The Thread.

One · Feb 5, 2023

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Halabinder · Mar 11, 2017

Will it not solve the problem if there is no security function on the teleporter stones? Meaning anyone can use them as long as they are not banned from the property? So if you choose to put one outside your front door, you better make sure the one on the inside is behind some sort of table wall or you are giving free run of the house to anyone who steps on it.

One · Feb 5, 2023

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Vandalin · Mar 11, 2017

TreeHugger said: ↑

I'd point you to the threads where you assume @Broli is the JhelomPK and hijack his sales.
Click to expand...

Still waiting.

wylwrk · Mar 11, 2017

Thought I heard somewhere they were going to be coded according to the owner's discretion (co-owner, friend list).

El Horno · Mar 11, 2017

wylwrk said: ↑

Thought I heard somewhere they were going to be coded according to the owner's discretion (co-owner, friend list).
Click to expand...

Chris said: ↑

This is something we are currently discussing. Most likely we will add a simple teleporter control menu that is accessible by clicking either side of the teleporter pair allowing for players to set the options they wish.
Much like a secure container on a house. Owners, Co Owners, Friends, or Anyone.
Click to expand...

Most likely but not final, and I think the case for no is very strong.

OptimisticSam · Mar 11, 2017

I would argue that teleporters should have no usage restrictions. Any such restrictions allow for a massive sea change in security of houses - and would essentially make homes 100% secure (and eliminate mistakes).

Imagine I have a Tower. Next to it I place small house and put a teleporter linking the two. With usage restrictions on the teleporter, I can make the small house public - and bam, 100% secure tower, where I literally never have to open the door.

That doesn't ring true for me as a Felucia shard, or as "perfected".

wylwrk · Mar 11, 2017

OptimisticSam said: ↑

I would argue that teleporters should have no usage restrictions. Any such restrictions allow for a massive sea change in security of houses - and would essentially make homes 100% secure (and eliminate mistakes).

Imagine I have a Tower. Next to it I place small house and put a teleporter linking the two. With usage restrictions on the teleporter, I can make the small house public - and bam, 100% secure tower, where I literally never have to open the door.

That doesn't ring true for me as a Felucia shard, or as "perfected".
Click to expand...

But... it does satiate a certain gamer type that has a propensity to complain loudly when they're feelings are harmed.
Which is precisely why I've derailed the living hell out of this thread. (keke.. pot meet kettle, eh?)

This past week or two reminds me way too much about the dark days right before Trammel was introduced.

If every one of you misses the foreshadowing context in this video this time, I'm going to be sorely disappointed.

I'm sure it will all work out though. I've a tad more faith in the UOR team than I lead on.
I'm just depressed I'm going to miss all these long anticipated patches coming up.

#FightTheTrammel

El Horno · Mar 11, 2017

OptimisticSam said: ↑

I would argue that teleporters should have no usage restrictions. Any such restrictions allow for a massive sea change in security of houses - and would essentially make homes 100% secure (and eliminate mistakes).

Imagine I have a Tower. Next to it I place small house and put a teleporter linking the two. With usage restrictions on the teleporter, I can make the small house public - and bam, 100% secure tower, where I literally never have to open the door.

That doesn't ring true for me as a Felucia shard, or as "perfected".
Click to expand...

Agreed, although people would still make mistakes. I'd bet my 1st anniversary mask on it, oh wait...

Teleporters with no restrictions would probably increase house looting, and just be badass.

OptimisticSam · Mar 11, 2017

El Horno said: ↑

Agreed, although people would still make mistakes. I'd bet my 1st anniversary mask on it, oh wait...

Teleporters with no restrictions would probably increase house looting, and just be badass.
Click to expand...

But is the goal of "perfected" to eliminate the possibility of folks making mistakes? Why not go full Trammel then? As it stands right now, you really have to make mistakes to get house looted or PKed - so why further enable a risk free life shard?

One · Feb 5, 2023

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OptimisticSam · Mar 11, 2017

One said: ↑

El Horno was agreeing with you I believe.
Click to expand...

Right - sorry - I was more refuting the argument that restrictions are okay because people make mistakes. I think Elhorno and I are aligned.

