3.33. The Call

The Eh Team displays their Rusted
Proto-Drakes near the entrance to Ulduar,
The Storm Peaks

A Double-Edged Sword

One-by-one, I pulled up the scheduled raid for Ulduar on our sign-up, looked for his name in the rotations, and deleted it. The restructure of the guild had been successful to such a degree that I had actually pulled off the trick of training my players to sign-up months in advance. Today it wasn't a blessing, it was a curse, because I had the frustrating task of deleting his sign-ups, one at a time. Each time I clicked delete, my gut laughed at me. You knew promoting him was going to cause you grief. And now he's walked and left you holding the bag. When are you going to start listening to me? I didn't want to listen. I liked the guy. He was funny, had been with us for years. His love of pizza and tacos was a well-known joke among the raid. He was family. I wanted to temper judgement with compassion, cut him a break for past offenses. Summer had arrived; signups were weak. I needed the best and brightest to tackle hard modes, to see us through Heroic: Glory of the Ulduar, to assist with the crafting of Neps' impending Val'anyr. So, I gambled on him and ignored my gut.

I gambled and lost.

---

A month had passed since The Eh Team had reached their goal. The "Glory of the Ulduar Raider" achievement spam had lit up the screens of all the guildies on the evening of May 27th, 2009, signaling to the rest of us that the spoils were soon incoming. Cheeseus and his crew proudly sent over screenshots boasting their coveted Rusted Proto-Drakes. I encouraged the guild to join in congratulating their hard work, and their many late nights slaving over the various metas. But while there was celebration in the hearts of the The Eh Team members, Cheeseus remained in his perpetual state of funk. Descendants of Draenor's #1 position on Deathwing-US (via 10-Man raiding), had finally fallen from grace. Enigma ended up beating The Eh Team to the Rusted Proto-Drakes, by a factor of only two-and-a-half weeks. With steep competition produced by various 10-Man teams in both Enigma on the Horde side, and Inertia on the Alliance, the resulting tally of achievement points pushed DoD's 10-Man standing down to the number 3 spot. I reminded Cheeseus that his team's work was no less successful, and that the guild was very proud to have him and his members on board. The 10-Man achievements were simply gravy, anyway -- what we cared about the most was 25-Man progression. Nevertheless, Cheeseus clung to the belief that they could have done better, pushed a bit harder, and this weighed on his mind as we carried on into the summer months.

With The Eh Team's completion of "Glory", new faces began to appear out of the woodwork. A few members needed to take a break from the constant push Cheeseus levied on them, which created opportunities for others in the guild to tag along in Eh Team runs. Various players that weren't previously able to field a 10-Man saw this as a chance to secure a Rusted Proto-Drake of their own. Behind-the-scenes negotiations began to take place as various players in DoD would speak to whomever was "their bestest bud" in The Eh Team, finagling a spot to acquire gear and achievements. Cheeseus's weekly 10-Man soon became one rife with new faces. The guild's family-oriented ideals dictating we all pitch in to help one another was starting to rub Cheeseus the wrong way. His way of thinking was more meat-and-potatoes. You want something? Get out there and earn it. I couldn't disagree with that stance as I'd restructured DoD to put greater weight on personal responsibility.

I was on the fence. 

Part of me wanted to push Cheeseus and The Eh Team to extend assistance to folks interested in getting their Rusted Proto-Drake; it's what a guild would do to help each other out. It was the sort of compassion and camaraderie I was striving for us to achieve. Sticking to our guns in that department, in turn, would be a selling point to recruit new folks who had grown tired of hanging around with insufferable, entitled children.

But another part of me thought otherwise. You should be very thankful that Cheeseus and company would even consider having you along at all, riding their coattails as a means to your own personal end. What started out as a very gracious offer soon devolved into an entitled expectation, and their get-out-of-responsibility-free card was the guild tag that sat below their name.

The 25-Man progression team defeats Freya while
protected by one of her three Elders, earning
"Heroic: Knock on Wood",
Ulduar

Chipping Away

Whether or not the drama of dealing with freeloaders in weekly Eh Team runs ate into Cheeseus' psyche, one can only guess. He may have completely put it out of his mind, or it may have been something he chose not to talk about, while it quietly flicked the back of his earlobes as he tried to concentrate on work. But in our continuing discussions regarding 25-Man hard modes, he continued to express his interest in an aggressive pursuit of "Heroic: Glory", along with his frustration of those who held us back. Even as Father’s Day presented another struggle to schedule around, Cheeseus stuck to his guns, insisting we run with who we had while I argued it was a mistake. He hyper-focused on the carries like Prodigie, while I continued to remind him to relax, and I would handle it. We may be held back a bit, but we were still doing very well, progression-wise. If it were up to him, he would cut all of the failures out of the roster. He only wished for perfection, anything less was an excuse. As a result of this mentality, when he turned on the heat about our lack of progression, he would lobby for more Elite promotions, this time in the form of Bretthew, the Paladin I gave a second chance to...but whom had red-flagged me to the point that a promotion would almost entirely be out-of-the-question. And this difference of opinion only served to draw the debate out further.

