Survivor Guy: Darkfall Edition #3
Iron ingots ready and in the bank - check. Gold coins and leather in the bank - check. Tongs and hammer in my inventory - check. Flitting through the sunlit streets of Heart of Eanna, I wandered from the blacksmith's workshop to various points around town collecting up my resources - I was about to embark on a spot of crafting and nobody but a raging ginger dwarf could stop me.
I squirrelled together my resources and stopped momentarily surveying exactly what I needed. My avatar, a tall brown-haired fellow was naught but skin and leather strap. Where once was proud glittering armour, only goose bumps and skin afflictions remained. I had been robbed, slain, murdered, butchered, taken-advantage-of and everything in-between. Today, however, was going to be a good day; nothing was going to go wrong.
I made my way toward the anvil and pressed 'F'. Several dozen attempts and minutes later, I emerged with greaves, sleeves and a breast plate that your average Tommy would tip his hat towards. My body sighed a sigh of contended relief, my clenched fist now clutched a rather large 2-handed sword - silently swearing never to let go. I was ready and able now to do a spot of surviving - I said to myself, in the English words of a Hooligan "Come on, let's be 'avin-ya!"
Several moments later and a sole bridge crossed, I was to lying on the floor - face bloodied and beaten and a small but ferocious flame headed warrior slamming me with an axe. Slipping silently into that good night, I emerged once more in familiar territory - naked, shivering and stumbling back to my list. Iron ingots ready and in the bank - check. Gold coins and leather in the bank - check. Tongs and hammer in my inventory - check.
I am going to level with you, dear audience, I ain't no Survivor Guy. In essence I am a liar, a braggart with a word-processor and a mind for optimistic adventure. Throughout my various travels in MMORPGs I have endured trials and tribulations that have been hurled towards me with venom, but Darkfall, it really is something else, something vicious, nasty and only for the most-hardy amongst us.
Like a victim of abuse, I have spent my week on Darkfall fearfully cooing and trying to be nice to the game. I offer it delicious home-cooked meals and it simply replies by raising a fist and threatening to rob me of my hard-won garments - I offer it my undivided attention and it simply arcs its back, makes a low growl and launches 'gob' right at my unsuspecting face. Despite all this, I know that the MMO loves me, and I too am endlessly devoted to it - it's just a phase...it's just a phase.
So with the sentiments above, I have taken to an extreme course of trying to stay alive in the world of Darkfall - many an hour spent retreating into forum threads, even a few YouTube videos devoured and, most importantly, trying to find a big beefy fella to look after me in-game. Thus far I am unsuccessful in all avenues.
The only course of action which I could successfully take was one of the Rocky Balboa training montages. Wherever I venture forth or try anything a little 'tasty' I find myself on the wrong side of a critical hit roll - the only answer? Become like the bullies and maraud my way through the world. And that is just what I intended to do.
A-A-A-A Staying Alive!
After many hours of toil and misery, I finally came into the possession of a sword, a shield and a set of fairly decent armour. Deciding my course of action, I wandered out into the wildest of the wilds in search of a place that I could train combat with little interference from angry dwarves or any others. Stumbling around for 15 minutes, I came to a small farm-like settlement which boasted a dozen goblins ready to be slain. Checking around my immediate surroundings I found that the place was fairly secluded and could not be seen in the land around it. It was the perfect location for my montages.
Hours tumbled by and I had accumulated wealth, a few choice armour pieces and also, I was a dab hand with my sword skills. Goblin after goblin fell to the sharpness of my blade and the only respite I gave these beasts was the few occasional trips to the bank that I had deemed necessary after losing my wealth dozens of times before.
On one such commute to save my belongings, I noticed a shape streaking through the woods and towards my goblin-haven. Hanging back and making use of the crouch toggle, I followed what was a strap-chested and yet, plate-legged bald man. Watching like a voyeuristic ninja, I sat in silence as 'Baldy' as he was now known, brutally slaughtered the little grey fellows around. What a monster I thought; these were my damn goblins, if anyone was going to harm them and further, rob their grave: it will be me.
Checking my inventory I realised that I wasn't holding much of worth and my bank was safely bustling with replacement weapons and armour pieces. What could go wrong? What did I stand to lose? I was formulating a plan 'as cunning as a fox who's just been appointed Professor of Cunning at Oxford University'. Oh yes, the brigand within was about to live on.