Nihilists lose the ability to use their symbol, so they have to bash with cosmicfire, and can't invest their demons with any powers unless the correlating Demon Lord has been raised. It's pretty damned irritating (not so much for the rest of the city, but have you tried high-end bashing with cosmicfire? Balls.)
While I am all for making Lusternia more accessible for the casual player, we know from our own history that xp loss isn't the issue. So sure, why not..I'm down with removing xp loss because I don't care, but can we at least drop the charade that people will be more likely to defend if they are losing 0 essence instead of a measly 50k essence. I can absolutely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, state that 50k essence is not going to cause some noticable shift in raid defense. If 10 minutes to make 50k essence (literally, it's practically nothing. You can make that much on accident) is such a struggle that ruins your enjoyment, I can't imagine horrible taking the time to actually get equipped to a degree that you can survive a defense must be. Making decent robes alone will take you far more than 10 minutes. You might even break a nail.
I don't know if "lazy" is the word, but entitled may be more correct. "I should be able to play the game however I want, and the stuff I don't like should be changed to cater to my definition of fun." PK for Lusternia and IRE in general is not for the casual player. It's just not, it's complicated and has a steep learning curve, which is why it's so enticing and entertaining over the long term. The reality is you came here, the game didn't force you to log on. If that sort of commitment is not "fun" for you, that's totally fine. That's a perfectly acceptable way to play the game. HOWEVER, the expectation should not be how to make it more fun for the people who aren't even trying. It should be "Is the barrier for entry a reasonable one?" 50k essence per death is not unreasonable. It's exceedingly reasonable, and has become more so as the game has gotten older and essence gain has become one of the easiest activies out there. If you're trying and it sucks, fine. Let's talk about it. If you're moaning over extremely minute essence loss, get a grip and find a real problem. I can kill you in 6 seconds, let's start there.
So let's find some solutions to our problems, but let's find some real solutions to real problems.
(Wiccans lose their org specific fae, for the record. It super sucks. Redcaps are a big deal.)
Celestines/Nihilists lose their bonds/deepbonds on cosmic entities death. For comparison, illuminati/researchers can't harvest gems/flesh. (Not sure, we didn't really check if they can't spin the gems, too) That really isn't as big a deal, provided the orgs have enough harvested to keep a reasonable supply.
Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.
The divine voice
of Avechna, the Avenger reverberates powerfully, "Congratulations,
Morkarion, you are the Bringer of Death indeed."
You see Estarra the Eternal shout, "Morkarion is no more! Mourn the mortal! But welcome True Ascendant Karlach, of the Realm of Death!
4
Cyndarinused Flamethrower! It was super effective.
And for the love of the sweet dead Stewartsville baby, if you have been shrubbed on multiple occassions for being caught totally automating your essence grinding...you don't get to call people lazy.
And for the love of the sweet dead Stewartsville baby, if you have been shrubbed on multiple occassions for being caught totally automating your essence grinding...you don't get to call people lazy.
Lazy
0
Cyndarinused Flamethrower! It was super effective.
Sorry you're just jealous of my ability to....read the rules and follow them?
