The study’s author admits that precise estimates are not possible because of the underground nature of the activity. But it’s at least a $US 500 million global industry as of now, with organised crime snaking its tendrils into the business.

The growth is entirely predictable and not really a new phenomenon, when you think about it. “When you get people with more money than time and time than money the two will find a way to meet”, said Stephen Davis, of game security firm Secure Play. Quoted for truth.

Poor Earning Virtual Gaming Gold [BBC]

Here it is, the last chunk of our epic powerlevelling story. I’ve been assured by the anonymous writer who sent this mammoth literary extravaganza in that everything is true.

Well, no need for me to waffle on about this one, you know the story – or should I say, you will know.

Ah, watch out – a disclaimer!

Disclaimer: Kotaku AU does not advocate the use of powerlevelling services, or the use of any service that violates the Terms of Use or End User License Agreements (EULA) of any game. If you decide to indulge in any such service, you do so at your own risk.

The first is that they play 24 hours a day, 7 days a week to get you to the level you want. This is accomplished by cycling the account between different players.

The second practise relates to the first, and is heavily dependent on the quality of the service. Essentially, they use bots when actual manpower isn’t available, or the powerlevelling service is unwilling to cough up the paltry sums of money to employ warm bodies.

A bot, if you haven’t heard the term before, is a program that runs in the background, interpreting information from the game and converting it into key and mouse presses to simulate a real player. Bots can be very effective, but like all software, they’re not perfect. If a monster isn’t where it’s supposed to be, or the user interface is mis-configured, a bot will cheerfully run in circles, off cliffs or have its arse PvP’d into oblivion.

Obviously, this sort of behaviour does not go unnoticed by other players… or game masters. If you get reported, and the powerlevelling service doesn’t pick up on it, you can kiss your account goodbye. Bye epics, bye hours of my life.

Bye hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars of subscription fees.

I learnt all this wonderful, encouraging information as my character hit level 35. I trembled in the morning as I watched my progress. I shook in the afternoon as I sat at my PC, eying my character’s advancement. Finally, I wiped sweat from my hands in the evening as the powerlevelling service continued to grind indefatigably away at creatures and quests.

Every minute of my day was consumed spying on my Paladin – wasted time in hindsight. I didn’t care so much about what level it was any more. All I concerned myself with was getting my account back in one piece.

The smart thing to do at that point would have been to contact the powerlevelling service and ask them to stop immediately. But I was stupid. Plus, it looked like they couldn’t even tell when an account was inaccessible or not, so I doubted they could halt a powerlevelling contract midway through.

So, after this D&M with myself, I decided to wait it out.

The Looming Threat
My character stayed at level 35 for what seemed like an eternity, or at least the better part of a day. I think it sticks in my memory because it was when I noticed my character was in Scarlet Monastery.

SM? Isn’t that a level 35-40 instance?

There’s no way my low-level character was going to waltz into SM alone, on a PvP server. No, I rationalised, my character must be grouped. And there’s no way a bot is going to get away being in a group doing Scarlet Monastery.

That left only one conclusion – my character was being controlled by a real person. A small consolation, yes, but it add a bit of sunshine to my hermit-like existence.

Level 36 arrived that day and, shortly after, 37. Before I logged off from my trial account that night, my character was doing whatever it did in the Badlands. I can say now that my character spent a lot of time in that zone. Ten levels, maybe more. My guess is that was using a Protection AoE grinding build.

When I woke up the next morning, I’d lost track of how many days it had been since I’d began powerlevelling. All I knew was that it was the beginning of a new month and, when I logged in, my character had surmounted two levels overnight.

By my fuzzy calculations, regardless of my characters monstrous levelling abilities, the service would have to grind 24/7 to get me to level 50 within the ten-day estimate.

It must have been a Tuesday, because scheduled maintenance interrupted the proceedings. I was sure that when the servers came up the next morning, I’d be greeted by a nice email explaining exactly how hard Blizzard had banned my arse.

That night, I dubbed Wednesday “The Day After”.

The Day After
I’d like to say Wednesday was the day. But it wasn’t. Mixed emotions flooded me as I logged into the trial account to face the envitable.

The envitable, however, didn’t look back. What did stare at me – in what I imagine was an accusatorial manner – was my character’s /who.

A level 42 Blood Elf Paladin. I hadn’t be banned. Was it some kind of cruel, vicious game that Blizzard was playing with me? Did they want to squeeze out as much misery as they could from this?

I was at the end of something. A tether. My sanity. Something had to break.

