Hibernian News
by: Lasa

 

HIB CUISINE TORMENTS BARBARIAN PALATES

A new psychological weapon against Hibernia's enemies, which threatens to become significant in the ongoing struggle, was unveiled by an adventuring group today.

"It appears Hibernia's cuisine is vastly superior to anything Albion or Midgard have" said Harlorn , 50th level hero. "Last week, we were RvRing in Forest Sauvage, and decided to stop for dinner. We cooked up poached cod, flavoured with lemon and garnished with capsicum rings, accompanied by lightly steamed snow peas, baby carrots and scalloped potatoes.

While we were eating, Peryss, our nightshade, told us that an Alb scout and assassin were hiding behind the trees, staring at the food and drooling like mad. They could have alerted their group and taken us, but their stomachs overruled their better judgement. We leapt up, smacked them, then found their party and kicked their heads in for good measure. Amazing, the lift a good Hib dinner gives you!"

Peryss echoed these sentiments. "I've seen Alb dinners." she said, shuddering. "Albs must believe that all vegetables are the same colour, as everything is relentlessly boiled into a uniform grey. Their meat is like shoe leather and drowned in huge dollops of lumpy tomato sauce, while their potatoes could be used as construction materials."

Thirguih, a mentalist in the group, says that Midgard cuisine is even worse. "All they do is throw a big haunch of meat in the fire and wait till it's half charcoal before pulling it out. The only vegetables are any bits of grass that fall in. Their culinary variety can be summed up as roast ox yesterday, roast ox today, and roast ox tomorrow. Mids may be big and tough, but when they see a plate of juicy lamb cutlets drizzled with ginger chutney, succulent pumpkin and saffron rice, their knees and bellies go weak with longing."

Harlorn called on all Hibernian groups in the frontier to openly cook their meals.

"One of the best ways to wreck their morale is to constantly remind them of what dull, stodgy food they're forced to eat each day. We want them crying with despair at every parsnip. When they're perpetually sullen and depressed over dinner, we can thrash 'em all no trouble!"

However, Harlorn cautioned that this only worked on Albs and Mids.

"Trying this on mobs is too unreliable. They tend to have rather unusual eating preferences. Take zombies, for instance. They always ask for the same thing, twice. Uncooked, presumably.

 

HIBERNIA SALUTES “STAR-CROSSED LOVERS”

Hibernia’s most successful theatre group, the TnB Thespians, are currently touring the land with their latest production “Reginald and Chariette.”

The play, which tells of the forbidden love that blossoms between a Hibernian girl and Albionian boy, has been performed to sellout crowds wherever it’s gone. Audience members have been unanimous in their praise.

“It was so beautiful!” said one theatergoer. “Especially when Chariette said ‘Reginald, wherefore art thou, Reginald?’ and Reginald said ‘something in a language you don’t understand’.”

The actor who plays Reginald has said he ‘wouldn’t trade his role for anything’, but has had problems with audience members who don’t realize he’s just dressed up as an Alb.

“There’s been people who’ve leapt onto stage, chopping and casting, trying to kill me for some quick realm points.” he said. “It’s got to where I’ve had to start wearing a placard reading “I am NOT a member of an enemy realm!” on stage.

“The opposite happens as well” added the actress who plays Chariette. “At our last performance, after both Chariette and Reginald have committed suicide with the poison, and the whole audience was in tears - someone at the back yelled “Don’t release! I’m coming to rez!”

When asked whether the love scenes were a problem, the actors assured us they weren’t. “I just remind myself he’s not really an Alb, and my face won’t go green & warty when I kiss him” said ‘Chariette’.

TnB Thespians are expecting a huge profit from the tour, which they’ll use to pay their performers a handsome reward, and channel back into the next production. They became tight-lipped when asked to comment on the rumour that the play was actually written by an Alb.

“If it were true, which of course it is … ahhhh …. not, we’d cancel the production immediately, because we wouldn’t want to fill our pock …. errr, fill our citizens’ heads with rubbish, with something written by … ummmmm … foreign barbarians and fools.” said a spokesman.

 

 

HORSE-POOK RACE

On a mild, sunny Hibernian autumn's day early last afternoon, an event was staged in order to answer an age-old question. Which would win a race between a Horse and a Pookha? The race was started outside Basar, run round the field next to the river, opposite to the water beetles.

