I don’t think any of us wanted it to end like this, saying goodbye to the Horde cities one last time before we faction-transfer over to join our other friends on the Alliance side, but it honestly feels like there’s no real choice anymore. The faction balance on European World of Warcraft realms — the PVE ones, at least — is absurdly biased towards the Alliance, with most being outnumbered by three or even four times, world PVP objectives such as Wintergrasp and the older Outland areas such as Halaa are what I bitterly refer to as perma-blue, a state where the Alliance simply swarm in with superior numbers every time the Horde make any attempt to capture, and time and time again, Blizzard have shown no particular willingness to even lift a finger to change the status quo.

Worse, the people we know who play the game are split across factions, some of them clinging vehemently to the Horde side with the Fluff guild, others occupying the Alliance as Steel Vanguard, both sides too staunch to change their position until now. With raiding possibilities looking bleak due to dwindling numbers and PVP being little more than a joke as the larger-sized Alliance faction facerolls everything with glutinous fury, it’s harder and harder to find reasons to keep playing Horde. I’ll miss being a Tauren and I’ll miss Thunder Bluff, Orgrimmar and the Undercity — never did like Silvermoon much — but I won’t miss being the underdog time and time again, and having the odds stacked so heavily against me.

That’s what got me thinking about gaming as a whole, and the bizarre system of effort and reward that we as gamers seem to impose upon ourselves. Of course achievements in games like World of Warcraft or on systems such as the Xbox 360 and Steam — or a rose by any other name, such as “trophies” on the PlayStation 3 — are the perfect example of this mentality in action, I feel it’s only a relatively new coat of paint on the surface of something much older. Remember when you were a kid hanging out in the video-game arcades of the 80′s and 90′s, marvelling at the high-score tables populated and dominated by those elite few with the seemingly unattainable skills needed to occupy such a throne? Or as a more domestic example, something every gamer should be familiar with: The urge to beat the level, defeat the boss, to press onward and explore new territory, or simply to beat a score and achieve some measure of satisfaction from the knowledge that your skill and dedication could be quantified by digits glowing on a phosphor screen.

This, I feel, is something endemic and intrinsic to the gamer mindset, and yet the intangible appeal fails to make any logical sense in my mind. We push ourselves to incredible lengths for the sake of achievement and improvement in an artificial system which exists solely for the sake of providing challenge where there would otherwise be none. An extreme case of this would be the Korean gamer who quite literally killed himself by playing too much StarCraft; more common examples can be seen all around us. Who out there wearing the moniker of “gamer” can honestly say they haven’t spent a weekend or more shut away in a darkened room, hunched over a screen, thoroughly absorbed in one of these faux-simulacra?

Is it simply human nature to constantly push ourselves further, so desperate for self-improvement and so eager for accolade that we are inherently drawn to such a medium? The overwhelming popularity of gaming as a whole on a worldwide scale would seem to imply a certain truth in this logic, though I can’t help but feel as though something is missing. Can it really be that simple? In the end, are we still just a bunch of apes who’ll push a button all day long if it means we’ll get a bunch of bananas and a pat on the head?

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#5: Flying Battery Zone (Sonic & Knuckles)

I’m going to get flak for this, but hear me out. What do you get if you combine Wing Fortress Zone with Metropolis Zone, and add a few smatterings of Scrap Brain Zone? That sounds like the recipe for one of the best zones in Sonic history, and while Flying Battery Zone has a great theme and possibly one of my favourite musical scores of the entire series (the Sonic series has great music, but this one truly stands head and shoulders above the rest), it all falls flat on its face for one big reason: It’s far, far too cruel.

Between switches that spew fire, spike-lined tunnels with screw-like elevators which can easily crush an unfortunate hedgehog, rotating tunnels which must be exited with precision lest you fall off the bottom of the screen and die, spikes, electricity, and many, many things which can crush and kill you instantly, Flying Battery Zone is an excercise in controller-snapping frustration. There’s simply no relenting moment in the constant stream of stressful assaults — it even employs tricks as dirty as containment pods that spew out enemies, and run-or-die hedgehog-crushing action as the level collapses at the end. This is truly an experiment in sadism, and if that’s the case, it was a roaring success.

