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If a Golf Course updated like Eso-Chapter 2
Morimizo
✭✭✭✭✭
Chapter 2: The Playthrough
If you are not acquainted with the misadventures of our hapless hero, here's the intro:
http://forums.elderscrollsonline.com/en/discussion/213841/if-a-golf-course-updated-like-eso
Yes, this is a story. A ridiculously silly one. And I know it's probably too long for a lot of folks, so if you don't like a few page short story, better hit that back button. For those who do, I hope you enjoy.
So I began the ridiculously circuitous and needlessly out-of-the-way hike to the 15th green, in search of the Group Finder.
I first passed the 18th green, where it looked like a brawl was about to happen between at least 12 players, with lots of derogatory references about mothers and sisters. For that matter, there seemed to be a great deal more racket on the course in general, bellowing from all directions.
Passing the 17th tee fairly closely, I couldn't help but notice how tired and disheveled the 2 players standing there looked. They had the appearance of recently-completed marathon runners, but with expressions of despondency reserved for the last ones to walk across the finish line.
The 16th fairway was empty, but as I crossed, 8 players came bursting out of the treeline toward me, waving their clubs high in the air, and yelling some incomprehensible gibberish. I could barely pick out the two words, "fresh meat," before one of them barked, "Never mind, this loser's not even playing yet..." And off they ran.
Half a mile from the clubhouse, I arrived at the 15th green rear bunker. And nobody was there. I waited for half an hour, but the only players who showed up were the ones hitting their approach shots INTO the bunker. I searched the immediate area, and found a small laptop kiosk in the bushes, labeled "Group Finder." Beer had been spilled on it, and Sanguine knows what else.
So I asked a player trying to hack out of the hazard, "Where do I go to find a group?"
"Only place is the 1st tee. Nobody uses that thing," mockingly gesturing at the laptop.
Back to the front I went, and almost to my destination, was incredibly startled when 12 players accosted me while walking along the 18th fairway.
"We got a loner, here!! What you doin' so far from your group, shyboy? Just toss over the Stones, and we'll save you the embarrassment of getting pwned," their 'leader' demanded.
"I haven't even started yet...so no Creek Stones, I'm afraid, sorry..."
"Whatever, Bait," he dismissed, and while the others dumped the contents of my bag all over the ground, emptying pockets, and tossing clubs, I was forcibly picked up, held upside down and shaken.
"Erm, I told you...," I rasped out with all my blood seemingly in my head.
After the quick, but fruitless search, the 'leader' leaned right in my face and screamed, "Wastoid loser freak!!" They dropped me, and off they went, as quickly as they had arrived; leaving me in the ransacked pile of equipment, and feeling quite disheveled (like the guys I remember from the 17th).
Most folks would have had enough by now, but I decided to trudge on, and at least give this madness a proper try.
Well, the actual player advice form the 15th was right; many players were assembled at the 1st tee. There was a big sign that instructed to write down your handicap in big, easy-to-read numbers, your name, and to wait for interested players to ask to join their established group, or to start your own group. Simple enough, though I knew I'd be much more successful tagging along, rather than trying to recruit.
Most players approached me, looking either displeased or sympathetically at my clubs (the ones I had left after the Marshall's confiscation), scoffed at my handicap, and kept moving. But finally a threesome took pity on me, and asked me to join.
"We're going to play Best-ball format, so not against each other, so we can maximize our chances of getting Creek Stones. We're hoping this way, even YOU, can contribute on a couple holes," said one of my new group-mates, "Don't expect much reward by the end, though, this is a vicious place."
"I certainly won't, after what I just experienced on the 18th..."
"You met the 'Greedy Gankers,' eh? Yeah, getting through the 18th to the clubhouse is nasty. If we get lucky, we might meet and join with other groups by then, safety in numbers and all that," another group-mate offered.
"Shouldn't that 'Greedy Ganker' group already have finished by then?"
"Nah, they don't play a full round. They just wander the course, and challenge random players to closest-to-the-pin type challenges on whatever hole they want, whenever they want."
"How do they get away with not playing the holes in order?"