The evening wasn’t exciting by the standards of the previous few days. My character climbed to level 44, and was still hanging around the Badlands. Probably running in automated circles around a GM.

It was about this time that things started to blur. My job lost importance and sleeping became optional. I still ate, used the toilet and breathed, but if my girlfriend had still been with me, I’d have been guilty of neglect in the first degree.

No, not even the thought of companionship could rouse me from my daily vigil. My character ascended to level 45, then 46. By the end of what I guessed to be the ninth day – it was about the fourth of the new month – my Paladin was swinging away at trolls in the sands of Tanaris.

I secretly hoped they’d picked up the flightpoint. Damned if I was going to walk there again.

That’s when I caught myself doing something I shouldn’t – planning ahead. Why was I constructing a future for a character that I was sure had none? It was because I had hope, and it was enough to convince myself that there was a tiny chance I wouldn’t be banned.

The Big Five-O
That night my character hit 50.

Through the trial account, I could see that my character was no longer logged in. I was using the Friends list now, so I had a record of the last state my character was in before the powerlevelling service cut its ties.

Fifty. I’d made it. All the horror stories I’d read of getting caught within a few levels of employing a powerlevelling service did not apply to me. Minus a bizarre hiccup via email, and my abuse of the account management system, my powerlevelling endeavour had hit 50 without incident.

Was I lucky? Had the stars aligned in a way to blind Blizzard from my activities? I didn’t know.

All I could think about was what the hell I was going to do next.

I resisted the urge to log into my freshly-fifty character. The best course of action, going by everything I’d learned, would be to wait a minimum of 24 hours before logging in. Before that, I would change my password to make sure the powerlevelling service couldn’t pay a return visit to pilfer my gold and gear.

I think it was after this thought that I went completely zen.

“Fuck it. Fuck it. If it’s going to happen, it’s going to happen,” I said aloud.

I could wait a day.

Epilogue
On the morning of the tenth day, I accessed my account management and changed my password. Shortly afterwards, I logged into the game.

That was eight months ago. For a few weeks, I played my powerlevelled character. As promised, I had a mount, a bit over 100 gold and a bunch of green and blue items on my person and in my bank. I’d been left in the neutral town of Tanaris, and my powerlevellers had specced Retribution.

I discovered that the powerlevelling service I’d used had a reputation for being the worst. They used bots, they powerlevelled 24/7, and did little hide what they doing. Somehow, I’d come out unscathed. I felt like Achilles.

Or God.

I quested and grinded in Azeroth until I pipped 58, and then I headed to the Outland. I managed to get to my mid-60s before I logged out for the last time.

During my final days playing, when I was convinced that I’d dodged a bullet the size of a small planet, I received a message in Chinese pinyin. Translated, it said:

“Do you remember me?”

It took less than a second for me to set up the /ignore. It was that last reminder I had of my powerlevelling experience.

It’s been a couple of months since I played, and I can honestly say that I have no desire to go back. If my powerlevelling escapades taught me anything, it’s that there were better things in my life than numbers in a database.

It also revealed my obsession with WoW for what it was – an addiction.

An addiction I can say I’ve kicked.

Other parts to this article:

Pros and Cons of WoW Powerlevelling, Part 1

Pros and Cons of WoW Powerlevelling, Part 2

Here’s the second part to the World of Warcraft powerlevelling story that was posted last week. I know quite a few people have been desperate to read the next part, so here it is. Like last time, this story has been edited to add clarity and spice.

I should also note that this was originally to be the last of it. Unfortunately, it was still way too large to post, so the third (and last part, I swear) will be put up next week.

Now some disclaimer-related action.

Disclaimer: Kotaku AU does not advocate the use of powerlevelling services, or the use of any service that violates the Terms of Use or End User License Agreements (EULA) of any game. If you decide to indulge in any such service, you do so at your own risk.

So, where was I?

Shitting myself, I think.

Three days in. Level 28. Looking good. Calm.

At peace. And then, the mistake.

You may remember I mentioned something about precautions one must undertake to minimise the chances of having your account banned. As you can guess, being banned is rather counter-productive to the whole powerlevelling process.

The two precautions I was aware of, I followed. The third, which remained unknown to me, I didn’t. I quickly found out it about it though.

With little to do while my character rose in power, I surfed the web and, like any hardcore WoW player, browsed the game’s forums.

It was then I admitted to myself that I could have done a lot more research about powerlevelling. I should have done more research. But like any impulse buyer, I made my purchasing decision in haste and now, I was using the web to simply gather reassurance like a squirrel does nuts for winter.

