Ah, Hardcore World of Warcraft Classic.
There’s something deeply philosophical about spending hours developing an emotional attachment to a character that a lag spike can permanently delete it. Stakes are high, gameplay is slow, and there is always room for mistakes.
During this playthrough, I briefly deluded myself into thinking I was a competent player. Proof: I skillfully healed a dungeon, avoiding a party wipe. The most enjoyable part of the dungeon was playing with a warrior who had a 200 IQ and was able to make hunter pets tank for them, which is just like how everyone is outsourcing software to India and Bangladesh, by the way.
So, no party wipe this time.
After spending what felt like several consecutive days staring at a bear’s butt. And I mean really staring, like a Renaissance painter studying the curvature of ursine anatomy. In due time, I reached level 20. The magical threshold where Blizzard in the early 2000’s decides you’ve suffered enough to deserve cat form.
The prowl mechanic of the cat form is particularly genius. Nothing says “apex predator” like crouching behind a tree for 8 seconds to ambush a mobile that was going to die in two hits, anyway. But hey, at least now I auto attack with style.
This was it. This marked the end of grinding through what can only be described as a sort of digital purgatory for 20 levels. I had finally achieved… mediocrity with marginally improved mobility options. And better dps.
But here’s where it gets interesting. After grinding through content that makes watching paint dry seem like an adrenaline sport, I made a critical error in judgment. Which is precisely when my brain decided this would be the perfect time for a leisurely stroll through The Barrens.
What’s the worst that could happen, right? Death. Permadeath. The deletion of everything I’d worked for, reducing my character to a digital ghost story and my mental state to that of someone who just watched their NFT collection get right-clicked and saved.
The death was swift, merciless, and entirely predictable.
I couldn’t bring myself to roll another character. So I did what any rational adult would do: I quit for several months, hoping that time would heal the psychological wounds inflicted by a children’s video game.
Of course, addiction doesn’t follow a logical timeline. WoW Classic came crawling back into my thoughts during a particularly vulnerable Tuesday afternoon. The neurons responsible for pattern recognition and dopamine regulation formed an unholy alliance, whispering sweet promises of “maybe this time will be different”.
Spoiler alert: It wasn’t.
So, I am yet again rolling a new druid on the Alliance side this time. The night elf starting zone has a peculiar, interesting scenery like being designed by someone who clearly minored in interior decorating. Here, every quest giver approaches you with the measured enthusiasm of an HR representative explaining why your position has been ‘restructured’. Ah, tech layoffs.
Not soon enough, I am level 8, standing in the same ethereal forest where dreams come to die slowly. The definition of insanity isn’t repeating the same action and expecting different results. No, the definition of insanity is knowing you’re repeating the same action, expecting the same result, and somehow convincing yourself that this time you’ll enjoy the suffering.
But that’s the beauty of hardcore classic. You start to enjoy the suffering.
To be continued, hopefully
