Blizzard
Step inside the campus, walk along the concrete path from the entrance, and you will quickly confront an ax-wielding, wolf-riding Orc, its grimace frozen by the fury of an endless battle. Step through a door only to stare up at a faceless archangel known as Tyrael, hovering 14 feet in the air with sword in hand to protect humanity from the forces of Hell. Beyond this seraph, past the Sanctuary and the Zen Den and down a long and dark corridor, is the Library. It is here, behind portals of iron and wood and among rows and rows of books and games, where you will meet the Loremasters—the men and women tasked with protecting and passing on the stories of this kingdom for a new generation. They await you with hands clasped, seated around a large wooden table.
The people of the realm are quick to tell you that they are happy here. The perpetual sun and the palms help, no doubt. And the ubiquitous presence of their great warriors—the towering statues of game characters that stand at the entrance to many campus buildings—is most welcome. But it’s the daily freedom it affords that keeps most people from uprooting and finding work elsewhere. Passion is rewarded, creative discourse is encouraged, and excellence is paramount. “Honestly, one of the things I’m most proud of about Blizzard culture is that disagreeing is okay,” says Mike Morhaime, who co-established the Blizzard kingdom in 1991. “A really good culture actually encourages healthy debate.” Nate Nanzer, the commissioner of the Overwatch League, a professional e-sports association, agrees. “You are here because you’re great, and you’re expected to do great things and be an active voice in what we’re building,” he proclaims.
