Garrison: The Revenge

What the hell is wrong with me?

I'm not a dumb guy.

I'm not stupid.

I can form logical thoughts and even make logical decisions.

So why in the name of hell do I keep signing up for Garrison?

Honestly. Orcs learn faster than this.

The money.

I blame the money.

How can I be expected to make good decisions when "The Company" is waving a big stack of cash under my nose?

This wicked cool armor isn't free, you know.

And dry cleaning n00b blood gets awful damned pricey.

I mean, I get killed on a daily basis anyway. Why not make some good cash out of the deal?

So, I get gangraped by an alliance of NPCs.

It's a living.

Ironically.

Today, though. Today something odd happened.

I signed up for Garrison knowing full well that I would probably die. I had come to accept it.

I suited up, sharpened my blade, and then headed over to Buburimu Peninsula.

But when I got there, I did not find a horde of Goblins ready to strike fear (and swords) into the souls (and skulls) of men.

I found Shaman.

And his fear striking abilities were questionable.

GoblinShaman>> Heya, Smithy.
GoblinSmithy>> ... uh... Hi, Shaman.
GoblinSmithy>> Team's running a little light tonight.
GoblinShaman>> Nope.
GoblinShaman>> This's our lucky night.
GoblinSmithy>> Your definition of lucky must be different.
GoblinSmithy>> I don't define mass perforation as "lucky".
GoblinShaman>> Have I ever steered you wrong?
GoblinSmithy>> Yes.
GoblinSmithy>> Several times actually.
GoblinShaman>> It wasn't several.
GoblinSmithy>> It's all itemized on my hospital bill.
GoblinSmithy>> My 16 page hospital bill.
GoblinShaman>> When did you turn into such a little bitch?
GoblinSmithy>> Right around the third skin graft.
GoblinShaman>> Well, quit your whining.
GoblinShaman>> You'll enjoy this.

I started to make a concise argument (read: I must just about to stab him in the eyeball) when I heard the soft hum of a warp.

It was time to die.

There was a slight blur as we were warped to the outpost and we spawned not far from the guard.

Immediately, I heard something.

Was it the low rumbling of an NPC alliance bearing down upon us?

No.

Was it the warcry of 18 adventurers waiting for us?

No.

Was it a total freakin' retard standing there mumbling to himself?

Yup.

Player: Does anyone know what "Garrison" is?
Player: The guard said something about an attack.

One single, solitary adventurer.

Wait... correction. I miscounted.

One single, solitary adventurer and one NPC that did not look too impressed.

NPC>> Can I join you guys?
GoblinSmithy>> Sorry. Full party.
NPC>> ...
NPC>> Damn.

I should explain at this point that it is possible for a single player to start a Garrison event.

It is not intelligent to do so, but it is possible.

This poor, unfortunate soul (read: drooling, uneducated moron) had walked up to the outpost guard and traded a Garrison trigger item.

By himself.

Without finding out what would happen.

I could practically hear Darwin laughing.

GoblinSmithy>> Hello there, Adventurer.
GoblinSmithy>> Can we help you with something today?
Player>> OH DAMN! GOBLINS!
GoblinSmithy>> You were expecting clowns perhaps?

I've never been so happy to stab someone in the face before. It was like opening a present on Christmas morning.

A present full of brain matter, but still.

And then we turned our attention on the NPC.

NPC>> Listen, guys.
NPC>> I'm just doing my job.
GoblinSmithy>> Maybe you should look into a new career.
NPC>> You're going to kill me aren't you?
GoblinSmithy>> I'd have to lean towards a yes on that one.
NPC>> ...
NPC>> Crap.

I didn't stop when his name went gray.

I didn't even stop when he hit the ground.

By my count, I had been killed by roughly 36 NPCs. This bitch was going to die 36 times.

I like to be thorough.

And then, when I finally, finally stopped stabbing her dead, mutilated corpse, she said the funniest thing.

NPC>> Damn, I hate Garrison.