Asked by prince-winter
That would be Sargatanas - formerly Lindblum.
The british government wants to elaborate a plan to force broadband companies to ban porn websites in order to protect children.
When I was a kid and the internet wasn’t a household thing, we used to go to a place called “videoclubs” where porn films and magazines were only separated from the children’s section by a flimsy kitchen curtain. Somehow, despite this atrocious ‘threat’ looming over my… innocence, I managed to grow up as a normal adult. In spite of the government not pushing forward a law to implement porn films be secured by concrete walls and bunker structures only accesible via password and finger print recognition, I still managed to understand that porn was something that has always existed for those who wanted it - those who weren’t me.
So, basically, my point is: When the hell are the governments going to stop sanitizing everything like psychotic, health obsessed, over-bearing parents?
I write this as I sit in my room, a cozy place to gather my bearings when I’m weary of battle and adventure. A place to feel safe, to call home… to find alien hairs on my pillow and a nail clipping between the sheets.
Yes, dearest of diaries, this is an inn room – a haven of respite and experience buffers that’s probably been handed down more times than a reusable diaper (and probably cleaned as thoroughly too). Granted, I’m in one of the dingy rooms in Limsa, since there is apparently “overbooking” issues in the fancy place in Ul’dah.
And by “Overbooking”, I’m not implying that somebody failed to see that, just as it was impossible to fit more than 25 retainers in one Market Ward without getting a cute little message about not being invited to the party or something, it would be a challenge to get more than 100 people in individual rooms without using bunk beds, public baths and some sort of game-development skill that may or may not have been a requirement to work at Square.
You’d think there’d be space for one more but… nope.
And of course I’m not implying this. There’s no point in implying a fact.
So, my dear diary, here I am, after a day of making the soles of my feet raw on the land of Eorzea, another day of hardship and excitement, of sitting through a chat with my retainer and spending most of my evening double, triple clicking on everything I wished to exchange with her.
See, diary, there’s something so delightful about that 5 second delay between trades that it makes me want to forget I have a life just so I can waste it doing something that by the norm should’ve taken 10 minutes instead of 2 hours.
How could anyone not find this to be one of the many thrilling things this world has to offer?
In fact, I’d say I find it on par with crafting – that magical experience that allows you to discover firsthand the wonders of a thriving economy, based on a pricing history that disappears every time the server has a fart (ie, “emergency” maintenance.)
But alas, we’ll get back to the economy and the maintenance at another time, for we must not forget what an unforgettable task it is to be a Disciple of the Hand in this game.
Now, I am only a level 8 Weaver, but don’t get me wrong: I’m level 8 by choice, because I don’t want to get to 50 too soon. I want to enjoy every craft, every minute, every second of that endless source of fun that is holding out for the chance of all your materials exploding in a plume of shits and giggles! ‘Cause, what’s life without a little bit of risk? Without a couple of million gil combusting spontaneously without a chance to load a save file?
This little guy is having the time of his life! Look at that face! It’s like he’s on a rollercoaster of excitement!
That’s the kind of thing that makes you feel alive, that dribble of sweat every time you take a stitch, tie a knot… Doing Ifrit or Moogle fights doesn’t hold a candle to doing a synth for the 1350th time, trust me.
But there is more, my most intimate friend, my diary, as there’s nothing that calls me more to Eorzea than the ability to walk from end to end of the known world when I’ve run out of anima.
Believe me when I say I think Anima was a bad idea. No, not the amount you’re given or how quickly it runs out, leaving you stranded in the middle of nowhere with a chocobo that keels over if something that can’t even bite its ankle so much as looks at it funny.
I personally think anima should be abolished, leaving us to the task of enjoying the beautiful sights of our world on foot, crossing the extensive maps that lead through a world of pure fantasy. A world where every flower is different, every mountain individually created, every tree grown from a different seed, every “wait… haven’t I been here/seen that before?” a rhetorical question.
Damn, what a view… I. feel. so. ALIVE!
This stands especially true for The Black Shroud, an area so intricate and detailed that navigating through it is, if nothing else, a pleasure for the senses. Every time you’ve been lost; every time you took a wrong turn and found yourself going from an area with level 1 bunnies into an area with level 90 accidents of nature; every time you get stuck on an invisible wall protruding from a pebble with more mesh and textures than the whole of Skyrim you are becoming part of something unique, something special.
Something called a premature aneurysm.
I’m not lost! The map just doesn’t know where I am.
This held especially true for my experience near Camp Crimson Bark today, as I tried to get a hold of my first piece of White Mage AF.
Moving into the area known as Turning Leaf, where my crate was located, my partner (Lhyet) and I found ourselves becoming eternally amused by the fact that agro in the area had a new and vaguely misplaced concept of originality. Not happy with having the usual sight, hearing and magic agro types, the game recently introduced the “patience” agro.
The way it works is by forcing you to walk a good 15 minutes to your target destination, pressing down on the slow-mo and forward keys with such force that your fingers start swelling up, as dozens of Ents (or whatever SE has decided to rename them) stroll by in a conga line giving you that funny, iguana look they do.
