It's not dead, it's resting...

Larisa's musings on the recent resurgence of WOW is dying posts have got me thinking. As she rightly points out, the game has been "dying" for over three years, with no noticeable impact on its actual subscription numbers.

More of the same

Another World Cup, another predictable defeat for England at the hands of Germany.

The reasons are pretty obvious: the England squad were less tactically aware, had inferior technical skills and lacked organisation and discipline. Yet if you were to believe the British press, that's not the problem at all. Oh no, it was the lack of "passion" that was our undoing, as if somehow doing the same dumb thing more enthusiastically would solve everything. If only we had eleven Garrosh Hellscreams in our team, tactics and skill would be rendered magically irrelevant.

We see this same delusion in WOW amongst the Gearscore-obsessives. We didn't fail to kill the boss because our tactics were wrong or we didn't play well. We failed because an arbitrary magic number wasn't high enough.

The trouble with this kind of delusion is that it's very hard to shift. Even when presented with pretty incontrovertible evidence that it isn't Gearscore or passion that matters, but skill and teamwork, people still persist in believing it. It can't be that they were doing the wrong thing, they just weren't doing enough of the right thing!

Perhaps people find that comforting - the problem isn't them, it's the lack of gear. Nobody could defeat an ICC boss with just T9 gear and a 25% buff. They didn't fail, the task was impossible.

Unfortunately, that's a recipe for perpetual failure. If you aren't prepared to look honestly at what went wrong, rather than blaming some mythical scapegoat, you'll never improve.

Congratulations, Germany. You've cleared the trash, now it's on to the boss-fight.

Strong Voodoo (part 3)

"Well dat be up ta yas. Ya wan' stay 'ere, dat be fine. Ya get back on ya box. But if yas wan' live, ya come feel da see breeze on ya."

"I have never been. It is near the sea I hear...?"

All polite an' propah, but Doll look frighten'. Maybe she like bein' in dat cage. Troll be use' ta dat. Elfie scared oh wild place an' dis one be tiny, a lil wide-eyed rabbit. Maybe I play a little.

"Oh ya. Sun an' sea an' jungle."

"Jungle!?"

"Oh ya, on dem islan' nearby. Darkspear islan', I might add. Wid raptas and tigers an' all maner o'dangerous ting. Jus' waitin' fa a tasty morsel."

"Oh!"

"Dem gobble ya right up if ya don' learn ta move right."

"Now I feel you are just trying to scare me,"

Strong Voodoo (part 2)

I feel dat jungle callin'. Tiger may be cage', but 'e still feel dat 'untin' urge.

"'ey der, elfie. What you doin' on dat box, eh? 'e 'ired ya ta bring in dem customer, eh?"

I looks over at snot-boy by dem boxes. 'e like me even less now. Troll be use' ta dat. We bin makin' war, makin' peace an makin' baby since time began. We seen us empire rise, an' we seen us empire fall. Elfie tink 'e been aroun' so long dat 'e can fahget where 'e came from. 'e tink dat 'e ain' troll no more, 'e civilise', 'e superiah. Troll know 'e ain' civilise'. Troll know 'e jungle.

"Good evening... troll." 

Hehe. Elfie tongue-tied. Doll speak fah 'im:

"And I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

Doll know jus' fine, I reckon. We play a little.

"Well why else a lady sittin' on a box den? Should ya no be dancin' or sometin'?"

"Dancing? Do I really look like that's something I would indulge in?"

I shrugs. What wrong wid dancin? It be fun, eh? Ya can get all 'igh an' fancy wid ya civilise' way, but if ya no 'appy...

"I seen a lot o'dat roun' 'ere. I tink it be da custom..."

"I think it depends on the 'class' of elf you associate with." 

Strong Voodoo (part 1)

This is part one of a set of posts in response to Pilf's exceptional "Pure Shores" series. Think of it as a reflection of what she wrote, but in a distorted mirror.

Since I can't match her rate of production, I'll split the posts over a few days.

Troll ain’ made fa city. We got jungle in us ‘eart’, raptah in us eye an’ drum-beat’ in us ear.  Sure, we built 'em. Great one’ dat take an hour ta ride across. City a 'undred time biggah dan dem tiny place dey young one build. Fah a t’ousan’ generation we done da same ting. Troll build city ta escape da jungle, but den we bring it inside da wall. 

Ya evah seen a tiger in a cage? ‘alf broken, but ‘alf savage. Dat be a troll in a city. Darkness always overtake us in da en’. We go crazy. We kill us own god.

So when I go ta city, I keeps it short. I don’ stop ta look roun’. I use ma magic ta fin’ what I wan’, den I ‘ead out, ‘fore dat cage door close. Silvahmoon may be a gilded cage, made pretty wid gold an’ magic, but it still be a cage. So today I drif’ away intah ma farsight an’ fin’ da fellah I wants. Get a few ting an’ get back ta da beach.

Der ‘e be, all fancy ‘air an’ snot. Dem elfies don’ like troll ‘ere, but dey ‘orde now, so ‘im got serve me. ‘im won’ like it, though. Nex’ ta ‘im be what ya see all da time in’dis place. Dem dancin’ girl ya see on dey mailbox, ‘opin’ ta charge fa what’s free. Troll ain’ da only fella dat go crazy in city.

Dis one be differen’, tho. She ain’ dancin’. Jus’ collapse on da box next ta ‘im. A broken voodoo doll, t’rown away aftah da magic be spent. Wooden, wid limb arrange wrong, like she been drop der, pierced t’rough wid invisible pin. ‘er face ‘idden behin’ pale powdah, more dead dan livin’. Oo call dis spirit up, I wondah.

 “ ‘ey der elfie”.