World of Warcraft Comes to Cheshire

World of Warcraft had come to Cheshire: come to my house.

Spread across our lounge on two settees, two recliners, cross-legged on the carpet, seated at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, and on chairs in the dining room, wedding guests were relaxing: making conversation and having fun. Josh, Becky and Wesley had met the mobile communities. Wesley busied himself and grinned from ear to ear.

I passed amongst the mainly young people and gleaned the residences, occupations if any, major skills and interests of twenty-odd on-line friends. Liz warmed to them as she and the girls made some easy-to-serve dishes, thrilled at the polite thank-yous, and offers to do the dishes. Typical of youth some were vegetarian, lactose-free, nuts-free, and of course Kosher for Josh.

In Liz's Nissan James escorted his friends to their accommodation alongside others at the YMCA hostel in Stockport. In the middle of refurbishment, the manager happy to receive exclusive rental of rooms, dining room, and gym for five days and nights. Being so impressed with the way that James and Aly had organized the logistics of getting folk from all over Europe to co-ordinate arrivals on time, and sorting out accommodation came close to a precise military exercise. I asked Sean for his comments.

"Precise military my arse," Sean quipped. "In The Falklands it took them seven weeks to send us night vision goggles. Jesus, we were twelve miles from Port Stanley by the time they arrived - a cluster ...err ... well I think Clint Eastwood got it right in 'Heartbreak Ridge'."

On the Friday night, the eve before the wedding, Liz announced, "Me, Becky, Rachel and Aly are all going for a spa and pampering session at a local hotel. They do mud packs, massages, facial scrubs and nails. The girls staying at the YMCA are coming over to either watch or join us."

For his bachelor party Sean, Josh and I joined James at the YMCA to meet up with his buddies. Sleeping bags, suitcases, rucksacks, empty pizza boxes, discarded coke and Budweiser bottles, clothes and footwear, were scattered around the periphery of the hall. The smell of sweat and muskiness hovered. In the centre of the room tables, brought from the dining room, were arranged in a rectangle. Laptops were placed on the tables, facing inwards, power cables and extension leads trailed to sockets around the hall. A Wi-Fi routing device flashed in the middle of a table. James' computer friends were sitting at their work-stations waiting for him, Sean, Josh and I were about to be introduced to The World of Warcraft.

About a dozen males and some females, sat around the tables, clapping as James pulled out a stacking chair and sat next to Petros. James laptop whirred and sounded the Windows tune, then he clicked his mouse, put on a headset and joined his online mates. Sean and I sat on the periphery with Dorke..

"WOW is for morons," he said, "though twelve million don't agree." He laughed at his joke. "I don't play, but it's cool. These guys are playing on the European realm." He explained the occurrences while Josh circulated the rectangle surveying the action. Dorke explained that: "since the start of World of Warcraft® in 2004 there has been several expansions: The Burning Crusade, The Wrath of the Lich King, and the Cataclysm. On every continent there were WOW players, with realms in different languages: Millions of players worldwide."

Dorke took a bite of Pizza and said, his mouth chewing at one side, "once a player reaches a certain level he or she can enter "Dungeons", often joining a group of players who would work together through scenarios to defeat "bosses". The hardest dungeons needed larger groups of players and were called "Raids". James and his friends were competing in an "old-school raid" in a Dungeon called Karazhan."

"Thanks, Dorke," I said, "that's as clear as mud." I could not deny that the young players seemed to be enthusiastically moving their arms and shouting instructions.

The players had headphones and microphones on their heads, communicating with the other team members in the event. Josh clapped his hands and made enthusiastic comments while he peered over various players heads to witness the scenes unfurling. Sean not quite as enthusiastic.

"It's not a proper stag do unless it's a booze up," he had said on the journey over. I felt relief Sean's Achilles heel would not require me to carry him home.

The YMCA gym buzzed with excitement, and some expletives, when some players made mistakes, and the raid "wiped", which meant they had all died. Fortunately, Dorke instructed me, in the World of Warcraft characters can be resurrected by other players or make their way to the "graveyard" and are raised by a nymph-like creature.

Sean, Dorke, and I joined Josh and strolled around the room, peering at laptop screens and listening to players' conversations, some of which could be heard across the room. We were informed by Josh, who loved the experience, that Petros being the Raid Leader gave instructions to the members.

I heard Petros say, "OK guys, its Little Red Riding Hood. We're all level eight-five's so it should be a walk in the park. Nobody from the guild had better screw up or you'll walk home."

I sat behind Petros and watched with interest as the WOW players killed each of the "Little Red Riding Hood's" bosses, finally killing the crone. After another half an hour they had completed the Chess Board, slain a Dragon, and a Prince on a fire-breathing flying dragon. They had won their raid and retired to the edge of the gym slapping one another's backs retrieving cans and bottles of drink. James had ordered varied pizzas for eleven pm which came on time. Even Sean enjoyed himself chewing Pizza and answering questions about his experiences.

"Only thing is," he said, "is when I kill 'em, they stay dead." The players were in awe.

"OK, Rambo," James said," you party poop!" Everyone laughed.

"What do you do, Thudd...err Martin? In real life I mean," I asked.

"You may not believe it, Mr. Morgan," he said, "but I am a thirty year old married man with two children from Liverpool; a civil servant with the Department of Work and Pensions, managing a Job centre. The mini-bus is an Employment scheme bus."

"And I believe that you helped us with the local newspaper?"

"I know nothing." He said and winked.

The YMCA group had varied backgrounds and occupations. They mainly worked in IT or Network & System Management, some were students. Petros, also being his real name, the Best Man at James' wedding, came from Athens, could speak English reasonably well. His partner Orcslayer - a beautician - spoke broken English.

James introduced us to the ones I had not spoken with at the house. We were especially pleased to meet them. Many had helped us with our search for Simeon and traced the snitch who had leaked our story to the local free paper.

Tealeaf, a "Rogue" in the game, in real life Carol, ran a Network as Administrator for a Primary Care Trust in Nottingham. Sean and I shook her hands profusely when we learned that she had located the blue van of Simeon's kidnappers using a programme to isolate pixels. Tealeaf blushed when Josh kissed her on both cheeks. She swept her light-brown fringe aside after the kisses, and blew a "Phew!"

The only member of the YMCA group that had no employment and not intending to seek any was Dorke from Sweden. Amazingly fluent in Swedish, French and English, at times he seemed in his own world, yet at others he became animated and very verbal, beating down the opinion of others. Dorke gave the impression of a plump, greasy-haired, slovenly dressed twenty-something young man who looked like a teenager. He had the reputation, we were assured, as one of the finest computer brains in Sweden and the best hacker on the planet.

I felt good that James and Aly had drawn an interesting and diverse group together. The Morgan circle was growing.