The work day conversations may have been thick with debate, but at least we saw eye-to-eye when it came time to zone in to Ulduar.

---

Hard modes continued to be chipped away throughout the month of July. The first of this batch was the completion of Heroic: Knock on Wood, defeating Freya with one Elder alive. This achievement was only the beginning of a hard mode, however, as we would have to crank the difficulty up two additional times to acquire to the final meta: kill Freya with all three Elders alive. An easier but no less annoying meta, Heroic: Iron Dwarf, Medium Rare, required us to force Razorscale to slay the Iron Dwarves that were trying to protect her. Whittling them away slowly without accidentally killing them was an exercise in patience in frustration. We held the plated Proto-Dragon in place, writhing, blowing fire in every direction. In many cases, she would ignite a pack of dwarves low in health...but not low enough to kill them. To our great excitement, the process would have to be repeated again and again until each member of the progression team individually claimed the achievement. From there, we moved on to The Assembly of Iron, and ramped up the difficulty a notch, killing Runemaster Molgeim last. It wasn't the achievement we needed for "Heroic: Glory", but it was the next logical step in difficulty. Baby steps...all over again.

July had a great start, but slowed down considerably as the weeks progressed, providing us only two more achievements. The weekend of the 19th scored us the first of this pair -- the completion of Heroic: Three Lights in the Darkness. This kill marked a significant milestone for us, as it would be the precursor to crafting Val'anyr, Hammer of Ancient Kings. All we needed was to collect the remaining Fragments, and getting a hard-mode kill guaranteed us at least one, even if our luck failed to produce any others for the duration of the raid. We were still short a few Fragments; my hope was to complete it before the impending vacation at the beginning of August. July's remaining achievement came in the form of Heroic: Siffed, marking our first successful push through Thorim's phase one in under three minutes. But when Sif leapt down into the arena and the achievement flashed up on everyone's screen, we learned very quickly that activating the hard mode -- and actually defeating Thorim with Sif in tow -- would be as different as Wrath was to Vanilla.

The 25-Man progression team defeats Yogg-Saron
with only three Keepers protecting them,
earning "Heroic: Three Lights in the Darkness",
Ulduar

Listening to the Gut

Except for the three-light kill of Yogg-Saron, a particular player was absent from all of these achievements. A player who should not have missed any of them. A player whom held the title of Elite. He had been a familiar face in my raids as far back as Vanilla, and always rocked the damage meters with his effortless control of fire. Over the course of DoD's life, I'd struggled with keeping the roster full of reliable, well-played mages. Many were reliable, but played like shit. Others were damage-dealing machines...if I could get them to show up. Only one remained consistent throughout our many years of slaying internet dragons.

Turtleman.

Through DoD's bad luck with mages, Turtleman had been a shining light in the darkness. But his immature approach to his schedule was biting at his heels. He'd gone missing a number of times, discreetly canceling out of a number of raids -- even when he shouldn't have been allowed to -- taking advantage of a bug in our phpRaider signup application. Yet when he pressured me for a promotion to Elite, I felt obligated by a sense of duty, rewarding his tenure. I ignored my screaming gut as I reached for that promotion button.

Tenure doesn't trump a red flag.

When the call came in to my phone that evening, my gut scrolled a message across my mind like a Hollywood Marquee. You should have known this was coming. Throughout the entire conversation, my mood slowly changed from disappointment to anger. Turtleman sat on the other end of the line, his tone like that of a kid being caught stealing from a store. He confessed. No more progression raiding for him. I asked for explanations; he offered none. I reminded him that this would be it for him, his final chance to ever hold a role of seniority in raids within DoD, that all his loyalty and tenure would be flushed down the toilet. I even gave him an out: give me the two-weeks notice I ask of all Elites to find a replacement, and you can walk away from this amicably. No dice. He mumbled responses, I could tell it was eating him away inside. Embarrassment and shame. Most players would rather walk away than have to deal with facing more disappointment. I demanded that, at the very least, he do the right thing and complete the evening's raid to kill Yogg-Saron with three Keepers. He agreed, and hung up.

I rested my phone down on the desk. Fuck. Pulling up phpRaider, I scrolled to the month of July, and one-by-one, cancelled Turtleman out of every raid he was rotated in for.

