Usually I like to start my Survivor article with an anecdote or perhaps a small hint of what is to come if you decide to read on further - this will not be happening today. As I sit and write this, I have my hand encased in a pot of plaster and medical labour, I also have a car outside: smashed from the impact of a drunken-driver - and of course, I have a copy of Darkfall sat opposite to a copy of the latest World of Warcraft expansion; both eternally battling physically and mentally in my mind.
Oh dear readers, it has not been the best of weeks. While I attempt to relay the events of my endurance in the realm of the online, I find it mingling with reality. This will be a different kind of Survivor article; it will be one that shows that one person really is that unlucky and generally crap at life. Endurance is tough virtually, even harder in the physical realm of Earth apparently.
December came to pass and so did my fledgling adventures in the world of Darkfall. I had chopped wood, smashed iron, picked pretty flowers, and even vowed to take on a local crime lord. Life was good, I had objectives and personal vendettas - and really what else does one man need?
On a sunny Monday afternoon, I found myself on a small island overlooking a keep; my only company a small axe, my only worry was a small amount of wood that was needed to create a bow. I was happy and content, if my on-screen avatar could do so; he would have probably rubbed his stomach contently, sighed idyllically and perhaps chomped on a small piece of wheat.
After heading back into town, a small fellow approached me with the words "wanna' make some gold mate?" well, I was hardly a fellow to turn down a spot of wealth fishing so I made enthusiastic nods and winks and I was told to "head to the town of Sandbrook, I'll see you there". I did just that and 25 minutes later, I was ordered to collect 200 iron ore for the sum of a thousand gold coins.
With my goal in-mind, I ran toward the wilderness with a verve that said "im-a-gonna-be-rich!" Sadly nothing could be further from the truth. In life, when a person asks you tell them your bank details, you politely decline and run to the nearest law enforcer, however, when somebody told me to head into the woods and collect some valuable materials, I clucked with glee and thought nothing of it. I was a fool.
My employer kindly asked me how my progress was going and of my position every few minutes - I would respond with child-like joy, furnishing his enquiries with informative answers; sometimes he would even call me "mate" and say things like "nice one". Surely this guy would bring me no harm? So as I neared my objective, my boss once more asked where I was at with my quota, I replied "189, nearly 200, mate" see, even I was doing it now, "oh good stuff, where are you? I'll come to you".
I don't know exactly how it happened, but five minutes later I found myself plodding along the coast line, naked except for my initial leather-strap outfit, bereft of ore and poorer than when I started. My 'mate' had simply approached me, uttered a word of thanks and then butchered me with a massive sword. Robbed and broken, and a few tears dangling from my eyes, I headed back toward Heart of Eanna feeling sorry for myself.
It Started with a Release Date
Now if this was a poorly made clip show, this would be were you would hear the scratch and sudden stop of a vinyl. My adventures in Darkfall ended on that fateful Monday dinner-time, as something happened, something terrible and yet magnificent - Something that would herald a week of horrible happening and even more sympathetic feelings.
Perhaps one or two of you will be aware of a newly created dragon that roams a virtual world. Apparently, it is a nasty old bugger but has an eye for exterior decoration second-to-none; so, while apparently it is bringing doom to some world full of Elves and Orcs, it has also given it a much needed face-lift. Funny those dragons aren't they?
Of course, with my excellent satirical wit, I am talking of World of Warcraft: Cataclysm. Like an annoying ninja, this expansion has infiltrated most articles related to anything remotely online and I am sadly no different. I am not a big WoW-fan, never have been and probably never will be; but alas, I am sucker for a midnight launch and a wolf-man wearing a top hat.
A dozen or so hours since my victimization in Darkfall, I found myself standing in the cold, snow drifting around my feet and a dozen or so spotty teens shrieking about "man, my Rogue build is like epic PvP now, 55k damage at least" to which another would reply "Yah, totally, but my Warrior would like, kick his ass". If these people were physically violent, a small riot would have broken out about the advantages of a Protection-build versus a Fury one, I'll tell you.
So finally, with a copy of Cataclysm clutched in my hands, I headed home and began my quest for 85 like the rest of the goblin-loving world. Tuesday came and passed, as did Wednesday - not a sniff of Darkfall playing. Oh sure, it was there sat on my desktop, placed by myself for motivation, but all I could do was utter a wordless apology as I opted for the Blizzard launcher and indeed, launched myself in Azeroth oblivion.
The sad and strange thing was, I wasn't really enjoying my time in Warcraft and its world. It felt too easy; the slog to 85 was more like a brief jog with plenty of shiny blanket-wraps and orange slices. I would complain to friends that I expected more, they would casually tell me "it's just a game man". So with these feelings, why could I not peel myself away? I was addicted, smacked up like a crack-addict and showing no signs of slowing down. I could hear Darkfall cry out but I was devoured, hopelessly devoted to the boy, that was World of Warcraft.
So as the days tumbled by, a felt the lump of worry In my throat snow ball to tumour sizes, I would enter Darkfall, and leave moments later, convinced that if I could just obtain that Helicopter in WoW, everything would fall back into place. I was well and truly suckling at the teat of Blizzard, and I didn't even know if I liked it. What a mess.