4.63. Underwhelmed

Seraphine spies the Pureblood Fire Hawk,
freshly looted by The ORLY Factor,
Stormwind

Et tu, Douche Canoe?

"I'm out this weekend," Blain's tone was jovial in Vent, bordering on relief, as if to say have fun with all of that. It only pissed me off more.

"Didn't you just take a weekend vacation?"

"Yeah...that was two months ago. And I need to do it again!"

"Is this absolutely the best fucking time to be vacationing? I mean, we're at what could be considered the worst possible brick wall in DoD's history."

His tone shifted. It was subtle, barely enough to register on the average person's radar. Blain kept to an affable demeanor, but paused ever-so-slightly on words where it was appropriate for the listener to take a hint. He'd taken this posture with me at various points throughout our raiding career together, most notably when I neared the line of inappropriateness. And if you were a sharp enough people reader that you could catch what he was throwing down, while blindfolded (as so many of us gamers are forced to be), you'd know what he was aiming for -- that you were one of the few who'd earned a spot in his good graces, and now teetered precariously on the brink of falling out of favor.

"Well...that may be true...but I'm still going to be out...Friday. I should be back for the Sunday raid, and if I'm going to be late, I'll text you."

It doesn't matter how greatly / poorly we're doing. I have plans. I'm letting you know what they are. Respect them. 

Message delivered.

"Thanks," my tone could've been less snotty, but with all energy fully allocated to rage management, little remained to fuel social grace.

September of 2011 wound me into a bitter, cynical state. After spending only two nights on Heroic: Shannox, there was no indication, no hint at all, of the torture we were about to endure as we headed toward Heroic: Lord Rhyolith. Night after night, weekend after weekend, we smashed our faces against molten rock, again and again, battered and beaten, until our virtual eyes welled up with bloodied mucus, and drool lingered from each digital lip. Each night, those digital avatars trudged slowly out of Firelands, shoulders hunched, spitting bone fragments on the way out, not for convenience. For contempt.

My state of mind grew weary, thanks in part to both direct and indirect psychological attacks, constantly challenging the decisions I'd made for seven years. Leveling alts to clear my mind may have freed me from Drecca's coordinated harassment campaign, but I didn't have to travel far to see Blizzard's changing stance on rewarding a guild's commitment to backbone. There was a time when a player might look to the sky in awe of raiding accomplishments. Bearing witness to such incredible rare mounts got the juices flowing, the gears turning. A player coveting such treasure might consider how s/he could acquire one, eventually working their way into a well-respected raiding guild. Dedication and hard work were no longer requirements for such rare treasures. To the shit-show went the spoils. To the rest of us, with fingers raw and wrists cramped sore with carpal tunnel, went nothing. A sigh forever exhaling.

If there was a payoff out there, stretched thin across the horizon, it grew dim with each failed week on Rhyolith.

An early version of "Lord Rhyolith Footers" addon in action
(Source: "Suspicion vs. Lord Rhyolith")

Footsies

DoD's roster splintered. Sarge was still out (blown video card), and now the healers would suffer an additional tragedy: the loss of Beefysupryme. Still young in the eyes of the guild, he (along with wife Physica) contributed exceptional heals and damage, respectively. The couple had grown to become loyal, dedicated members of the DoD family in a short time. Alas, Beefy scored a new job, and the schedule disallowed him from concentrating on progression. He stepped down from the core and hung up his healing Resto Druid branches, leaving Physica to carry the torch in his name.

The worst hit of all was losing Jungard, whose college fall schedule had finally kicked off, shattering any chances of his availability on Friday night progression. I'd watched Jungard for years, slowly making his way into late TBC progression after getting his first shot via Annihilation. Over the many months and several expansions that made up Jungard's raiding career in DoD, he'd grown from a humble warrior looking for glory, to a trusted friend and confidant, and eventually, an officer of the DoD court. His compassion and kind nature toward even the scrubbiest of players often reminded me of the proverbial "catch more bees with honey" strategy that I desperately needed now, more than ever...as the frustrations of Cataclysm mounted. The holes in the officer core formerly filled by Neps and Jungard were sucking chest wounds that DoD had no choice but to suffer.

On the eve of the sixth week of attempts on Heroic: Lord Rhyolith, the night Blain informed me he'd be missing one of the two nights on a business trip, I opened up a chat with Bonechatters and began typing instructions.

"Ping Fred, and ask him if he is willing to take the reins Friday, and if he has too much on his plate, that you are happy to take it off his shoulders."

"Got it. Tanks?"

"Most likely Amatsu and Unchained. I can pull my bizarre avoidance out if necessary for Baleroc."

"Roger. I want people to be using Footers tonight, melee is accounted for. If its successful, perhaps we might consider having everyone use it."

Boney was experimenting with a new addon that raiding guilds were catching wind of, a panel that displayed the names of each player doing damage to each particular foot, as well as an estimate of DPS being applied to each foot. With it, he hoped to gain more control over the chaotic, unstructured "left foot/right foot" calls in Vent.

"Oh, and Boney...plan for heroics, across the board."

Moments later, Fred connected with me over instant messenger.

"I feel like I've lost some man points. My wife had me log on to Pinterest."

"I dunno what that is."

"It's a new favorite site amongst women that love to drive their husbands insane."

I focused Fred back to the topic at hand, "So, you're comfortable leading Friday?"

"Ya, shouldn't be a problem."

"This may be our shot," noting the upside of the nerfs, "most heroics will be well within reach now."