"New rules don't say anything about 'order,' but the gankers know most players like to follow traditional paths, so it's a bandit's paradise. And they have the full endorsement of the Club Pro for their aggressive Stone gathering. He loves it. Watches with glee from the penthouse view of the new multi-million dollar clubhouse."
"So let me get this straight; we're going to play a full round, attempting to earn small amounts of Creek Stones in the prescribed fashion, which is very difficult and time-consuming; while groups like the 'Greedy Gankers' will simply roam, lurk, and pounce on under-equipped, undermanned groups to earn more Stones for a lot less effort and time?
I have to ask...why isn't everyone a ganker?"
"Well, we affectionately refer to this new system as the 'Wild West Stagecoach Escort Simulator', starring the Gank Gang, marvelously equipped with fast horses, awesome guns, plenty of compatriots, and obviously possessing an uncanny knack for most excellent smack talk; and co-starring us, as the few poorly-armed, idiot guards of the Fodder Brigade."
"Seems like the risk-reward balance is in need of, erm, balancing..."
"It's fun, you'll see. Now, NOOB, you drive first."
The 1st hole was rough. Deep rough. The only thing I contributed was a spare granola bar and a bottle of water. The other guys in the group were playing well, though, and managed to pocket a few Stones for us with a par. I thought pars were worthless, but apparently some adjustments had been made due to a general outcry. Someone oughta tell the first clerk that. Anyway, we picked up the Stones from a dispenser precariously perched on a tall rock outcrop.
The 2nd hole, which used to have a small, meandering creek up the right side, now had a wide, still river. I was pulled to the side and warned,
"Look, noob, if you hit your ball anywhere near there, you'll wake it up. Don't disturb the water!"
"I hadn't planned on that anyway, but out of curiosity, why?"
"Club Pro had some large-tentacled creature put in the river last week. Grabs anyone foolish enough to get near it, and apparently has been fed a steady diet of golf ball resin for years. Loves the stuff, and smells it within 50 yards of the shore.
Oh, and the crocodiles coming up on the 4th? They breathe fire."
"Wait, what.?!"
"But they're not too bad, they have this wind-up before they spew flame, and you can sidestep it easily..."
"Ummm..."
"Too much info at once, bubba, one shot at a time."
"Right, sorry."
"Anything else...?!?"
"Besides 'Ganker's Hollow' on the 8th? Just us and the course for the front 9, no worries."
I, with no surprise to anyone, especially me, drove my 3-wood shot straight to the edge of the river on the 2nd.
"Just leave it, you fool!" my companions cried in unison as I started after it.
Needless to say, I chose life and limb over Stone acquisition, while my group once again parred and pocketed a few for us.
The 3rd hole was uneventful, other than my extended beach vacation in the green-side bunker, and a par from the crew.
The 4th, once again beside the river, had scaly denizens (not widely) scattered along the shore. Everyone else successfully drove away from trouble, I aimed away as well, but drove RIGHT AT IT. Two bright flares of flame later, and that's another ball gone. At least I still have eyebrows.
Accosted at the 5th, lost 80% of the stones in a putting challenge, and was very surprised that my group was surprised.
"Wtf?! They never gank here!"
"Dude, I know, they're branching out."
"No, this was a new crew, looking for their own spot, 'cause it's too crowded on the 18th..."
"Never mind, we'll be ready next round."
"I know, whatever..."
Once we settled down, we headed to the 6th. Long par 5, a monstrous 700+ yards, festooned with deep pot bunkers that are surrounded by thorny brush. There's a ladder to get you down to the bottom in each one. I know this because I used a few. Though we parred this hole, the frustration of dreading the loss of our meagerly jingly pockets of Stones started to mount.
Ganked again on the 7th, on the exit path from the green, right after actually birdying the hole. Folks trying to beat the rush of 'Ganker's Hollow,' apparently. Not much to give out this time, so got a good dressing down for our decisive lack of awesomeness and complete dearth of skill.
Ahhh, the 8th. Ganked twice, then saw at least 5 other groups back off after witnessing our mugging, knowing the pickings were slim. Parred the hole, but the net reward was not in our pockets.