Comfort was not to be found, however. What I did find, hidden away in Google’s search results, was a forum dedicated to powerlevelling. More accurate, the dangers of powerlevelling.

Many, if not all, of the powerlevelling sites go to great lengths to address the concerns associated with the procedure. How could they stay in busy if they got caught, for instance? Or commandeered accounts and stole passwords? Questions powered by logic, but only if you’re willing to ignore the fact that anyone caught using a powerlevelling service is hardly going to advertise, or even admit, to it.

You only read about the success stories. That’s the way the world works. And being gullible and desperate, I believed them.

Until I discovered the site.

50 Levels of Hell
Reading the forums of this site was like perusing obituaries in a newspaper. Of the twenty or so stories I read, only two or three reported success, and even then, they were reluctant to share their knowledge, as if parting their secrets would somehow reveal their crime to Blizzard, or parade their shame to their WoW playing friends and family.

Despite the site’s obvious goal to dissuade players from powerlevelling, it nonetheless provided a “survival guide” if you did/had decided to engage in paid-for character advancement. This is where I first learnt, in detail, the methods Blizzard uses to hunt down powerlevellers.

They monitor IPs when you log in to your characters. Check.

They can tell from your IP where you’ve logged in from. Check.

You shouldn’t log into your account during the process. Check.

You shouldn’t log into the forums or account management while the service is active.

Shit.

I remember feeling my heart race and, although I didn’t believe it possible, I was somehow sweating from everywhere.

I was scared.

It seems dumb now to have had such strong emotions over what is, essentially, a record in an Oracle database. But then, isn’t the amount of cash in your bank account just a number on a hard drive somewhere?

After a few minutes, the fear passed and I began thinking rationally. You haven’t been caught yet, I told myself, so you still have a chance. The first decision I made was to stick with the reporting service on the powerlevelling website. I cut off all interaction with the game to minimise the risk.

Denied the real-time updates of my character’s progress that I’d once enjoyed, I didn’t stay up late that night hitting the refresh button of my browser.

I turned off the computer, walked to my bed, and tried to sleep. Little did I know, my troubles had only just begun.

One Little Level, Two Little Levels…
The next morning my Blood Elf was 29, no doubt laying some Seal of Judgement smack talk on Arathi Highlands’ less-hospitable citizens. I was feeling better after my run-in with the powerlevelling forum that spoke about nothing but the evils of the act.

It got me thinking about why powerlevelling is perceived in such a bad light. If you ignore the issues with low-paid Chinese labourers, all you’re doing is exchanging money for time. Some people have hours on end to spend grinding away – others have jobs instead. If you’re a veteran of the game, have the money, and just want to play another character without repeating hours upon hours of content, shouldn’t there be some sort of shortcut? I think Blizzard could do quite well legitimising the service. Not only that, they could probably get away charging 100s of dollars for it. I’m sure there are even more complex issues surrounding such an idea, but on the surface, the logic seems sound.

I monitored the powerlevelling site on and off during that day. Then, I had an idea: Why couldn’t my brother monitor the progress of my character? After all, it was being levelled on the same server.

Of course, that meant telling my brother I was powerlevelling a character. But he was my brother and I felt he’d understand my reasons for doing it.

Methods alternate
It was the night of the fourth day I broached the subject with my sibiling. He was running Alterac Valley, showing newbies that shadow priests can indeed melt faces. The conversation turned out to be less complicated than I thought it would be.

“Hey, Mark.”
“Yeah bro?”
“I’m powerlevelling a character on your server.”
“Oh.” A pause. “How’s that going?”
“Not bad. I need a favour.”

I think at this point he was wondering if I was going to ask him to do something that would put his account at risk. I can say, right now, that I would never have done that. Powerlevelling was my decision, and if it was going to screw me, that’s all it would screw.

“Ah sure man. What’s up?”
“Can I get you to /who my character for me?”

I explained to him how powerlevelling worked. I told him what you can and can’t do. I began to feel the fear from the day before. Mark could see I was tensing up.

“It’s cool man, I can do that. What’s the name?”

I told him the character’s name.

“Easy. I’ll let you know if anything happens.”
“Thanks, I really appreciate it.”

I turned to leave.

“Hey, bro?”
“Yeah Mark.”
“Don’t freak about it. If it’s going to happen, it’ll happen. Personally, I reckon your safe. I mean, how many people play WoW?”
“Like, eight million or something.”
“That’s a lot of people to keep watch on.”

