, for players to get a handle on managing their sanity. Many of the progression raiders voiced their opinions in this department on the forums. Jungard, Crasian, Mangetsu -- folks passionate about their play and determined on being focused towards the win, shared their thoughts on the DoD boards. Omaric remained resolute in his stance: by reducing the various mistakes players could make throughout the course of phase one and two, the raid would ultimately transition into phase three with a healthy abundance of sanity. Without Freya's sanity wells as a crutch, players would have no choice but to perform with a high degree of precision. This essential tactic had far reaching effects in our One Light attempts for the duration of the raid that Friday evening.

When we returned to the instance Sunday, rested and ready to dig back in, it was as if we had never left. Each pull got a little cleaner. Transitions from phase one to phase two got a little quicker -- Bretthew expedited each attempt by purposefully walking into clouds in phase one, artificially spawning more Guardians than the default -- their subsequent deaths eating away at Sara's illusion in greater haste. Meanwhile, phase two continued to receive the spit polish. Jungard helped direct our melee in the nightmare, reminding folks to face away from the skulls as they dug their way through each dream sequence, eventually exposing Yogg's brainstem. As the attempts continued on into the evening, we closed the gap from three nightmare cycles to two. If we could burn the brainstem hard enough during those two cycles, we'd have enough sane people alive to deliver the true death to Yogg and transition the Old God to phase three.

At 9:18pm, the dual raid leaders made the call to melee: Get out now. This is it. We're pushing into phase three.

DoD defeats Yogg-Saron under the sole watch of Thorim,
earning "One Light in the Darkness (25 Player)",
Ulduar

One Light

With my back to the Old God, I resumed my role, calling out in Vent which tank was getting the next Guardian. Omaric and Bretthew did the same. Players continued to catch a peek of Yogg's horrific face and their sanity bled away. Another guardian spawned in the chaos, too close to pick it up. With maximum health, the Guardian was at its greatest strength. It turned to Sixfold, killing him instantly. The tanks fell back into our rotation. Crasian and Jungard hammered away at Yogg along with the rest of melee, risking their own sanity in the process. Turtleman came up snake eyes in the luck department and his sanity melted away. Bretthew called out to kill him, and the raid converged, blowing the undead Mage apart. More succumbed to Yogg: Abrinis, then Sir Klocker. Crasian focused on the kill as the last bits of his own mind were stripped away; the raid soon turned to kill him as well. Yogg's health continued to drop. Jungard held his faculties for a few additional moments, slashing his dual two-handed weapons into the hundred gaping mouths. Finally, he joined the list of the damned, killed by the raid amid his own insane ravings. In the last remaining percentage of health, Bretthew, Omaric and I could barely keep ourselves alive with the weight of the Guardians continuing to press down on us.

And then...brilliance.

Our screens lit up with a double dose of achievement spam. Both "Two Lights in the Darkness" and "One Light in the Darkness" had proc'd side-by-side, the result of our urgency to complete Glory. Cheers and screams filled Vent as we picked ourselves up and distributed loot. The reality of how close we were set in. Only one meta remained. Adrenaline pumped through our veins and we felt unstoppable. With forty minutes remaining in the evening, we celebrated our accomplishment by taking the raid back to Obsidian Sanctum and executing a three-drake kill for old times sake. This produced a Twilight Drake flying mount for Omaric in the process. It was well-earned and well-deserved. I took a moment to address the raid before they disbanded and headed out for the night.

"I just wanted to thank you all for the hard work everyone's been putting in on Glory. We're just about there, gang. Make sure you hit the forums and do that research on Firefighter. While I have everyone's attention, I have an announcement: I've come to a decision on the guild's next next melee officer. Most of you probably saw this coming, as the guy contributes so much to the guild and progression, that he's practically an honorary officer by this point. So it's time to make it official. Everyone, please join me in congratulating Jungard."

Again, the Ventrilo server erupted -- this time with congratulations and cheers for DoD's newest officer. A random voice piped up as the cheering subsided, "So does this mean Jungard's getting the ol' legendary axe first?"

"No," I replied, "I am."

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.