You have the following guild skill choices available to you at this time: DRUIDRY or WYRDENWOOD
*hmm, let's go with Wyrdenwood*
You swell in pride as you choose to become a student of Wyrdenwood. A creeping sensation draws across your perception as a shroud, crawling and wiggling through your consciousness, eating away at all that you know. Something else - another - is there, edging your perception. Who are you? You ask. Who am I, echoes the response. Black and horrible, unnamed spirits twist about you, enveloping those lengths of purple-hued, twilit shadow that you distantly, dimly recognize as segments of your own star-shaped being, that which flesh is not but reflects. That shadowed shroud clinging to your consciousness draws tighter, choking out your thoughts, half-formed ideas of your own soul being grasped at, drowned. You gasp for air yet you cannot breathe. No, you have no breath - no breath, no body, nor have you a 'you'. I am not, you observe. We are - yes, that is it. We are of it. Interlinked. Connected. Your perception expands - a world filled with light and brightness and warmth, burning and scourging. Emptiness, hungering void, angry-red darkness smearing corrupted, dead lands. We are not, you seethe. We are alive, you protest. Your consciousness grabs at this shroud and, instead of fighting it, you cling to it. You draw it in, wrapping it about you, wrapping yourself about it, allowing its coldness to drain what warmth and life in you that remains. Yes, this is part of us. We are all a part of us - and you shift in the soil. Yes, form. We are, we awaken. We are an agent, freed from freedom. We are servants. Glorious servants. You inhale - and your lips part, sucking greedily at the air. All about you the world is purple and dark - beautiful, majestic. We are all about us, you admire - it is us, we are it. Its waters, turbid and as spoiled as the quagmire through which they flow, are our blood. Its trees - beautiful yet rotten, dead yet living - are our flesh. Its soil is our bone. The shadows are our breath. The chill memory of Mother Night is the shroud that enveloped us, freeing us. With a raucous cry, an oily black crow alights on your branches. It turns its angry, red eyes down, looking at you, and you return its gaze. Yes. We are change - great, powerful change. We are that which survived. We are the Glomdoring given flesh and form. We are that which overcomes. We defied death a second time - and we live where we ought not. We are the inheritors of the Realm of Nature. We are the rightful heirs of the Forests. We are the children of the Ravenwood. We are the putrified grove. We are the beauty of the new order. We are of the Wyrd - we are Wyrd given form! We are Wyrd given flesh! We are Wyrdenwood!
*Holy load batman!*
(although may I add, this is perhaps the most flavored and unique skill I have selected so far. Nice job)
1
Cyndarinused Flamethrower! It was super effective.
You say that now, but wait until you try to kill someone with it.
(I totally almost used a Jealous of My Boogie GIF but no one here every gets my RuPaul references)
Damn it, now I'm singing that Mariah song in my head.
Everiine said: The reason population is low isn't because there are too many orgs. It's because so many facets of the game are outright broken and protected by those who benefit from it being that way. An overabundance of gimmicks (including game-breaking ones), artifacts that destroy any concept of balance, blatant pay-to-win features, and an obsession with convenience that makes few things actually worthwhile all contribute to the game's sad decline.
As a side note, looking over some abilities in Wyrdenwood, im alittle disheartened at the ratio of cost vs effectiveness. It costs me 1 shadowessence to create a maximum of 5 globes of a type of sap, while it costs me 100 globes to create leaves of an effect that will only last 1 hour? The pain...
You don't have to use essence though. You can also buy an essence-equivalent from the Wyrdenwood guy in the guildhall.
Indeed. Every Chem/Wood guild has a vendor in the respective extension of the guildhall on the plane they're linked to. If memory serves, from the main entry of the BT guild hall, you go down and transverse ethereal to get to the wyrdenwood one. Either that, or go up to Etherglom and find the spot where you can ENTER. (I honestly don't recall what the name of the entry point was called, but if memory serves it's somewhere in the western-central part of Etherglom)
Alternately for woods - your mulch equivalent destroys trees to make wyrden sap, too... but I'd consult with your GLs before going on a rampage.
Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.
You don't have to use essence though. You can also buy an essence-equivalent from the Wyrdenwood guy in the guildhall.
Indeed. Every Chem/Wood guild has a vendor in the respective extension of the guildhall on the plane they're linked to. If memory serves, from the main entry of the BT guild hall, you go down and transverse ethereal to get to the wyrdenwood one. Either that, or go up to Etherglom and find the spot where you can ENTER. (I honestly don't recall what the name of the entry point was called, but if memory serves it's somewhere in the western-central part of Etherglom)
Alternately for woods - your mulch equivalent destroys trees to make wyrden sap, too... but I'd consult with your GLs before going on a rampage.
Ah thanks, that will solve that issue.
Now to find a glade where I may feast upon all the trees within...
Comments
Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.
The divine voice of Avechna, the Avenger reverberates powerfully, "Congratulations, Morkarion, you are the Bringer of Death indeed."