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#4: Aquatic Ruin Zone (Sonic 2)

This was actually quite a difficult choice to make — while I adore the visual style and theme of the Aquatic Ruin Zone and it has a fantastic soundtrack and even a great boss battle at the end, it’s all let down by one fatal flaw: It’s fucking annoying to play. Between the arrow-chucking pillars, hidden enemies that burst out of walls, collapsing floors, falling pillars, precision jumps, and frequent underwater segments complete with drowning, this zone is just a massive pain in the ass.

It’s mostly a shame due to wasted potential; this could easily have been the successor and redeemer of the Labyrinth Zone, but instead Sega went down the route of making a “challenging” (which usually translates to “irritating”) experience, and the choice of being chased by arrows or forced underwater is hardly a pleasant one to make. It’s certainly not the worst zone of the series and I will concede that the boss fight at the end with the totem poles is actually a hell of a lot of fun (if too easy), but I’m afraid that’s not enough to redeem the rest of this miserable experience.

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#3: Hydrocity Zone (Sonic 3)

I think it’s an unwritten law of video games that every platformer must feature at least one water-based level, and with but a few exceptions, these levels tend to be universally-hated. Hydrocity Zone is no exception to that rule, and as well as the typical annoyances of water-based levels — drowning being the prime offender here — a number of other obnoxious features are added to make the experience all the more annoying. Piranha Badniks that latch on and prevent Sonic from jumping, spikes that appear out of nowhere, fans and water currents that force the poor hedgehog around, all while accompanied by a jazzy and meh soundtrack that sounds like upbeat elevator music.

The bosses are hit-and-miss in this zone — the act 1 miniboss is frankly nothing short of annoying, though the act 2 boss is actually quite unique and interesting, offering multiple ways to provide his demise. Nontheless, it can’t change the fact that Hydrocity Zone is a pain to play, and one of those zones that I dread having to trawl through at all.

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#2: Marble Garden Zone (Sonic 3)

The best way to describe this sprawling tedium of a zone is “boring”. The zone is frankly obscene in its size — likely one of the largest in the series — though much of it consists of running up and down slopes, being propelled along by gyroscopes at top speed, and impaling your skull on a dozen razor-sharp steel spikes that you swear weren’t there a second ago. Or at least you would, if you weren’t so busy bleeding like a burst soda can.

Marble Garden Zone isn’t even so much hard as it is a mind-numbing slog, spattered with the occasional flecks of bullshit, and including both immensely annoying boss battles and one of those all-so-fun sections where you’re fleeing through a collapsing level, trying to avoid being crushed into paste at every turn while racing against the clock and dodging falling debris. There are simply no redeeming qualities about this train-wreck of a zone — even the music is decidedly meh — though it can only be beaten in terms of terribleness by…

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#1: Labyrinth Zone (Sonic 1)

Nothing says “I wish I was dead” like the Labyrinth Zone. Waterfalls, precision jumping, drowning, crushing, spikes, hidden switches, hidden enemies, obnoxious boss battles, and all manner of other nasties combine to make this the single most abhorrent zone of the series. What were they thinking? Worse, still, is that the final Scrap Brain Zone act is an albino clone of Labyrinth Zone, bringing us back once more to the nightmare.

This is not only one of the hardest zones in the first Sonic game — if not the hardest — but it’s also the one that’s most likely to have you throwing your controller at the screen in frustration, after dying in a thoroughly humiliating and unfair fashion for the twentieth time. Whatever masterful skill went into crafting most of the Sonic zones has seemingly been lost with this disgrace of a zone, not helped much by its thoroughly mediocre soundtrack and weak graphic design. Sega, you have shamed yourselves.

With that said, here’s my take on the top 5 zones from the classic Sonic series on the Megadrive/Genesis. I’m curious to hear other peoples’ thoughts on the matter, so you’re more than welcome to list your own favourites in the comments! (Of course, you’re not just limited to the 16-bit era; that’s just my personal bias.) Keep your eyes peeled, because soon I’ll be making another post about the worst five zones in the Sonic series. But until then, here’s the cream of the crop:

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#5: Green Hill Zone (Sonic 1)

While perhaps not the most technically accomplished zone in the Sonic series, this list would be a shambles without at least a mention of the iconic Green Hill Zone, the charming and vibrant first level of the Sonic series which has been recreated time and time again in various incarnations throughout the games (Emerald Hill, Angel Island, Mushroom Hill, and so on). It’s frankly impossible for any retrogamer worth his salt to not be enthralled by the gorgeous scenery and simple-yet-enjoyable gameplay as our blue friend makes his way across rolling hills, beneath waterfalls, and over yawning chasms, all to the energetic and upbeat theme music.

