[ EU ] World of Warcraft finally ends and shuts down all servers . All the WoW addicts have to fill the hole left in their life .

*This my story with the game - A Tweak to the Prompt but I could n't write this without writing an end to my character. * 
 
 Blue is irritating color in WoW. In terms of gear, it usually implies that you haven ’ t put the time in to have a quality set. I knew this would be my last time on this game and I haven ’ t had the time at Level 90 to build a quality set for Enhancement. The walking cow on my screen is ChainHealBot and from his name I ’ m sure you can grasp a small amount of the history that we went through together. It ’ s strange to think this is the end but, in this level 70 raid named Karazan, I know we enjoyed the best time we ’ ve ever had together. Roaming mobs of wizards and skeletons ignore me as I make a right up these hallowed steps. The implied decadent past reminds me of my own with this game and the strange coming of age ritual that I know few will understand. 
 
 This story started with a 13 year old boy at Christmas. My parents, regrettably, bought me a game that was akin to a cocaine addiction. Sneaking out at nights to level, grind and even fish in this magical world provided an escape from an awkward social scene and crippling self imagine. Here I understood the rules and I knew that with time paid into my character, I would gain the respect of my peers. A shaman was never chastised because of his weight, never rejected by his peers or criticized for never reaching his potential. Freedom and societal acceptance were what Blizzard hosted on the Tichondrius server and thus my dependence was born. 
 
 ChainHealBot now arrives at the grand stage of the Opera. Of all the boss fights in WoW this is still my favorite and to my delight, I get to replay the tale of Little Red Riding Hood. There was a time I used to lead the raids on this place, the golden years of my addiction. Large Grandma Wolf used to be a challenge for my heroic little band, but now, in less than 3 seconds, is a corpse at my feet. I figure that for this last time through, I don ’ t need whatever loot this wolf was carrying and I ’ m contempt to carry on my way with the Golden Fairies Shimmering at my feet. Strange to think that this 10 man replaced the old required 40... 
 
 At 14 I tried hand at the 40 player raiding scene only to met with the harshest of rejections. I could n't raid Tuesdays, that was reserved for an after school weekly practice of the Men ’ s Choir. My position in the top singing group of the school mandated my attendance and begrudgingly I participated. I can ’ t recall the name of my first guild, but I remember getting removed. Unable to fill their time commitments and barely a teenager, I wasn ’ t worth the spot or the trouble. That first GKick tore open my heart, akin to the feeling of loss when my first GF broke up with me. Painfully, I put up the reigns and left the game. For a time I embraced the great outdoors and a fledgling relationship. Ironically, getting dumped again by a tall socially-awkward blonde brought me right back... 
 
 Those were the golden days. In the outskirts of Thunder Bluff, ChainHealBot was born in September 2007. A /played would show the 100+ Days I spent staring at the broad back of my spiritually inclined bison. 17 now, I had maturity and, with the release of Burning Crusade, found a happiness that I have yet to find again. As a healer, I was something akin to the hot girl on prom and 25 man raids caused a massive restructuring of the guild political landscape. Through online forums and websites, I applied to many guilds, but my ongoing commitment to the choir program greatly limited the options. Finally, I found Old Guard. 
 
 When you find the right guild, it ’ s like you ’ ve found your family after being lost at sea. I can ’ t recall the names, but I recall the people. We were a loveable cast of social rejects from different walks of life. A garage attendant, a custodian and a doctor were given orders by a garbage man. Nothing challenged the tenets of class-ism like WoW. With every night inside the serpent caverns of SSC and the blood elf ’ s fortress in the sky, I watched my cow die and die again for the elusive promise of progression. We played for the collective screaming at the end of a boss fight. This was a game and in those instances we would win. We would fight to win. If we lost, we would fight again. It was easy, it was simple and after volunteering my time, I was allowed to lead the off night raids. 
 