You see Estarra the Eternal shout, "Morkarion is no more! Mourn the mortal! But welcome True Ascendant Karlach, of the Realm of Death!
No, I was just mocking you for calling people jealous of silly things.
You have the following guild skill choices available to you at this time:
DRUIDRY or WYRDENWOOD
*hmm, let's go with Wyrdenwood*
You swell in pride as you choose to become a student of Wyrdenwood.
A creeping sensation draws across your perception as a shroud, crawling and wiggling through your
consciousness, eating away at all that you know. Something else - another - is there, edging your
perception. Who are you? You ask. Who am I, echoes the response. Black and horrible, unnamed spirits
twist about you, enveloping those lengths of purple-hued, twilit shadow that you distantly, dimly
recognize as segments of your own star-shaped being, that which flesh is not but reflects. That
shadowed shroud clinging to your consciousness draws tighter, choking out your thoughts, half-formed
ideas of your own soul being grasped at, drowned. You gasp for air yet you cannot breathe. No, you
have no breath - no breath, no body, nor have you a 'you'. I am not, you observe. We are - yes, that
is it. We are of it. Interlinked. Connected. Your perception expands - a world filled with light and
brightness and warmth, burning and scourging. Emptiness, hungering void, angry-red darkness smearing
corrupted, dead lands. We are not, you seethe. We are alive, you protest. Your consciousness grabs
at this shroud and, instead of fighting it, you cling to it. You draw it in, wrapping it about you,
wrapping yourself about it, allowing its coldness to drain what warmth and life in you that remains.
Yes, this is part of us. We are all a part of us - and you shift in the soil. Yes, form. We are, we
awaken. We are an agent, freed from freedom. We are servants. Glorious servants. You inhale - and
your lips part, sucking greedily at the air. All about you the world is purple and dark - beautiful,
majestic. We are all about us, you admire - it is us, we are it. Its waters, turbid and as spoiled
as the quagmire through which they flow, are our blood. Its trees - beautiful yet rotten, dead yet
living - are our flesh. Its soil is our bone. The shadows are our breath. The chill memory of Mother
Night is the shroud that enveloped us, freeing us. With a raucous cry, an oily black crow alights on
your branches. It turns its angry, red eyes down, looking at you, and you return its gaze. Yes. We
are change - great, powerful change. We are that which survived. We are the Glomdoring given flesh
and form. We are that which overcomes. We defied death a second time - and we live where we ought
not. We are the inheritors of the Realm of Nature. We are the rightful heirs of the Forests. We are
the children of the Ravenwood. We are the putrified grove. We are the beauty of the new order. We
are of the Wyrd - we are Wyrd given form! We are Wyrd given flesh! We are Wyrdenwood!
*Holy load batman!*
(although may I add, this is perhaps the most flavored and unique skill I have selected so far. Nice job)
You say that now, but wait until you try to kill someone with it.
(I totally almost used a Jealous of My Boogie GIF but no one here every gets my RuPaul references)
Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.
@-)
Damian Nightshade teaches you the first segment of the lesson in Wyrdenwood.
Damian Nightshade teaches you the second segment of the lesson in Wyrdenwood.
.
.
.
Hellllls no. Previous remark denied.
And there was much wailing from the Blacktalon of Glomdoring...
The divine voice of Avechna, the Avenger reverberates powerfully, "Congratulations, Morkarion, you are the Bringer of Death indeed."
You see Estarra the Eternal shout, "Morkarion is no more! Mourn the mortal! But welcome True Ascendant Karlach, of the Realm of Death!
As if rescue was used... ever.
As a side note, looking over some abilities in Wyrdenwood, im alittle disheartened at the ratio of cost vs effectiveness. It costs me 1 shadowessence to create a maximum of 5 globes of a type of sap, while it costs me 100 globes to create leaves of an effect that will only last 1 hour? The pain...
Alternately for woods - your mulch equivalent destroys trees to make wyrden sap, too... but I'd consult with your GLs before going on a rampage.
Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.
Ah thanks, that will solve that issue.
Now to find a glade where I may feast upon all the trees within...