Writen by David Wright

Image by Aravir

Hail, and well met, reader. Picture this, if your mind may allow it.

You’re a young man, just entering the workforce. You’ve done small jobs for a few people in your hometown- a few collected apples here, a few scorpions killed there. You’ve just branched out into the wider world, near the big city, and work is plentiful. Currently, you’re working on vanquishing a group of outspoken boars encroaching on your homeland.

From the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of a few people, off in the distance, walking toward you. As they come over the horizon, more and more follow. It’s an endless line, snaking from the edge of your field of vision to a few feet in front of you now, and they keep walking. They keep appearing in the distance.

The people you see passing you are as many and varied as the shapes of the desert pebbles under your sandals. All different races, sizes, shapes, colors, ages, some dressed in battle gear, some dressed in ceremonial garb. A few ride large, black bears- these seem to be protectors. Most walk in simple, understated clothing, much different from the thick armor you’re used to seeing people in. They all, however, wear red tabard cloth with gold leaves etched into it.

The line stretches from horizon to horizon, and you can no longer see the beginning of it. The end is nowhere in sight, either. You want to wonder aloud, but you find you can’t speak for amazement at the scene before you. An Elven woman in a dark blue dress steps out of the line. She rests a hand on your meaty shoulder, and gazes at you with glazed eyes. “We walk for our fallen,” she says, “for those who cannot walk themselves anymore.”

You’d noticed that some of the members of the procession were crying, and you nod to her, your tongue still captured by that elusive feline that rears its head on such occasions. “You’re welcome to join us, if you wish. Just please leave your weapon with one of the protectors, and be respectful.”

Quite a few people had that very experience on August second, just before midnight. The setting you just found yourself in is, of course, quite fantastical. This did not happen in the real, mundane world, and yet it did, at the same time. The line of bereaved souls, though, occurred in the massively popular online game, World of Warcraft.

Commonly known as WoW, World of Warcraft is, as most people know, a game. But it’s much more than that: it’s a powerful social medium. Players interact with people from around the globe in their daily online lives- getting a couple buddies together to go clean out a dungeon with somewhat powerful enemies, grouping up in teams of two, three or five to enter arena matches against other teams, or collaborating with twenty-four other skilled players to take on the hardest challenges in the game. Through this, networks are formed, and friendships are forged.

Within WoW, there is a system in which players can group together under one name, called a Guild. The guild is given a name, and players become members of that guild, and are granted access to all sorts of perks- a private text-chat channel in which you can talk to all of your guild members and nobody else, a storage vault for supplies for the guild, even the ability to design a logo to wear over your armor. I play WoW, and I am a member of a guild. That community is named Alea Iacta Est, latin for “The die has been cast”. On August second, that guild walked for close to an hour, to honor its fallen friends.

Back to our scenario: that fiendish feline finally frees your tongue, and you express a little shock at the idea of joining their march. “I’m not a member of the guild,” you say, “aren’t funerals private affairs?”

“It’s not a funeral. It’s a memorial service. C’mon, let’s find a good spot in the crowd.” She takes your hand and pulls you into the procession. Being used to sprinting everywhere (and it would be so much FASTER if you could ride one of those wolves the elders mount), you have to make a conscious effort to slow down and stroll with the rest of the group. As you both find your stride, she explains.

“On August second, 2007, our guild lost a dear friend. His name was Milliway, though some knew him as Bruce, as well. Sounds like a human name, doesn’t it?” Despite the occasion, she seems a little bubbly, and she certainly likes to chat. You nod respectfully, still feeling a little uncomfortable- you’ve never even heard of Milliway. “Anyway, we gathered at the Shrine of the Fallen Warrior that day, and we walked in his honor. He liked to stroll around and see stuff instead of just dashing by it on a mount, so we took his advice that day, and walked to see what he couldn’t see anymore.”

Touching story, of course, but you can’t help but wonder. “So, why are we walking now? Why so many, so many years later?”

Bruce Galloway was the first, but neither the last nor only member of Alea Iacta Est to pass on. After that first somber march from the Shrine to the Capital city, the day was pronounced the guild’s Memorial Day.

Most guilds in WoW are fairly small- some have ten members or less, others, close to a hundred. AIE is an exception to the rule. With the population of a small Midwestern town, AIE has seen its share of tragedy. Though Milliway started the tradition, the Guild Memorial Day honors all those who have passed away. Guild members, to be sure, and family members of the guild mates. Friends, lovers, coworkers, people who have never even heard of World of Warcraft are thought of on this day, as over a thousand pixilated avatars march across a hot desert to pay tribute to their fallen loved ones.

