Friends don't let friends play Hardcore (A Diablo 3 Eulogy)

I want to thank you all for being here today to pay our respects to BigBootyRudy. Personally I am a man of many words, and few actions; not really the kind of person who understands the life of a rugged adventurer who smashes his way through the forces of hell with a horadric hamburger and an iron shod gimp mask, but I'll try my best. BigBootyRudy was a crusader, he lived his entire twenty four hour life doing what he loved, gathering loot, punching bosses in the face, and crafting gems. It wasn't a very fulfilling life, he seemed mostly to repeat himself, and in his short twenty four hours on this world his only enjoyment was that gentle golden shine when he leveled up, something he did often, but never enough.

It was through that long grind between 69 and 70, those last few exp bars for that final golden shower that BigBootyRudy was cut down in his prime. Just outside of town. He'd been crafting gems, minding his own business after a long night of stealing trinkets from the still grasping hands of recently stabbed hell spawn when it happened. He was jumped by a horde of elite arcane jailer mobs. The kind of guys that you lock eyes with and just intrinsically know that you're both thinking "Damn, I'm in the wrong side of town" right before the digital crap hits the all too real fan. He fought valiantly, blowing all his cool downs like a beat poet raging against their inevitable eviction notice but it wasn't enough. A quick jail debuff and a brief second of arcane damage and it was over, he was nothing but shadows and pixely dust, his sword to swing no more.

I feel we should blame the arcane jailer elites for his death, or at the very least point out that their OP skills and unnecessary combination of abilities lead to the inevitable gank; but that would be unnecessary. It's not the mobs fault they murder pixel men, in reality most of them spent their short digital lives being needlessly slaughtered en mass, with so few of them actually getting to kill a PC. Instead I think I should tell them good job! You got one guys, at least until the inevitable group of players wander out of town and strike you down for your terrible terrible deeds; which I hope they did, at the very least for Rudy's memory.

No instead I blame us, the players, every single man, woman, and technologically adept child who has ever decided that some pixel men deserve a fate worse than others. That we should strip them of their possible electronic immortality, and send them into difficulty settings with names like "Nightmare" and "Hell" seems cruel and unusual, who are we to play god to these digital people? Is it our rage against our own creator figures for leaving us pasty and confused around the opposite sex? Because that has less to do with godlike beings and more to do with basements and confusion on the use of deodorant.

We all need to think of BigBootyRudy as a lesson. Not just to stay in groups, but to avoid letting our little pixilated friends get too hardcore. Isn't it enough that the digital world is down a steely hero of good, or will you all just let this madness continue? How many poor theoretical pixel people have to die before we end this madness? Hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands? Please at the very least if you take one idea home with you today, let it be the memory of BigBootyRudy, the crusader who loved so much, and died so young; maybe that will temper your bloodlust.