The boss at the end of act 3 is similarly iconic, Robotnik making his first attempt to slay the azure devil by attaching a huge, swinging wrecking ball to the base of his flying Egg-o-Matic, aiming to pummel our hero into cerulean paste. Green Hill Zone also introduces many familiar tropes of the Sonic series, such as collapsing platforms, speedy sections with looping trails, and even möbius strips in the iconic checkerboard pattern. If ever there was a perfect introduction to the world of Sonic the Hedgehog, it’d be the Green Hill Zone.

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#4: Icecap Zone (Sonic 3)

While perhaps not my favourite soundtrack in the Sonic series, Icecap Zone more than makes up for this loss with a beautiful and excellently-designed series of levels, starting with Sonic snowboarding down the side of a snow-covered mountain before having to face off against legions of dastardly foes, sliding platforms, destructible scenery, and even freeze rays! Perhaps one of the more experimental zones in the series, Icecap Zone is a little hit-and-miss in parts but largely delivers thanks to its unique mechanics and interesting — if often cruel — flow.

Icecap Zone is the level you love to hate, and it’ll have the player pulling out his (or her) hair in frustration after one too many times crushed, frozen, impaled, or one of many other fates that await Sonic. However, despite often being frustrating and outright unfair, I think this zone perhaps defines Sonic 3 for me personally, summing up its improved and changed gameplay (which Sonic & Knuckles perfected beautifully) while providing a worthy challenge to even hardened Sonic veterans.

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#3: Sandopolis Zone (Sonic & Knuckles)

The spiritual successor to the oft-loathed Oil Ocean Zone, Sandopolis replaces the lakes of oil and industrial constructions with a desert of quicksand and a predictably Egyptian theme, providing both some of my favourite Badniks in the series (the scorpion robot and the sand-dwelling cousin of Caterkiller) and some fitting background music, as well as formidable agility puzzles, block-pushing, and some of the most unique and interesting level design you’ll see in S&K.

Sandopolis really comes into its own in act 2, however, when Sonic makes his way through an ancient temple and must contend with not only sand-flows and timed doors, but also keep pulling switches to keep the place illuminated — not only does this help you to find your way and not run face-first into a wall full of spikes, but it also drives away the resident population of ghosts, who would like nothing more than to destroy this unwelcome intruder. Combine that with some great boss fights, and you’ve got a clear winner on your hands.

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#2: Lava Reef Zone (Sonic & Knuckles)

In my opinion the most visually stunning of the Genesis Sonic series, Lava Reef Zone is not only an experience that thoroughly blew me away when the game was new, but a masterpiece of level design coupled with a superb and catchy soundtrack. Spanning three acts rather than the usual two (though the latter is little more than a glorified boss battle), I simply can’t say enough good things about the experience from start to finish, one that is both punishing and challenging in many ways, but also deeply rewarding as you pursue your mustachioed nemesis through the molten innards of Mobius.

Admittedly, much of the appeal is purely in the visual element — the artwork is probably the best seen in any Genesis Sonic game (purely my opinion, of course) and the experience of adventuring through such a vibrant, dynamic locale is truly a thing to behold, especially back in the 16-bit era where graphics such as this were some of the best you’d ever see. However, the classic Sonic gameplay shines through in the form of deadly agility puzzles, speedy action sequences, and avoidable yet cruel traps first and foremost involving balls of fire and huge lakes of molten lava.

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#1: Chemical Plant Zone (Sonic 2)

If there was anything that could be defined as the perfect Sonic zone, the quintessential example of what made the Sonic series such an avalanche of success in the 90s, I think Chemical Plant Zone sums it up in spades. Almost every Sonic trope is present here, from the water hazards — represented by the lingering doom of the Mega Mack pools — to the classic moving staircases that first made their debut in Sonic 1′s Starlight Zone, from fast-paced action over helix-shaped walkways and around the classic loops, to floating platforms and hazardous terrain.

It’s a clear remake of Scrap Brain Zone, but it’s done in such a fantastic way — and with arguably the best soundtrack in Sonic history — that all is forgiven. My only complaint would be the Badnik foes on this level, which were both surprisingly sparse and not terribly memorable, but that just speaks all the more loudly about the quality of construction that went into the level design itself. I challenge you to find a Sonic zone with more fantastic design, fast-paced gameplay, memorable music, and a great mechanic like the pressure tubes. I think you’d be hard-pressed to top this one, and that’s why Chemical Plant Zone is my number one all-time favourite of the series.