Honestly, having been unable to attempt anything past Heroic: Lord Rhyolith, I will never know what else we might have accomplished. But Blizzard's blanket nerfs to Firelands only nights before ensured that nearly every boss suffered at least a 15% hit in health and damage. Amid a never-ending list of setbacks, the nerfs stood to be our last remaining motivator.

"Did Alysrazor in the 10 last night. The tornadoes move so slow now. It's like a geriatric parade."

"Boney's having melee get the Footers addon, you may want to have it as well."

I fired up Pinterest, and scrolled through the sea of women's fashion.

"Pinterest, eh? Needs more Hanzo."

DoD ends their ordeal, defeating Heroic: Lord Rhyolith,
Firelands

Miracle

We cut Shannox immediately out of the way at the start of the Friday raid, focusing all of our attention on Rhyolith for the duration of the night. Shannox keeled over with less grief than previous heroic kills; the effects of Blizzard's nerfs were noticeable. We accepted the handicap as a commander might accept the loss of a good battalion in order to gain a necessary foothold in the ongoing war: outwardly optimistic and focused on the brass ring while remaining humbly aware of what that cost came with. Bragging about "awesome deeps" would be left to another day.

Heroic: Lord Rhyolith attempts resumed. Having clocked as many hours on Rhyolith as we had on Kael'thas Sunstrider in TBC, it is fair to state that our newest members to progression rightfully earned a place among honorary veteran raiders of the old world. Those Wrath- and Cata-era raiders who stuck this out were part of a rare crew -- they weathered the grueling, repetitive demands of month-long practice attempts that formed the cornerstone of Vanilla and TBC raiding, and they did so with grace.

Progress! By the end of the evening, DoD experienced more transitions into phase two than ever before. All that remained was an employing a workable strategy to deal with Rhyolith's eye-beams, which cut the roster down before being able to extinguish that remaining fire. Blain would see to that, come Sunday.

---

An hour before the raid, my phone buzzed.

Still at least an hour away. Start without me.

I thumbed back a response, asking him where he was.

Greenville SC

An hour? Google Maps estimated Blain had closer to two hours before getting near anything that resembled a gaming rig.

"We're clearing bosses first," I directed Fred. He and Boney led the charge, clearing to Beth'tilac, Baleroc, and Alysrazor. All three were done by the first hour, planting us firmly at Rhyolith's godforsaken feet at the top of the 1st hour.

I called Blain, and quietly left my press-to-talk key down, while I feigned a serious tone.

"Blain. You are an hour late. This is completely unacceptable behavior. Especially for a Tyrant."

I could make out the car engine in the background.

"Sorry," this time his tone was that of genuine defeat, perhaps one of the rarest glimpses into Blain's vulnerabilities, "I guessed pretty bad on this drive. Give the raid my apologies."

Holding the phone up to the speakers so that he could hear clearly, the raid gave Blain a round of boos and insults, not meant to disparage, but to humor and lighten the painfully dark mood Rhyolith had brought. It was another rare glimpse of DoD sticking together. On the other end of my phone, Blain laughed.

"Ok, I'm hanging up. We're going to go kill Heroic Rhyolith now."

"Alright, everyone," he replied, "good luck in there."

I turned back to the raid, "You heard the man, folks. End this suffering."

It took only two attempts.

Twenty-two minutes after I hung up with Blain, Rhyolith's shell broke off, exposing his body of liquid flame. All twenty-five players remained alive, carefully inching their way around eye beams while unleashing the pent up rage of ten nights of practice. His great liquid magma body crashed to the ground and the screams of victory filled Vent once again. Dead at last. The nightmare was over. Sanity became reality. For a brief moment, all was right with the world.

"Ok, let's see," started Fred, "ok we have an Incendic Chestguard. Maybe for a boomkin? Taking bids now. Ending bids in 3, 2, 1...no bids?"

Mortalsend spoke up, "Well...I’ll take it for off, but only if nobody else needs it."

"Looks like you're it. There you go. Next up we have, uh....Earthcrack Bracers. DPS melee bracers. bids to Fred."

I looked at my bracers. The difference (if there was any to speak of) were negligible. Inspecting Hells revealed the same bracers.

"Ok, counting down, 3...2...1. And, winner is Unchained. There you go, sir."

"Thanks, Fred."

"Cracked Obsidian Stompers are next, bids to Fred. Bring in the bids, folks. Let's go. Counting down...3...2...1. Winner is Amatsu for 5."

"Wow, an actual upgrade for someone with the appropriate spec!"

"Meh," Amatsu added, "They're marginally better, but 5 DKP won't break me."

"Ok last up, we have Entrail Disgorger. Bids to Fred. Anybody at all. Send 'em in. Counting down in 3...2...1. Entrail Disgorger goes to Boney for 35."

I stood in silence a moment.

"...so, I guess...Staghelm, folks."

The raid headed off of Rhyolith's plateau, and back down the ravine, heading towards Staghelm's bridge. I stood another moment, staring off into the brimstone.

One of the most excruciating, torturous bosses ever confronted by DoD over its seven year history...depriving us of nearly thirty-two hours of forward movement in the instance...produced:

- one upgrade,
- two side-grades, and
- two off-pieces.

Evidence of anything else was forever banished to a shapeless pile of enchanting dust, cast away, like so many good intentions.

3.69. Blizzard's First Mistake (Revisited)

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

The Public Goods Game

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tragedy of the Casuals

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

It all boils down to risk aversion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Promoting the Perv

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

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

Sir Klocker had been there for it all.

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

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

Loot.