The Curious Case of Arlesienne in Winter PvP, or How I Farmed Berets and Doubts About the State of Society

[Arlesienne]

Ladies and Gentlemen,

Of these things, goddess, daughter of Zeus, beginning where thou wilt, tell thou even unto us...

Ah. Wrong period. Sorry.

After DNS issues I suffered, which convinced me to wave goodbye to my popular public servers as well as two roleplaying ones for the members of my little group, I reluctantly heeded the pleas of my dearest flock (Nick, Mick, Lenny, I am looking at you) and created a PvP server. I have never been an enthusiast of such activities, but I have been told this mode encourages alliances and what-not. I took the plunge.

I am that calm old-fashioned type who actually takes the time to write a description of the server. So I explained English, Polish and Spanish are supported by the host (for I find Latin too cumbersome when you are chased by killer bees), that we are oriented towards cooperation, and to use the chat (Y by default as my questionable career as an admin has convinced me to include this information in the description). I meticulously reviewed the settings, added a few lore-friendly mods like More Actions, Archery and Pickle It... Launched it.

I have played in peace throughout autumn with no visitors. It turned out the world had the biomes I like most a long way away from the portal, which suited me just fine. I did not find any place for my fortress, but I did manage to gather enough to create myself a comfortable dwelling, a birdcage and an alchemy engine included on top of the usual array of tents, farms, crockpots, racks and storage space, plus a few small temporary camps to aid myself and others. Life was... well, a bit stagnant, but alright. I managed to bring my buddy John as Willow and off we went to farm those pesky walruses.

I have a rabid attitude towards the MacTusks and hunt them the way the hunt me: all moves allowed. But I digress.

Winter caught us away from the swamp, but mood was good. As a joke, we put up a little camp between three igloos. Apart from the hunters, the location was decent - many birches, some rabbit holes, a rocky biome within like two screens' distance, beefalo herds far enough to prevent being mugged in spring, but allow getting wool and manure, and, naturally, a few spider dens near the rockyland. I also hunted down a few koalefants. This ensured we had meat to be dried, spider glands for healing salves, silk for clothes and the more delicate of tools like birdtraps.

I caught Steve McQueen, our would-be pet crow with an attitude of a Las Vegas diva. She (the name notwithstanding) will play a role later. Ahem.

One would say three MacTusk igloos equal suicide. But, my good folks, I had the SSSaRA strategy paired with traps! The walruses quickly discovered going after that wimpy specimen with Chester means squirming in agony, for I arranged a little minefield around each igloo and prepared a stash of arrows (courtesy of Archery, a mod I like a great deal). This meant we ended up with a steady supply of meat, monster meat, hound teeth for vests, and... the premium loot. AKA tusks, blue gems and their prized berets. John looked truly ravishing in the spoils of war, I always managed to get back to the fire before suffering freezing damage. Steve McQueen was being fed monster meat and what spoiling stuff we may have acquired. Rabbits were being mostly saved for earmuffs and a Prestihatitator. We did not want to kill too many.

All good things come to an end, however. John had to take care of something personal and I ended up with Chester, Steve McQueen, Glommer, six walruses evidently dearly into reincarnation and giving me their berets, of which I had five at the end (with John's one, a total of six), typical armour - a football helmet, a logsuit for normal combat and a marble suit for those tanking instances - and a severe case of longing for humanoid interaction.

I set out to take care of that, for what use Wes's shadow clothes are if there is nobody to whine at you for having obtained them, right?

Charlie was being capricious as always. Within too short a time, I received a survivor Maxwell, a red rucksack and a slick pair of blue gloves. The last helped me ease my disappointment over the lack of other players, if only a bit.

My stalking griefer fan whom I shall not name publicly, I guess, dropped by. I remained professional and polite. I start from the basis of "anybody can err", so I walked to the portal to greet them and offer alliance. After all, the little base for all to use I built there exists for a reason! My welcome and a remark about remembering them met with a wish from a little Clementine they rolled to inconvenience myself from behind in an obscene fashion as my dear friend would break it down. I was a bit bemused as they mamaged to diminish this request to four different letters, one of which being the vowel U. Then, an axe was employed in an attempt to shove it into my face.

I discovered a creative use for monster lasagna. The griefer had nothing better to do than bite the earth. It looks like you can kick ghosts out too. Interesting. I ended up with intact weapons, Clementine's baseball cap with no durability, which would decorate the camp as spoils of war later when another buddy Nick dropped by, and a deep sense of wonderment on the wily ways of humanoids.

Then, I went to the portal camp to see any damage. The chest was gone, the grass suit left nearby included (I still wonder why Luffy did not equip it if they were so set on barbarism and bloodshed), but everything else was fine. I decided to go get some spawns from a lonely merm hut which spawned close by and thus was in a constant state of war with one brave pigman whom I dubbed Braveheart.

It was not to be, dear audience! Another player joined, a new person this time, and they picked Maxwell. My heart, supposing I indeed have one (a bold hypothesis, but whatever), fluttered with childlike joy. At last some fellow transient eager to discover the mysteries of this world or die trying! Advance, happy storytelling nights of stalwart survivors! Spelunking, we're coming! I would give them all the basics to start, even a beret and a walking cane, protect them, let them pet Steve McQueen, teach them tricks to impress guests and generally do my best to provide a jolly good time.

It wasn't to be. My greetings were met with a maniacal grin and a hammer being put into more or less the same use as the one Luffy devised for their axe. I found myself running into the night (good I had a portable light source - bless you, John-Willow and the abundance of torch-making resources!) while asking what's their problem, Maxwell following suit like a cheap expy of Jack Torrance from Stephen King's novel. With my natural tendency to kite and sneak developed by Thief, I had no problem evading the inane attacks, and enough time to ponder on the grim state humanity was in. The pursuer was only interested in calling me the worst (my vocabulary expanded noticeably, though I am not proud of the fact) and flailing the hammer about as if it could help them.

A little while later, Maxwell died of freezing. Not of Charlie. Not of the merms who came out of their dilapidated residence and gawked two humanoids running frantically around as if on fire, not caring to move their scaly posteriors and join the fray. Not to the tentacles. To freezing.

After I kicked the ghost out for verbal and attempted physical harrassment (the latter being hopelessly ineffective), I retrieved the stolen goods originally meant to help the newcomers out and grumpily went back to get another beret.

The tale's conclusion: I am not made for PvP. I don't even have enough skill to die to three MacTusk hunting parties banded with two homicidal griefers. Well, sucks to be me.