Yeah, that look that tells you that you can walk past, you can go in circles, you can kill Bambi’s mother, you can set yourself on fire and roll in the meadow, just as long as you do it WITHOUT RUNNING.
Because if there’s one thing them trees don’t like is running and I might be wrong, but I have the feeling this may be an embodiment of the dev team forcing us to take it slow before we notice there’s not much more content to the game and forget why we’re paying.
The best part, oh diary, my diary, was when I had to repeat the process twice, because in getting agro by something else that DID involve running, I forgot to pick up the contents of the crate. And the second best part was when, even in that next time I tried, I couldn’t get my AF because a tree decided my foot moved and inch too fast.
So, as you, Journal ‘o’ many wonders, can see, there are many times in which one’s thirst for adventure can be quenched by the simplest of things across this vast land we call our home. One must just search for enjoyment in what others may only see as a boring chore, a mistake(s) by the creators of our world, the mother of all drags, a turd among a sea of mind-numbing options…
For, if one tries, one can find joy in the strangest of places – even those were philosophy and deep reflection are more likely to take place.
Thus, Dear diary, I must conclude this entry, given that I have not only run out of things to say, but I have also run out of a method to ensure personal hygiene (read: toilet paper), and one cannot leave these sanitary dependencies (read: throne room) without making one presentable to the fascinating encounters that await one out there (read: hide and sleep in a chicken coop somewhere).
"This was meant to be my diary… right?"
Asked by Anonymous
Well, I took a break from the game and when I came back they had reshelled. Wasn’t sure who to ask for a new pearl at that point~ ^^;
Hey all, welcome to my new world. Yes, MY world. You lot from Saronia have just party crashed in here and given the place a name that sounds like a scary Spanish dialect word for underwear: Sargatanas.
Not that I’m complaining. I’m thrilled at the idea of the server having more people to chat and play with. I mean, it really makes a difference to go from around 100 people per server to about 110.
Feeling the rush already.
But eh, let’s not dismiss the power of community, for a tiny but tight-knit group can make the game a home for any and everyone, right?
Yeah, happens every time. It’s called server-eco or “people can’t be bothered to pull their fingers out of their arse and type” syndrome.
See, I just came back from a two month break and all I really feel like doing is have a wine-and-cheese fest, so bear with me or feel free to jump out of a window.
As I stated previously, I’m a former FFXI player. At that, I was the type of FFXI player who only ever got one job to 75 because she spent too much time dawdling and mingling and drop-kicking Tarus over a fence.
While some saw it as an inconvenience that I only ever had one job to 75 out of what they presumed was an uncanny loyalty to my role as a healer, I saw it as a manifestation of what was more important to me from that game: getting to know people, meeting friends and finding who would eventually become the love of my life.
I may or may not have confused FFXI with a dating service when I first acquired it.
The point is, back in the day I had nearly 200 friends in my friend-list, a lot of which I still speak to nowadays, and this is something I feel will never happen during or after my experience in FFXIV.
Now, to understand what I mean, we need to go a couple of nights back, to the point where I logged into the game after my break to find there’s a whole load of people dressed in AFs so shiny I could barely rein in an epileptic seizure.
Apparently, while I was gone, patch 1.21 happened and with it the Artifact Armor quest line. Yeah, that type of quest that makes you feel like you’re the chosen one, the only adventurer in the world with the ability, qualities and shoe size to wear the Holy Garb of The Divine.
And believe me, you feel like that. You feel like your mother’s dream child until you prance into Ul’dah and begin noticing the stares, the awkward silence as your pace slides into a slump and you slowly realize you’ve just blended into the crowd like another Jango Fett clone.
Welcome to the world of “So you thought you were special. That’s cute – now grab a uniform and wait in line to get your head shaved”
That’s a bloody long name for a world.
Now, there I was, sadly looking down at my piddly rags and wistfully sighing at everyone and their dog sporting my Bard AF.
“I really want that hat… wouldn’t I look sexy in it?” I longingly asked Lhyet, my partner through better and worse. Especially worse.
“Yes, I would. Shut up and get me one.”
“Unless you want me to steal it…”
“This is an MMO, you cannot steal things. You can make shit pick-up parties and figure out a strategy in the time it takes your gear to fall to pieces, but you can’t steal things.”
“It was rethori-“
“Herp! Come along, we’re getting me a hat!”
See, last time I introduced my dirty little liaison with Lhyet. This time I’ll introduce my dirty little…
Well, he’s just dirty and little. And he’s called Herp Derp. And for some reason, he’s a Taru that somehow ended up stuck in a body with cat ears and breasts.
Together with Lhyet and I, Herp was part of what some liked to call an “Endgame LS” despite it actually being a fumbling mass of confused bodies trying harder to stay alive than to get shit done.
If Lhyet was the melee marker and I was the White Mage with attitude problems, Herp (previously known as Mort, the retarded) was the token corpse on the battlefield.
