Bloated blisters of blazing shrapnel sprouted from the battlefield with no rhyme or reason. It was a mechanic of chaos and randomness, an element of RNG added to an already difficult fight.
As if hell wasn't enough.
Now we have the added avent of arbitrary pitfalls.
The blisters had a medium a.o.e radius that could either be avoided or attacked before the red balls detonated.
Some balance to make us feel like the realm plays fair, when in reality we all know the house cheats, and always will.
Sometimes avoiding would not be an option, for the now tyrannical boss, who resembled more demon than prince, would shower the terrain with fields of slowing tendrils.
Boots would become enraptured in hellish roots causing a slow that was 99 percent before resistances. Making it a slog, effectively rooting the party members to the ground, making the blisters a priority DPS target.
We blundered.
As one does at first.
I tried to not think of the mistake as one, but it was one nonetheless.
When thrown into a raid with no preparation, you play things by ear and that means errors, lapses in judgment that lead to damages and sometimes, at the worst times- death.
We hadn't known the damage of the blisters, we hadn't known the extent of their danger or the magnitude of the slow effects.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
A party of DPS circumvented the strikes of the demonic Frankenstein, and prepared a flank only to be caught in their tracks by the slowing tendrils and then the incoming blister spawned at their tethered feet.
I still remember the fear that crawled along their faces as they stared down in disbelief.
Taking a moment, I prayed for those men, regardless of my lack of faith in the Old Gods.
In that second we should have focused on firing the blister, preventing the incoming aoe blast all together.
But, we didn't.
We mitigated a few damage dealers in an attempt to pop the blister, but it wasn't nearly fast enough.
It erupted.
Shockwaves spread and the party members shrieked and wailed.
Then, what felt like a long while.
As if the battlefield was a person given a chance to breathe, we caught a second wind.
With that second wind we embraced the terror of our poor decisions.
Out of the four DPS dealers, only two had spec'd into an adequate amount of fire resistance, allowing them to survive the blast.
Still in critical condition, we warped them into the backline to be healed and saved...or so I hoped.
The other two were one shot.
Instantaneous death.
An unfair mechanic, or so we thought.
One second there, the next they were ashes and spirits sent to the realms beyond.
Here's where the psychotic part of my mind, the captain's conscience kicks in.
The lives were a shame, but what truly affected us was the morale dip that came with the deaths.
Sudden one shots have a massive shock on all those around.
Those nearby, in the very same party, are sometimes dealt the survivors dread.
A debuff that lowers their effectiveness by the sheer trauma experienced.
Even if adequately healed, they would no longer be of help during this encounter.
A ripple then rolls over the rest of the raid.
Anxiety and dread bubbles as they now come to terms with their mortality and the fatality of this raid.
Could they really die just like that?
No warriors death, but an explosion and then nothing.
And the final, the tensing up, the figurative bootstraps are tightened as you realize that this is not a game and death is easily rewarded to the foolish.
Some perform better with the added tension, others become slow and no longer flow in a state of grace in which greatness resides.
Which was I?
Charging forward, leading my party, directing orders to fire the blisters, staring at the demonic prince of science gone array…
I hoped I was the difference.