"My son, the day you were born, the very forests of Lordaeron whispered the name, 'Arthas'."

It’s no secret that I usually find myself rooting for the bad guys in movies and games, and there’s nothing I like better than a well-defined and likable villain — even if it’s one you simply love to hate. In lieu of decent content lately, I’ve decided to start a new section highlighting some of my favourite villains from TV, movies and video games, starting with one I’m sure many of you will recognize: Arthas Menethil, better known as the Lich King, whose exploits spanned no less than three games — starting in Warcraft III: Reign of Chaos, stealing the show in The Frozen Throne expansion, and finally the rise and fall of his master plan in Wrath of the Lich King, the second expansion to World of Warcraft. I think what makes Arthas such a great villain is that he’s both devious and cruel, tormenting and evading the players time and time again in Wrath, while at the same time being a truly tragic figure, manipulated and coerced into becoming a tool of evil while his intentions were originally pure — albeit misguided.

Arthas was the son of King Terenas Menethil and heir to the throne of Lordaeron, a paladin in training under Uther the Lightbringer, and an all-round pretty nice guy. There’s not a great deal to tell about this part of the story, but unfortunately for him — and fortunately, perhaps, for us — things weren’t always to be that way. Hot on the heels of the necromancer Kel’Thuzad and his demon-master Mal’Ganis, whose twisted plans included tainting shipments of grain with a deadly plague of undeath which would turn unfortunate citizens into grotesque ghouls, Arthas was faced with the ultimate dilemma: After arriving just a little too late to the city of Stratholme, where the infected plague had already been distributed to the peasants, he felt the only course of action was to purge the city before the citizens were turned, to spare them a fate worse than death and cull the undead threat before it got out of hand. Uther was understandably horrified by this, determined to instead seek a way to help the afflicted people, but nothing could sway the young prince from his mission.

"This kingdom shall fall, and from the ashes shall arise a new order that will shake the very foundations of the world."

Things went from bad to worse, and rather than regale you with the full story — which you can find more details on over here, if you so choose — I’ll wrap it up in a digest: Arthas pursued the demon Mal’Ganis with reckless fervour to the frozen shores of Northrend, stranded his loyal troops by burning their ships and then blaming the act on local mercenaries, inadvertently slew his friend and mentor, Muradin Bronzebeard while claiming the cursed blade Frostmourne, which then drove the prince to madness and the soul of the former Lich King, Ner’zhul — which was entombed within the sword — fused with that of the fallen paladin, creating not the first, but certainly the most well-known incarnation of the Lich King. He then found his way back home to Lordaeron, slew his father, and brought the kingdom crumbling down.

I feel that Arthas is one of the most memorable and influential villains in video gaming, partly because of how his story and actions can evoke such a variety of feelings from the player — he begins misguided but well-meaning, descends into the ranks of villainhood and builds up a great deal of animosity especially throughout the events of Wrath, tormenting and taunting the would-be heroes at every turn, a looming figure of doom whose machinations have wrought countless horrors and innumerable sorrows. It seems like it’s hard to go anywhere or do anything in Wrath without running into the Lich King himself, and while he has plenty of opportunities to simply end your attempts outright, he seems content to merely toy with the heroes, much like a cat playing with its prey.

"You speak of justice, of cowardice? I will show you the justice of the grave, and the true meaning of fear."

The greatest culmination of this is during the battle of the Wrathgate, a great siege at the very gates of his infernal citadel by the combined forces of the Alliance and the Horde, in an attempt to bring the villain to justice. Again, the Lich King displays his typical villainous arrogance, standing tall in the face of an army and mocking their challenge before being abruptly interrupted by a threat that none present could have expected (and perhaps the focus for a future Villain Spotlight). Still, he shrugs off the attack and retreats into his fortress, to fight another day.

However, in the words of the late Terenas Menethil, “No king rules forever.” The culmination of the Wrath expansion leads to a siege upon the lair of the Lich King and, after battling many of his unholy minions, the great villain himself is finally put to rest. For those who play the game and have not yet seen the outcome, I shall remain fairly coy with the details, though the events can be seen over here, for the curious. While wrapping up Arthas’ storyline, it also brings us full circle with regards to how we — the players, and observers of the story — feel about the villain. In his dying moments, he is finally freed from his curse and is portrayed once more as a tragic character who never intended to fall so far.

