Apologies, Constant Readers, for the lack of quality posts of late. My time, and indeed my very soul, has been consumed with a dark and ill-omened undertaking, that of raiding the crap out of Icecrown Citadel. Being in a progression guild seems like fun from the outside: the glory, the hedonistic orgies of sweaty flesh, the repair bills soaring into the thousands. But in reality, it is a long, slow trudge burdened every step of the way by the sadism of Blizzard’s encounter designers, who I imagine sit around in spacious, modern boardrooms saying things like, “OK, get this: this boss will randomly drop a huge fuck-off white sphere around the room, and if it is not constantly damaged, it will slowly descend to the ground, and if it makes it, watch right the fuck out because your ass is toast!” Such suggestions are probably met with promotions, or at least a libation with the blood of virgins.
Still, it is important to note that I have learned four noble truths from the experience of the Icecrown raid, and much like the Buddha, I shall merge from under my digital bodhi tree to share with my readers these secrets.
4. Rogues Can Disarm Traps and Out DPS Everyone
In an effort to make Icecrown feel more like a cruel dungeon master is looking over players’ shoulders, the designers implemented a phenomenon known as “traps” in to the dungeon. These traps are
invisible to the eyes of everyone but the raid’s Rogues, who delight in giving bad or vague directions to avoid them, mostly for the entertainment value in watching some giant thirty-foot tall skeleton Cleave their cohorts in twain. Where do these giant skeletons come from? What creature, fell or natural or otherwise, possessed them in fleshy form at one time?
Philosophical speculations aside, having a Rogue is now essential, not just for the massive damage they bring, but because cleverly-titled “Inconspicuous Levers” can turn off entire halls worth of traps and spare players many a repair bill.
3. The Greatest Heroes of The Horde and Alliance Are Here But Do Nothing
Muradin Bronzebeard. Tirion Fordring. Darion Mograine. High Overlord Saurfang. We are a few dragons short of the most powerful force possible, and yet we send ten to twenty-five doofuses in mis-matched armor in to do battle with one of the greatest forces of evil in the world? How about instead of watching Lord Marrowgar throw a few more Bone Spikes through my abdominal cavity, you come over here and lay down a bit of that law, Fordring? Paladins. Sheesh.
2. Melee DPSers Are Functionally Retarded
In the interest of full disclosure, my main spec is an Arms Warrior. I am one of the melee DPS leads for our raids, and every night, I log off the computer and commence some hard drinking because of the
potential for melee DPS to screw everything up on certain fights.
The Deathbringer Saurfang fight is a melee DPS wet dream rolled up in sexy and topped with a few layers of hot, steaming awesome. The instructions are simple: stand in one place and BASH THE BOSS WITH EVERYTHING WE HAVE GOT… except please do not use area-of-effect spells during a short, 5-second window for which one will receive ample warning.
Yet night after night, the raid will wipe repeatedly because some noobcakes Retribution Paladin thinks, “Hey, Consecrate is an awesome spell that will stay down on the ground just this side of forever
without any way to cancel it. O CONSECRATE, HOW I LOVE THEE! LET US USE YOU AT EVERY OPPORTUNITY!” PALADINS!!!
1. Blood Elves Are Immortal And Cannot Be Stopped
It is now an axiom of the Warcraft universe that:
∀x, if x is a Blood Elf, and, ∀y, if y is a named, hostile NPC in a dungeon or main story quest line, then any NPC meeting both conditions x and y will appear as a boss at some later
point in a raid telling players that the earlier meeting was “merely a setback.”
This has gone beyond being an in-joke, Blizzard. Admit it: you feel bad about making Blood Elves… Blood Elves… and want them to be immortal. It is OK: everyone gets the short end of the draw sometimes. Blood Elves are misshapen androgyne sorcerers with a penchant for the garish color scheme of crimson, sunburst yellow and lime green, like the inside of Hunter S. Thompson’s mind circa 1972. Life sucks, but then you move on and get a race change. There is no need to make them overpowered supervampires hellbent on destroying my raid for having the temerity to enter the halls of the San’layn. A simple, “we are not interested in your Draenei Scout cookies, little guys,” would have sufficed. Honestly. We would have turned right around and left, but no… it had to turn into a bloodsucking fest of fire and shadow that shakes the very foundations of reality itself. Blood Elves are so touchy.