2.17. Digging in Another Man's Graveyard

Descendants of Draenor defeat The Lurker Below,
Serpentshrine Cavern

Captain Obvious

The Lurker Below sprang out of the water and we immediately came to life. The rules were simple: keep the damage steady, keep the tank alive. Keep the raid healed through Waterbolts and Whirls. Then, when Spout approached, dive into the water, lest we get struck with a hyrdoblast so hard it would knock us cleanly across the instance -- if not killing us entirely. Most of this phase was easy, except for the fact that people could not get back on to the wooden platforms to save their life. Getting in the water was easy, but for whatever reason, jumping back on to the boards was an exercise in frustration...and stupidity.

Phase two was worse. Once submerged, The Lurker sent forth Naga minions to pull us apart. Mages had to Polymorph, the tanks had to leap across the water to individual platforms to tank their adds, and DPS had to focus-fire in order to clean the fish guts up before The Lurker resurfaced. My favorite part of this phase occurred when certain Naga aggro'd on the far side of the platforms, causing them to bug out, teleport over to an unsuspecting player, and kill them in one hit. It had happened more times than I care to talk about. There was no sense in complaining to Blizzard about it. "As designed" they'd often respond, as a means to excuse themselves of accountability. All we could do was be aware that it was a danger, and plan as best we could to manage our threat.

This was looking like the best attempt yet, but as his health wound down, and we risked another submerge/ Naga nightmare, Ater died. We had 1% of his health remaining but no way to burn it away. We had no choice but to go through the motions. Deal with the Naga. Hit the water during Spout. And then, pouring the damage into the Krakken before the lack of a tank did us all in.

When The Lurker Below turned belly up, we knew it was over, and scrambled to clean up the remaining Naga. Volitar was supportive, congratulating the raid for pulling off their first boss kill in Tier 5 at long last. As we resurrected the dead, to divvy out loot and take our kill-shot, Turtleman the mage spoke up:

"If you get that low, you should probably just pop Shield Wall."

As if Ater, who'd been our Main Tank since Lucifron, needed instruction on how to play a Protection Warrior. It was the end of June; the 26th, to be exact. Five full months into The Burning Crusade, and we were only just beginning to scrape the thin scummy surface off of Tier 5 content. But The Lurker Below would not be killed again for weeks. That was the good news. The bad news was that, for one officer, the end of the rope had been reached.

Kadrok asks Kerulak about the "The Lost Pages",
Ashenvale

Kadrok

It was shortly after the week of Lurker's death that my Paladin Officer, Kadrok, came to me with the news. I knew what he was going to say.

"When we killed Gruul, it felt different. Something was missing. I could not describe it," he said to me in Vent that evening. Kadrok's voice was deep, marked by a familiar lack of contractions. When you listened to Kadrok speak, you got the sensation that he was a 6 foot 7 inch, 320 lb. monstrosity that could pound you into the ground, Bugs Bunny style, with a single punch.

"I know the feeling. Maybe a little less yelling in Vent, now that the size is smaller. Maybe that's it."

"That feeling of accomplishment...just did not seem to be there. A noticeable lack of...excitement."

"You think you're burning out?"

"Possibly. I am uncertain where to go from here. Which is why I wanted to talk to you."

---

It was deep within a violet forest that the two cows first bumped horns. I had been wandering aimlessly throughout the dense forest, scavenging up Shredder Operating Manual pages, crossing paths with Kadrok multiple times. I would /wave. He would return the gesture. We'd exchange observations, two strange Tauren going from leading our own separate virtual lives in solitude, to working together toward a common goal. Before long, the conversation had turned to that of guild recruitment. He wanted a home, I had one to offer him. Descendants of Draenor was created out of a group of players I went to LAN parties with, played Quake and Counter-Strike with -- Kadrok was the first stranger to join our family. But, once a part of us, he became an essential key to its success.

As my guild assimilation tasks continued to grow DoD to 40-Man raid size, Kadrok took an early role as Shaman Officer, helping me with the tasks of administrating a guild. His previous experience in EverQuest came in handy, and was soon confirming all of the advice that Graulm was handing down. In the early days when officership had no real definition, and mindsets were all across the board, Kadrok erred on the side of the aggressive, end-game focused group. He was ever pressing me to get us 40-Man ready, taking a shot in Molten Core at the drop-of-a-hat, even if we only had 30 players available, and zero raid experience to boot. He suffered through countless failed attempts with groups I'd thrown together, groups far too incompetent to work together, far too casual to take their gear and their role seriously enough to survive the impact of the Core.

