Sun Apr 24, 2011 11:52 am
Haypi Article Competition
Call it an Exercise in Humility
Having grown up on Age of Empires, I began my Haypi Kingdom career with a rather ridiculous amount of confidence. As the Aztecs, well known for lacking true strategic worth, crippled by their lack of cavalry, I had conquered basically every major civilisation across the globe. I wouldn’t say I considered myself to be a veritable tactical genius, except that I did. I was chafing at the bit to level myself up out of beginners’ protection and start conquering the server.
In short, conquering a server on Haypi Kingdom is nothing like smashing the Celts, Mongols and Mayans simultaneously.
Some advice to any somewhat egotistical beginners akin to myself: sixty catapults is not a large enough number to rise to rank one; two thousand units of each resource is not a lot; and you cannot conquer a level nine oasis with thirty archers. Floundering like a fish out of water, I desperately joined the first alliance I saw advertised in the world chat. I had previously quit the alliance I was required to join to complete the initial tasks, announcing to myself and my legion of followers (read: my cat) that “I work alone”. Upon joining said alliance, before I even had time to spill my sorrows in the alliance chat in a whiny fashion that would likely have gotten me promptly booted from said alliance, I received a generic Haypi guide in the form of a letter from the alliance leader.
Having had my dreams of an immediate rise to relative stardom crushed by the chilling number of catapults required for occupying a mere level one fort, I allowed myself to temporarily subside into obscurity. Occasionally it hurts, opening up the rankings list to see that overnight I’ve fallen from 335 to 341, but dumb hope in the face of overwhelming, coin-using adversity is a notion I’m very familiar with, having been a faithful Booth/Brennan shipper since season one. For now, I leave you as a non-descript level ten who is farmed daily by her pleasant neighbours – but tomorrow, next week, sometime this year, probably in approximately a decade or so, look out for me as a revered, feared and indescribably arrogant rank one, cream of the crop, top-notch player.
Having grown up on Age of Empires, I began my Haypi Kingdom career with a rather ridiculous amount of confidence. As the Aztecs, well known for lacking true strategic worth, crippled by their lack of cavalry, I had conquered basically every major civilisation across the globe. I wouldn’t say I considered myself to be a veritable tactical genius, except that I did. I was chafing at the bit to level myself up out of beginners’ protection and start conquering the server.
In short, conquering a server on Haypi Kingdom is nothing like smashing the Celts, Mongols and Mayans simultaneously.
Some advice to any somewhat egotistical beginners akin to myself: sixty catapults is not a large enough number to rise to rank one; two thousand units of each resource is not a lot; and you cannot conquer a level nine oasis with thirty archers. Floundering like a fish out of water, I desperately joined the first alliance I saw advertised in the world chat. I had previously quit the alliance I was required to join to complete the initial tasks, announcing to myself and my legion of followers (read: my cat) that “I work alone”. Upon joining said alliance, before I even had time to spill my sorrows in the alliance chat in a whiny fashion that would likely have gotten me promptly booted from said alliance, I received a generic Haypi guide in the form of a letter from the alliance leader.
Having had my dreams of an immediate rise to relative stardom crushed by the chilling number of catapults required for occupying a mere level one fort, I allowed myself to temporarily subside into obscurity. Occasionally it hurts, opening up the rankings list to see that overnight I’ve fallen from 335 to 341, but dumb hope in the face of overwhelming, coin-using adversity is a notion I’m very familiar with, having been a faithful Booth/Brennan shipper since season one. For now, I leave you as a non-descript level ten who is farmed daily by her pleasant neighbours – but tomorrow, next week, sometime this year, probably in approximately a decade or so, look out for me as a revered, feared and indescribably arrogant rank one, cream of the crop, top-notch player.