I relaxed at little at the thought. Suddenly the reality of monitoring individual logins and playing habits seemed a monumental task, even from a company like Blizzard. The size of the logs alone would be in the gigabytes, if not terabytes. They’d have to make concessions somewhere, and maybe I’d slip through the cracks.

It was a nice thought. It helped me rest soundly that night.

Odd behaviour
Between the end of the fourth day and the start of the fifth, my character had hit level 32.

And joined a guild.

That couldn’t possibly be right, I told myself. Yet, there I was standing behind my brother, the results of the interrogative “/who” command staring back at me.

“FalgOroO?”
“That’s a really weird name for a guild dude.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“You know what it sounds like?”
I had an idea. “Engrish.”

It was classic mutilation of the English language by a foreign country. Usually it’s something one gets a laugh out of.

It made me want to vomit until my stomach disintegrated. If anything was a red flag, a big giant “We’re a bunch of powerlevellers” sign, it was a guild with a nonsensical name like “FalgOroO”.

“I’m fucked.”

My brother didn’t reply. I left the room and didn’t check on my character until the sixth day.

Hate Mail
A nice fat level 33 greeted my brother and I on the sixth day. Just 17 more levels and I’d be free and clear. I was in an odd place emotionally, as my growing excitement at starting from 50 instead of 1 conflicted with the engorged tumour that was my fear.

That’s when I got the email.

The address said it was from the powerlevelling site I’d ordered the service from. There was little meat to the body of the letter, but what was there was enough to transform my fear tumour into a malignant cancer of terror.

“Your password has changed and the powerleveller can’t log into your account.”

It was official, then. I had been caught and subsequently banned. I knew in my heart it was only going to be a matter of time, and it looks like time finally reckoned I mattered.

For the hell of it, I tried logging into my account management via the Blizzard website. What did I care, seeing as I was banned? I entered my details and expected a lovely, warm error box telling me I was a dillhole.

Instead, I meet the welcoming arms of my account.

It was fine. Nothing was wrong. My password hadn’t changed. The powerlevelling service had got it wrong. But now I’d increased my chances of getting caught by logging into my account management.

I logged out quickly and sat back for a moment. I came up with three scenarios:
1) Occam’s Razor: The simplest explanation is often the correct one. It actually was the real powerlevelling service, and they just typed the password in incorrectly. That, or only realised the mistake after the email was sent, and have since found out.
2) It was another powerlevelling service, or a con job from some other source, trying to nab my account details
3) Now, this was the scariest one – it was Blizzard, who had noticed something odd with my account (IPs changing perhaps) and sent me an email in the guise of the powerlevelling service to smoke me out. By changing my password and subsequently sending a reply, they would be able to confirm my guilt and ban my account.

As paranoid as number three was, it was the only I believed true. Seeing as my account appeared to work fine, and there was no reason to reply, I didn’t. I tried my best to ignore the email and get on with my day.

Then I received another email. Same message, written in somewhat poorer Engrish. I needed to get to the bottom of it.

At that time, my brother wasn’t available to check if my character was logged in. That’s when another idea occurred to me – I could use a trial account and check my character that way. I was sure I had a disc with a trial key hidden somewhere, and within five minutes, I was sorting it out via the World of Warcraft website.

Hesitantly, I started up WoW for the first time in six days. With a touch delicate enough to tickle the palms of a newborn, I entered in the trial account details and logged in. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it worked without a hitch.

I made a Troll with a random name and appearance, and jumped into the game. As soon as the user interface appeared, I typed in a “/who” query.

Bam. There I was, levelling away happily. I was level 35, in fact.

So, the mysterious email remained unsolved, and I had another way of checking my character. I still felt odd, as if between two worlds. I knew if I was banned, I’d never play WoW again. On the other hand, if by some miracle the powerlevelling worked and I wasn’t caught, I had no idea how much longer I’d stick with the game.

So much for quitting.

To be concluded next week…

Other parts to this article:

Pros and Cons of WoW Powerlevelling, Part 1

Pros and Cons of WoW Powerlevelling, Part 3

The original piece on powerlevelling in World of Warcraft was actually quite large. After reading over the whole thing, I thought it best to break it into two parts, the first of which was posted yesterday. Going by the cliffhanger ending, I actually think that was the intention.

Part 2 will go up next week, so keep your eyes peeled for it. As always, if you think you have a compelling story to tell on anything gaming-related, don’t hesitate to send it in and I can guarantee it’ll be read.

Oh, the artwork for the story was sourced from a press kit from Vivendi, if you were wondering.

Pros And Cons Of WoW Powerlevelling, Part 1 [Kotaku AU]