3.15. Killing the Flautists

Mature and crew knock out the
10-Man version of "The Twilight Zone",
Obsidian Sanctum

Theory vs. Reality

Eleven minutes after Ghostcrawler announced to the audience that his favorite pastimes included long walks on the beach, drinking Gin, and nerfing Paladins, a gamer addressed the panel of developers seated at the front of the auditorium. To her, the question was a legitimate concern; in her eyes, the design made made no sense and seemed illogical when scrutinized.

"It seems like some classes have to take PvP talents in order to reach the 31 point talent. Was this intentional? And if so...why?"

I picked up on her indignant tone and continued to listen, flanked by several members of Descendants of Draenor to my left and right. I knew where this was headed, but was intrigued by how Blizzard would respond.

Ion Hazzikostas leaned towards the mic and asked in return, "Can you give us an example of what you would consider a PvP talent?"

She stumbled a moment, flipping through the multitude of talent pages in her head, trying to zero in on an example worthy of this complaint.

"Shamans. The talent, I believe, that lets them take less...magic damage?"

Ion was quick to respond, "True, but isn't that useful in PvE? Essentially, if you aren't tanking, all the damage that you take...whether it be in a 5-man dungeon or in a raid...is going to be magic damage." He expounded on this by digging deep into Blizzard's changing philosophy of choice vs. "false" choice of talent specs in the next expansion, but the gamer was unsatisfied with this answer, and pushed Ion further.

"But as a caster, in some of those cases, you really shouldn't be getting hit anyway. There are the area-of-effects that are constantly going on, but in some cases, there's really no reason for you to be getting hit."

I leaned over to Goldenrod and whispered, "What, you've never made a mistake before?" He smiled back in agreement. Who was she trying to convince? Blizzard...or herself?

Ion's response summed up my thoughts exactly, "In an ideal world, none of these things would be needed. In an ideal world, an ability like combat rez wouldn't be needed, because people wouldn't be dying. In reality...people die."

We joined in the applause as Ion's message hit home. The raiding community in World of Warcraft was especially tuned to the nuances of reality when setting foot in Azeroth; we'd had everything but the kitchen sink thrown at us, damage wise. We'd suffered fire damage from Ragnaros, Shadow Flames from Nefarian, damage from pools of lava, void zones, arcane explosions, bombs, even weapons without owners took a chunk of our health away. Taking damage was a fact of life in raiding, and to us, there was no need to stand in line at BlizzCon and burn a question about survivability prerequisites. The game was like that by design.

Yet questions of this nature are repeatedly posed by the community, each more suspiciously naive that the previous. They cement the notion that there are a massive amount of players in the community that are missing something.

Mature and crew knock out the 10-Man
version of "A Poke in the Eye",
The Eye of Eternity

The Big Picture

Blizzard has a window into the game that you and I will never see. Behind closed doors, they are able to extract data, analyze patterns, see trends rise and fall, and use this criteria to make thoughtful decisions about their changes moving forward. They have made mistakes in the past, but have been a reasonably noble company in admitting when they are wrong, and not repeating those mistakes...far more than many other equitable companies in the game industry. One of their first big mistakes they made -- the implementation of PvP and PvE rewards using the exact same visuals (during TBC) was never repeated again, nor was the brutally complex mechanics of a raid at entry-level, such as with the case with the original Magtheridon. We knew it was a logistical nightmare to co-ordinate, and this would've been fine for late-game. At entry level, however, it was an artificial road-block that was a bit heavy-handed. Blizzard acknowledged this, and the mistake was never repeated.

The WoW player base, however, seemed to be growing in the general direction of "complain first, solve later" as their approach in dealing with a part of the game they couldn't understand. This concept is foreign to a seasoned gamer. We thrill in the hunt, to figure the puzzle out on our own. Whether this trend in the community grew out of sheer volume (the player base had ballooned up to 11 million players worldwide, having been closer to 7 million during The Burning Crusade), or as a result of Ghostcrawler and his fellow blue posters becoming more responsive on the forums, I can't say for certain. But I knew I had a limited view into the Matrix, and the answer would reveal itself if I put forth the effort. Players often see WoW through their own jaded lenses, reflecting back the narrow picture of a world where things don't go their way.

They lack the big picture. And it fuels their rage.

So while the masses of players continued to stomp their feet when things didn't go their way, I opted to err on the side of giving Blizzard the benefit of the doubt when I came across a bewildering design decision. True, I've been a gamer my entire life, so I have a pretty good handle on what I think is fun. And thanks to my career, I like to think I understand the complexities of software development, granting me perspective into the long hours it takes to produce even the most basic game mechanics that players take for granted. But I'm still just a gamer. I'm not a professional game designer. I keep that in the back of my mind when a  particular piece of the game puzzles me, doesn't seem to make sense, doesn't seem to be balanced or fair. It's what gives me pause before I rush out and jump on the forums, claiming Blizzard is just a bunch of asshats. Instead, I take a step back and wonder,

What part of the picture don’t I have?