The 9th was remarkably quiet, serene even. Nice, unassuming par 4, with no water and only a few bunkers. My group-mates birdied it easily, and we made our way to the Midway Snack Store, hoping to rejuvenate our bodies with pork rinds, peanut butter cups, and beer. I thought maybe a few Creek Stone items would be available here, but no such luck;
"You gotta finish the round, boy, if you expect to get anythin'!!!" the not-so-mild-mannered clerk vehemently reminded me. So I bought another sleeve (okay, I bought 3) of balls. I might not get any stones, but by Tava's red feather, I'm going to finish the round!!
10th tee was busy. Many wide-eyed small groups of players, arguing about who should go with whom, whether to make a run for it all the way back to the clubhouse, or just bushwhack to the nearest public road, hope to hitch a ride with a SWAT team, and get escorted back to their cars.
No one even seemed to notice us, except I swear there were glowing eyes up in the trees...so we soldiered on, just the 4 of us, them in the fairway, me wishing I had brought my brush-cutting machete. A par, and no encounters of the thug kind!
"So what fresh Oblivion waits for us on the rest of the back 9?" I queried.
"The 11th has a waterfall in the middle of the green, with a trough like a log flume to catch the flow..."
"12th has a well-camouflaged asp hiding somewhere in the rough, and apparently it's belly is FULL of Creek Stones, if we can find it."
"That's a rumor, and you know it. Club Pro just wants you to get bit!"
"No dude, it's true..."
"Okay, so let you guys only drive on the 12th, got it; anything else?"
"Well, the 13th is, well, haunted."
"Come on, that's ridiculous!"
"Really--I have it on very dependable authority that a group of players disappeared three weeks ago, right into the ether. Cars are still in the clubhouse parking lot."
"Those belong to the groundskeepers, you gullible idiot; don't listen to him."
"Wait...you know how the Marshall tells you to pay for the Premium Member's Creek Stone gear with Caddying and Course Maintenance work? Maybe they were so bad, that they got yanked off the course, and have been dressed in dull beige and working the grounds since!!"
"Well, if that's the case, we're in a HEAP of trouble..."
"We'll be fine. And that's not true."
"Can we skip the 13th?"
"I think everyone else does now. Funny how unsubstantiated rumors can alter how an entire player base plays the game..."
"Right...uh..., onward?"
On that note we played the 11th (sopping wet) and the 12th (foolishly searching for the Uber-Rare Legendary Asp of the Undeniable Stone-Belly---to no avail) under par, and getting a little excited about the amount of Stones collected.
We skirted the 13th, not even allowing ourselves a glimpse of anything to do with the hole.
We were ganked again at the 14th, but this time we prevailed! 3 of them against 4 of us, and we won the 'Take-the-Deepest-Divot' challenge! Unfortunately, they had evidently been unsuccessful all day, so we didn't get any Stones.
The euphoria of victory came to a crashing halt on the tee at the 15th. There we stood on the tee box, over a replica of the Grand Canyon itself, 250 yards wide, and just as deep.
"Dude, is that lava?"
"I can't tell, didn't bring my glasses, 'cause you know, made of GLASS."
"Don't worry, glass won't be rare forever, you'll see."
"I think it is lava. Should we just go to the drop zone and take the penalty?"
"I'm not losing any stones! Drive or die!!"
So 3 drives a piece later, one of us finally made it across. Needless to say, quadruple bogey.
"Didn't it say we lost stones when we bogeyed? I still have mine..."
"Yeah, me too. I wonder how the course enforces that rule..."
And then the same squad I saw on the 18th appeared, running around the corner...there must have been 16 of them.
"Suckers and scrubs! Pockets out, and shake them out!"
After the shakedown, they left in a blur again. I paused near the Group Finder laptop kiosk in the bushes, and briefly considered how long it had been since my last restroom break..."No, I have to be the better man," I chided myself.
"For the love of Mara," a group-mate howled, "My @#$%ing Stones!"
Everyone was clearly exasperated, but we still had 3 holes, and at least some success.
16th hole was no big deal. Except for the really fat guy that breathed fire.
But we sidestepped it, and got a par.
The 17th was a dogleg left, dogleg right, dogleg right, dogleg left sort of hole (you know, normal---only by normal, I mean, for Sheogorath), at 700+ yards again. By the mercy of Stendaar, we parred it.
