Lore/Story Memories of a veteran

(this is an expanded version of the reminiscing Farewell, TrapinchO)

Introduction:
In my nine years of playing Wynn, I, along with the character I play, have amassed a great deal of memories. The following texts represent an overview of my time there and a selection of what got stuck in my head, placed inside the universe as the character would experience them - please keep that in mind as you read. They are separated into spoilers for thread clarity, based on topic. And with that...

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With a silent grunt the man rests his arms over the battlements, like he uses to these years. Standing right above the main gate to Ragni, he watches the shadows it casts grow longer, as if it could attack the lands beyond and retake them. It is quiet out there, but it is not the eerie silence his ears are used to trudge through in search of any sign of attack, despite not needing to for a long time. No, it is peaceful, calming. The undead - despite still being a major threat - do not pound on the walls as if there was no tomorrow, and the occasional hordes are quickly dealt with. So much has changed...

Spoiler: Magic and gear

He remembers his young years, the sleepless nights and restless days. They had magic back then, but it was simpler - learn a few spells and master them, think out of the box to reach your full potential. Now the crate is shattered, each recruit a unique facet he could never imagine. He was never quite a brain with spells, and what is taught now goes over his head - and it would be a lie to say he did not try, or that does he not respect it. Same with gear - instead of blending together with the same tattered tabards every group shines with bright colors, no two pieces the same. And progress shows, even the cheapest armor outperforms his old uniform. It gives him hope that these newbies could push back when they could not. Full of optimism... Not yet cynical like him, believing they can conquer the world. The Hero proved it is possible, and has done well to encourage the others, which he involuntarily admits.

Of course, it was not like there were no options at all. The first non-regular issue weapon he wielded was The Rainmaker, a somewhat obscure, but interesting bow. It allowed one to shoot with lightning speed, even with the most powerful arrows. And when a couple of them got together, the sky would darken with a volley, true to its name. Alas, its power has faded, a common defect of its kind. It was a pity. Even worse, it was stolen from his quarters some time later. Only decades later he discovered what happened, stumbling upon it by a sheer miracle, sending him on a wild hunt to connect the pieces. But in the meantime he got a Cluster on his hands, which suited him just as well.

Spoiler: Friends

He recollects his adventures with Froklan and the other one, whose name has been lost to time, who were like brothers to him back when they were still kids. Their paths have since diverged, but he still hopes to hear of them one day, even if it was just to know where their graves are. The next group he was a part of was his guild, Boof, a bunch of his friends and, later, strangers. With a soft smile he silently admits he was not a good leader, certainly not back then. It is no wonder it did not last long before it fell apart. Too much enthusiasm and not enough reason. The Welcomers on the other hand...

This happened in the later era of his life, when he used to sit by the castle entrance and give the recruits advice. And more importantly, show them they are more than another sword sent to fight Corruption, encourage them on their journeys. Sometimes they had a chat, he would tell them his stories of old, or listen to their plights. Darix stood out, a brave soul burning with courage. It was pointless to try to temper it, and he has since regretted attempting it. Another such one was Luminary a woman struck by the worst of tragedies, yet carrying it with unparalleled resolution. He believes she still roams the world, as at times pieces of rumors speaking of a fallen knight reach his ears. AgentEmerald, an aspiring storyteller and a long friend of his. Flottii, a nice boy who had him stretch his bones after years and travel to the meteors again. The shared happiness when they explored the secrets beneath the white one still echoes in his mind at times, reminding him why he used to offer his services in this. He continues to visit him occasionally, telling him news from the world...

The welcomers. A good bunch that flocked to every recruit like soldiers to alcohol after a long night. First each on their own, as if trying to get the newbie by themselves, and after a few such occasions friendly banter between them had already been interleaving their kind advice. It did not take long before they found themselves regularly in the tavern, sharing stories and planning ambushes. "The Official Wynncraft Welcoming Comittee" they called themselves. Ellphant, Justice, Ditsario, Ocel0t, Twenty - he wonder where is she now, as she has always been elusive, even back then -, Purple. Then Flora, Ankarin, Fish, Mikaii, FlameFrost - they bullied that one, but thanks to his perseverance he was allowed in -, Capybara, Omega.