Mature continues to whore up achievements,
raising 15 reputations to Exalted,
Icecrown

Benched On Purpose

The first round of achievements Blizzard delivered to us at the start of Wrath were fantastic. They got our raiding juices flowing and challenged us to push it to the limit. The Twilight Zone was an especially great way to let us crank up the difficulty, based on our team makeup and level of commitment. If you wanted to jump straight into 3-drakes, Godspeed. For us, baby steps were our bread and butter, so it made more sense for us to twist the dials a little bit at a time. The beauty of the design was how each achievement tested us in each area. Buried beneath the clever puns and in-jokes in their titles lay quantifiers that validated your skill as a raid team. Can you figure out a way to inflate DPS beyond what your team's gear allows? How well can your team communicate and coordinate? Is your team disciplined enough to make excellent time? If your team ignored a mechanic that would otherwise make the boss unkillable, could you still do it? There were a wide variety of achievements Blizzard gave us to test the 25-Man Progression team's competency; we gladly stepped up and showed them we could do it.

When we whittled the majority of the meta-achievements away, I began to see a strange trend emerge. Among those achievements that remained, there lacked a certain focus around the accomplishments of the team. In fact, one might go so far as to say those raiding achievements appeared to test how well a team didn't work together. Subtraction, The Dedicated Few, and A Poke in the Eye all required us to bring no more than 20 players to the instance. At first, I explained away their odd requirements as an exercise in competency under duress. Less players meant less DPS, less heals. Enrage timers would be tighter. Mana pools would be thinned. Each contributor would have to min/max to a much greater degree. Per my modus operandi, I sided with Blizzard and justified the design of the achievements. Putting a tiny bit of thought into Blizzard’s intent granted me the satisfaction of believing I understood their design.

Persuading the team of that intent was a different story entirely.

The raiders were less than enthusiastic about sitting on the bench in order to accomplish these achievements. I made it clear: these metas were a minor inconvenience, yet very necessary for the ultimate goal of achieving Heroic: Glory of the Raider. Everyone would be given an opportunity to churn through so that we all could claim it in our toons. I did my best to convince them, but as I continued to deal with the drama of players being uncomfortable sitting out, I began to question who I was trying to convince...the raiders, or myself?

Even though we were a guild whose ideals dictated that a team was a sum greater than its parts, I was still only months into the reboot of the guild. The past still lingered, and individual insecurities managed to squeeze out of the raiders' pores once we revealed the raider rotations for first shot at these metas.

"Why do I have to wait until week three?", they'd ask me in private.

God. Does it matter? We’re all going to get it done. But to them...it mattered. Self-doubt lingered in my avoidance in addressing their concern. Maybe they weren't as valuable as they originally thought. Maybe the clarity of my new rank system, denoting Raiders as general purpose, and Elite as star-performers wasn't as transparent as intended. Maybe after building up their self-esteem and making them believe they were better than they gave themselves credit for...these rotations spoke the cruel truth to them.

...or maybe they were reading too much into it.

I was annoyed. For Blizzard to ask us to chop our team up in order to prove they were capable was blatantly contradictory. I'd assembled a complete orchestra of players to perform, and was then instructed to kill the entire flute section, while the audience still expected a symphony. Quantifying a raid team's skill under duress could have been accomplished a number of ways: increasing the boss's health, inflating the boss's damage, hitting our healers with a raid-wide debuff that inhibited their heals...the list goes on. And in typical Blizzard fashion, they would acknowledge that this design was faulty -- that they had rushed into giving us this first round of achievements without the proper foresight. Blizzard never again asked us to leave players behind in order to accomplish great raiding feats of strength.

For the time being, however, the damage was done. In order to churn a reduced number of raiders through the instances so that everyone could claim Heroic: Glory of the Raider, we lost valuable weeks working on what would come to epitomize a fundamental lack of insight into achievement design -- an achievement that had great aspirations, yet very dire ramifications in its reckless implementation:

The Immortal.

