Ceaselessly exhuding steam and malcontent, the black Dragonkin’s face is torrid with an unnatural fury and unease at the shackles which bind her wrists in-front of her. Restless, the towering figure of obsidian scales paces, scratching her claws along the cave floor as she does so. The acidic venom which froths from her mouth leaks it’s scalding ferocity into the beast’s very vernacular as she spits her words at the figure unfortunate enough to be shackled beside her.
World of Warcraft has been my vice for the past six years, and has commanded a lot of my time. Once I shook off the totally legitimate preconception that buying the game would be problematic for my teenage education, I dived in head first. And I loved it.
A lot of games – too many perhaps – are bound by their insistence that giving the player the ability to flaunt their power and dominate their enemies is too easy. What fun is there in annihilating marauding goblins with an Armageddon-esque tempest of meteors, to conjure frostbitten earth barriers to deflect your foes’ onslaughts, to enchant your chosen weapon with arcane thunder…
You get where I’m going with this, right?