 I still remember fighting this stupid dragon. As it ’ s white form landed, ChainHealBot ’ s level advantage and gear allow me to tear through this ethereal form. When I lead my raids here, this thing killed my little family multiple times. My first raids were to these sacred halls of Karazhan and with my group we never had much challenge with the raids. A 17 year old socially awkward me was intoxicated by the experience, my orders governed the progress and week over week I would lead people through this experience. It was easy, fun and I thought I had it all. A new relationship at the time and this guild made me the happiest I ’ ve ever been. Simplicity is bliss, enjoy that while you can. Politics are complicated. 
 
 March of 2008 would bring an end to all of that. My rising position within the guild put me as next in line to become the Raid Leader when our old lead retired. To me, this was the most important position of my life. I stood proud, ready to be selected. In my mind, months of leading my little raids had more than qualified me for the big time. Pride and envy are sins that still haunt me today and few things compare to the experience of being passed up for that position. I remember the knot that formed in my gut as I forcibly turned off the computer. I remember angrily staring into my ceiling unable to sleep that night. I was sure my life was ruined and my new terrible attitude lead to my resignation. I put down the game once more, only to pick it up again my sophomore year of college. 
 
 The Chess event is an easy one - the last step to get to that balcony I ’ m seeking. As I do the same steps I ’ ve done many times before, I find myself staring at my lovable cow ’ s name. Below, in the same Green Text, my guild: < She ’ s on Reserve >. I ’ m now the only member, but once I was a Guild Leader. 
 
 In 2010 I returned with a new mission, to build my own guild. While She ’ s on Reserve wasn ’ t my choice in a name, but the game of politics has to have certain concessions. Aggressive recruiting, open communication and political appointments turned a small collection of friends into a small empire. In stark contrast to the socially awkward and chubby boy in my reflection, I was a king. I governed with an iron fist to ensure that the easily distracted would heal and the argumentative fathers would dps. I broke a boy ’ s heart that couldn ’ t hold his weight in raids. I was the glue that held together 25 individuals and through constant communication and networking we were strong. I knew how to get the group of “ Good Ole Boys ” to accept the socially awkward teenagers that were standing next to them. We were brash, unsophisticated and rude. Our Ventrilo was more for Hank Hill impersonations than actual strategy, but I kept us moving forward. Every night, 3 days a week we would fight through the Ice Palace of King Arthas. While this may seem like a literary device, my final battle with the guild had us kill the old king. A top his high throne surrounded by my guild, I felt the rarest of emotions: True pride. This was my guild, held together by my effort, cultivated by my time. 
 
 This came at a cost. The gratification of power took away the simplicity of being on the online game. The sense of family was replaced by obligation and my new guild members were followers instead of friends. I was alone in my issues with the guild and every decision would either cost me a friend or cost us the mission. We played with purpose and progression was the mandate. In time, I had to step down to focus on my computer science curriculum once again and, unfortunately, the guild didn ’ t survive without me. As a leader, I knew my people, how to make them happy and engaged. I was replaced with a manager who knew only how to schedule the raids. In a month, my greatest accomplishment had no members left. The best laid schemes of mice and men… 
 
 I ’ ve arrived to my balcony now. This mountain of a boss sits 10 feet away from me with little regard for my character. Looking out on the mountains of Deadwind Pass, I imagine that my Shaman is looking too. He deserves this, to be a place that he enjoyed. My first raid here was with Old Guard - the place has always reminded me of those happy memories. I ’ ve tried WoW again, but at this age I can ’ t bring myself to enjoy the endless grind. My dog rests his head on my lap, a reminder that my virtual family is being replaced by a real one. I wish I could set this cow on my screen free, that somehow he could enjoy a life without me. He gave me a home when I was alone and taught me principles of leading I ’ ll never forget. In my management job now it ’ s hard to say that he didn ’ t teach me everything. I hope he ’ ll rest happily here, reminded of those happy days. 
 
 */camp*