3.3. Wrath of the Lich King

"Lich King"
Artwork by Justin Currie

Checks and Balances

On November 13th, 2008, nerds the world over were greeted to the sounds of Uilleann pipes as their zeppelins and ships brought them to the ice-touched continent of Northrend. Alliance and Horde rushed out of their respective transport crafts, weapons in-hand and guild-chat ablaze with new life, as they explored the frozen north. Howling Fjord, a forest playing home to the giant Vrykul, viking-themed humanoids that extended their occupation north into the Grizzly Hills. Borean Tundra, a barren and unexciting valley playing host to the Lich King's various minions, as well as the now-hostile blue dragonflight; many players would come to refer to this zone as boring tundra. Dragonblight, a glacier-thick icy boneyard that the dragonkind inhabit at the end of their lives. Zul'Drak, home to the drakkari ice trolls and which now bore the undead stench of the Lich King's grasp. Remnants of Night Elf history lay exposed in the sparse brush of Crystalsong Forest. Looking up from the forest revealed the floating city of Dalaran. The Storm Peaks, frigid mountains climbing higher than any peaks previous in WoW, were a mountain range hiding mysteries of the origins of life on Azeroth -- clues to the Titans influence on the creation of the world (further uncovered in the unusually temperate Sholazar Basin). The Storm Peaks were also home to a dark secret trapped deep below the dwarven city of Ulduar. And of course, Icecrown -- the final zone in which Arthas himself had amassed millions of undead scourge, now bent to his will, as he surveyed our arrival from atop Icecrown Citadel.

Northrend was nothing short of epic.

Descendants of Draenor once again became a flurry of activity. Day by day, we logged on, greeted each other, and continued to quest, explore, and level to 80. I was well behind most other players, since Death Knights began their life in WoW at 55; I was fine with playing catch-up. Besides, I wanted the extra time to learn my class, get comfortable with the new mechanics of runes and runic power, and hoped to eventually consider myself an expert in the class. Meanwhile, I harassed the officers on a daily basis. How are thing progressing? Are you pinging players to update the Raid Slot Template? Is there anything we need more or less of? The officers responded with equal enthusiasm. The Raid Slot Template continued to see activity as people decided what role was best for them. I kept tabs on what we needed, and tailored my recruitment accordingly. As per my new rules, all officers were directed to guide new recruitment to me. If people wanted to get a foot in the DoD door, I'd have them fill out an application. After receiving the application via email, if it passed an initial screen, I'd set up a time to meet in Ventrilo, to have a more personable interview. This process worked extremely well: 9 times out of 10, I was able to turn away people right at the app process from not paying attention to the application requirements; if they couldn't read a simple "how to apply" post, I reasoned, what chance would they have in paying attention during raids?

The new DoD public / private tags in effect
(phone numbers are blacked out),
Icecrown Citadel

The New Crew

The roster grew, both from old faces returning, and from new recruits passing the audit. Familiar names we welcomed back included Kragnl, one of my original earlocks from the 40-Man Vanilla days, who had taken time off during The Burning Crusade. He was back and ready to raid once again, this time on his druid, Beercow. The Shaman brothers Gunsmokeco and Deathonwing returned, ready to find their place in progression, as did Wematanye and Mcflurrie. Larada, one of our TBC progression Hunters, whom was now acting as hunter officer, was back for more, as well as the warriors Jungard and Abrinis. Even Ekasra returned, now as the warlock Nestonia, having taken my advice to switch out of healing. And, one of the longest running mages in the guild, the infamous Turtleman, also returned to our roster, his love of doing ridiculous amounts of damage was rivaled only by his love of pizza and tacos.

Joining these vets were new faces: Omaric, a warrior who snuck in at the tail end of TBC, yearning for a spot in progression, demonstrated spectacular expertise with his class, and had a knack for keeping the guild amused in Vent with his many vocal impressions. Also joining us near the end of TBC was Lix the resto druid, who came to us by way of my former officer Annihilation; they had PvP'd together extensively and Lix wished to contribute more to raiding. Lix's hubby, Vrykolakas the warlock, would join the guild three months later. I acquired Riskers the start of October, a friendly, well-played rogue who would soon earn the nickname "Seňor Riskers". Also new to the roster was Arterea the priest, who was welcomed into the DoD community and playfully referred to as "The Blind Healer", who managed to play exceptionally well, despite his tendency to run around in random directions. We also welcomed Robmelendez, a warlock who pushed out damage that rivaled even Eaca's, earning him the nickname "Aggromelendez". The list of new names grew and grew.

But it was the curious application from an ex-hardcore raider that got most of my attention. His experience surpassed our own: He'd had previous experience leading raids in other guilds, and was himself a part of a guild that had achieved the pièce de résistance of TBC raiding: Kil'jaeden the Deceiver, final boss of The Sunwell Plateau. Sunwell's extreme difficulty curve was comparable to that of Naxxramas 40; an instance we only carved a fraction out of. Anyone who had cleared that content had my instant respect. But I often wondered, why us? Wouldn't that be a step backwards? As it would turn out, he didn't care about our progression at all; it was the respectful professionalism demonstrated to him by a guildy during a random 5-man dungeon that impressed him enough to apply. We hit it off immediately in the interview process. He was Canadian, so was I. He had a passion for getting raid content cleared; I was of the same mindset. He bore the casualties and war stories from raids past, I had my own bruises and scars to brag about. It was clear in my mind I wanted him on-board. His only request was to bring along his RL friend; I obliged. Thusly, Descendants of Draenor became home to two additional players: Cheeseus the rogue and Sixfold the druid.

