God save the caster!

31 05 2007
It was one of those days, all night long. Ennui. Staring at a screen. Wondering why I pay money I earn to stare at that screen. But I was not impelled enough to find something more worthwhile to do instead.A friend in the alliance offered me a spot in a group to farm afrits, which piqued my attention as my latest goal is to drive the prices down on the consignment merchants so the greedy bastards in game can rot with their full merchants. So I accepted the offer and hustled out to join the group.

An hour later, we had managed to kill one mob in between link deaths and waiting on bot buffs and the like. We were left with a rag tag montage that resembled a group and we went out in search of more afrits to kill. After twenty minutes of roaming, we found one. This tank went to this mob, that tank went to that mob, the necro to the main mob and a friar trying in vain to assist.

I, the only healer, humping a power font which was now too far away from the fighting arena to be of benefit. The caster sat back tossing balls of flames at the mobs and the necromancer lost his abom and then his life. The caster now at half life and out of power and incredibly too close to the mob, I rezzed and then buffed the abom, sending him back in to attempt to gain aggro once more and the caster fell. I rezzed the caster, popped DI3 again, and MCL. Damn, out of buffs. I cast an AOE dexterity and intelligence buff. All of the acts were futile. I was now under attack and the only other rezzer, the friar, had no power with which to heal or rez. We were face down, ass up in moments.

It was a good thing really. It was too late at night for me to carry on much more. I bid the group adieu and logged out. Damn timer. Must wait 126 seconds to log. Time finally drains down in utter silence and my screen fades.

It was at this point I lit a final cigarette for the night and turned to Glenn, and smiled. His face said something was amiss; his eyebrows quirked and his lips thin and tense. I leaned forward and looked at his screen, he was still in the group. The caster was carrying on about the poor cleric and decision to buff and rez the abom instead of healing the caster. I don’t know why it irked me like it did, but I logged back in nonetheless. To wait until I leave the group to talk shit? Grow a pair, really. I bit back a good deal of the anger but stated the obvious, the buffed necro with half power has a better chance of regaining aggro and doing damage than a living caster with no power. I advised the smart ass to wait until my fiancé is out of the group next time before talking crap about me and my abilities. I logged once more.

I long for the days when we would go out on events and hunts, simply for the fortuity of being together as a group and having fun. It didn’t matter if your yellow trim buff had +26% to enhancements or if your cleric had a buffed dexterity of over 350. Hell, the biggest deal back then was whether or not you had a full set of gear that was still con to your level!

Even in recent times there is a contrast. A year ago I led an ML/artifact series and dealt with the continual whining and moaning that is ever present on such raids and a player who had two bots stuck to him through the raid was complaining that they were dead and left behind at Bruiser doors. Healers complained that they had tried to rez the players but the rez wasn’t accepted. Damn them for not realizing they were someone’s botted characters. So after a big ordeal, we marched back up the hill and rezzed them.

And a smile spread over my face. Not a gleeful content smile. More of an impish grin. Yes, a devilish sneer turned upwards.

Sprint, I commanded the battlegroup.

At this moment I began laughing. Not laughing. Cackling. Yes, a good evil chortle. My laughter broke through to the voice channel as I drove the 180+ battlegroup headfirst into the lava. Like lambs to the slaughter. While there were a few who were insanely mad and irate, the bulk of the lot laughed heartily along with me. A /release later and onto the next target, the battlegroup was still 150+ strong, so it must not have bothered folks too much.

I kind of gained that as my calling card on raids in our circles, always being taunted to play it again Sam. So on a raid about 4 months ago, I did. And this time I gained the wrath of someone I considered to be a friend. How dare I? I was a bitch. I was thoughtless. She now taunts me at every opportunity in chat by calling me the Lemming Queen and that I have my band of lemmings to rush to my support with my every foul move. I have apologized to her and she says she accepts it fully, but the lemming bit makes me think she does not.

I woke up at 3 this morning, I couldn’t sleep. I sat at my desk thinking about many things, surfing the web and at some point decided to register for BETA for Warhammer. Now, five hours later, I am wondering why in the hell I did such a fool act. I know why though.

I long so greatly for that time when the world was new and we were all but babes, struggling together and finding friendships in a strange land. It made for the best of relationships, that nouveau era. I miss it so greatly. I think to be in BETA I might convince myself to broaden my horizons and explore new worlds and once more see what I miss so much from the past in DAOC.

Who knows? I do know one cannot turn back to the days of yore and experience anew what has already passed.

I know there will no longer be a day that I will stand on a hill affectionately nicknamed ‘Hooker Hill’ and banter with my old friend Cerdoc about everything and nothing.

I know I will never again strike up a conversation and spark a friendship so dear with knight in silvered plate named Zelith, simply because I targeted him to wave instead of another.

I know I will no more smile to myself at a short little blue inconnu running amuck the countryside, despite her repeated deaths and hear Nindh retort to my smile that she is determined to level alone as someone as grotesque as she should.

I shall not once more strafe jump onto the tent tops at West Downs and shimmy down to only a hauberk and go-go boots with dear Gwenlynn in an attempt to see who could earn the most funds for the guild from the crowd below.

But knowing all of that and so much more, maybe there is another world with young enthusiastic people all blindly muddling through together to reach a common ground. I don’t know though that I want to dedicate that energy and time once more. To spend years involving myself, aiding others thanklessly more oft than not, and enduring the belittling that comes from those who are so much better than me.

Yet, if there is so much as a small chance that a place can exist to be a haven for me when I need to escape the bills, the headaches, the mundane, if there is even a chance that it could be, it is worth the risk that it may become what I abhor now. A chance to forge those relationships once more with new friends, that idea entices me, much more than sitting back and being chastised in a dying world by a caster who buffed themselves with strength and then pouted that they died when he could have saved us all.

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