Post by Cussbeard on Jan 18, 2009 5:42:56 GMT -5
Today was the first port battle for me. I managed to snag the second port battle for the day, having missed out on the first battle invites moments before logging in. Can't even recall what port I was puttin' me and my own crews' ass on the line for so maybe someone would care to fill us in here. I wasn't planning on making it into the battle, let alone joining it till about an hour to go. Here's my account of the matter.
Port battles don't get me all excited. I like the simple life.
Tho I ain't yet all big on the whole Caribbean domination yet, (Wake me up when it's time for worldwide domination) I am a little curious about it. On one side, I happily leave that side of the game to the brethren council to fuss over. On the other hand, when a port is taken and has gold deposits, I'll think about dropping gold mines there and sucking all I can outta the situation for three solid days for some handsome pocket change. Yar!
About and hour or so prior, there was an earlier battle for the port of St. John. Dunno what ol' Johnny did to get the Brethren interested in it; strategy, tactics and that shit ain't really me forte. Anything outside my immediate visual scope, is just extra belly lint. So anyway with St. John, it probably had something to do with denying the Limey's another deep harbour port where those imposing heavy line ships are built. The more heavy ship production is retarded, the less often they can field against me.
So anyway back on topic, I'm told by Damien today's PB it was a good turn out by his standards. He's seen a lot more port battles than me so I note his observation. All me and my pc knew was, even with render other ships simplified turned on, I was pulling around 15 FPS on my 8600GT rig. Not too bad, with 20 something plus ships on the screen.
Unfortunately none of my screenshots ever saved, my video/screenshot recording program, fraps, I forgot doesn't work with games in windowed mode. Maybe an old screenshot utility from UO days might help.
About an hour before port battle invites were given out, I decided to change my ship skills to suit line formation fighting. High reload, decent damage and some buffs. Seems to be a slightly different animal with line fighting as opposed to skirmish fighting. Throw out as much lead as possible, fit for hull and structure damage mitigation. At least, that was my plan. Oh and a skill that near the end saved my ship's ass; Too Mean To Die. Add to that one hercules heavy, you have a respectable port battle ship.
Invites out, Cussbeard's in.
Once gathered in the fancy atrium for what real purpose other than making a fool of yourself for 10 or so minutes, groups were organised, sail colours sited and a scout nominated. The hot pink sails that I proposed was too close to red which was unfortunately already taken, so envious green was the order of the day. I can imagine something like this happening;
"Sir, contact. Hot pink sails sighted."
"What?"
"Hot pink sails sighted Sir. I think it's your grandmother!"
"Hold your fire lieutenant!"
I suppose I would live long enough with green sails.
We all formed up under battle sails, yellow follow red, green follow yellow, black squadron formed up on the outside of green and yellow. At this point I was content on just following Damiens' stern and all. Try to stow those bum jokes aside for me now. Ta.
Adrenaline was starting to flow warm at this point, the un-expected anticipation of the less than inspirational pirate battle cry vs. the less rootin, more tootin cry of the yellow limey inbreds. To many here, it was not their first battle so a gruff brazened veteran like silent response would well be expected. But for all the veterancy fielded here, you would think the shit would be in order. Some how we managed to sort what we needed out just in time amongst all the self appointed leaders' chatter, thank Odin.
Our scout reported the enemy fleet strengths. More information poured in and battle lines were drawn in the water. A double line abreast that had already formed by now seemed to agree with the leader's ideas. My group at the tender rear. Rears and posteriors, it seemed was going to be a common theme today. Somehow tho, primary was called amongst all the chatter. I don't recall names well beyond this point, but no secondary or tertiary was called which was I believe an oversight. Not everyone can fire at the same target, least of all a smart captain who shadows himself behind his ally for repairs after the congregated hail of lead flies.
I hastily tab key through a mass of names to get your called primary up, while navigating and managing your speed so as not to fuck up the guy's ship speed behind you is doable under a cool head, but harder with no configurable overview like eve online. Press full sails men, trim and taunt. We had fair to average wind up till this point but now we were smoking along.
Buff up men! Wolfpack on, defence, manoeuvring speed orders were passed along. Red and yellow squadrons engaged the limeys first. Make a pass by the limeys, that much I seem to recall. It was just that, a pass by the time my group came around. Green, spin round! A different primary was called out twice before I ended up just choosing the closest and firing off a broadside at maximum range. The shorter ranged upper gun deck crews would have to wait until later before giving them the order to fire.
We made about three to four decent passes by the inbreds, not before miscommunication and a lack of sensible primaries called. I think we sunk one of theirs, to our three. My group was somehow separated from the main pack by a bad call from the pack leader.