They stuck together as their duties moved them away from being around the castle all the time, never losing contact until much later. Their legacy was carried on by people like Galaxias, not ceasing until recently, though - and he is proud of that - at times there is still someone to remember the new recruits. He wonders if they will ever gather together again in their fullest. They had gotten a large subset before, when he organized feasts, but it would be nice to see them in full parade, ambushing an unsuspecting recruit or making a contest for the rest of the castle.

Spoiler: Events

And the many events he was part of... The Sand-Swept Tomb raid party, where a bunch of experienced Wynnians got together and went to the Forgery. He does not remember how many times they rode through the dungeon, but they were inside for hours, days perhaps. There was no rational goal there, only spite. He still sometimes wonder what they had against him. Not that the sealed emperor was a nice person, but to warrant that? Later they shifted their eyes to Theorick, which he understood much better. And when they came for Slykaar, he regretted being too old to rejoin.

Or when people gathered to destroy the newly discovered Eldritch Outlook - his only visit to the Silent Expanse. Almost fifty veterans stood atop that horrible structure. He struggles not to cringe, remembering his annoyance at their lack of discipline up there, and lashing out at them. When they finally got to rush inside to blind the overseer, madness ensued, reality tore itself apart. The great Bovine has descended upon them, fascinated of their wrath and dedication. "Not even he could stop us," he mutters with satisfaction. Not at all. They tried again, at least those released back into the world. They were victorious in the end, though he was not there to witness it.

Not everything was about fighting, though. The Great Lore hunt, unfortunately timed when he was suppossed to travel, though he found time to look around for some interesting mysteries. They found plenty, and even more down the line. Or the Wynnlympics, hosted by one of the fellow Welcomers. It was the first one he participated in - which was lucky in hindsight, as it was also the last one done. It was fun time, made even better by them winning, quite unexpectedly. Another such time was when he was chosen to speak of the intricacies of loor and recordkeeping, nominated by a fellow scholar. He was absolutely flabbergasted, as he was not famous like the others, though probably known in his circles.

And of course, how could he forget when they played the counting game. Everyone either put a pebble onto a pile, or removed one, then waited for another person to act. The rules, interestingly, did not prohibit counting to negative numbers, and soon there was a board with tally of debt. Curiously, the players chose their sides with more fanatism than they did with their weapons, turning against their own friends and calling themselves harbingers of light or messengers of the abyss. Sometimes it was just two of them, repeatedly putting a rock down and removing it over and over for hours, before another person stepped in and tipped the scales, or doing it so fast they had to stop and do a recount. Besides that, however, it was great for meeting others and having a friendly chat while off-duty. He lets out a laugh followed by a tear as he remembers a winter truce, two full days bare of change. They just stood by the board, telling stories and viciously protecting it from the one person who wished to violate the peace.

In the scholar circles, after several long nights of bored arguments in Ragni's library, an idea was born - a retelling of Bob's loor, one with more grandeour and filled with "what ifs" they had debated for years. It did not stick to reality, but, what great stories do? It proved a success an interesting intellectual challenge. So much, in fact, that they continued, focusing their eyes on the Jungle, Ocean, Gavel, and even all the relics, artifacts and substances found in the world. He did mostly fell off after the first one, too tired to lead it, but he is proud of the parts he did. It was the same time his age began getting to him.

Spoiler: Solo adventures

It seems like a lot to him now, as if he had spent his whole life participating in something. Alas this is not the case, far from it. Years of lone adventuring, traveling through most of the world, peeking into every crack in the rock and every bush off the roads. And it paid well, more than so, in fact. First comes to his mind a grave hidden in the horrible Canyon, inscribed with "It is in our darkest moments, that we must focus to see the light". He has since thought about it often, perhaps a kind of mantra when things seemed hopeless. As if guided by a string more memories followed, the one in the mountains between Plains and Mesa, the two graves near the Sky Raiders' fort... all hidden somewhere far from sight, alone... even after the years he wonders what were the stories of those laid to rest there. Who were they? Why were they buried there? Was their life a tale of tragedy, or peace in solitude? He will never know. He used to visit them every so often, when he was going by, so that they are not entirely forgotten. To delay that second death just a little more... He is not surprised these came to his mind the fastest.

