[old.Whoodoo]

OK, as promised and to put you all out of your misery, page 144 PC Gamer this month has an article on DAoC, entitled "A day in the life" (hell, its advertising eh!), enjoy:

Beyond the safety of the realm gates are hostile lands, where only the bravest of warriors venture, having honed their skills to perfection in order to protect their realm. Here three factions collide on the vast battlefields of New Frontiers.

The ultimate achievement for any realm is the successful capture of an enemy Relic, the symbol of power and strength held deep within the heavily fortified keeps of the protector’s realm. Often these raids are planned, down to the finest detail in true military precision. But this particular day, we fought by our wits and cunning alone.

Things began to take shape early in the morning as we Midgardian’s captured one of King Arthur’s keeps, allowing us safe passage into his back yard. At first a motley crew of a dozen or so tried to gain the attention of their foe, but few took up our challenge. Gradually we delved deeper into the frontier, capturing one tower, then another, and then their main strongholds. A few brave souls came to defend, but their numbers could not compete. More of our brethren gathered, and excitement grew as we took more strategic points across their lands.

Lead by the bravest of all leaders, Ardamel, we swayed too and fro across the plains of Pennine Mountains, keeping our enemy guessing as to our next move. Our other nemesis then awoke, picking at the bones of the distraught frontiers, Hibernia had stirred and was looking for the easy pickings in our wake, and they too took advantage of a sleeping enemy.

But as we approached the last and most fortified stronghold high inside Snowdonia Mountains, Arthur’s armies showed their teeth and bit back; pushing us into retreat, but it was too late for them. Our plan was in place, their realm divided equally and both of their inner defences were exposed. They had little more option than to choose which front to defend. At Caer Hurbury, they made their last stand.
It seemed as if all of Midgard had found passage, the young and old, from the mightiest of Troll to the most devious Kobold carried what they could. Piece by piece the crafters and warriors assembled great siege machines, and aimed them towards the walls and doors of their castle.

For over three hours, arrows cut through the air, fireballs scorched the land and trebuchets launched fiery missiles high into the sky upon both sides, casualties were many, but we persevered and pushed them ever further back, resting only to gather our strength for the next onslaught. One final push from everyone and the walls of this grand keep fell hard, sending a mass of Vikings screaming towards their goal, enemy bodies littering the battlefield fuelled our desire for victory, and finally, our leader raised the Scabbard of Excalibur above his head in triumph.

Tired and weary, we began the march home, carrying this symbol to its resting place in Mjolliner Faste, where all of Odin’s children would gain strength from its mighty power.