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The Nostalgia Thread.


facerip
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Post some Nostalgia.  Doesn't matter if you just started playing MMORPGS or you've played since Meridian 59 or you played Pre-Trammel UO.  We are coming up on Ultima Onlines 20 year birthday.

I listen to this all the time in the car and at work.

DAOC Mordred pvp was incredible.

 

Edited by facerip
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Wow. That UO music had some creepy chill bumps running down my spine. I thought I saw a grey clad wizard riding a Nightmare with a Dragon pet for a second there, tossing out a poison field.

edit: the differences between what Facerip considers nostalgic and what VN considers nostalgic is very interesting to me. And informative.

Edited by coolwaters
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17 hours ago, facerip said:

Post some Nostalgia.  Doesn't matter if you just started playing MMORPGS or you've played since Meridian 59 or you played Pre-Trammel UO.  We are coming up on Ultima Onlines 20 year birthday.

No Sir... It does matter!  Old hands mean I need to get credit for what I can get credit for... So yeah M59 / Early UO here... It is about all I can get credit for soooo....

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Mordred was great....but minus points for a video with Trial of Atlantis artifacts silliness in it. (like a wolf casting out of its arse...)

classic 1.65 (last patch before new frontiers and ToA) Relic Keep raid represent....from last month! (community classic freeshard)

 

 

Edited by Tinnis
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1 hour ago, Tinnis said:

Mordred was great....but minus points for a video with Trial of Atlantis artifacts silliness in it. (like a wolf casting out of its arse...)

classic 1.65 (last patch before new frontiers and ToA) Relic Keep raid represent....from last month! (community classic freeshard)

 

 

DAOC: SI Mordred was incredible.  It sucks that TOA swooped in so early and destroyed everything  Although Cata was a nice expansion after that.

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  • 1 month later...

Good times with good friends, in several games.

From WoW, one of our first forays into Zul'Aman when it opened.  The story baked up out of my head not long after I "tested" my loot while walking to Stormwind.

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The Tiny Voodoo Mask, by "Silverbranch"

Ah yes,  Hex Lord Malacrass of Zul’Aman.  A terrible foe, a terrible Warlock.

But not so terrible as to survive our Raid.  A terrifying fight, long and hard, wicked energies unleashed by the master Warlock.  He’s underestimated us though, and our healers valiantly counter the foul energies inflicted upon us!  We are victorious, and he and his unholy minions lie defeated!

Everyone else is gleefully pulling off his boots, rings, amulets, breeches, underwear (I don't EVEN want to know why Dishan wanted those), and everything else of worth.  I'm just recovering, caring for Rajah first, and am last to the now stripped corpse.  Everyone is happy over their loot, Dishan carefully folding the plaid boxers Malacrass was fond of.

I'm left with nothing? (sob)

So unfair.  And as I kick the body in frustration I catch a glimpse of something stuck under Malacrass.  I take a quick look around, no one about to see what I'm up to, so I lift his shoulder a bit and find a carved Tiny Voodoo Mask.

Sigh.  Everyone got such nifty stuff, like Dish's new underwear.  All I get is this little carved do-hickey?

But, all's good really as Malacrass lies defeated.  So I tuck the little fiddly-bit in my pack and leave with everyone else.  It is Hex Lord Malacrass after all, so maybe it's worth something.

Ah, the next day.  Bright sunshine, waffles in Goldshire, birds chirping, squirrels squirrelling.  I finish breakfast and start wandering through the woods Stormwind way, contemplating the little Voodoo Mask.  I'm just a Hunter, not a magician, so I'm wondering if the trinket does anything special.  Rubbing my thumb along its face I sort of feel a tingle.  And I SWEAR I hear a "giggle".  I think.

"Well lookee what we got here boys.  It's our lucky day!"

Sigh.  Blah.

Preoccupied with the mask, I've walked into a glade by the foothills, now apparently populated by what appears to be a dozen brigands, now all lining up in a semi-circle like bullies about to pound the little kid.

"Just on my way to Stormwind friend.  No worries", I say as I turn to leave the glade, only to stop as another six step out of the bushes behind me.

"No, I don't think so "friend", says the Brigand. “We just met.  I think you'll be staying a while.”

"Uh, Jake . . . Jake . . ." , says one of the brigands urgently, sidling up and whispering in Jake's ear.  I seem to vaguely recall his face from somewhere, but am more preoccupied with the score or more of mean-eyed wretches penning me in.