The 18th was as still as could be. I swear I saw a tumbleweed cross the fairway. We had expected help from other groups, but unfortunately were probably just unlucky; but maybe we didn't need help?
Nah, got challenged 5 times on the Fairway (lost 4, won 1), and 3 more times on the green (lost 1, actually won 2--thanks to my putting mastery with a 2-iron). Thought we were home free walking on the path to the clubhouse.
As expected though, the 'Greedy Ganker's' crashed over us in full force. Too tired and horrendously outnumbered, we just handed over the Stones, and they kicked a few back our way.
"Nice round, chumps!" was the parting shot of their brave-when-the-odds-are-in-his-favor, but clearly-knowing-how-to-maximize-efficiency 'leader.'
It was nice to not get turned upside down again though.
We made enough Stones to where if we could duplicate this performance, I could buy a regulation, common-level driver in about 230 more rounds.
All in all, my first experience with the 'Wild West Stagecoach Escort Simulator" was exciting, harrowing, difficult to pinpoint the risk-reward as positive for players actually playing the round of 18 in order, but ultimately disappointing, because, well, I never got to actually RIDE in a coach.
Maybe one day.
But THAT, is a tale for another time...
If you are not acquainted with the misadventures of our hapless hero, here's the intro:
http://forums.elderscrollsonline.com/en/discussion/213841/if-a-golf-course-updated-like-eso
Yes, this is a story. A ridiculously silly one. And I know it's probably too long for a lot of folks, so if you don't like a few page short story, better hit that back button. For those who do, I hope you enjoy.
So I began the ridiculously circuitous and needlessly out-of-the-way hike to the 15th green, in search of the Group Finder.
I first passed the 18th green, where it looked like a brawl was about to happen between at least 12 players, with lots of derogatory references about mothers and sisters. For that matter, there seemed to be a great deal more racket on the course in general, bellowing from all directions.
Passing the 17th tee fairly closely, I couldn't help but notice how tired and disheveled the 2 players standing there looked. They had the appearance of recently-completed marathon runners, but with expressions of despondency reserved for the last ones to walk across the finish line.
The 16th fairway was empty, but as I crossed, 8 players came bursting out of the treeline toward me, waving their clubs high in the air, and yelling some incomprehensible gibberish. I could barely pick out the two words, "fresh meat," before one of them barked, "Never mind, this loser's not even playing yet..." And off they ran.
Half a mile from the clubhouse, I arrived at the 15th green rear bunker. And nobody was there. I waited for half an hour, but the only players who showed up were the ones hitting their approach shots INTO the bunker. I searched the immediate area, and found a small laptop kiosk in the bushes, labeled "Group Finder." Beer had been spilled on it, and Sanguine knows what else.
So I asked a player trying to hack out of the hazard, "Where do I go to find a group?"
"Only place is the 1st tee. Nobody uses that thing," mockingly gesturing at the laptop.
Back to the front I went, and almost to my destination, was incredibly startled when 12 players accosted me while walking along the 18th fairway.
"We got a loner, here!! What you doin' so far from your group, shyboy? Just toss over the Stones, and we'll save you the embarrassment of getting pwned," their 'leader' demanded.
"I haven't even started yet...so no Creek Stones, I'm afraid, sorry..."
"Whatever, Bait," he dismissed, and while the others dumped the contents of my bag all over the ground, emptying pockets, and tossing clubs, I was forcibly picked up, held upside down and shaken.
"Erm, I told you...," I rasped out with all my blood seemingly in my head.
After the quick, but fruitless search, the 'leader' leaned right in my face and screamed, "Wastoid loser freak!!" They dropped me, and off they went, as quickly as they had arrived; leaving me in the ransacked pile of equipment, and feeling quite disheveled (like the guys I remember from the 17th).
Most folks would have had enough by now, but I decided to trudge on, and at least give this madness a proper try.
Well, the actual player advice form the 15th was right; many players were assembled at the 1st tee. There was a big sign that instructed to write down your handicap in big, easy-to-read numbers, your name, and to wait for interested players to ask to join their established group, or to start your own group. Simple enough, though I knew I'd be much more successful tagging along, rather than trying to recruit.