In the last 8 minutes of the sea skirmish, the whole conglomeration of pirate captains lined up around the port entrance so we could pop inside as soon as the timer allowed us while the whole posse of the queen's royal navy lined up at maximum cannon range and take as many of us out before facing us in avcom. I decided to settle in about 250 yards away, in line with my two group ship mates Laros and Damien. It was a matter of survival.
The 10 final ten seconds counted down. Go! Go! Go! One by one, ship captains were leaving ship combat to enter the port. I suddenly found myself all alone and about 250 yards away, entry to the port with wind in my face and the whole limey force with this hero's ass the centre of their gang bang tea party. I had anticipated this scenario might happen, so I as the 10 second count down was called out, I dropped all my toggled skills and buffs to claw back the needed 80 crew initiative to pop Too Mean To Die. Look lively men! Trim those sails, bring us about hard t' starboard, two points off the wind!
With TMTD on, it was a long struggle upwind to reach the port harbour entrance. 230 yards. 220 yards. 210 yards. The numbers were slowly dropping and the sea all around me was swelling with the tons of bronze and heated shot being lobbed at my direction.
190 yards.
180 yards.
170 yards.
How close do I need to be? Then the TMTD timer ran out. Men, I hope you brought a new pair o' panties!
160 yards.
150 yards.
I stopped counting around this time. I mustered as much sail as my crew would allow given their lack of stamina spent deflecting all the hundred or tonne of shot tossed my way, harmlessly falling into the ocean around me.
Ah shit, me ass is now red with structure dropping a bit less quickly that expected. I might make this after all. I salute my rear at the Queen's navy just before entering the port safe and somewhat more deaf. Hahar! But ya buggers didn't catch me today!
On the dock, my group quickly identified each other and loosely formed up, as you might expect. No hand holding is or should ever be the message of the day. I'll leave that to the nations. The appointed captain over us gave another brief over view of what was going to be attempted. Decide who the group healers are gonna be and what ever else I missed.
First group of NPC's down, turn corner, rinse and repeat. Before long a call cried out the limey's were sighted by our point man. Before much longer, it was a Mexican stand-off, without the sombrero, chilli taco's and moustaches. At this point, we had the port behind us, garrison lieutenant's that would spawn the commander to our left and the limey's in front of us. This did not bode well for us.
A call was made, a gun barked off and once more into the breach I went, abet a little early but I didn't have long to worry as I was soon knocked to the ground and pounded with the oppressors synchronous battle cry of farting rendering my body un-conscience.
Curse you! I shall have the last fart yet!
Port battles don't get me all excited. I like the simple life.
Tho I ain't yet all big on the whole Caribbean domination yet, (Wake me up when it's time for worldwide domination) I am a little curious about it. On one side, I happily leave that side of the game to the brethren council to fuss over. On the other hand, when a port is taken and has gold deposits, I'll think about dropping gold mines there and sucking all I can outta the situation for three solid days for some handsome pocket change. Yar!
About and hour or so prior, there was an earlier battle for the port of St. John. Dunno what ol' Johnny did to get the Brethren interested in it; strategy, tactics and that shit ain't really me forte. Anything outside my immediate visual scope, is just extra belly lint. So anyway with St. John, it probably had something to do with denying the Limey's another deep harbour port where those imposing heavy line ships are built. The more heavy ship production is retarded, the less often they can field against me.
So anyway back on topic, I'm told by Damien today's PB it was a good turn out by his standards. He's seen a lot more port battles than me so I note his observation. All me and my pc knew was, even with render other ships simplified turned on, I was pulling around 15 FPS on my 8600GT rig. Not too bad, with 20 something plus ships on the screen.
Unfortunately none of my screenshots ever saved, my video/screenshot recording program, fraps, I forgot doesn't work with games in windowed mode. Maybe an old screenshot utility from UO days might help.
About an hour before port battle invites were given out, I decided to change my ship skills to suit line formation fighting. High reload, decent damage and some buffs. Seems to be a slightly different animal with line fighting as opposed to skirmish fighting. Throw out as much lead as possible, fit for hull and structure damage mitigation. At least, that was my plan. Oh and a skill that near the end saved my ship's ass; Too Mean To Die. Add to that one hercules heavy, you have a respectable port battle ship.
Invites out, Cussbeard's in.
Once gathered in the fancy atrium for what real purpose other than making a fool of yourself for 10 or so minutes, groups were organised, sail colours sited and a scout nominated. The hot pink sails that I proposed was too close to red which was unfortunately already taken, so envious green was the order of the day. I can imagine something like this happening;
"Sir, contact. Hot pink sails sighted."
"What?"
"Hot pink sails sighted Sir. I think it's your grandmother!"