(Seriously, his death rate was so spectacular that for every two steps he made it out alive, he slid the next mile across the floor on his face. Rumors had it that he’d maxed the death counter and became the immortal god of the mentally challenged from thereon.)
So back into context, Herp, Lhyet and I began searching for a party to take us through Cutter’s Cry with the purpose of finding the Bard and Warrior AFs. And when I say that “we began” searching, I mean I shouted my tonsils off while Lhyet and Herp fondled each other in a corner. Or something.
It took a good hour and a half to get seven people willing to die horribly at the hands of my feigned knowledge on the game’s mechanics. At that point, another person started shouting in search of a party to do a full run through the same place and, seizing the opportunity like a free taco, I offered him a deal:
“Hey, we’ve got a party waiting for you, and you’ve got the last job we need. You help us out, and we’ll do the boss for you. We know what we’re doing and there’s absolutely nothing that can go wrong.”
And that’s the perfect example of what it didn’t sound like.
In truth, the person inquired about my capacity to make plans and lead a party to a successful ending, and when I drabbled on about cookies, fun, excitement and potential death, he conceded into coming to the party, albeit reluctantly dragging his feet across the cobbles and muttering about wishing he’d leveled something to repair gear with before.
We set off into Cutter’s Cry and once there it was revealed that none of us had an inkling of what the hell we were doing. Of course, we only figured this out after an extended period of silence in which we all stood around like lemons trying real hard to look like people.
Me: “So, what’s the plan? Anyone done this before? ^^”
Party member1: “…”
Party member 2: “…”
Lhyet: “ So…?”
Party member 3: “…”
Herp: “It’s close to midnight, and something evil’s lurking in the dark…”
Party member 4: “…what am I doing here?”
See, what did I say about community and fingers up the arse?
The problem with this game is that there a greatly underwhelming lack of information anywhere in the internet, so you come to rely on the good will and interest of the people assisting you in your endeavors. And while I don’t fail to appreciate anyone’s good will in this game, interest is lackluster at its best.
Fast forwarding over two or fifteen embarrassing deaths later, we found ourselves at the point where we reached our destination: the crate that held that one piece of AF that makes your whole getup look like crap until you obtain the last part.
Me: “Right, time to do your boss fight. What’s the plan?”
Reluctant Party Member (RPM): “Well, first we go into the room. Then we kill guards. Then we kill princess.”
Lhyet: “Sounds simple enough.”
Herp: “EAT YOUR FOOD! It makes all the difference in the WORLD!”
And that was it. Really, that’s all the fight involves.
That and enough ant soldiers to fill a small planet, actively competing to chew your limbs off.
After two fights ruined in the span of 5 minutes, we decided to change the strategy to something that made a lot more sense.
RPM: You must run as one to avoid agro, run as one!
Lhyet: Group hug!
Herp: FOOD! EAT FOOD!
As the party kept quiet in what I assumed was deep concentration in the task of “running as one”, we all pushed forward once again, moving as a single body, a single entity…
A single corpse.
Me: So… this hasn’t worked the last three times. Should we start thinking of alternatives?
Party members 1-5: “…”
RPM: No! Herb is doing it wrong… Herb aggroed everything. Herb didn’t run as one.
Herp: Herb? Who’s Herb? Is that food?
Me: …fine, let’s give it another go.
Somehow, fate was nice enough to give us a pass and let us kill the Princess without a hitch.
Har, you’d ought to stop deluding yourself into thinking that was the end of this entry. Silly people, it’s like you don’t know me.
As you can imagine, the sixth, seventh and eighth time went on amidst a garbled pandemonic of chaos, slaughter and “GOD DAMN YOU HERB!” that ended with RPM stomping out of the party with barely a thread of common sense holding him from flying to my country and bashing my face against the keyboard repeatedly.
And as we sat outside the instance, four people quietly waiting while the three of us – Lhyet, Herp/Herb and me – chuckled our livers off, someone suddenly chimed in the party chat:
“So… what are we doing for this boss fight again?”
Like I said, it’s all about the community.
#dear14yearoldme was a Trending Topic on twitter today and, while I’m not a fan of partaking, I think it’s not actually a completely bad idea so:
Dear 14 year old me:
Hi, how are you? Yeah, moody like a little shit. I know and apparently so does everyone around you. Fix that - it sucks to be around you.
You got problems, but so does everyone else. Yours may be worse, but 10 years into the future they will have made you stronger and cynical, and you’ll love yourself for that.
You’re also about to have your first boyfriend. It’s not going to work out, you’re gonna get hurt and humiliated. You’re gonna cry, but two days later you’re gonna feel awesome. Hold onto that - you’ll laugh in his face in a couple of years.
I’m not gonna tell you to “look up and be happy” because you’ll tell me to fuck myself on the spot. And that’s good, so instead I’ll just tell you to keep quiet and look.
Look at the people around you, look at who’s laughing now. Look real hard because in a few years, when you look again, you’re going to have the laugh of your life.
PS: Please comb your hair properly. You look like Ozzy Osbourne after a night of binge drinking.