Most players approached me, looking either displeased or sympathetically at my clubs (the ones I had left after the Marshall's confiscation), scoffed at my handicap, and kept moving. But finally a threesome took pity on me, and asked me to join.
"We're going to play Best-ball format, so not against each other, so we can maximize our chances of getting Creek Stones. We're hoping this way, even YOU, can contribute on a couple holes," said one of my new group-mates, "Don't expect much reward by the end, though, this is a vicious place."
"I certainly won't, after what I just experienced on the 18th..."
"You met the 'Greedy Gankers,' eh? Yeah, getting through the 18th to the clubhouse is nasty. If we get lucky, we might meet and join with other groups by then, safety in numbers and all that," another group-mate offered.
"Shouldn't that 'Greedy Ganker' group already have finished by then?"
"Nah, they don't play a full round. They just wander the course, and challenge random players to closest-to-the-pin type challenges on whatever hole they want, whenever they want."
"How do they get away with not playing the holes in order?"
"New rules don't say anything about 'order,' but the gankers know most players like to follow traditional paths, so it's a bandit's paradise. And they have the full endorsement of the Club Pro for their aggressive Stone gathering. He loves it. Watches with glee from the penthouse view of the new multi-million dollar clubhouse."
"So let me get this straight; we're going to play a full round, attempting to earn small amounts of Creek Stones in the prescribed fashion, which is very difficult and time-consuming; while groups like the 'Greedy Gankers' will simply roam, lurk, and pounce on under-equipped, undermanned groups to earn more Stones for a lot less effort and time?
I have to ask...why isn't everyone a ganker?"
"Well, we affectionately refer to this new system as the 'Wild West Stagecoach Escort Simulator', starring the Gank Gang, marvelously equipped with fast horses, awesome guns, plenty of compatriots, and obviously possessing an uncanny knack for most excellent smack talk; and co-starring us, as the few poorly-armed, idiot guards of the Fodder Brigade."
"Seems like the risk-reward balance is in need of, erm, balancing..."
"It's fun, you'll see. Now, NOOB, you drive first."
The 1st hole was rough. Deep rough. The only thing I contributed was a spare granola bar and a bottle of water. The other guys in the group were playing well, though, and managed to pocket a few Stones for us with a par. I thought pars were worthless, but apparently some adjustments had been made due to a general outcry. Someone oughta tell the first clerk that. Anyway, we picked up the Stones from a dispenser precariously perched on a tall rock outcrop.
The 2nd hole, which used to have a small, meandering creek up the right side, now had a wide, still river. I was pulled to the side and warned,
"Look, noob, if you hit your ball anywhere near there, you'll wake it up. Don't disturb the water!"
"I hadn't planned on that anyway, but out of curiosity, why?"
"Club Pro had some large-tentacled creature put in the river last week. Grabs anyone foolish enough to get near it, and apparently has been fed a steady diet of golf ball resin for years. Loves the stuff, and smells it within 50 yards of the shore.
Oh, and the crocodiles coming up on the 4th? They breathe fire."
"Wait, what.?!"
"But they're not too bad, they have this wind-up before they spew flame, and you can sidestep it easily..."
"Ummm..."
"Too much info at once, bubba, one shot at a time."
"Right, sorry."
"Anything else...?!?"
"Besides 'Ganker's Hollow' on the 8th? Just us and the course for the front 9, no worries."
I, with no surprise to anyone, especially me, drove my 3-wood shot straight to the edge of the river on the 2nd.
"Just leave it, you fool!" my companions cried in unison as I started after it.
Needless to say, I chose life and limb over Stone acquisition, while my group once again parred and pocketed a few for us.
The 3rd hole was uneventful, other than my extended beach vacation in the green-side bunker, and a par from the crew.
The 4th, once again beside the river, had scaly denizens (not widely) scattered along the shore. Everyone else successfully drove away from trouble, I aimed away as well, but drove RIGHT AT IT. Two bright flares of flame later, and that's another ball gone. At least I still have eyebrows.
Accosted at the 5th, lost 80% of the stones in a putting challenge, and was very surprised that my group was surprised.
"Wtf?! They never gank here!"
"Dude, I know, they're branching out."
"No, this was a new crew, looking for their own spot, 'cause it's too crowded on the 18th..."