The journey started at the Shrine of the Fallen Warrior, a location added by WoW’s creators in memory of a developer who passed away during the game’s creation. On top of a hill , next to a mountain, in the Serengeti-inspired zone called The Barrens, a small stone altar sits, an Orc’s body laid peacefully upon it, the letters “MK” inscribed in the base. A ghostly angel floats in front of it, protecting the shrine. Anyone who moves their mouse over the angel will see that it is named Koiter- the surname of the developer who’s character rests there. The inscribed letters stand for Michael Koiter.

In front of Mr. Koiter’s memorial, the guild laid down their weapons (well, unequipped them,) and knelt. Many of them emoted crying, hugging each other, and mourning for the loss of the dead. The guild’s leader gave a short speech in the guild-only text channel. “Please never forget that your relationships are about people, not activities,” He said. “Your words are heard and your actions observed today by those who you may count on tomorrow. These relationships are real, and can be as beautiful as you make them”.

An incredible community it is indeed, as was immediately apparent from the size of the gathering, and as would grow more and more obvious as the event progressed. People from all over the world connected that night, held each other’s pixilated hands and offered their prayers. Mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, small children and old men, bankers, stockbrokers, teachers, students, minor celebrities and losers living in basements. One woman was online from the laptop in her hospital room, where she was between rounds of chemotherapy for a cancer relapse.

As the guild stood as one and began the long march toward the capital city of Orgrimmar, the guild’s text chat was alive with names and memories. People were writing messages saying, “I’m walking for my father, who died in a car accident last year.” or, “I’m walking for my friend John, who suffered an aneurism in march.” One member walked for his younger brother, a former player in the San Francisco 49’ers football team. Another walked for his son, who went to Iraq and never came back.

I walked with the guild that day, as a proud member. I walked to honor Bruce Galloway, who’s story came to me well before I was a member of the guild, and convinced me that I wanted to join. I walked to honor other fallen guildies that I did not know, had never met, and would not remember the names of. I walked for my father’s mother, a southern baptist hardass who died of old age three years ago. I walked for Snegurochka, a Russian WoW player in my former guild, who succumbed to Leukemia in early 2009. Had I but known, I would have walked for my employer’s mother, who died less than twelve hours after the event.

As you walk with the Elven woman in the dark blue dress and her thousands of comrades, you cannot help but hear laughter, and happy voices. Sure, some are crying, but many seem to be in good cheer. Your Elven companion is smiling, having just given a huge hug to an Orc woman you’ve both fallen in step with. You introduce yourself, to both women, and the newcomer to our little group greets you warmly. She digs into a small leather pouch at her side, pulls out a few salt-cured strips of bacon and offers one to you. I suggest you take it.

“I wish you could be in our voice chat,” says the elf, as she chews a small piece of the fatback. “The server’s full, though, which is a shame. It’s so much fun in there.” She points ahead, calling your attention to a member of the mysterious walking dead, a powerful looking being in a warlock’s robe and cowl. “That guy just extended an invitation to…” she cranes her neck. “Well, I can’t find her, but he’s invited another member to his wedding rehearsal dinner.”

If you were to hear what I heard in the voice chat server that evening, you would have heard that extended invitation. You would have heard jokes and laughter, the sound of true friends enjoying being together, some for the first time in months. You would have heard fond remembrances of Milliway- one member described the reason that they were walking: “He always said ‘you never mount up and run away after a battle. You walk away proudly, with your head held high.’”

You would have heard evidence that this community of walkers and gamers is more than just a collection of people who happen to play the same game. Stories of real-world meetings were told, offers to buy real-world drinks were made and accepted, plans of real-world get-togethers were hatched.

As the group neared its destination, spirits lifted even further. It was wondered how many people (in context, characters) could fit into the chambers of the city’s leader, which was where we were headed. The response- “I’m the fire marshall. PACK IT IN, DURNIT!” Laughter erupted, and continued until we all knelt in front of Thrall, leader of The Horde, the faction we claim loyalty to in the story of the game. A final prayer was offered silently by all in attendance, and then it was decided that we should go decimate the opposing faction’s cities in celebration- “in a half hour,” said the organizer of the raid. “If I don’t go have dinner first, my wife’ll kill me!”

While tears came to many eyes on the night of August second, 2010, this was not a sad event. The occasion was joyous and uplifting. New members of the community, like myself, were given a glance at how deep the roots of brother- and sisterhood can extend, even with a wall of technology between those surrogate siblings. Older members were able to get together with their friends and carry on the tradition. The elder statesmen of the group had the chance to honor the man they knew and loved, and played this fantastical game with. And while I never knew Bruce Galloway, and sadly never will, I have a feeling that he looked down from wherever he is (somewhere with the highest of high-speed internet, and the graphics are good), and smiled.

As for me, I looked back up at him, spoke the names of those I walked to honor, and thanked him for his life.