A transcript of the events log follows.

Horse and Pook at starting line. Horse stands quietly with rider on back. Pook mezzed so that rider can climb on back. Pook breaks mez and kills rider. Race officials ask for new rider while pook re-mezzed. Surprising shortage of volunteers. Lurikeen Shade out to make a name for himself finally steps forward.

Starter's bow fired. Shade trickles most agonising poison down pook's nostrils. Pook charges forward screaming shrilly. Horse holding steady half a length behind. Shade digs spurred heels into sides. Pook starts to pull ahead.

N00b water beetle group crosses the river to see whats happening. Pook aggroes onto them. Stupid group, thinking that purple means just a bit tougher than red, stands and fights. Cluster of graves soon appears. In the meantime, the horse has got itself well in front.

Horrible little alp attacks horse's rider. Rider defeats it but ends up slumped in the saddle retching from illness. Lets go of reins and horse runs off in completely the wrong direction, looking for the lushest patch of grass.

With the effects of the poison having worn off, the pook attempts to eat its rider. Murgar pops behind the pook and gets all excited over its lovely rump. Pook notices Murgar's front hooves on its back and runs in terror.

Horse rider regains composure and steers horse back into race, kicking its flanks to make it run faster. Pook and horse charge down the back strait, neck and neck, with Murgar in hot pursuit.

Eld soloer logs in and bolts Murgar. Horse and pook keep running, with finish line now in sight. Horse rider gets careless and rides too close to pook, which aggroes onto him. Luri shade helps his rival to kill pook. Horse rides on while shade jogs towards the finish line.

Pook pops again right behind shade. Shade starts sprinting for his life with pook breathing down his neck. Nothing in it between horse and pook coming up to the finish line. Pook catches shade next to finish line and starts mashing the poor little luri with its hooves. Race officials rush forward to help the shade out. In all the confusion, the horse crosses the finish line, winning the race.

Pook kills shade and several other race officials before finally being brought down. Horse rider gratefully accepts trophy from the race organisers still left standing, while the Basar townsfolk mop up the carnage.

It is unanimously agreed to think carefully before considering a repeat of this event in the future.

 

 

VISITORS TO MUIRE TOMB ASKED TO WIPE FEET

Conaire Muire, head of the Muire Tomb's resident undead family, has asked adventuring parties to wipe their feet on the large 'Welcome' mat he's placed inside the entrance.

"I'm sick to death of adventurers stomping round outside killing mobs, trampling in the remains, then tracking blood, guts, bits of fur and wings through my tomb." Conaire complained. "It makes a terrible mess, which our family has to spend ages cleaning up. Also, it gives completely the wrong impression to new adventuring parties here. They leave thinking Muire Tomb is an absolute pigsty."

Conaire mentioned the difficulty he and his family faced in trying to balance keeping the tomb tidy with battling whatever groups wandered in.

"We're just keeping on top of things now. Mop up changeling guts, get killed, respawn, pick up anger sprite wings, get killed again, and so on. No rest or respite. Never a chance to sit down and contemplate unlife."

Beare Muire, speaking in support, mentioned that if things got any worse, the Muires would have to close the tomb for regular cleaning. "Imagine being a group, walking up here, and seeing a sign saying 'Tomb Closed For Weekly Maintenance.' I'm sure none of the adventurers want that. If you people help us out by wiping your feet, we all win."

Initiatives have been proposed to encourage adventurers to wipe all offensive debris off their feet, including having the Muires not aggro so quickly on the healers of groups who comply.

Despite Conaire's pleas, the suggestion appears likely to be ignored.
"Wipe our feet? Thats the kind of posh thing Albs would do!" was a common response.

"We'll be polite about this at first" said Conaire, undaunted. "But if we have to put Scorpionida Regina at the entrance to aggro onto anyone who ignores our request, we will."

 

 

AODH SHOCK ANNOUNCEMENT - "THERE IS NO MYTHIC"

An extraordinary statement by TNN's eldritch trainer Aodh has so far confined its ripples to that city, but the debate looks likely to engulf Hibernia. While raising the Mana rank of a disciple, Aodh let slip that he does not believe in Mythic's existence.