"Never mind, we'll be ready next round."
"I know, whatever..."
Once we settled down, we headed to the 6th. Long par 5, a monstrous 700+ yards, festooned with deep pot bunkers that are surrounded by thorny brush. There's a ladder to get you down to the bottom in each one. I know this because I used a few. Though we parred this hole, the frustration of dreading the loss of our meagerly jingly pockets of Stones started to mount.
Ganked again on the 7th, on the exit path from the green, right after actually birdying the hole. Folks trying to beat the rush of 'Ganker's Hollow,' apparently. Not much to give out this time, so got a good dressing down for our decisive lack of awesomeness and complete dearth of skill.
Ahhh, the 8th. Ganked twice, then saw at least 5 other groups back off after witnessing our mugging, knowing the pickings were slim. Parred the hole, but the net reward was not in our pockets.
The 9th was remarkably quiet, serene even. Nice, unassuming par 4, with no water and only a few bunkers. My group-mates birdied it easily, and we made our way to the Midway Snack Store, hoping to rejuvenate our bodies with pork rinds, peanut butter cups, and beer. I thought maybe a few Creek Stone items would be available here, but no such luck;
"You gotta finish the round, boy, if you expect to get anythin'!!!" the not-so-mild-mannered clerk vehemently reminded me. So I bought another sleeve (okay, I bought 3) of balls. I might not get any stones, but by Tava's red feather, I'm going to finish the round!!
10th tee was busy. Many wide-eyed small groups of players, arguing about who should go with whom, whether to make a run for it all the way back to the clubhouse, or just bushwhack to the nearest public road, hope to hitch a ride with a SWAT team, and get escorted back to their cars.
No one even seemed to notice us, except I swear there were glowing eyes up in the trees...so we soldiered on, just the 4 of us, them in the fairway, me wishing I had brought my brush-cutting machete. A par, and no encounters of the thug kind!
"So what fresh Oblivion waits for us on the rest of the back 9?" I queried.
"The 11th has a waterfall in the middle of the green, with a trough like a log flume to catch the flow..."
"12th has a well-camouflaged asp hiding somewhere in the rough, and apparently it's belly is FULL of Creek Stones, if we can find it."
"That's a rumor, and you know it. Club Pro just wants you to get bit!"
"No dude, it's true..."
"Okay, so let you guys only drive on the 12th, got it; anything else?"
"Well, the 13th is, well, haunted."
"Come on, that's ridiculous!"
"Really--I have it on very dependable authority that a group of players disappeared three weeks ago, right into the ether. Cars are still in the clubhouse parking lot."
"Those belong to the groundskeepers, you gullible idiot; don't listen to him."
"Wait...you know how the Marshall tells you to pay for the Premium Member's Creek Stone gear with Caddying and Course Maintenance work? Maybe they were so bad, that they got yanked off the course, and have been dressed in dull beige and working the grounds since!!"
"Well, if that's the case, we're in a HEAP of trouble..."
"We'll be fine. And that's not true."
"Can we skip the 13th?"
"I think everyone else does now. Funny how unsubstantiated rumors can alter how an entire player base plays the game..."
"Right...uh..., onward?"
On that note we played the 11th (sopping wet) and the 12th (foolishly searching for the Uber-Rare Legendary Asp of the Undeniable Stone-Belly---to no avail) under par, and getting a little excited about the amount of Stones collected.
We skirted the 13th, not even allowing ourselves a glimpse of anything to do with the hole.
We were ganked again at the 14th, but this time we prevailed! 3 of them against 4 of us, and we won the 'Take-the-Deepest-Divot' challenge! Unfortunately, they had evidently been unsuccessful all day, so we didn't get any Stones.
The euphoria of victory came to a crashing halt on the tee at the 15th. There we stood on the tee box, over a replica of the Grand Canyon itself, 250 yards wide, and just as deep.
"Dude, is that lava?"
"I can't tell, didn't bring my glasses, 'cause you know, made of GLASS."
"Don't worry, glass won't be rare forever, you'll see."
"I think it is lava. Should we just go to the drop zone and take the penalty?"
"I'm not losing any stones! Drive or die!!"