El Horno · Mar 11, 2017

I am not saying they are ok because people make mistakes. I am merely correcting the exaggeration being thrown around that it will end house looting. One said it correctly when he said it would vastly reduce. Pointless point to make I suppose, but I think your arguments are strong without the exaggeration.

wylwrk · Mar 11, 2017

If the tile is made per the friend list and allows travel as described from one house to another (within range of course), I don't see how they could be looted ... sans player deception of course. Hold your friends close and your enemies closer I spose.

El Horno · Mar 11, 2017

The gate spell is likely responsible for far more houses being looted then the front door ever was.

TreeHugger · Mar 11, 2017

House looting is a massive part of this game and I hope to god that it stays.

@wylwrk you can't derail a thread that was bound to be derailed within the first 5 posts.

Everyone is either dead for or dead against this there's not a middle ground.

Vandalin · Mar 11, 2017

TreeHugger said: ↑

House looting is a massive part of this game and I hope to god that it stays.

@wylwrk you can't derail a thread that was bound to be derailed within the first 5 posts.

Everyone is either dead for or dead against this there's not a middle ground.
Click to expand...

Hey bud you feel like deleting that shit you lied about yet?

TreeHugger · Mar 11, 2017

Larloch said: ↑

They each had their own room and all. They were both around seventy years old,
or even more than that. They got a bang out of things, though--in a haif-assed way, of
course. I know that sounds mean to say, but I don't mean it mean. I just mean that I used
to think about old Spencer quite a lot, and if you thought about him too much, you
wondered what the heck he was still living for. I mean he was all stooped over, and he
had very terrible posture, and in class, whenever he dropped a piece of chalk at the
blackboard, some guy in the first row always had to get up and pick it up and hand it to
him. That's awful, in my opinion. But if you thought about him just enough and not too
much, you could figure it out that he wasn't doing too bad for himself. For instance, one
Sunday when some other guys and I were over there for hot chocolate, he showed us this
old beat-up Navajo blanket that he and Mrs. Spencer'd bought off some Indian in
Yellowstone Park. You could tell old Spencer'd got a big bang out of buying it. That's
what I mean. You take somebody old as hell, like old Spencer, and they can get a big
bang out of buying a blanket.
His door was open, but I sort of knocked on it anyway, just to be polite and all. I
could see where he was sitting. He was sitting in a big leather chair, all wrapped up in
that blanket I just told you about. He looked over at me when I knocked. "Who's that?" he
yelled. "Caulfield? Come in, boy." He was always yelling, outside class. It got on your
nerves sometimes.
The minute I went in, I was sort of sorry I'd come. He was reading the Atlantic
Monthly, and there were pills and medicine all over the place, and everything smelled
like Vicks Nose Drops. It was pretty depressing. I'm not too crazy about sick people,
anyway. What made it even more depressing, old Spencer had on this very sad, ratty old
bathrobe that he was probably born in or something. I don't much like to see old guys in
their pajamas and bathrobes anyway. Their bumpy old chests are always showing. And
their legs. Old guys' legs, at beaches and places, always look so white and unhairy.
"Hello, sir," I said. "I got your note. Thanks a lot." He'd written me this note asking me to
stop by and say good-by before vacation started, on account of I wasn't coming back.
"You didn't have to do all that. I'd have come over to say good-by anyway."
"Have a seat there, boy," old Spencer said. He meant the bed.
I sat down on it. "How's your grippe, sir?"
"M'boy, if I felt any better I'd have to send for the doctor," old Spencer said. That
knocked him out. He started chuckling like a madman. Then he finally straightened
himself out and said, "Why aren't you down at the game? I thought this was the day of the
big game."
"It is. I was. Only, I just got back from New York with the fencing team," I said.
Boy, his bed was like a rock.
He started getting serious as hell. I knew he would. "So you're leaving us, eh?" he
said.
"Yes, sir. I guess I am."
He started going into this nodding routine. You never saw anybody nod as much
in your life as old Spencer did. You never knew if he was nodding a lot because he was
thinking and all, or just because he was a nice old guy that didn't know his ass from his
elbow. "What did Dr. Thurmer say to you, boy? I understand you had quite a little chat."
"Yes, we did. We really did. I was in his office for around two hours, I guess."
"What'd he say to you?"
"Oh. . . well, about Life being a game and all. And how you should play it