"Mythic is a concept invented by Hibernians to explain everything that happens". Aodh told our reporter. "People get told from the start that Mythic is up there watching over them, and that Mythic will make everything all right. But none of the prayers, or those invocations intended to attract Mythic's attention, such as emails, team leader reports and writing on noticeboards, have ever given the slightest indication that Mythic exists. As a people, we have to realise that nerfs, new mobs, spell line changes, etc all happen from natural universal phenomena and not from the whim of some omnipotent entity."

Unsurprisingly, Aodh's announcement has drawn a torrent of criticism with virtually no support.

"Ridiculous!" thundered Filidh Myfanwy, proudly sporting her "What Would Sanya Do?" badge. "Mythic is as real to me as that sky, those buildings and the air all around us. We are one nation under Mythic, except for those two big carbuncles that need to be excised. Repent now, Aodh! Or when you perish, you'll go to Verant and be tortured in EQ forever."

Brognard, a 25th level hero, was in agreement. "When I'm out there in aggro territory, Mythic walks with me and talks with me. Mythic is the sunshine glowing in my heart, even when I can't see a sodding thing from all the rain. Mythic is the druid giving my body and soul the Healing it needs."

"Then again" he added "I die far less often with a real druid around."

Ena, mentalist trainer and colleague of Aodh, had a milder response. "While I don't agree with what Aodh's saying, and think he's been spending too much time contemplating the Void, he has every right to express his opinions. As for me, I wholeheartedly believe in Mythic, and know that, with faith and prayer, they'll eventually fix the Mentalism line."

When asked how Darkness Falls could have suddenly come into existence overnight if there was no Mythic, Aodh replied. "DF has always existed. Its the ENTRANCE that turned up in Hibernia overnight. It was revealed by the shifting of a few landmarks via the forces of the natural world. All perfectly plausible."

In all the outright condemnation, one voice of tentative assent could be heard. "I've always believed in Mythic, and still do." said Iveral, 15th level ranger. "But what Aodh said makes a lot of sense. I'm having doubts now. After all, if Mythic exists, why would it let aggro purples pop on top of me when I'm on 9.9 bubs? Why do my bard friend's mezzes get resisted right when he really, really needs them to stick? Why do my guildmates get all the good drops while I get nothing but stupid old body parts?"

Our last word goes to 40th level champion Mulaihn. "From the biggest firbolg to the smallest lurikeen, all are equal within the eyes of Mythic. But I think blademasters must be in It's blind spot."

 

CHILLING OUT AT HIBSTOCK

For three riotous days, the large field in front of Tir Na Nog was used as the venue for Hibstock .. Hibernia's first ever rock festival. Citizens of every stripe braved the perils of cold, rain, and firby stagediving to fully immerse themselves in the musical extravaganza. The Hibernians, to all accounts, enjoyed each other as much as the bands, many eyewitnesses reporting them as "stripping naked and dancing, etc."

"AMAZING!" shrieked a rather red-eyed female elf when asked about the event. "They played so many great songs - 'I Fought The Parth (And The Parth Won)', 'We Will, We Will Mez You', 'Guardian, You'll Be A Hero Soon' - and it was such a special moment when everyone joined hands to sing along with 'I Level Up With A Little Help From My Friends.'"

"By the way" she added "if you meet a Celt with a firm grip, hot sweaty body, almost no hair on his chest, an intoxicating cedar-like smell and awesome technique, could you please give him my /loc?"

Reliable sources inform us that the green jaggy leaf spread a sickly sweet miasma over the whole Hibstock crowd, its clouds of smoke even affecting some nearby mobs.

"Yep, we were passing the spliff around, giving everyone a toke" said a Stalker "and we saw these orchard nippers right in front of us! Normally that would mean getting our face-and-neck bones rearranged, but we gave them a toke as well, and they were sweet as can be! All of us were laughing, joking, singing, hugging - adventurers and nippers, together as one.

"Though once they'd smoked enough, we jumped up and ganked them." said a Magician in the group. "After all, XP is XP."

The festival, though, had its detractors.

"The music was loud, discordant, immoral and devoid of grace. Unlike some, I don't believe that listening to anything other than a delicately plucked lute is a ticket to eternal perdition." said a gruff sentinel. "But that horrid noise is corrupting our youth. "It encourages deliquency, rebellion against authority, long hair and unbridled fornication."