I can’t speak for everyone, but I personally felt a great deal of pity for the fallen prince, the one who I had grown to despise through my Warcraft adventures, but here at the end, realized that he was merely a pawn all along, being used by forces much greater. And this, I think, is what makes Arthas such a memorable and unique villain — how many others can you name, which manage such an extensive full-circle spanning many years, and after all of the relentless villainy and vexation, finally turns out to be a poor, misguided soul who deserves not hatred, but pity?

Other than Darth Vader, I suppose.

And we’re back! Thanks to these fine folks I’ve got SC4 running happily in a window, so it’s time to get back to building. But before I do, I think it’s important to assign a representative in this district of the city, someone who can act as my eyes and ears in the pixellated world below. There could only really have been one man for the job, and I assigned him a shitty little run-down shack near the crater’s edge. How’s it going, Garrosh?

Same shit, different day.

Socketrape is expanding nicely; added protection from the fine folks at the Firestarters, Inc. fire station and Dr. Zed’s Vivisectorium should keep these miserable fuckers alive at least long enough for this cesspit to flourish. Road, power and water connections have been made to the nearby ether, the residential and industrial districts suffered aggressive expansion, and the citizens are predictably complaining about every little fucking thing they can think of, the ungrateful mongrels. They’ve even been asking for trees and parks long after my inclusion of the local community garden, This Is Where You Bury The Bodies. It’s a hard life being mayor, but someone has to do it. Somehow, despite the constant bitching, these parasites love me all the same.

Island of Dr. Moreau

Things have taken a turn for the worse, though — while I was constructing my little island paradise home and wasting far too many taxpayer dollars (yes, it needs a moat!), the rest of the city was dying of thirst due to the water towers conveniently located in the heart of the industrial district being shut down because of — wait for it — water pollution. The inclusion of a costly yet pleasantly industrial water treatment plant did little to stop the powers that be opening and re-closing the adjacent water towers, so the city’s water supply has been moved elsewhere, amidst constant complaints about pollution, garbage, and requests to build a fucking church.

I mostly just ignored their pleas, and continued to build a ridiculously elaborate park/recreation area near my house and the city hall, in an attempt to raise the land value to a ludicrous level. Meanwhile, the city is going to hell — there’s a massive cloud of pollution around the industrial district (no thanks to the new oil power plant), barely any interest in commercial development, hundreds of jobless residents, and the city advisers yelling at me constantly about education, pollution, water supply, hospital funding, all while my cash supply goes slowly down the drain, the city unable to maintain its maintenance costs.

What began as a pipe-dream is quickly becoming a logistical hell, as New Gomorrah is collapsing under the weight of its own decadence; the irony of the situation certainly hasn’t escaped me. Even Garrosh is joining in with the picketers; he wants better education, is infuriated by the terrible health-care, and complaints about city-wide traffic problems are coming in from all sides. Even the prisons are overflowing, crime rates hitting new highs as there simply isn’t any way to contain the legions of convicts.

Could this be the ill-fated end for Socketrape and New Gomorrah? Not if I can help it, that’s for damn sure.

There must always be a Lich King Grease Pit.

It’s been a long time since I last played a SimCity game; I remember as a kid I used to be obsessed with the series, back to its humble beginnings, and one of my favourite ways to play the game was to load one of the pre-built cities — SimCity 1‘s Boston was a great choice — and then impact the populace with a veritable Pandora’s box of disasters, starting with a few nuclear meltdowns and following up with earthquakes and fires, enough to level the city and leave barely scraps of polluted, wrecked, burning wasteland behind. From there, I’d build up a new civilization upon the ashes of the old, Mad Max-esque nightmare world.

The other thing I used to love doing started with SimCity 2000, where it became the goal of myself and a friend to build the ‘perfect’ city, which generally meant cramming as many arcologies together as was physically possible, not to mention building a ridiculously elaborate and fancy garden around ‘my’ house in the game. Skip forward to SimCity 4 and, with the help of a custom region file I hacked together years ago (which provides a region several times larger than what the game would normally allow), it’s time to combine those two goals into what is bound to be a logistics nightmare: an attempt to create the biggest city I’ve ever made, while simultaneously ruling with unparalleled levels of sadism and cruelty. Welcome to the freshly-founded hell of New Gomorrah.