But there was so much more. In the Ahmsord region for example, he remembers finding a strange mushroom after a tip from a friend. He found it by hearing someone cursing at him, with no one being nearby. "Down here, moron". He considered taking it with him, learn more, but after a flurry of insults - not even creative ones - he decided otherwise. Just like his friend. He's been gone for some time now too. Around the same time he visited this huge island, standing out by its weird color, and unsuspectingly entered the tower, assuming it to be abandoned like the rest. Before he knew it he fell to the ceiling as an omnipresent voice laughed at him. After pondering about turning the place to rubble and going through the madman's puzzle, he had to admit it was quite clever. And as for getting out... well, suddenly there was no more ceiling. It was a sheer miracle he survived, first the void, then the landing and lastly seeing a bunch of wybels flocking to him. He still remembers the shudder, as he realized the ramblings of one mandman about the wybel conspiracy were true.

Which got only reinforced when he found their lair back home, and met their leader. It started by noticing a small platform under an island, leading to what seemed a secret base. And within it was... a wybel, like the ones roaming around cities, except this one was orange and malevolent, at least that was his first impression, which quickly proved right. A small arena with plenty of scuttling creatures was a nightmare to deal with, not to mention almost getting stuck behind the glass domes on the sides several times. He did manage to make it retreat, tire it enough to be able to leave. As he made his way out, he found a stash of weapons, and among them a mighty Stinger, which he took as his prize. Some time later, he commissioned a taxidermist to create a stuffed version of the demon, out of sheer spite. He did not ask where the man got the materials, and he got no answers.

No answers was also the case of that weird door near Lusuco. Golems in a cave in the canyon had mechanical keys embedded in them that could be used to open a door up the cliff. Inside was a... teleporter? Something like that, but it did not work. Only later he found out of his connection to Ohms and Gale, the latter's ghost he met in the Hive, which also contained her grave. It was far from his area of interest, and with the lack of knowledge he let it be. He heard there has been some new information about her discovered recently, though. The Hive...

He remembers hearing of it, a challenge akin to the Tower of Ascension in the Ice Canyon. First he participated out of curiosity, then for the rewards offered, and at last for the sake of the challenge. It is often said Wynnians would kill themselves over proving their worth and strength, as if it was burned into their souls. And he almost did, pushing through sweat and blood. Alas, he was still a mere soldier, and eventually was forced to concede. But despite the moronic doorman's boasting, he knew a Wynnian would succeed in the end, and put Qira to her place. The Hero proved him right, from which he still draws glee at times.

The meteors... one of the last few things that manage to draw him out of his haven. He has guided many an adventurer to them and to where they lead. But contrary to many like him, he enjoyes it, welcomes every opportunity to travel there once more. Perhaps in spite of the madness the journey brings. Sometimes, it took a few days, the bare minimum to get to the labs, other times, weeks. He remembers one such time, when people fell from the meteors constantly, saved only by magic, and had other various problems getting there. And it did not end there. The next step - a scavenger hunt, proved as much troublesome. They could not find them, or lost them on the way back. This was the moment he decided to stock up on them, just in case - most of the adventurers did not care for the thrill anyways. Once they finally continued, they were awaited by the inglorious pressure plate puzzle. He had the foresight to bring a book, as it did not go well either. Confusion, too much eagerness set them back enough times. Luckily that was the last of their troubles - not that there was much more to go wrong, and he and the other experienced person had spare shards -, and the adventurers got their rewards.

He also remembers the time he was showed the secret of the white meteor. A senior adventurer leading the party offered to share it. Of course, it had its share of problems thanks to a rather finicky mechanisms, but they managed. And the reward was... a tidbit, though of interest for those in the field. For him, the secret itself was enough.