Naghla, a 50th level champion, was even more scathing. "The Albs and Mids were running riot out there, taking our keeps. It'll be ages before we get DF back again - and you lot, who should have been defending our country were gallivanting around on the wet grass, getting drunk and stoned out of your brains! It broke my heart to see apparently respectable, 45-50th level RvR team-mates singing along to that dreck and cavorting with each other in the nuddy."

But perhaps the most serious charge is that the festival's peace-and-love theme contained a subversive hidden agenda - which was to end the war against Albion and Midgard.

"That's exactly right." spat a disgusted realm guard. "All those soft-bellied pleasure-loving beaded rugrats want us to stop the glorious smashing of those filthy barbarians. Never! Albs and Mids are there for chopping up. Swaying round in unison while singing "Give Peace A Chance" won't alter that simple fact.

The festival has also been dogged by accusations that members from other realms were present in the bands. All such charges were vehemently denied, but as one guard said "There were just a few too many 'short, plump, hairy Celts' for my liking. And some of those lurikeen were just plain ugly!"

Our last word goes to Adreihus, firbolg warden, as he walked from the field, slapping his head to clear the tinnitus. "This music makes me love everyone! During festival, I love luris in the hands, elfs and celts in the mouth, and firbys in the firby. I also want to give Albs and Mids big hug. Not one that turns ribs into kindling either. I'd give up my level and RPs in an instant to have all three realms living in perfect, sunny harmony."

Adreihus shrugged "Right, me and my group are off to beat their skulls in till they agree to a nonviolent coexistence."

 

 

LEVEL OF MOB PHYSICAL FITNESS SLAMMED

All round Hibernia, reports have been pouring in about the deplorable state of physical conditioning that mobs everywhere appear to have sunk to.

"It's disgusting." said a young ranger. "Instead of seeing mobs standing up, alert, bright-eyed and ready to fight, they're all laying on their backs, puffing and wheezing, and in need of several cups of hot tea before we can start pulling them again.

A 42nd level mentalist called Cughalan had this to say. "Back when I was still doing kill tasks, if I had to flee from a fight, then even after running halfway across Hibernia I'd still be looking over my shoulder. Nowadays, I just sprint for a few seconds, and I see that the mob has given up, and is hobbling back to camp clutching its side from the stitch.

Apathy is also mentioned as a widespread problem. 14th level champion Merleth had this to report. "I was approaching a group of cluricans, and I heard them saying 'Come on, good faction, good faction, good faction, good ... oh f***, we have to attack!'"

It is unanimously agreed that this is a crisis Hibernia must attend to in order to stay viable in inter-realm conflict. "How are we supposed to forge young adventurers into effective RvR soldiers when their mob opponents are so feeble and flabby?" said Yvatia, 37th level eldritch. "Whenever I bolt a mob, it's just about hyperventilating by the time it arrives within combat range. Half the time it collapses in exhaustion well before reaching me. The great pity is that new adventurers are growing up thinking these are worthwhile opponents. They're in for a rude shock when they get out on the frontiers and encounter fully fit Albs and Mids who don't run out of gas ten seconds into a combat encounter.

Mob leaders have announced several plans to improve the fitness of their troops. These include stricter exercise regimens, cutting back on leisure time, and prohibiting all junk food. Perhaps the strongest statement of intent was issued by Fereinn, leader of the dergans.

"Right, you lot, I am sick to death of seeing your fat hairy guts, and of having to forever fork out for new suits because your old ones are always too tight. I am tired of how, after every little fight, you need to spend the next hour half comatose. Starting this evening and taking place on all subsequent ones, we'll be having sprint swims around the island, and shuttle runs across it, for three whole hours, no quarter asked for, no mercy given. Hop-two-three-four, hop-two-three-four!"

Fereinn then rushed off to gank a hapless green-conning adventurer who'd wandered by too closely.

He returned doubled over, covered in sweat, with a sliver of health left, gasping for breath and limping from a sprained ankle.

 

 

ARCHIVIST BORATH "OUT OF CLOSET"

Weeks of mounting speculation were finally ended when undead Darkness Falls resident Archivist Borath admitted his homosexuality late yesterday afternoon.

