Troll Country (1)


Troll Country burns, for it is the biased opinion of a basic writer. 
Turn back now least ye be offended. 

Episode One



Unfortunately, the wondrous beauty of Warhammer: Return of Reckoning Private Server is rife with them. But how is this so, how is this so, you might ask. And I would respond thus:

When you ignore the beauty of an entire world at your disposal in order to QQ (cry) about a perceived advantage of those perfectly stupid (personal opinion incoming, I’m largely a fan of the dark elf) White Lion elves, then you, good sir or madame, are a big fat baby.

What you have utterly failed at being is an explorer. There is a wide world of fabricated beauty to explore. Go make a study of it. Go kill the inhabitants of every NPC town if you need your sadist fix (like me). But no. We cannot do that can we? You want to make an actual User (Tron speak, go look it up, powder puff) lose some since of perceived grandeur or self-respect. You want to dance over their fallen “bodies” and take sadistic pictures of their fall in order to experience one moment of success in your droll little life.



And then there’s the ridiculous guild masters who float bloated guilds of EZ-style convenience without substance. You want members because you need that extra little boost to your pitiful sense of self-worth your mommy instilled within you with that plate full of cookies she used to give you. But remember this: Mommy gave you those plate full of cookies because the life you were born to live is rife with sociopathic shapeshifters, and more devouring mouths than Mommy could count, mouths that want a big bite of Baby. And so you give your soulless guild a grandiose name to make you and your EZ-style players feel like they have done something in their fragmented lives. Live on freaks, those mouths are gonna find you sooner of later, and no amount of cookies will save you.

Did I mention sociopaths?

Oy-freaking-veh. They come with every MMORPG. face-dancers who sidle up to you for any reason, but most especially if the light shines from you in any small, ridiculously fragmented way. They are the social vampires of our quick paced, in-this-year, out-this-year MMORPG drug. For this basic writer of punctuated prose, the face-dancer comes across as a cheerleader at first. “Hey,” their PM will begin, “you have a really nice intro. Good job. I like to write too. I might post some of my adventures.” And of course that is perfectly OK with this basic writer, but my question is always, Why PM if that’s all you wanted to do? Why seek for someone else to give you the authority to do so? And then of course they post, and good lord. It’s all frenzy without commas, a seething sea of run-on intercourse without end. There’s no pause. There’s no break. There’s no sense of rhythm in those text walls. What they desire is a plate of cookies from Mommy. A sense of worth. A sense that their small lives add up to something more than the corruptible flesh and blood they are made of (hey, that’s exactly why I type).

That’s about it for this episode of Troll Country. I have a world to explore and high elves to murder in cold blood. I have a body count to achieve before I can kick back, pick up a cookie, and find value in my life. So until next time, this has been your existential kick of the day.


Big hugs go out to the Warhammer: Return of Reckoning team.
Your world is beautiful! Long may it thrive!

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