Mr_Muffles

Haarald Reedwater 1702-1785 Master Sergeant, Combat Academy Commandant, Second Brigade, Imperial State Army, 44 Years of Service Twelfth of Snow’s Maiden An old man sits at a table in the Helena Bastille, thinking of his life. He has been thinking of writing his memoirs, over the past few years-but such things were not for commoners with such little interest in literature. However, that didn’t stop the man from occasionally reviewing his life, as he was now. He thought of himself as a young boy, wandering around the lands of what would soon no longer be called Renatus, through the streets of a Helena that no longer existed, over the fields of an empire that had so greatly changed. He remembered worked, laboring hard at the ruins at the command of a freshly minted aristocrat. Remembered joining the banner men of Adrian Sarkozic, Barron of Renzfeld-how he had looked up to the man, and his titles. How he followed him, from Baron, to Duke, to, for a short while through events no one, and certainly not the lowly soldier, had understood Emperor, then back to Duke of Adria. How he stood in battle lines, fighting his trainers-fighting the Lorrainyerds-fighting monsters in the woods in events he never reminisced on to anyone, so terrified he was of their memory. And he remembered the day that man was proclaimed Lord Protector of the Holy Orenian Empire, and he became one of the first men in the Imperial State Army, one of the only men with a service longer than the service had existed. He had fought rebels, terrorists, and invaders. He had, in the in-between time when the ISA was responsible for not just army-work but also the much detested police work. He had stood on the walls of New Reza, and watched in awe as the foe’s siege engines shattered the towers and men who manned them. He had loosed arrows and unsheathed his sword in anger more times than he could remember. He had, in time, attained the rank of Sergeant, and had become an instructor of the new recruits that flooded the Imperial State Army. But, now, that was coming behind him. The Empire needed younger men. His eighty-three winters were too many to allow him to fight or lead, and soon he would not even be able to run drills. The old man sighed, and drained his cup. “To Peter the Third. GOD bless him, and GOD bless his soul. Ave Oren.” He then stood. As he rose, however, a quiver took him, and he stooped over the table holding himself up with his hands. He held there for a moment, shaking his head as if to clear it, then stood up to his full height. He took a deep breath, to reassure himself of his health. He nodded, satisfied. He then pitched forward face-first onto the table. The troops were out, parading and drilling for the late Emperor’s funeral. Such calisthenics were not for men as old as he though, so he stayed behind-and was alone. By the time anyone found him, the cardiac arrest had taken him fully, and he was well and truly dead. So passed Haarald Reedwater, soldier, monarchist, patriot.

An old man in an old yet immaculate ISA Sergeant’s Uniform looks on with quiet determination. It seems there shall be one last war for him to fight after all-one even more damning than all the past ones combined. He sighs quietly, then walks off to the Bastille. He has to recheck his kit-this foe demands total assurance in his weapons.

Okay, so I will preface my opinion with a story. In late June of last year, an aspiring RPer by the name of Muffles first logged onto LOTC. A few days before, a barely-acquaintance had sent a discord DM about LOTC, and the intervening time had been spent wandering through the wiki (Oh, how foolish I had been) looking for character ideas and submitting my application to join the server. I appeared in Cloud Temple, saw several people around, and... kinda stood there. I tried out some chat, discovered how to talk in OOC and RP, and then wandered around, unsure of what to do. Eventually some orcs found me and brought me to their VC, and gave me the basic run down of how to play, and I set off following road signs to Renatus. After a couple IRL days of logging on occasionally and wandering the streets of Helena, I got picked up to do construction work for a noble. Had it not been for that, and the ensuing rollercoaster of rp and fun, I almost certainly would have left LOTC for good within a few days. At no point did I receive monk guidance or assistance, and as such had no chance to have a negative experience. Now, obviously it is impossible for staff members to be available 24/7 to greet new people, but my experience makes me pretty sure something needs to change. That answers the second and third questions and renders the fourth, fifth and seventh NA. As for “Do I think Monk Guidance is necessary/beneficial?” I have to say yes. Without monks, new players are more likely to have a negative experience on first joining the server, and of being terminally confused at everything going on. This brings us to the first and most important question, How can Monk Guidance be improved? First of all, I think it should be made clearer to NPs that the Monks exist and how to contact them (I didn’t learn about the monks until several months into my LOTC experience when someone mentioned them offhand). Additionally, adding self-help items would be helpful-the recent Wiki program is already doing some of this, as the Wiki I had when I joined was out of date and unreliable. Enabling players to figure out commands and basic lore without needing a staff member’s hand-holding is useful for when no staff are available. I saw one of the staff members mention that new players are asked to do a /creq command (Which I am unfamiliar with but assume is similar to a modreq) on both the forums and discord, and while I can’t guarantee that I didn’t get a forum notification I definitely didn’t get a discord message-I just read through my entire PM list to verify that. And expecting people who just joined a community to constantly check the forums after they got their WL without telling them to is a very unreliable means of communication. To conclude, none of my criticisms are meant to attack staff members or their competency; if I sound petulant then I apologize. Let’s all work on improving this chaotic, unique, and most importantly of all fun place for everyone together.

I personally feel that matchlock muskets would work fine. Primitive, experimental and unreliable gunpowder weapons are great for RP, and you can’t powergame with them, really-wandering around with a loaded matchlock or flintlock is impossible, the former because of the necessity to have a burning wick, the latter because the powder would escape the pan, so it’s just as easy to enforce RP-reasonable emote requirements to fire muskets. Besides, muskets are a really cool part of a ~~fifteenth century-analogous battlefield, and as a military-rp fan I would love to see pike-and-shot formations clashing. Just my two cents.

Upon reading the announcement, Haarald scoffs. “Cuckold Orenian Empire? Cha! Ave!”

Haarald nods in agreement until reading the part implicating the Imperial State Army. “We’re all loyal to GOD and Empire!” he muses.

Haarald thinks back to the man who gave him lip at the gates, and wishes he’d known about this so he could’ve pointed out his petty treason.

Haarald sighs softly. “Again, all the mighty and worthies of Oren gather in one place. This is just like the ball-we’re going to have work triple shifts just to maintain basic security. Such is the life of a soldier...”

Haarald blesses the grace of GOD and the empire, and goes immediately to collect the relief goods.

Haarald raises his fist at these words, the mere thought of the heartless monsters who’d burned down his home and endangered his fellow ISA troops in cowardly acts of terrorism bringing rage to his mind.

Haarald listens to the words, his mind numb and his lungs aching. He would be trying to find his brigade’s captain, be trying to requisition housing in the barracks, but his mind refuses to work. His home for decades, the one stable place where he could go to escape the chaos and hard work of his ISA duties, ashen and smoldering in a pile of rubble. He quietly starts shuddering

Haarald reads the notice with worry, wondering if his home will be torn down. “They’d better make it cheaper. And bigger” he mutters, annoyed.

Haarald Reedwater shrugs, knowing that as long as the military is funded things can’t be that bad. “I’m sure they’ll hammer something out eventually” he murmurs to himself as he reads the notice.

Graenolf smiles from the afterlife, remembering how he held his own for twenty seconds of furious swordplay four to one. He them remembers punching a girl in the face, and his smile broadens.

Haarald refills the recruitment form dubiously FULL NAME: Haarald Reedwater AGE: 45 RACE: Human, Heartlander RELIGION: Cannonist REGIMENT OF CHOICE: First ((MC name)): KDT_LJT ((Time zone)): EST