Chicken

Chicken

I was part of a raiding team as an officer for the tail end of WoW classic and all of TBC. As with all raiding guilds there were ebbs and flows of raid performance. Before my time Keen Formation was a successful raiding guild that plowed through Molten Core with the best of them but lost steam and ultimately fractured under the stress of two raid teams within one guild. After that fracture the guild was picked up and rebuilt by a select handful, of which I was a minor player.

With the top guilds of the server working through Naxx and Aq40 now nerfed down to reasonable difficulties, we were elated to clear through Twin Emps. The first expansion pack was due out shortly and the shrinking raid size gave the leadership, eager to advance KF’s intensity in the raid scene, an opportunity to push the guild further. Instructor Razuvious had been cleared but further work in Naxx and on C’thun was viewed as an opportunity to become more serious and weed out those that couldn't keep up yet at the same time enjoy our success.

It was with that spirit that we often ran into one of the hardest parts of AQ40: C’thun trash. Packs of mobs made up of different numbers of Qiraji Mindslayers and his bastardly friends that would curb stomp the fuck out of raids capable of farming Twin Emps without breaking a sweat. It is this trash that lead to one of my fondest gaming memories of all time.

The pulls would always go the same way. The raid is high on the Twin Emp kill and the new loot that we got and giddy with happiness. Our main tank, the infamous Darkwulf, would begin pulling the trash and things would begin to unravel pretty quickly. Often times the packs were such that we’d get 2-3 pulls of no significance until we got a bad combination and the wheels fell off. Typically the first wipes were so bad they were almost instant.

At this point we would here on vent the sounds of a chicken.

One of our officers, a rogue that could do monster dps, was apt to making odd chicken noises on vent. Despite being a multi-year member and key officer behind our eventual ascension to hardcore raiding success and being able to shit down your throat 2000 dps in karazhan purples, he is best known for one thing: his chicken impression. The chicken meant one thing and one thing only. The chicken was the starter’s pistol on a grand tradition of Keen Formation: the all out zerg.

The first chicken call was quiet and, if you can imagine it, had a questioning inflection. Officer chat immediately turned into a flurry of discussion while raid chat and discussion on vent would often pretend to have heard nothing.

[officer][spudcrowley]: No no no
[officer][Tagdoodle]: I just want to get to C’thun for the love of Christ
[officer][jred]: I hate you so much
[officer][Duvessa]: I don’t think that’s what chickens sound like…
[officer][Darkwulf]: my gear is broken again
[officer][Drastik]: <chicken noise>

The next pull the raid would be at MAXIMUM FOCUS and things would go better. People would be dying at a constant but steady rate instead of by the truck loads. With about half the raid dead and the pull stabilized the questioning chicken would sound again.

[officer][Drastik]: DO IT!
[officer][Darkwulf]: god dammit, fine. Call it.

[RW][Drastik]: CLUCK CLUCK MOTHER FUCKER! GRAVE YARD ZERG THIS!!

Instantly vent would explode from the dead silence of progression raiding to everything and anything imaginable. The well disciplined raiding guild evaporated into a complete lack of control and organization. The 20 dead raiders released and began to make their long ride back to the battle front as those remaining began to dig in and spread out for the battle that was now taking on an entirely different tone.

The raid became a release where anything goes and the lowliest of raiders can call for heals over the raid leader himself. Spells that healers hadn't cast since leveling were now spammed and instead of the timely, well organized pulse of fire balls and shadow bolts it was an erratic cataclysm of moonfires, smites, and frost shocks.

There was absolutely no control, no plan, and nothing was held back. Each raider would arrive to the battle front after his or her most recent death and unleash themselves as they saw fit on the remaining mobs. A holy priest was just as likely to arrive having cobbled together his dps gear on the ride in and unleash a flurry of smites while screaming over vent how he had a furious erection as he was to show up as the final blow was struck to the last living tank and engage in a spirited game of ‘kite the mindflayer’ until the next tank arrived.

Communication on vent was simultaneously terrible and wonderful as anyone and everyone spoke up on vent and four different rushed conversations occurred over top of one another. As the battle lengthened separate camps would be established and there was no time for polite communication as THAT MIND FLAYER IS ABOUT TO KILL ME AND I AM A FUCKING MAGE TANKING LIKE A PRO AND GOD DAMMIT I NEED YOU – THE RESTO DRUID – TO GO BEAR AND TAKE OVER.

The Chaos was intoxicating.



Ultimately the trash pull would be subdued under our unyielding onslaught of chaos and we would make our way to C’thun and, not surprisingly, fail miserably at phase 1. We never did get the C’thun kill but became a more serious guild for TBC.

By Black Temple in TBC the days of chicken grave yard zergs were well behind us as we strove to compete with the top guilds of Mal’ganis. We were nearing a raiding accomplishment that we had worked towards for a very long time: complete clearing of all available raid content. It was 2007 and the AQ40 gravyard rush was almost 2 years ago. Late into the night we worked on Illidan, the last uncleared boss left, and the attempt was going great. Slowly Illidan’s life ticked down and my heart began to pound, my hands, cold and clamy, began to shake and my movements and voice became tight and strained. With only a few percent health remaining, the nightmare happened:

[Mulack] has died

FUCK! Only moments away and our main tank goes down. The collective voice of the raid gives a paniced squeek and the raid leader (me!), is struck dumb. Our off tank is in full fire resist gear and won’t last for long. Before my brain can start to form a plan our guild history leaps into action:

[RW][Drastik]: CHICKEN CHICKEN CHICKEN CHICKEN

Instantly the raid responded with an explosion of raw-chaotic dps. Vent becomes almost white noise with screaming and Illidan was brought to his knees, finally, for the guilds first kill. And although I was almost too elated with the kill and momentous success the guild had enjoyed in TBC to think about the zerg that got our first kill, I couldn't help but think about how far we had come, and yet had stayed almost exactly the same. Looking back on it now, I can say with confidence that I had more fun giggling as I switched into my dps gear, riding my red Qiraji Battle Tank, listening to half the guild yell and scream as they ran around doing whatever they could to keep the zerg alive.

Zerg on, my friends.