DAOC numbers are saddening

[Elsebet]

I want to just go run around the old Midgard zones like Raumarik, Muspelheim, Vendo Caves, etc. Cheaper to just try this for that purpose though:

http://www.dolserver.net/

[Kestrel_Trebor]

They should make it so that the portal in WAR that teleports you to outside of Camelot, *ACTUALLY* teleports you to a DAOC server. . .

Imagine balancing that RvR out, lol. . .

That having been said, I hope they keep DAOC running. With EA counting the beans now, though -- dunno. I can't imagine that it can be profitable if it dips below like 10,000 subs, but maybe. . . But the moment they start losing $$ on it is the moment it'll be shut down.

But then perhaps they'll actually license the content so that "free shards" can *legally* operate -- hopefully

[Gisli]

Not meaning to trivialize the events this poem refers to, but it seems to fit.

And one by one, and two by two,
They've sailed from the quay since then;
I've said good-bye to the last I knew,
The last of the careless men;
And I can't but think that the times we had
Were the best times after all,
As I turn aside, raise my glass,
And drink to this barroom wall.
-- Henry Lawson

[Rardac]

Or, this one (though not so profound):

Miniver Cheevy

Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,
Grew lean while he assailed the seasons
He wept that he was ever born,
And he had reasons.

Miniver loved the days of old
When swords were bright and steeds were prancing;
The vision of a warrior bold
Would send him dancing.

Miniver sighed for what was not,
And dreamed, and rested from his labors;
He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot,
And Priam's neighbors.

Miniver mourned the ripe renown
That made so many a name so fragrant;
He mourned Romance, now on the town,
And Art, a vagrant.

Miniver loved the Medici,
Albeit he had never seen one;
He would have sinned incessantly
Could he have been one.

Miniver cursed the commonplace
And eyed a khaki suit with loathing:
He missed the medieval grace
Of iron clothing.

Miniver scorned the gold he sought,
But sore annoyed was he without it;
Miniver thought, and thought, and thought,
And thought about it.

Miniver Cheevy, born too late,
Scratched his head and kept on thinking;
Miniver coughed, and called it fate,
And kept on drinking.

-- Edwin Arlington Robinson