The first day — which is to say, the last few hours before I haul myself off to sleep — has been short, but eventful. New Gomorrah and its first sub-city, the capital of Socketrape were founded, a substantial and obligatory industrial zone was formed, Bob’s Grease Pit (the first commercial venture to rear its ugly head) was made into a historic building to ensure that there will always be a Bob’s Grease Pit, and I dropped a sizeable chunk of burning cosmic rock into the middle of the freshly-populated residential zone, partly because it seemed appropriate, and partly because I just felt like being an asshole. What better way to drive the fear of god into these people (metaphorically speaking; it’s more like a fear of angry nerd) than to crush their puny homes with the unstoppable might of a fucking meteor, and watch the fire spread like… well, like wildfire. It didn’t take long for the wretched leeches to rebuild upon the ruined terrain, anyway, though I think I’ll leave the meteor crater as-is, something for those peons to remember me by.

But alas, the hour is late, so the city must remain further unscathed for the moment. Next time, things are really going to get ugly.

Next: Rise and Fall

50 gold coins wasted and some bruised egos all around. It should have been an easy run — perhaps that kind of confidence had made us complacent; arrogant, even. It should have been easy, but everything went to hell for reasons that nobody could agree on. It’s easy to point fingers, of course, and everyone points away from themselves, but sometimes things just aren’t meant to be.

This is the point where I realized — or perhaps I should say, it was the last straw, the last thread on an ever-so-long rope — something which spans further than mere raid groups in World of Warcraft, but also extends to my out-of-game personality. By habit I tend to play a support role in online RPGs, most notably the archetypal healer whose job it is to keep the group alive — stemming, I think, from earlier excursions where the ‘group’ tended to just be a core body of 3-4 friends who’d play online games together, a team I was comfortable and happy enough with to easily support my compatriots.

Sadly, herein lies the problem, an issue which has been troubling me with increasing intensity for weeks, and finally culminated with the realization that no matter how hard I try, no matter what angle I look at the problem from, nothing can change the simple and undeniable fact that I’m simply not built for this — or, more specifically, not willing to put the responsibility and safety of others in my hands, even if only in the context of online games, tenfold when applied to reality. The expectations of others — and, indeed, myself — combined with what eventually becomes crushing stress and self-doubt, thoroughly abandons the realm of what should be considered ‘fun’ and enters into much less favourable places.

To clarify, while I wish I was and certainly try hard to be, I’m just not a ‘team player’; I don’t easily handle the responsibility of being the lynchpin of failure or success upon which others rely, and except when given fairly menial, low-risk tasks, the combined stress and self-doubt accumulate into what eventually becomes an aversion so great that I’m unable to react with anything but an overwhelming sense of avoidance. Indeed, I’m not much of a team anything, being a person who tends to flourish in very small groups, but when at large social gatherings or parties (and I would consider a ‘large’ gathering being that which has more than 5-6 people present), the urge is almost overwhelming to quietly occupy a corner and interact with others as little — and avoid drawing attention to myself as much — as is possible. Indeed, I’m even known to abandon a group entirely, when the combined weight of numbers becomes too much to bear.

The lesson learned, I think, is merely that the greater the concentration of people — whether be it a real-life social gathering or an online game — the less I want to play a prominent part. It’s less a case of apathy, laziness or unwillingness to contribute, and more that I’m just not comfortable leading the charge, having people rely upon me, or being the centre of attention during a group discussion. I mostly just want to do my own thing — the archetypal ‘lone wolf’, as it were — and when I do have to rely on others, do my part in the most subtle, unassuming, and unnoticable way possible. I don’t want praise for being a good team player — I just want to do my part in such a way that, failure or success, neither the blame nor thanks land on my shoulders.

Now, let me step back for a moment and say that I’ve generally had superb experiences when it comes to level 80, “endgame” dungeon-running, even despite the occasional player who displays, shall we say, less-than-stellar performance. People generally know the game, they know their role, and with very few exceptions, things tend to go pretty smoothly. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for misbegotten attempts at low-level dungeoneering, a tendency I’d blame simply on players being new to the game, but that pretty heirloom gear (adorned with Crusader, no less), tells a different story.

I wish I could make this shit up.