The raid signup sheet for Dec. 7, 2008.
DoD begins WotLK PvE

No More Excuses

With the roster exploding from both returning players and brand new faces, I worked to streamline the process of getting the guild to know one another. Our roots grew out of a family-based mindset, and I wanted that to continue. To encourage and facilitate communication between these old and new guildies, I instituted a simple change to the in-game guild listing. Previously, public and private tags maintained no consistency or held any function; officers would sometimes put random jokes in people's tags, and sometimes even make underhanded "inside" jokes for only the officers to see in the private tags. Effective at the start of WotLK, I wiped all the public and private tags clean, and filled them out using the following system:

Public Tag:

• A player's main character would read "Main"
• A player's alternate character or would read "Alt of XX", where XX had to map to an existing character in the guild list.

Private Tag:

• If a player was invited as a social app, a friend of a friend, this would read "Social of XX", where XX was another Main in the guild listing. This tied responsibility back to the inviter; if the person you ended up bringing into DoD was a douchebag -- you would have to answer for it.
• If a player was a Raider (or intending to be one), their phone number would be entered here. This allowed the officers to be able to contact a player in an emergency, thus preventing a raid from stalling. Additionally, it gave them direction on whom they should start with: players with verified working contact numbers in their private note had obviously given a shit about raiding in the past, and therefore, should be the most appropriate to go to when fires needed to be put out.

Once these updated guild notes were in place, I was able to point players to the roster in order to figure out the answers to questions like "Hey, is XX on?" Now, the guild was empowered to check on their own. Strike one thing off the administration list. When it came time to start raiding, what if we had a no-show? What if someone was stuck in traffic, or perhaps we lost connectivity with them mid-raid? Who would we call to replace them in a pinch? The officers had the tools they needed to pop open the roster, scan the list, find appropriate replacements, and phone or text them immediately. The admin load continued to lighten.

When the day finally arrived that we had a large enough roster to move forward with, I circled back with the officers, and started plugging a schedule into our signup sheet. Meanwhile, the officers assisted me in vetting these players. We would check their gear, run 5-Man heroics with them, get a feel for their eligibility into progression. Once comfortable, the Guildy was promoted to Raider, and directed to the signup sheet. I also began posting initial information regarding the new raids: Obsidian Sanctum, Eye of Eternity, and our old favorite, Naxxramas...now re-designed to favor a 25-Man sized raid. I kept the Raiders honest by invoking a new feature I plugged into our forums: raid strategy posts were flagged as required reading; the forums would physically prevent you from doing anything else until you read the topic. No longer would I have to listen to the excuse of "Oh, I didn't know I wasn't supposed to stand in the fire!" -- a Guildy wouldn't be able to sign up for raids unless their account had been promoted to Raider...and once they were a Raider, the forums would ensure they saw required reading posts.

In short, you wouldn't even be considered for a raid rotation unless you were a Raider, and by being a Raider, I knew definitively that you had seen our raid strategy posts. Excuses were no longer an option. It was time for the progression team to be accountable for themselves.

I surveyed the roster, full of excited (and vetted!) Raiders, and felt the adrenaline pumping. It was official: We had a start date etched in stone, had a verified, qualified team to field the raid, and the excitement of new PvE content awaiting us.

There was just one problem: we had no raid leader.

3.2b. Master of One

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

Kerulak of All Trades

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

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

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

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

Ekasra is typing…

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

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

But.

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

Snippet of the
Raid Slot Template

Don't Ask, Don't Tell

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

Remember your new rules.

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

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

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

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

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

Not bad, Ekasra. Not bad at all.

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

Eating My Own Dogfood

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

Another wild possibility entered my thoughts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

3.2. The Grand Reveal

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

Officers React

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...until today. 

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

50 DKP Plus

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

"Correct", I replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Massive!" laughed Blain, feeding Klocker.

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

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

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

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

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

"Neps, what do you think?"

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

Everyone laughed.

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

Uld the Rogue,
Darkwhisper Gorge

Frequently Repeated Questions

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who We Are, Who We Are Not

After returning from my summer vacation at the end of August 2008, my plan was to restructure Descendants of Draenor from the ground up. Part of this process involved me making a public declaration about who were were as a group of players, and where our focus lay. The goal was to have this mission statement realign the members of the guild, so that there was no misunderstanding about what we were here to do. Additionally, it would serve as a "sales pitch" to possible guild candidates looking for a new home.

