Too good to miss

[--Pete]

Hi,

Sorry about missing your post about the guns being modern. I'm not in the playtest and didn't realize the discussion invovled modern guns. I was assuming flintlocks or maybe even match fired things...

Well, I'd say that the behavior and firing speed of the guns are about equal to "Brown Bess*". And if anyone actually *used* a sword at Waterloo (except maybe in a cavalry charge), *I* don't know about it :)

Are the guns "damaged" by getting wet (ie swimming or rain)?

Hahahahahah. Oops, sorry. You must be thinking of an *RPG*. No, there *is* no rain and people can swim (even in full armor -- powerful arms those) with no effect whatsoever.

I expect it to then make sense

Are we speaking of the same Blizzard? You know, the one where Cain and the barbarians wait until you save them so that *they* can cast Town Portal*?

I suppose if the game works and is fun, a lot can be forgiven, but the more mediocre (for a strategy game player), the harder its going to be to suspend my disbelief and achieve any "world immersion."

Indeed. WoW is a "beer and pretzels" game. Or as some have dubbed it "RPG lite". The social aspect will make it fun for a while, but like cotton candy it has no real value (at least now, and I don't see any coming).

--Pete

* “Brown Bess”
(THE ARMY MUSKET—1700 – 1815)
Rudyard Kipling


IN THE days of lace-ruffles, perukes and brocade
Brown Bess was a partner whom none could despise—
An out-spoken, flinty-lipped, brazen-faced jade,
With a habit of looking men straight in the eyes—
At Blenheim and Ramillies fops would confess
They were pierced to the heart by the charms of Brown Bess.
Though her sight was not long and her weight was not small
Yet her actions were winning, her language was clear;
And everyone bowed as she opened the ball
On the arm of some high-gaitered, grim grenadier.
Half Europe admitted the striking success
Of the dances and routs that were given by Brown Bess,

When ruffles were turned into stiff leather stocks
And people wore pigtails instead of perukes
Brown Bess never altered her iron-grey locks,
She knew she was valued for more than her looks.
“Oh, powder and patches was always my dress,
And I think I am killing enough,” said Brown Bess.

So she followed her red-coats, whatever they did,
From the heights of Quebec to the plains of Assaye,
From Gibraltar to Acre, Cape Town and Madrid,
And nothing about her was changed on the way;
(But most of the Empire which now we possess
Was won through those years by old-fashioned Brown Bess.)

In stubborn retreat or in stately advance,
From the Portugal coast to the cork-woods of Spain
She had puzzled some excellent Marshals of France
Till none of them wanted to meet her again:
But later, near Brussels, Napoleon—no less—
Arranged for a Waterloo ball with Brown Bess.

She had danced till the dawn of that terrible day—
She danced on till dusk of more terrible night,
And before her linked squares his battalions gave way
And her long fierce quadrilles put his lancers to flight:
And when his gilt carriage drove off in the press,
“I have danced my last dance for the world!” said Brown Bess.

If you go to Museums—there’s one in Whitehall—
Where old weapons are shown with their names writ beneath,
You will find her, upstanding, her back to the wall,
As stiff as a ramrod, the flint in her teeth.
And if ever we English had reason to bless
Any arm save our mothers’, that arm is Brown Bess!