Spoiler: Exploration and loor

The tomb... Bob's tomb. He remembers its appearance, and the tragedy of being unable to reach the inside. He did get to visit it eventually, after the Hero lifted the spell. Not alone though, as the mechanism required three people. One to hold the lock, and two to unlock it from the sides. They had to get there through a short gauntlet, each made for a wielder of a different weapon - a spear and a wand. Through an interesting twist of fate, archers were able to complete either. This ritual was later removed as the entrance was prevented from closing at all, to allow anyone pay tribute to the fallen hero. The cave could be also found at the Forgery, in its vision of the Ice Barrows, but it could not be opened, perhaps due to time's influence or someone protecting the tomb.

He recollects the time explored the Time Valley, and entered the Temple of Time. The echoes passing through his mind, bypassing the ears, telling of eras long bygone. But even without those, the place itself spoke with greatness of the ancients. It is a pity he had never found a suitable offering for the altar. Not until the Hero got it, because of course it would be the Hero.

Or when he found an underground ruin nearby, with a dying body there. Judging by the way reconstructed itself when he fell down, it was not the first time it died. But just before drawing its last breath, it managed to mutter something incomprehensible. Only much later, having learnt the language it spoke, he reluctantly descended there once more to decipher it. And what it meant he found out even later, once again after the Hero opened a gate to the Expanse.

But it set him on a hunt, trying to learn more about that era, and whether what wiped them out was still present. In his search he got to their city, first uncovered by WynnExcavation - which was revealed to be an insane conspiracy and promptly defeated by none other than the Hero. If nothing else, it gave him access, at least, and they did want to rule the world, so he is not too angry about it. The most valuable thing there were writings in one of the basements, scribbled all over the walls. Most of it was an outlet of frustration and onsetting madness, but the few sane messages were enough, connecting some things together and - as he expected - confirmed their enemy is still out there.

This was around the time his bones began to grow brittle, he turned to his mind, and began fighting the cursed plague another way. He locked himself in the many libraries, scrutinizing the old tomes for hints of hope. There he met like-minded scholars, and helped make a space for them to join their efforts, blissfully unknowing they - even in their name - were successors of another such group from the past. There were experts on everything - he focused on the Twains and Corruption, another on the meteor, crystals, the two realms, Olms, even on individuals like Skien. These were glorious days and sleepless nights, spent by arguing by details of some obscure topic and the possible explanations for events long past. It has grown since then, and as the world grew, so did the place eventually get beyond his reach.

Spoiler: Doguns

In his old age, he heard of the Doguns, still surviving somewhere in the Molten Heights. He had been to Courag before, seeing the architecture left behind. Its beauty was in direct contrast to the dwarven propaganda, and perhaps that was what pushed him to pursue the lead. It took him some time to scour the place for any signs of life, before arriving to the genius idea to look for them where no one would expect them - the surface, far from where they thrive. And so a pitiful village appeared in front of him, along with its inhabitants. After the initial confusion and panic, he managed to clear up his intentions - that of a scholar.

Seeing his bones frail, and violence being less than useful here, he turned to the Dogun culture instead, their language, culture, history. He listened to their stories of old, recorded their rituals, watched their day to day lives, and trode through the abandoned ruins. After than he went to dwarven scholars engaging in long disputes, questioning the propaganda and try to change their minds. The effect was somewhat limited due to both the need for secrecy and the depth of the roots of lies.
It was the Heights where he met Paeta, a young shaman seeking the same as him, though by living it instead of learning from tomes. She proved an excellent companion too, keeping with him both in wits and stride. She also got grasp of their magic much faster, unsurprisingly. Together they did a good bunch of work. Their position was interesting, sitting in the middle between dwarves and doguns in the coalition, at times having to act at as mediators - being neutral in their quarrels. Well, him, mostly, Paeta was always quick to get heated.