This statement was wrapped up into a forum post and revealed to the guild on October 1st, 2008, six weeks before the release of Wrath of the Lich King. Included for your perusal is the complete body of that forum post.

---

We are not like other guilds. We are unique.

You can join any guild on this server (or other servers) and expect to find:

1. An excessive amount of l33tspeak.
2. Constant trash-talk/ignorance in WoW General Chat or the Public Forums.
3. A guild comprised of people who know each other only by their character name, and know nothing about people's personalities or history, and whom show no compassion or empathy towards one another (or give a shit to even think about that).
4. A guild interested purely in raid progression, focusing more on raid stacking and brute-forcing content via excessive raid schedules and raiding hours, and who cares little (if any) about personal responsibility or utilizing accurate communication skills when teaching/learning.
5. Unfair treatment of guild members when it comes to anything from raiding, to guild vault access, to even the way guild members speak to one another.
6. Lack of structure and rules, and enforcement of those rules.
7. Instability. Guilds rise and fall like the tides.

The above traits are common in many guilds. They aren't wrong, but they are not how we do business. Other guilds employ these traits for any number of reasons: intolerance, lack of time management skills, inexperience, immaturity...to name a few. Here is how we are different:

The Guild Leader (Hanzo/Kerulak)

The guild leader treats the guild like a business.

He pours countless hours of energy and thought into the management and shaping of the guild.

He spends a lot of time getting to know as many of his troops as he can.

He is open to have any issue brought to his attention, and very rarely dismisses problems without further investigation.

He wants you to play the game the way you most enjoy it (provided you are not exploiting/cheating).

He doesn't have a problem telling you directly when you have fucked up. He is good about letting you know privately and what steps you can take to repair/improve. He'll also notice when you don't...and has no problem removing you from the guild.

He doesn't have any expectations on the amount of time or energy you invest, but he is actively aware of who contributes more than others, and he makes a habit of rewarding guild members who consistently go above and beyond the call of duty. Furthermore, he has set in motion a risk/reward structure into the guild rules that enforces this theory.

He wants every guild member's experience in DoD to be exceptional. He doesn't expect you to be perfect, but he expects you to evolve. It's ok to make mistakes. It's not ok to repeat them.

When the day comes and you move on, or put WoW down for good, the guild leader's goal is to have you reflect back and say, "The best guild I ever had the luxury of being in during my time in WoW was DoD." Above all else, he wants to have fun playing WoW, and he wants you to have fun as well.

The Guildies

We play WoW. A lot. For the majority of us, it is our favorite game at present.

We are stable. We have been around for the full duration of WoW and have never broken up, disbanded, re-formed, or taken time off. We are constant.

We are a guild comprised mostly of adults. Ages vary, spanning from the teens to the fifties.

Many of us have jobs. Many are 9-5, Mon-Fri. Some have jobs that span the weekend.

Some of us are married. Some of us have kids.

Many of us have been playing WoW together for several years and know quite a bit about one another. We understand each others nuances, behaviors, and mood swings and have grown accustomed to them. As such, we have the ability to resolve conflict quickly.

We enjoy the social aspects of the game and are a very social guild by nature. Some of us have friends that started in the guild and extend beyond WoW. We like people and we would like to get to know you.

No guild is drama free, but we keep ours to a dull roar.

No guild is free of oppressive, dictator-like officers, but ours just come across that way because they are more annoyed at incompetence than anything else. Some of our officers are actually patient and kind. In most cases where ex-guildies have complained about being oppressed, it is almost always a direct result of said guild member not taking criticism well.

We are respectful, both of guild members, and of other guilds and unknown players. We joke and kid each other, and will often ride each other in guild chat or vent, but this is because we are a group of friends who have been playing together for quite some time. We are helpful and considerate.

Our Approach to Raiding

We enjoy raiding and we enjoy raiding efficiently. We don't have time to fuck around. After four years, we know a few things about the game, and although we are usually good about helping new people learn the game, we are also not terribly focused on reiterating the same things we've done time and time again. We're looking to try and do new things.

When the guild re-evaluates its rules and regulations, it keeps the majority in mind. If one or two people feel very strongly about starting to raid a 3rd or 4th night a week, that's not very likely going to affect change. However, we have added raid nights in the past when there has been an overwhelming need to fill. As the demand grows, we will make an effort to meet that demand (so long as there is an adequate supply of guild members who are dedicated to making it work).

We are respectful to guild members who raid, and we expect that you return the favor. We will be mindful of speaking to you fairly in raids, giving you assistance where you need it, and doing our best to treat rotations fairly, while adhering to the rules of the guild. As such, we expect that you are consistent, reliable, communicate emergencies to us, and are a team player.

