Asylum Escapee
Guest
Every light cavalry, every spear, every new report, sends shivers of ecstasy down my spine. To farm is to play, and to play is to live. You may say that in this modern day, we have no to desire to farm, yet you do not recall to old days, when the blood of men ran true and strong, and troops had to work to earn their keep. Today's troops are nothing but useless layabouts, sitting in the village all day drinking. In my day, troops hauled 10 ton bars of metal and entire trees across miles of terrain, working 20 hour days, and yet they fought every bit as fierce as today's troops.
You say that nobody likes to farm. Then what, i ask, of the many beautiful scripts painstakingly crafted to enrich our farming time? What of the countless dozens of players who have risen to the top solely on the back of their hundreds, nay, thousands, of farm runs sent every day? Show me a man who loves to farm, and I will show you a man who has earned his rank!
A no-hauls world is like a race between cripples. Yes, you may have won, but you would surely be drowned in the relentless tide of resources were you to compete in a real race. Your rank is but a hollow number without the sweat, blood and toil that goes into farming your way to the top.
So, to your inane statement that no-one likes to farm, I say nay! For farming courses through my blood, as it has coursed through the blood of my father, my father's father, and countless ancestors before him. The great line of my ancestors will sooner die out that muddy our pure blood with that of the non farmers. The men of the modern day may be turning against their very ancestors, but I will always hold true, for I am a true player of this great game.
When I wake up in the morning, I rush upstairs to send out wave after glorious wave of light cavalry, each wave accompanied by a single scout riding a brilliant white horse than outshines the sun itself. I then go about my day, cell phone at my side, awaiting the return of my champions, laden with the spoils of war. I then send them further and further away, until barbarians for miles around fear their coming. Many stop farming after their empire grows to a large size. I redouble my efforts! The barbarians grow large and juicy with loot, and my raiding parties become larger and larger, yet I will still be sure to send them out without fail, no mater how large my empire grows.
Your words would once be considered blasphemy against the fabric of nature itself, but nowadays such a stance has become commonplace. So, if you yourself resent the glorious art of farming, I must accept that, but I must ask that you do not sully the great art in such a manner. At least, have the respect to acknowledge our shared history as men of Tribal Wars, and the sweat and toil common to all those who have played in years past.
Sadly, while the art of farming may be alive and well, the spirit of the art is in dire straits. Today's farmers view it as a chore, and not as the glorious legacy of our forefathers that it is, a thing to be treasured, and honored above all other parts of the game. No hauls are a convenient way to shove this inconvenient fact to one side, and to pretend that farming has never existed. Yet this is silly, for some of us will always remember the art, and as long as farming worlds are opened, I will carry this to my grave.
So, I ask you, my friends, next time you send out a wave of farmers, cast your mind back to your grandfather's grandfather, and how he farmed manually without the aid of assistant nor script, and took joy in it all the same. While you may not feel the same shuddering joy when a report of plunders afar reaches you, at least consider the long history that you are continuing, and the legacy that you leave for new generations of players. I ask not that you love to farm, I ask merely that you respect those who do.
You say that nobody likes to farm. Then what, i ask, of the many beautiful scripts painstakingly crafted to enrich our farming time? What of the countless dozens of players who have risen to the top solely on the back of their hundreds, nay, thousands, of farm runs sent every day? Show me a man who loves to farm, and I will show you a man who has earned his rank!
A no-hauls world is like a race between cripples. Yes, you may have won, but you would surely be drowned in the relentless tide of resources were you to compete in a real race. Your rank is but a hollow number without the sweat, blood and toil that goes into farming your way to the top.
So, to your inane statement that no-one likes to farm, I say nay! For farming courses through my blood, as it has coursed through the blood of my father, my father's father, and countless ancestors before him. The great line of my ancestors will sooner die out that muddy our pure blood with that of the non farmers. The men of the modern day may be turning against their very ancestors, but I will always hold true, for I am a true player of this great game.
When I wake up in the morning, I rush upstairs to send out wave after glorious wave of light cavalry, each wave accompanied by a single scout riding a brilliant white horse than outshines the sun itself. I then go about my day, cell phone at my side, awaiting the return of my champions, laden with the spoils of war. I then send them further and further away, until barbarians for miles around fear their coming. Many stop farming after their empire grows to a large size. I redouble my efforts! The barbarians grow large and juicy with loot, and my raiding parties become larger and larger, yet I will still be sure to send them out without fail, no mater how large my empire grows.
Your words would once be considered blasphemy against the fabric of nature itself, but nowadays such a stance has become commonplace. So, if you yourself resent the glorious art of farming, I must accept that, but I must ask that you do not sully the great art in such a manner. At least, have the respect to acknowledge our shared history as men of Tribal Wars, and the sweat and toil common to all those who have played in years past.
Sadly, while the art of farming may be alive and well, the spirit of the art is in dire straits. Today's farmers view it as a chore, and not as the glorious legacy of our forefathers that it is, a thing to be treasured, and honored above all other parts of the game. No hauls are a convenient way to shove this inconvenient fact to one side, and to pretend that farming has never existed. Yet this is silly, for some of us will always remember the art, and as long as farming worlds are opened, I will carry this to my grave.
So, I ask you, my friends, next time you send out a wave of farmers, cast your mind back to your grandfather's grandfather, and how he farmed manually without the aid of assistant nor script, and took joy in it all the same. While you may not feel the same shuddering joy when a report of plunders afar reaches you, at least consider the long history that you are continuing, and the legacy that you leave for new generations of players. I ask not that you love to farm, I ask merely that you respect those who do.
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