So 3 drives a piece later, one of us finally made it across. Needless to say, quadruple bogey.
"Didn't it say we lost stones when we bogeyed? I still have mine..."
"Yeah, me too. I wonder how the course enforces that rule..."
And then the same squad I saw on the 18th appeared, running around the corner...there must have been 16 of them.
"Suckers and scrubs! Pockets out, and shake them out!"
After the shakedown, they left in a blur again. I paused near the Group Finder laptop kiosk in the bushes, and briefly considered how long it had been since my last restroom break..."No, I have to be the better man," I chided myself.
"For the love of Mara," a group-mate howled, "My @#$%ing Stones!"
Everyone was clearly exasperated, but we still had 3 holes, and at least some success.
16th hole was no big deal. Except for the really fat guy that breathed fire.
But we sidestepped it, and got a par.
The 17th was a dogleg left, dogleg right, dogleg right, dogleg left sort of hole (you know, normal---only by normal, I mean, for Sheogorath), at 700+ yards again. By the mercy of Stendaar, we parred it.
The 18th was as still as could be. I swear I saw a tumbleweed cross the fairway. We had expected help from other groups, but unfortunately were probably just unlucky; but maybe we didn't need help?
Nah, got challenged 5 times on the Fairway (lost 4, won 1), and 3 more times on the green (lost 1, actually won 2--thanks to my putting mastery with a 2-iron). Thought we were home free walking on the path to the clubhouse.
As expected though, the 'Greedy Ganker's' crashed over us in full force. Too tired and horrendously outnumbered, we just handed over the Stones, and they kicked a few back our way.
"Nice round, chumps!" was the parting shot of their brave-when-the-odds-are-in-his-favor, but clearly-knowing-how-to-maximize-efficiency 'leader.'
It was nice to not get turned upside down again though.
We made enough Stones to where if we could duplicate this performance, I could buy a regulation, common-level driver in about 230 more rounds.
All in all, my first experience with the 'Wild West Stagecoach Escort Simulator" was exciting, harrowing, difficult to pinpoint the risk-reward as positive for players actually playing the round of 18 in order, but ultimately disappointing, because, well, I never got to actually RIDE in a coach.
Maybe one day.
But THAT, is a tale for another time...
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PBpsy✭✭✭✭✭
✭✭✭So I gather that you either like or do not like golf.
ESO forums achievementsProud fanboiElitist jerkTrollHaterFan of icontested(rainbow colors granted)0 -
Ourorboros✭✭✭✭✭
✭✭Pretty good analogy to IC. Maybe in the next story you can incorporate the large groups there to play the course and attacking other groups only when attacked themselves. That's what happened with one of my guilds. Safety in numbers, but respecting others trying to play the game instead of taking advantage of our numbers.PC/NA/DCBreton Sorcerer Maester.White - BB meets GoT >Master Crafter< { 9 Traits completed 4/23/15 }
TANSTAAFL--->There ain't no such thing as a free lunch.....Robert Heinlein
Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea....Heinlein
All those moments will be lost in time, like tears...in...rain. Time to die. "Blade Runner"
ESO: the game you hate to love and love to hate....( >_<) May RNG be with you (*,_,*)0 -
Morimizo✭✭✭✭✭Ourorboros wrote: »Pretty good analogy to IC. Maybe in the next story you can incorporate the large groups there to play the course and attacking other groups only when attacked themselves. That's what happened with one of my guilds. Safety in numbers, but respecting others trying to play the game instead of taking advantage of our numbers.
It is mentioned on the 1st tee that the group hopes to join with others along the way, inferring better numbers will either discourage attacks or give a better chance at victory, and at the end the lead thug is referred to as brave-when-the-odds-are-in-his-favor; but I have no doubt whatsoever that a group of 10 gankers would consider an encounter to be high risk-low reward if a group of 20 showed up at the exit. After all, they don't want to lose all their hard-stolen Stones either, do they?
A principle point is that this zone is catered to not just groups, but large groups, for the best chance of success. I know some folks can solo it fine. Or they say they do. But roaming in small groups or solo, as a normal 'casual' player is, by design, absurdly dangerous. And that's fine, truly; just found it made for a stark contrast between the usual serenity and fair play of golf.
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