So, cue the contestants: Mentat, my freshly-minted (and already level 21) paladin, the obligatory hunter, and three druids. While normally not a major issue, I knew there’d be a problem with our furry brethren when the ‘tank’ (feral spec, natch) started casting Wrath, the healer used nothing but Healing Touch, the hunter’s pet growled, and Muggins here had to sort the whole mess out by flailing into action as a stand-in tank, despite the sheer ineptitude present. Just as I thought I was in some grotesque parody, things turned from bad to worse — the two druids decided to have a tank-off by both assuming bear form and attempting a most painful display of fighting over aggro — I say this, because the healer and hunter were taking more hits than anyone.

The loot rolling was a similar farce — a situation so laughably awful that it could only have been a cosmic joke, with each player a mere puppet playing a caricature. The hunter rolled need on a dagger with arcane damage, the flea-ridden druid rolled need on a shield, the other bear-druid rolled need one a one-handed DPS mace, and all the time I’m praising the god of random numbers for the fortune to bless me with the winning rolls on both Stinging Viper and Worn Turtle Shell Shield (I wanted Kresh’s Back, but that only ever drops when I’m playing a cloth-wearer). After an almost predictable moment of uncertainty, the group ‘leader’ unsure which direction to go for the seventh time, all proverbial hell broke loose and the fail-druids fell down the gap during an easy jump, and between the two of them managed to aggro half a dozen elites. I bravely jumped down to lend a hand, but of course the healer was nowhere to be seen, and I’m sure you can imagine the outcome of this most ill-fated excursion.

Much as I wanted to stay and collect my booty, I simply couldn’t handle it any longer, and bailed — perhaps some other poor fool would take my place, and learn the unfortunate truth of it all; that at the bottom of a barrel is another barrel, and at the bottom of that one is a trio of druids.

But I didn't mind being killed by Dr Blight, because he had a cool name.

A trend I’ve noticed in online gaming lately — well, I say “lately” though it’s been vexing me for a number of years now — is the apparent obsession of people in team-based games to either jump into a game with a host of strangers and expect a quick, painless, easy victory, or jump ship and frenziedly search for another — supposedly superior — team to integrate with, hoping for a quicker victory. This is evident both in MMORPGs such as World of Warcraft, where dungeons such as the Oculus were so reviled for the effort involved and the potential failure that many people would leave immediately upon entering, and many would refuse entrance to a raid group for those who could not prove that they’ve completed it prior, in fear of “noobs” bringing their team down. It’s also an unfortunate inevitability in other online team-based games, such as the one I’ve picked up again recently after a few years of inactivity, Halo 3.

Now, let me step back a moment and express my general distaste for being thrust into a team consisting of mouth-breathers who probably don’t even know which way up to hold the controller; lament as I may at games where I scored the highest in the entire round and yet my team still lost, if there’s one principle I’ll stick to — largely due to the experience point penalty accrued as a result, which would hinder my progress through the game’s military-style ranks — it’s that I stay to the bitter end, even when left in a short-handed team because three of them ran for the hills when the tables turned, and the last aside from myself resorted to that most heinous act of team-killing, presumably in the name of ill-gotten “fun”. In a fairly childish and unsportsmanlike way, I shot him in the back twice as retribution before spending the rest of the round hiding, and watching my “teammate” repeatedly hunted and slaughtered by the dominant group.

Nonetheless, my ire still holds relative validity in my mind: By simply fleeing the game, these people are not only throwing away a potential victory — I’ve seen plenty of “turnabout” games where the tables turn at the last minute, to provide a satisfying and crushing victory to the underdog — but they’re forsaking the rest of their team, forcing the remaining members to either lope on like a three-legged dog, or attempt to justify the “two wrongs make a right” philosophy and follow their lead, further augmenting the problem. I remember lamenting a similar issue a while ago with online game servers which provide numerous versions of the same world to balance the player-base; rather than accepting the natural balance and helping to keep things steady, players have a disturbing tendency to force their way into the most over-populated and over-crowded worlds, even going so far as to abandon the emptier, dying servers in lieu of something more populace, thus exacerbating the reason they left in the first place!

Is it simply human nature to constantly try to impel ourselves into “easy win” situations and the “best” groups, no expense too great in the quest to be with the “best” — even if they themselves could not adequately be judged as such under this banner — or is this yet another case of online gaming, with all the anonymity it entails, bringing out the literal worst in everyone, turning normally-reasonable people into a pack of drooling, rabid animals?