Not AGAIN.

See, a couple of years ago I had summoned Rajah for an afternoon of wandering the woods and hunting.  I was a bit less patient in those days and when set upon by a pack of brigands in these very same woods had set Rajah loose upon them and feathered their buttocks well and true.  Normally that wouldn't have been a problem as the local constabulary is thankful for help with Defias in their provinces.  However, one of the blighters ran screaming at the top of his lungs through the woods and managed to get to old Mrs. McGillicutty's farm where she was having her morning coffee on her porch.  The story goes that just as she was about to take her first sip she near spilled the cup as a shriek of pure terror cut across her yard.  Staring at the screaming brigand sprinting past her porch in shock, she then dropped the cup as Rajah dashed into view in hot pursuit.

A 600lb white Tiger is eye catching enough when it's laying in the shade against the Golden Lion Inn in Goldshire, the obvious companion of a Hunter.
It's mind-boggling to see one suddenly sprint into view chasing someone, pull them down with a thunderous roar to yank their head off, trotting away happily with it like it was a fetch-stick.

The physicians said it was quick, the stroke taking Mrs. McGillicutty instantly.  She's survived by her son and his wife who took over running the farm.

The constabulary however kept me incarcerated for a couple of days until the "details" were sorted out and the front yard reseeded and raked over before the new owners arrived.

"Jake's" voice brings me back to my present predicament, and whether I should call in Rajah and start loosing arrows.

"Scooter here tells me he remembers you Night Elf.  He says you know how to use that bow, and you gots a BIG cat around", says Jake.

Hmmm. I must have missed one that first time.  Poo.

I now note all the brigands have a variety of weapons out, including the cook who's dual-wielding two impressive iron frying pans.  They look rather hefty.  Some of them are looking into the woods trying to spy out a lurking Rajah.  Scooter seems to be the only one assessing things properly however, because he's still trying to get the attention of Jake.

"Jake, I'm tellin ya . . ."

"Shut UP Scooter! I heard yer tale!  If ya haven't noticed it's about eighteen to one here.  Bash, Nub, and Latro over there have bows with huntin arrows on'em, and we gots Frankie, Cindy, and Honeypie (Jake giving a horsey looking woman with an incredible overbite a lascivious wink) over there with Pikes.  His kitty show up it's gonna get skewered.

"Besides", says Jake with malice.  "This just gives us a chance to let our new friend help us out."

This statement causes "Scooter" to shut up and look behind him at the sound of soft footsteps from one of the nearby tents.

Stepping our way is a tall, cold eyed fellow.  Hawk-nosed, thin lipped, black robed, he exudes distain for all around him.  The brigands part way quickly with looks of furtive unease as he passes to stand next to Jake and the now white-face, shaking Scooter (who, as fates would have it, was smart enough to back away, and kept backing all the way to Goldshire before the fireworks started, thus living up to his name).

"This be Nightbum . . ."

"Niphon"

"What?"

"The name is N I P H O N Jake, and you'd do well to start getting it right", says the man in black robes.  He's clearly the most dangerous of all here, a magic user of some kind.  I'd guess Warlock by the symbols.

"Sorry there "Niphon", my mistake”, says Jake. “Any rate, you look to have some fancy gear there Night Elf, and that's a good morning for us.  See, Niphon here isn't just any street conjuror, he's a Warlock of the twentieth  level!  That means he can curse your ears to your feet and turn you inside out before you, or that cat of yours, wherever it is, can do much of anything.  That gear o'yours will pay off what we had to spend to hire ole Nightbum . . .

"Niphon"

Jake sighs.  "Niphon and then some".

"I just want to get to Stormwind, we can all still have a good morning, just let me pass", I say, knowing I'm silly for asking it.  Jake and his band aren't the brightest candle flames in Ellwyn, but they've made up for it with an overabundance of MEAN.  Mean all their lives, mean is what drives them.  And in a pack with the odds in their favor, mean isn't likely to suddenly find reason to be nice.

During my short speech Niphon has been eyeing me with careful consideration.   Stillness had come across his face as he noticed my Bow, the symbols of Kharazan along its length.