And then the Hero came, and fixed the situation in a week. To this day he is not sure whether to be glad or be annoyed - barging in and reaping the fruits of their long labor, gathering most of the fame. Well, he was not doing it for the thanks, nor for access to their sites, after all. It just seems... unfair, to "just do it". His friend teased him about it, offering to throw him a party just as big as were the celebrations in Rodoroc. Not that it was the end of everything, there were plenty of Doguns to be awoken, cities restored, and materials made available to the public. And they had to crack down on the dogun smuggling business, which allowed him to get to some action again.

Spoiler: Out of character memories

The old lootruns, back before they were given official routes, and people had to afk for hours to fill the chests with loot, only to see them emptied by a competitor. I preferred the Corkus lootrun, linked here (only now I realized with horror that it has been seven years...). It did bring me a fair amount of money as well as gears and ingredients. I also found there an Idol, the only mythic I would even find in the wild. It was in the chest at 12:01. I rerolled it a few times and then sold, as I never really played warrior. I also tried the Rodoroc route a few times, after Wynntils got its lootrun feature.

As if that was not enough grind, I also did professions, namely armouring, jewelling and somewhat tailoring. Almost exclusively during bombs, and even that was enough for me. I remember being in Corkus, fishing or woodcutting, listening to The Exploring Series, with distinct memories for scp-5555, scp-5000 and Orouboros. Not the most entertaining of activities, but it was something I did not need to focus on. Never got to use it, though. Also a side note, I once bought 14 or so stacks of Gylia fish on accident on the Trade Market. Fun.

I did try a bunch of different builds. One of the first ones was "heavy" melee rainmaker before the raw melee damage rework - Rainmaker with Taurus, gert boots iirc and whatever had raw melee, totalling around 1500 neutral damage with super fast attack speed. After the nerf I took up on actual heavy melee, Stinger with Obsidian-Frame helmet, Taurus, Writhing Growth and whatever. A niche one was a poison build, Cluster with Necrosis and stuff, I remember trying it out in the Toxic Wastes. Besides that, I used spell builds, mostly EWF, focusing on survivability because of my skill issue. Cluster and later Orange Lily, with whatever the build people recommended to me. I stuck with those until the end, though the later reworks.

As for other classes, for Assassin I used almost exclusively heavy melee with Grimtrap I bought, with a short detour with spell-focus build. Mage was WFA or something, though I did use Lunar Spine for a while, just for the sake of it. I have no idea whether it is even barely viable anymore. And shaman was just morph.

And of course, all the time I spent on the forums, looking through meme threads, crackpot theories and suggestions. And games. I remember the dozens of threads asking for housing, emerald pouches, raids, summoner classes and everything else that seemed either stupid or unreliable at the time, only for many of these be included in later updates.

I would almost forget the wiki, where I had spent a lot of my time, first translating quests, that whatever caught my eye. While I did not do anything groundbreaking there, I like to think I did a good chunk of work before I fell off, and I brought others to the site than helped as well. That was before the move from Fandom.

Also I remember my shopping career. First I bothered people in Detlas - OLD Detlas - on WC1, offering to trade with them and showing them my junk. Later I moved to forums, by which time my stock has considerably improved, getting some supplies from lootrunning. This was also before the skill point id was fixed, and items with perfect stats could be sold for fortune - as it would decide whether you have enough points to equip a build or not. I believe I sold pretty good Libra and Olive just shortly before the update.

The last thing I would like to mention here is the probably the most interesting encounter I have ever had in this game. I was in the Troms bank, on my fully-leveled archer, probably after exploring a bunch, or grinding. Then a player called supercharger832, probably around level 60, came to me, asking if I want a mythic. After a brief talk it was revealed that he was offering me a Pure, for free. no strings attached. I no longer remember why. Of course, I took it, and it has been sitting in my bank since then. I had the idea of giving it out some time, in a similar manner, but never gathered the courage, fearing they would not follow eventually.

He had a good life, little of it wasted. He fought by his friends, traveled among them, discovered hidden secrets and showed them the light of day. What more could there be to desire? Perhaps only to be young again, see the changing world with fresh eyes.

The sun slowly rises above the Nivla Woods, basking his face in golden rays of light.

 

Farewell to a legend of Wynncraft... :') <3