So, the battered hilt drops…
Everyone just sort of stands there stunned, the reality of seeing something so potentially epic, so rare, being looted off a random piece of trash in Heroic Pit of Saron is disconcerting. Vent is dead quiet.
Everyone wants it.
They all know it too.
No one speaks for a bit – they’re each picturing themselves standing outside the Dalaran Bank with Quel’Delar, glimmering, in their hand. In their hand.
But these lucky 5 are all guildies – all boon companions who have tasted Onyxia’s flames together, have spent countless hours questing with each other, the bestest of friends, forever and ever and ever.
And right at that moment – with the hilt hovering so seductively – the “need” dice so close to mouse-tip, they quail and damn their humanity. How thin it is, how gossamer thin the veil truly is between a common every day gamer and a crazed ninja looting hate fish.
“Won’t some meteor fall from the sky and strike these four other noobs from the server? For I am but the one that should truly wield so mighty a blade!”
Greed and lust war with common sense and friendship. Everyone wants the hilt, but no one, no one speaks.
“What are we going to do?” says the Worlds Worst Tank.
“You guys should take it,” says the Passable Shaman Healer, while hoping against hope someone simply offers her the hilt.
“No, no that’s not right. We should all just roll,” says the PHD Candidate Who Plays a Death Knight. “We all want it we should all just need it and let the chips fall.”
Hands hover closer to the “need” dice…But no one clicks.
“What…what if we bid on it?” Says the World’s Worst Tank.
“Bid? LoL Wut?” quoth the rest.
“What if we bid on it. Bid gold. Whoever bids the most wins and everyone else splits the money,” said the Awful Tank.
There’s crackling over vent as the Enlightened IT guy Who Plays a Mage gargles his microphone – again. Feedback and static crease the channel.
“Sounds good to me,” he rasps and promptly swallows his mic.
So the five friends, the Worlds Worst Tank, the Passable Shaman Healer, The Mic Gargling Mage, the PhD Death Knight, and the new guy that doesn’t like to use vent but plays a mean fury warrior all agree. They’ll bid on the hilt.
Each tentatively puts out a low ball offer that is trumped and doubled by the next. Numbers scroll by in party chat, 500G, 1000G, 2500G, then more…Epic mount training funds for alts are squandered, trust funds for gyrocopters and mechanohogs are emptied. They each bleed gold, emptying their coffers, beggaring their alts.
In the end the World’s Worst Tank wins. He clicks the dice…*need*…..The souls of the other four players wilt but a little as they cancel their roll….*pass*.
And the World’s Worst Tank is triumphant! He is on top of the WORLD!
Excelsior! The battered hilt is his!
He accepts the accolades in guild chat as are his due….
“Thank you, thank you, I’ve always wanted one, yes. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
The five friends finish the instance and though four are still stinging from the loss, they offer to help the Worst Tank in his quest to reforge the legendary blade.
“No, no that’s okay. Not tonight, it’s late.”
They zone from the instance and go on about their lives. One with the hilt and four who can at least claim to have seen one. Good to his word, the Worst Tank empties his bank and through the mail sends each of his boon companions their cut of his masterly bid.
Then very quietly and with no hint of remorse, The World’s Worst Tank portals to Ogrimmar, he rides to the Auction House and scans through its content. Hmmm.
Create Auction…Battered Hilt…
20,000 Gold Buy Out.
He logs for the night…and wakes up the next morning 20,000 gold richer. Minus the auction house cut and the money he paid out to win the bid, the Worst Tank has still come out some 13,000 gold on the plus side.
And we all…all…want to kill him.