An incantation is whispered, a foul wind whispers through the glade, and the brigands blanche as an utterly beautiful "woman" with red eyes and jet black hair appears next to Niphon.  Fear and lust flicker across the eyes of most of the brigands, except for "Honeypie" who sticks her tongue out at the Succubus.
"Hmmmmm, ohhh" croons the demoness with a languid flex to her hips and thighs. "Ahhhhh"

"Chirak go narazam betel" Commands Nightbum, er, Niphon, in a cold voice.  The Succubus gives me a wink and a red lipped smile and . . . disappears.

"You might be some hard-case elsewhere Hunter, you and yer cat wherever it is. But I gots a level 20 Warlock here with his . . . whatever she is . . . right here, er, somewhere.  You might get some of us, maybe, but at eighteen to one, and Nightbu . . NIPHON here with curses and magic, you gots not a chance.  Drop yer gear and all you'll get is a beatin fer our trouble!"

Surprise.  Sometimes it’s, well, such a SURPRISE.  You wake up each day to things you know, see things out in front of you and can at least plan for it, even if by seconds.  But now and then a true SURPISE pops out of nowhere making you speechless.

Sort of like Rajah tearing the head off the brigand in front of old Mrs. McGillicutty first thing in the morning.

I speak directly to the Warlock, the real danger among these Ellwyn Defias.  Bloodshed would be a terrible way to close such a beautiful Night just past.

"The days are good because we live.  You are no doubt a very dangerous man Niphon, but I'm, er, protected against curses so you are powerless against me!", I say, suddenly conscious of the Tiny Voodoo Mask still clutched in my hand.

NIphon simply smiles lazily as Jake says "We're about done with talkin Hunter.  If you had magic to use, you'd have used it.  Boys, gettim!"

And as the circle of brigands close, and I see Niphon start to cast a spell, I raise my hand to point the Tiny Voodoo Mask at Niphon hoping to push the bluff into credibility.

"Stop!  See this!  It's . . .", all I manage to say when the world turns upside down.

Niphon's chant breaks off, face going white in shock, eyes bulging as he looks at the trinket with horrified recognition in his eyes.

Jake, unhitching a pair of unpleasant looking truncheons from his belt manages to look sideways at Niphon in puzzlement, when . . .

Three little forms pop into view next to me giggling and cheering, shouting "Hey-hey!  Out at last!  Hi Boss, we got this!   Heee-hee-hee!"

I manage to get out a slack jawed "Wut?", eighteen some-odd brigands manage to get out "Wut?", Niphon manages to get out "Oh no."

At which point lightning flashes and booms across the glade as I clap hands to now pained ears.  Brigands twitch and drop, smoking, particularly the Dual Wield Cook and his frying pans, a most festive display arcing from pan to pan and ear to ear.

Three leaping little . . . Gnomes? . . . sporting Voodoo Masks caper about the clearing gleefully calling down lighting to blast all about them.  A wagon explodes, tents are afire, horses scream, break their tethers and run, and the Succubus appears shrieking in rage only to fall to the ground as a bolt of lightning pegs her squarely between the eyes, a giggling Gnome somersaulting feet first onto her now smoking head, Jake’s body already toppling to the ground.

Niphon's face is a mask of unholy rage and fear, as dark energies swirl around his hands, time seems to slow as I unsling my bow, hand moving to an arrow with practiced speed, only to stop as a huge branch from the tree to the left fells him, torn from the trunk by an errant lightning bolt, the top of the tree now smoking.

Still slack jawed in shock I look at a decimated clearing, smoking bodies, burning bushes and trees, and a sky suddenly clear again.

“Heh-heh-heh!  Good times, eh guys!  Whooo-eeee!  No more troll downers!"  The three little gnomes give me a quick bow,  popping  out of view with a parting "You need us boss, just give us a jingle!  Hee-hee-hee".

"But . . ." is all I manage to get out as they pop out of view.  Ears still ringing I delicately pick up the Tiny Voodoo Mask with two fingers and tuck it away.  Very carefully.

Lunch.  I've not had a good one in quite some time.  As I eat sausage and fish, cheese and hashed browns at an Inn in Stormwind,  I hear the locals chattering about the freak storm that happened early this morning, decimating what now appears to be a Defias Hideout!  It must be the hand of Elune surely! 

At least this time I'm eating breakfast outside of a jail-cell until the "details" are cleared up. 

Edited by Bramble

“Letting your customers set your standards is a dangerous game, because the race to the bottom is pretty easy to win. Setting your own standards--and living up to them--is a better way to profit. Not to mention a better way to make your day worth all the effort you put into it." - Seth Godin

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