"Hold your fire lieutenant!"
I suppose I would live long enough with green sails.
We all formed up under battle sails, yellow follow red, green follow yellow, black squadron formed up on the outside of green and yellow. At this point I was content on just following Damiens' stern and all. Try to stow those bum jokes aside for me now. Ta.
Adrenaline was starting to flow warm at this point, the un-expected anticipation of the less than inspirational pirate battle cry vs. the less rootin, more tootin cry of the yellow limey inbreds. To many here, it was not their first battle so a gruff brazened veteran like silent response would well be expected. But for all the veterancy fielded here, you would think the shit would be in order. Some how we managed to sort what we needed out just in time amongst all the self appointed leaders' chatter, thank Odin.
Our scout reported the enemy fleet strengths. More information poured in and battle lines were drawn in the water. A double line abreast that had already formed by now seemed to agree with the leader's ideas. My group at the tender rear. Rears and posteriors, it seemed was going to be a common theme today. Somehow tho, primary was called amongst all the chatter. I don't recall names well beyond this point, but no secondary or tertiary was called which was I believe an oversight. Not everyone can fire at the same target, least of all a smart captain who shadows himself behind his ally for repairs after the congregated hail of lead flies.
I hastily tab key through a mass of names to get your called primary up, while navigating and managing your speed so as not to fuck up the guy's ship speed behind you is doable under a cool head, but harder with no configurable overview like eve online. Press full sails men, trim and taunt. We had fair to average wind up till this point but now we were smoking along.
Buff up men! Wolfpack on, defence, manoeuvring speed orders were passed along. Red and yellow squadrons engaged the limeys first. Make a pass by the limeys, that much I seem to recall. It was just that, a pass by the time my group came around. Green, spin round! A different primary was called out twice before I ended up just choosing the closest and firing off a broadside at maximum range. The shorter ranged upper gun deck crews would have to wait until later before giving them the order to fire.
We made about three to four decent passes by the inbreds, not before miscommunication and a lack of sensible primaries called. I think we sunk one of theirs, to our three. My group was somehow separated from the main pack by a bad call from the pack leader.
In the last 8 minutes of the sea skirmish, the whole conglomeration of pirate captains lined up around the port entrance so we could pop inside as soon as the timer allowed us while the whole posse of the queen's royal navy lined up at maximum cannon range and take as many of us out before facing us in avcom. I decided to settle in about 250 yards away, in line with my two group ship mates Laros and Damien. It was a matter of survival.
The 10 final ten seconds counted down. Go! Go! Go! One by one, ship captains were leaving ship combat to enter the port. I suddenly found myself all alone and about 250 yards away, entry to the port with wind in my face and the whole limey force with this hero's ass the centre of their gang bang tea party. I had anticipated this scenario might happen, so I as the 10 second count down was called out, I dropped all my toggled skills and buffs to claw back the needed 80 crew initiative to pop Too Mean To Die. Look lively men! Trim those sails, bring us about hard t' starboard, two points off the wind!
With TMTD on, it was a long struggle upwind to reach the port harbour entrance. 230 yards. 220 yards. 210 yards. The numbers were slowly dropping and the sea all around me was swelling with the tons of bronze and heated shot being lobbed at my direction.
190 yards.
180 yards.
170 yards.
How close do I need to be? Then the TMTD timer ran out. Men, I hope you brought a new pair o' panties!
160 yards.
150 yards.
I stopped counting around this time. I mustered as much sail as my crew would allow given their lack of stamina spent deflecting all the hundred or tonne of shot tossed my way, harmlessly falling into the ocean around me.
Ah shit, me ass is now red with structure dropping a bit less quickly that expected. I might make this after all. I salute my rear at the Queen's navy just before entering the port safe and somewhat more deaf. Hahar! But ya buggers didn't catch me today!
On the dock, my group quickly identified each other and loosely formed up, as you might expect. No hand holding is or should ever be the message of the day. I'll leave that to the nations. The appointed captain over us gave another brief over view of what was going to be attempted. Decide who the group healers are gonna be and what ever else I missed.
First group of NPC's down, turn corner, rinse and repeat. Before long a call cried out the limey's were sighted by our point man. Before much longer, it was a Mexican stand-off, without the sombrero, chilli taco's and moustaches. At this point, we had the port behind us, garrison lieutenant's that would spawn the commander to our left and the limey's in front of us. This did not bode well for us.
A call was made, a gun barked off and once more into the breach I went, abet a little early but I didn't have long to worry as I was soon knocked to the ground and pounded with the oppressors synchronous battle cry of farting rendering my body un-conscience.
Curse you! I shall have the last fart yet!
Sometimes you just have to smack em in the mouth to get their attention
