Exeunt. • 07.01.08
It happens. Guilds are halfheartedly disbanding as raid numbers dwindle, leaving longtime home-realms to reroll elsewhere or igniting at that one, final flashpoint and exploding. Why? Maybe folks have seen what they want to see, and have moved on. Perhaps other games have lured people away. Maybe the gap between the BT/Hyjal release and the opening of the Sunwell may have tired early T6 farmers, that guilds farming BT/Hyjal may not have been prepared for Sunwell’s ramped up difficulty, that general summer ennui set in as vacations and finals rolled through, and that with Wrath of the Lich King looming on the horizon, many would rather just sit back and start preparing for the storm. I’m not the first to write about this, and I won’t be the last.
And I’ve had it. It takes a lot more than minor discontent to burn-out someone who’s been progression raiding for over two years. I waited a little while for the dust to settle, take care of some real life concerns and, you know, get my rogue to 60, but here, in list format, is why I quit Singularity and took a break from progression raiding.
Loss of Core Raiders and Attendance Issues
Over the past few months, we had (not entirely out of the ordinary) moments of great shame, and moments of great triumph. We freed Kalecgos, destroyed Brutallus, survived Felmyst and even managed to start in on some rather discouraging Twins attempts. Meanwhile, we were practically bleeding raiders. Geared, competent apps were growing fewer and farther between, and with a sudden explosion of real life issues (marriage, familial difficulties, school), we lost a solid portion of our officer core as well.
In my opinion, some of those folks were the people who really pulled everyone together and focused our efforts to the knife-point necessary to dissect encounters. They were incredibly vocal, critical people, and more importantly, they had the officer tag that allowed them to enforce what they said. The final loss of our raid leader and GM (who actually re-rolled to play with Juggernaut) nearly nailed the coffin-lid shut—on both the guild and my desire to raid. People can’t just be given the officer tag and be expected to lead—authority and trust are two essential qualities that have to be developed over time. Rapidly attempting to metamorphose raiders into new officers didn’t quite work as I had hoped, and my outlook on the situation grew progressively bleaker.
Attitude
I have always considered myself a valuable asset to any raid group: I’m punctual, I’m prepared, I’m a superior player with quick reflexes, and I add a certain, wildly inappropriate something to a raid group. Let’s call it “levity”. As any leader knows, there’s a time and a place for goofing off, and there’s a lot to be said for boosting morale. Generally speaking, I have a knack for doing and knowing just that. It’s not exactly a designated job, but when I’d returned to raiding after my week off, I got a surprising flurry of tells from folks asserting that things had been “boring” without me around. That’s cool. That’s my goal, so to speak.
Unfortunately, not everyone else has this same mentality. If there’s something to complain about, it’ll be complained about, and if they can show up late and play like a half-assed retard, they’ll do that as well. If they can get away with it. Certainly this doesn’t apply to everyone, and perhaps the people who did fall into that pattern had some kind of real life issue to work out. But when that sort of behavior largely goes unnoticed or unpunished in a situation where 24 other people are counting on you, it’s unacceptable. It generates resentment, both toward the leadership and toward your fellow players, spreading like a disease cloud of malcontent.
So when someone like me, who just a few months ago attempted to drive morale and progression with a massive consumable gathering expedition, suddenly finds herself bitter and frustrated and dreading logging on to a veritable shitstorm of ill-geared apps and people who seemingly don’t care anymore, what happens? It dragged on me. I got angry. I found fewer reasons to justify the mental exhaustion from raiding 10:00 p.m. to 1:30 a.m. on work nights. I unwittingly allowed my own irritation to bleed over in-game, and that, in my opinion, was also unacceptable and needed to change.
Raid Role
Many folks have periodically written about why tanks have such a high burn-out rate. While you can say the same thing about almost any class role, tanking isn’t easy. Let me rephrase that—effective tanking isn’t easy. There is a very high reliance on proper rotations, optimizing TPS output, utilizations of life-saving cooldowns, gear, quick-decision making, and…everyone else. I won’t digress into a tanking discussion here, but whether or not you have an official raid leading role, as the tank, you are often situated there. You lead, quite literally. You often pull. You manage mobs and their respective positions to the raid. You save all the people who mismanage aggro and the healers keeping you alive. And best of all, you’re in a prime position to screw up, repeatedly, and have everyone watch you do it.
That being said, other than watching your own damage output scale directly with TPS, doing everything correctly as a tank still doesn’t guarantee success. As Lycentia loves to say, “Tanking is watching everyone else fail around you.” While the amount of tanks necessary for any given encounter varies, most guilds have a much smaller pool of tanks than they do healers or DPS. Fewer tanks means stricter attendance and a heavier reliance on a small group of people: if a rogue can’t make it one night, you sub in more DPS. If one of your only FR tanks for Illidan can’t make it, you’re in trouble. A lot of time and effort goes into training and gearing tanks, and a lot of people take that for granted. It is, arguably, the most stressful non-officer position in a raid, and even considering leaving saddled me with some rather impressive guilt. A friend actually told me:
If you didn’t want to put up with everyone’s bullshit, you shouldn’t have rolled a tank. Leaving kind of bones everyone.
Relatively shocked, I responded with:
So by virtue of me playing a tank, I am thus held to some invisible higher standard than every other class? That I should continue to play even when I’m not having fun anymore just because I happen to be a tank?
Needless to say, the conversation ended there when both of us realized how dumb it sounded. But those expectations do exist, and I steadily grew tired of them.
Conclusion
That’s essentially the lion’s share of my reasoning for stepping back for awhile and focusing on general makeouts and high fives. I harbor no ill-will toward Singularity at all, especially since many of my friends still play there, and I have no intentions of transferring. Doomhammer is “it”, but it is currently my intention to prepare for competitive 10-man progression raiding in WotLK. With that in mind, myself and the other two tanks who left (along with a few friends) have created a new guild, with a new “charter”, so to speak, to move toward that goal.
I present to you:
DREAD LOBSTER
Recruiting will actually happen soon. Extensive class knowledge, tolerance for multisyllabic words and deliberately unreasonable requests a must. If this is something you’re seriously interested in, talk to me.



