We’re going to take the Center Keep.
The Center Keep, for those of you uninitiated, is the sole goal in the Battlegrounds in Dark Age of Camelot. Sure, there’s gank squads and bridge battles, and even some Portal Keep camping, I ashamedly admit. But when all is said and done, it’s the Center Keep that lies in the middle of the Battlegrounds that you want to get. Because that’s where the vats of Ben & Jerry’s are. Okay, that’s a lie. The truth is, it’s there, so for no other reason, everyone wants it.
For the most part, it’s a highly contested location. At least on Perc. The other servers might stay stagnant for months, what do I know. I just know that on our server, that thing bounces back and forth between the foul stinky Mids and us noble and dead secksay Albs. The Hibs only real purpose is to show up when one of us is laying seige to the other and stab us in our backs and make us cry. To my knowledge, they’ve never held that thing.
But anywhoots, last night I signed out in the middle of the Center Keep, which Albion rightly controlled. We had to control it, see – God sent one of our leaders a cloud that looked JUST LIKE a hippopotaumus, signifying by divine right that WE were to control it. The Mids, however, are evil godless heathens. Well, no, that’s not right – they’ve actually got about a billion gods. But they’re not OUR God, therefore we’re completely justified in annexing their land, killing their people and installing a puppet government. Whoops – no, wait, sorry, that’s America, my mistake! (Look kids, political humor!)
Anyway, I wake up today and realize either Albion women have gotten much, much uglier, or I was surrounded by Trolls. After a few smacks with a hammer or two, I learned that it was indeed trolls.
So I go back to the bindstone, then to the portal keep, and here I am on the Battlegrounds again. There’s quite a sizeable force here, too. Not nearly as many enough to take all those Mids, but if I told them that, then they wouldn’t try, and where’s the fun in that? I couldn’t be blamed for anyone’s death if that happened.
Death says, “Oh yes you could.”
Yeah, okay, so maybe I should warn them. I tried to, even as they recruited me into a group. Everyone’s happy to have me and my handy PBT along, never mind the fact that I warn them repeatedly we’re all going to die. I even vomited some pea soup and spun my head around, but STILL they thought I was just kidding. Sigh. I dunno how the Linda Blair ever convinced people to listen to her. Maybe if I’d made the keep walls bleed or something.
So there we go, charging off. We get to the keep and there’s already a pretty good-sized group there. But even being generous, I think the Mids had us by at least a half-dozen. But hey – what’s the Battlegrounds without a little bit of Death mixed in for fun, right?
Death says, “Right!”
So we set up camp. My job was, as always, to keep up PBT (pulsing blade turn – a ‘skin’ spell that absorbs attacks and renews every few seconds, for the n00bs) and to keep damage adds and speed buffs going. A job that’s almost exciting as listening to Yellow Rat Bastard complain about… well, about anything, really. Mostly that’s what I do out there. I fire up PBT, slap my buffs around, and then sit down and chat back and forth with YRB about how much we hate everything.
Today didn’t seem to be any different. At least at first. But THEN I noticed that the Mids were not only failing to follow directions, they were being downright UNCOOPERATIVE! Instead of sitting inside the keep waiting for us to break in and kill them all, they came OUTSIDE the keep and were killing US! When did I notice this? Oh, about two minutes after I was dead.
Yeah, I’m helpful. See, I had switched off the main channel ’cause there was too much chatting going on, and it was really interfering with YRB’s and my deep, philosophical discussions:
Yates sends, “So should I smoke the cigarette first, and THEN get a cup of coffee, or get the coffee first?” to you.
You send, “Hrmm…how about START the coffee brewing, and while it’s brewing, then smoke your cigarette?” to Yates.
Yates sends, “Phew…that’s a pretty daring plan.” to you.
You send, “Well, I’m a daring…whoops, wait a sec, some troll wants my attention. Whoops. He killed me. Why didn’t anyone tell me the Mids came out of the keep?” to Yates.
I flip back to the main channel and there’s about fifty lines of people screaming at me to look out, run for it, etc, etc. Whoops indeed. Time to whip out my favorite excuse!
You say, “Can’t….type…lagging…so…much…can…barely…move…”
Smeese says, “Um, just because you’re lagging doesn’t mean you type slow. We know you weren’t paying attention.”
You say, “That’s a lie! Why would you say such a thing?!!?”
Smeese says, “Because of the twelve minutes those trolls spent running circles around you, laughing and pointing before they attacked you! You didn’t even stand up!”
You say, “Ah – see, that was my trap! And they FELL FOR IT!”
Smeese says, “…”
Yeah, I’m brilliant at excuses. If any of you school kids out there need one of those notes from your parents, you just let me know. I write GREAT sick notes – and remember, it’s L-E-P-R-O-S-Y. If you spell it wrong, sometimes the teachers catch on…