Kadrok, displaying his Wild Growth Spaulders
and Red Dragonscale Protector,
Blackwing Lair

A Change of Scenery

Kadrok was there the day I made the awful decision to merge with Juxta's guild, forming a temporary stain on Deathwing-US named Ugly Black Warhorses. I'd been warned against making such a drastic move, but Kadrok stood by me, and supported the decisions I made, regardless of how foolish they may have been. And as expected, Kadrok returned with me to face that decision as we watched the guild slough off a layer of guildies that had grown tired of my elitist attitude. My early days of leadership were wrought with poor decision-making, yet Kadrok never doubted me, and stayed on to represent the family he'd been invited into.

There were many moments Kadrok had in those progression raids that were unforgettable. His deep, booming voice would call out in Vent as we made our first boss kills. Him chanting Dandrak's name in the final moments before our first Vaelastraz kill. The many silly arguments he'd have with Volitar about which was the most cost-effective way to buy Ankhs. His stubborn insistence on wearing the Wild Growth Spaulders from Majodomo's cache; a leather piece that didn't belong on a shaman -- but you would never be able to convince him otherwise. I would berate him about his decision in front of the other shamans, but always knew that he was the better healer than I. For that I was thankful, and felt lucky to have him run my shamans.

The night The Burning Crusade launched, Kadrok retired his shaman and pulled an all-nighter to level a Blood Elf Paladin alongside many other folks in the guild. Folks hopped into Vent in order to hear the insane ramblings of a player on the tail end on a 72-hour bender. There, they found Kadrok, rambling incoherently as he claimed responsibility for the invention of time, and that he was...to all WoW players...God incarnate.

At one point in his bout of wakeful sleep, we listened in while he worked to end the suffering of a talking severed head on Fenris Isle. Suddenly, Kadrok broke the silence in Vent with the stunned realization of what he was doing:

"Why...am I digging...in this man's...graveyard?"

"Why...am I DIGGING...IN THIS MAN'S...GRAVEYARD?!?!?"

---

"I feel like my only chance to keep interested in the game now is to change the scenery. I would like to try to find a place in a world-first guild."

I knew what he was going to say. For all he had done for me, the last thing I wanted was to make this more difficult for him. His hesitancy told me he was struggling with it, that by asking me, he was essentially admitting to me that we were no longer the home he wished to be a part of. We were no longer a family. So I saved him the grief and offered it up on my own.

"Would you like me to speak to Zoid over at EJ? I'm certain he could put in a good word for you with Gurgthock."

"Thank you, Hanzo. They are asking me to fill out an application..."

I stopped him, "Say no more. It's done. Kaddy, for everything you've given DoD, it's the least I can do. I'll talk to Zoid and if Gurg has any questions he can reach out to me."

Kadrok knew that Zoid and I had been friends long before World of Warcraft existed. That I pinged Zoid throughout Vanilla to validate my thoughts on strategy, either in regards to a boss kill, or the proper way to organize a raid. All the stories Zoid told me about Gurgthock made me idolize the Orc Shaman and his clean-cut crew of hardcore raiders. I wished that I could become a leader like that, trying to extract whatever hints or clues Gurg might leave in a trail of crumbs while I followed behind, scavenging and learning. It made sense for Kadrok to go to Elitist Jerks. He deserved an exceptional guild, not a mediocre one that flailed for weeks on The Lurker Below.

So I let Kadrok go. He joined Gurgthock's infamous guild, and went on to greatness. But we kept tabs on each other. He would hop back in our Vent on occasion, giving us updates from "the other side", and we'd pick his brain for any little tidbit of info that we could glean. And when things got somber and lonely in Vent, late at night, I would flip over to the EJ website, scanning through their screenshots, seeing him standing amongst his new crew in front of a fallen Vashj, a fallen Kael'thas, a fallen Archimonde and Illidan. Waving to me.

/wave.