No loot system is free from being corrupt, but we have a reasonably solid one that has been, for the most part, fair to those who have raided with us. No one single person is in charge of being master looter and many officers with differences of opinion oversee loot distribution, while adhering to our guild rules. It is reasonably well monitored, and in the history of four years of raiding, has almost never caused drama.

We are not a "hardcore" guild: We don't raid every night of the week. Some of us need to get up in the morning and go to work, and we give a shit about our jobs, so we don't want to do them half-assed. We also give a shit about raiding and don't want to execute raids half-assed either; therefore, we have focused, quality time on the weekends to take care of business in WoW. When we do raid, we come prepared, as if we had to lead the raid ourselves. We don't expect anyone to hand us explanations or hold our hands while we re-learn content all over again.

We don't take the same 25 people when we raid. This is because we don't expect to have the same 25 people every raid night. We don't kick you out of the guild for not raiding every single night of the week, so we work with who we have. Some people raid more than others, and we make an effort to keep a large pool of players available to switch in and out. This is a very flexible model that allows you to raid as much or as little as you want. The side-effect is that you don't get to go all the time. If you prefer to go all the time, your raiding is probably best done in another guild where they raid every night and require the same people to be present, kicking you out of the guild if you miss one night out of 30.

We will not be the first guild on the server to kill a boss or clear a raid instance. If this is your priority, you may be better off elsewhere.

We are not ultra-hyper-focused on loot. We care more about the progression and accomplishment than handing out toys. Having said that, loot is fun. We like to play with new toys, and we are happy to reward you with loot for your contributions to our team. If you are thinking about quitting the guild because you feel you got the shaft on a new piece of loot that went to somebody else, I recommend packing up now; you will find no shoulders to cry on in this guild with those priorities. Sorry.

We won't guarantee you a raid spot. Raids spots are earned. If you have signed up for a raid, there is no guarantee either way that we will take you, or that we will not be requiring your services. Signing up tells us you are ready to commit. If you don't show up, chances are you've blown any chance in hell that we will take you seriously. Equally, there's no guarantee that existing raiders won't lose their spot to you...if they have been performing sub-par, and you demonstrate excellence...you may very well switch places with them in the raid lineup.

Challenges You May Face

We're not here to babysit you. If you don't get along with someone in the guild, I don't want to hear about it (unless you are being abused and/or neglected by an officer). You'd best deal with it.

We're not a faceless organization. We don't keep to ourselves, login, do some dailies and logout. We have names and are real people. We're uninterested in having people in this guild who are unwilling to communicate. If you keep to yourself, you are going to struggle to get things done in DoD.

If you insist on communicating in guild chat, and prefer not to speak in Ventrilo, you are also going to have real problems. Think of guild chat as just another instant messaging/IRC window that's up while you're at work...you may shoot the shit with other people online from time to time, but in actuality, you are getting work done. In DoD, the brunt of the work is done via Ventrilo. Insist on remaining silent in vent and hyper-focusing on guild chat and why nobody "listens to you" or "hears your requests when you ask for help", and you will surely be disappointed, time and time again.

Our schedule is what it is. It has been molded and shaped over time by the majority. As stated above, we have other interests, priorities and responsibilities outside of WoW that cause the schedule to be the way that it is. We apologize if it doesn't work for you, but it's unlikely to change, so if you cannot change your own schedule to meet the needs of the guild, it is going to be difficult for you to accomplish what you want.

If you like to cause drama, or bitch about trivial things that are out of your control, or even make generalized statements that have no basis in fact, you are going to be hard-pressed to find people to side with you. Also, leaving the guild without saying a word or putting us on /ignore doesn't "teach us a lesson"; it only makes certain you have poured the final drops of gasoline onto your newly burning bridge, and will only serve to make you look like a fool when you apply to other guilds and those guilds' officers ask us about you and your time spent here.

Your Reward

If you've read this far, it's clear that you still give a shit about DoD and are intrigued enough to make it your home. I assure you that you won't be disappointed. Let's review what your reward is for choosing the best damn guild on Deathwing:

1. The most stable and reliable Horde guild on the server.
2. The most dedicated guild leader in existence, who may even sing during raids (just don't loot during combat to prevent this).
3. A group of intelligent, funny, mature and fair (but firm) officers.
4. Low drama. Low corruption.
5. Guild structure and rules that have been tested through time and are enforced.
6. A fixed raid schedule that you are able to devote as much or as little time to as you wish, and a loot/reward system that quantifies your dedication to the guild.
7. A massive collection of guild members with varying personalities and interests, all of whom enjoy WoW and would like to have you join in.

If interested, I encourage you to apply.

- Hanzo, Guild Leader

Descendants of Draenor, Deathwing-US