"I am gay." stated Borath. "That's all there is to it. I've decided to get this out in the open, so that the gossip can die down and I can get back to molesting stray nightshades."

There were a variety of responses to Archivist Borath's announcement. Adventuring groups were mostly nonchalant. "Gay, straight, bi, what does it matter, so long as we get our two & a half million XP off him?" was a typical response.

The deamhanesses down the hall in DF claimed to be unsurprised by the revelation. "Archivist Borath's never paid any attention to us, but he's always hanging out with those molochian tempters. This just confirms what we've thought from the start."

The rocots declared that they had no problem with his homosexuality, so long as he stayed well away from them. "Archivist Borath has the right to pursue whatever lifestyle he chooses, so long as its not under our noses." declared one. So far, reports that adventurers who kill Borath gain good faction with the rocots have been strenuously denied.

Many pundits believe that Borath's coming out will inspire other homosexual Hibernian NPCs and mobs to reveal themselves. Those rumoured to be most likely to come out as gay include Cathbad, Jezza Blackfingers and Murgar.

 

 

ADVENTURERS SICK OF NAUSEATING DEATHS

More and more people are complaining about the stomach-churning trip between death and the bindstone.

"It's horrible." shuddered Khai Luvighan, 25th level ranger. "The dying isn't so bad. The loss of experience, I can cope with. But going back to the bindstone's like being flung to all corners of the universe on an out-of-control gyroscope."

Other adventurers echo Luvighan's words, describing the trip as "puke-inducing", "smooth as the waves beneath a waterspout", and "the spaghetti rollercoaster at Mach 95".

"Back in the old days, it wasn't so bad" said Moghdelia, a 47th level nightshade. "The trip was still fast, but a lot smoother. With the advent of more adventurers, the grave-to-bindstone traffic has greatly increased. Therefore, the ride is a lot more bumpy."

"I don't dare try to solo an orange con anymore. I can do it, but even minimally risking another death trip is simply unbearable."

RvR vets have also weighed in. "One of the worst parts is that there are no healers near the Druim Ligen bindstone. " said a eldritch brehon. At least with the other stones, you can rush to a healer to ease your queasy guts. At that stone, many RvR teammates spew right there and then. Not much fun charging back into battling the Mids with chunder plastered up to your knees"

However, other adventurers have slammed the complainants as whining malingerers. "I mean, it's called REZ SICK, duh! Live with it!" growled Zeltar, 36th level champion. When it was pointed out that adventurers resurrected on the field of battle were "rez-sick" but did not suffer these effects, he replied "Bah, they're so lazy that the thought of walking back to their gravestone makes them feel ill!"

Our last word goes to Seschela, 7th level hero. "While I've never been killed yet, I honestly can't see what all the fuss is about. You die, whip back to the stone, and carry on. So what if it's a bit rough? All these big tough high-levellers are nothing but a pack of sooks."

Seschela's statement was cut short as she was aggroed by a pair of anger sprites, causing her "surroundings to suddenly change"

We'll be obtaining a follow-up statement from her shortly.

 



GROUPS TOLD TO "BEWARE" AFTER WALKING ROCK AGGROES

A small group in their early 20s suffered a tragic decimation after a nearby walking rock unexpectedly aggroed while they were pulling local sprags on the East Lough Derg coast.

Quickly discounting reports that the rock was caught in a misplaced AoE DOT, the group insisted that it aggroed while their back was to it, taking out the druid and allowing the pair of oncoming sprags to wreak havoc.

"We were all doomed, especially when it resisted my mez." said a bard in the group. "The sprags took me down quickly, as the tanks were busy trying to taunt the rock off the druid"

Further investigation revealed that the group had been pulling sprags exclusively, ignoring the rocks altogether.

"That could be the problem." concluded Goibhnult, 45th level warden. "While it's pretty hard to tell what a walking rock may be thinking, it's very possible that the rocks felt left out by that group paying no attention to them."

Goibhnult stressed the importance of making all nearby mobs feel included. "Don't just pull the mobs with the flashest con or the best BAFs. Spare a thought for the plain old neutral one-at-a-time mobs as well. After all, how would you like it if some group only ever killed your next-door neighbours and never killed anyone from your camp?"

The rocks themselves had nothing to say on this matter.