3 61 The Field Where He Grew Them
3 61 The Field Where He Grew Them Kerulak, dressed in full Ten Storms, stands alongside Dalans, dressed in full Stormrage Raiment, Orgrimmar OMG! Bare Durid is Storng! In the beginning, I didnt know if Dalans was going to last. "Hes at it again," Graulm whispered to me. The warlock, my Number Two, struggled to guide me through the after effects of a recently completed guild assimilation. Incorporating The Final Cut into our ranks was the final shove that pushed us through the door into 40-Man raiding, but it came at a cost. A veritable melting pot of personalities were now among our ranks, and not all of them had yet adopted "the way of the guild leader". When I gazed out across the virtual world that populated Deathwing-US, my conclusion was that most players couldnt give a fuck . This was a game; it was populated by gamers, and most of them cared little (if anything at all) about one another. Casual attitudes were swallowed whole, and predatory trolling was me...