according to the rules. He was pretty nice about it. I mean he didn't hit the ceiling or
anything. He just kept talking about Life being a game and all. You know."
"Life is a game, boy. Life is a game that one plays according to the rules."
"Yes, sir. I know it is. I know it."
Game, my ass. Some game. If you get on the side where all the hot-shots are, then
it's a game, all right--I'll admit that. But if you get on the other side, where there aren't
any hot-shots, then what's a game about it? Nothing. No game. "Has Dr. Thurmer written
to your parents yet?" old Spencer asked me.
"He said he was going to write them Monday."
"Have you yourself communicated with them?"
"No, sir, I haven't communicated with them, because I'll probably see them
Wednesday night when I get home."
"And how do you think they'll take the news?"
"Well. . . they'll be pretty irritated about it," I said. "They really will. This is about
the fourth school I've gone to." I shook my head. I shake my head quite a lot. "Boy!" I
said. I also say "Boy!" quite a lot. Partly because I have a lousy vocabulary and partly
because I act quite young for my age sometimes. I was sixteen then, and I'm seventeen
now, and sometimes I act like I'm about thirteen. It's really ironical, because I'm six foot
two and a half and I have gray hair. I really do. The one side of my head--the right side--
is full of millions of gray hairs. I've had them ever since I was a kid. And yet I still act
sometimes like I was only about twelve. Everybody says that, especially my father. It's
partly true, too, but it isn't all true. People always think something's all true. I don't give a
damn, except that I get bored sometimes when people tell me to act my age. Sometimes I
act a lot older than I am--I really do--but people never notice it. People never notice
anything.
Old Spencer started nodding again. He also started picking his nose. He made out
like he was only pinching it, but he was really getting the old thumb right in there. I guess
he thought it was all right to do because it was only me that was in the room. I didn't care,
except that it's pretty disgusting to watch somebody pick their nose.
Then he said, "I had the privilege of meeting your mother and dad when they had
their little chat with Dr. Thurmer some weeks ago. They're grand people."
"Yes, they are. They're very nice."
Grand. There's a word I really hate. It's a phony. I could puke every time I hear it.
Then all of a sudden old Spencer looked like he had something very good,
something sharp as a tack, to say to me. He sat up more in his chair and sort of moved
around. It was a false alarm, though. All he did was lift the Atlantic Monthly off his lap
and try to chuck it on the bed, next to me. He missed. It was only about two inches away,
but he missed anyway. I got up and picked it up and put it down on the bed. All of a
sudden then, I wanted to get the hell out of the room. I could feel a terrific lecture coming
on. I didn't mind the idea so much, but I didn't feel like being lectured to and smell Vicks
Nose Drops and look at old Spencer in his pajamas and bathrobe all at the same time. I
really didn't. It started, all right. "What's the matter with you, boy?" old Spencer said. He said it
pretty tough, too, for him. "How many subjects did you carry this term?"
"Five, sir."
"Five. And how many are you failing in?"
"Four." I moved my ass a little bit on the bed. It was the hardest bed I ever sat on.
"I passed English all right," I said, "because I had all that Beowulf and Lord Randal My
Son stuff when I was at the Whooton School. I mean I didn't have to do any work in
English at all hardly, except write compositions once in a while."
He wasn't even listening. He hardly ever listened to you when you said
something.
"I flunked you in history because you knew absolutely nothing."
"I know that, sir. Boy, I know it. You couldn't help it."
"Absolutely nothing," he said over again. That's something that drives me crazy.
When people say something twice that way, after you admit it the first time. Then he said
it three times. "But absolutely nothing. I doubt very much if you opened your textbook
even once the whole term. Did you? Tell the truth, boy."
"Well, I sort of glanced through it a couple of times," I told him. I didn't want to
hurt his feelings. He was mad about history.
"You glanced through it, eh?" he said--very sarcastic. "Your, ah, exam paper is
over there on top of my chiffonier. On top of the pile. Bring it here, please."
It was a very dirty trick, but I went over and brought it over to him--I didn't have
any alternative or anything. Then I sat down on his cement bed again. Boy, you can't
imagine how sorry I was getting that I'd stopped by to say good-by to him.
He started handling my exam paper like it was a turd or something. "We studied
the Egyptians from November 4th to December 2nd," he said. "You chose to write about
them for the optional essay question. Would you care to hear what you had to say?"
"No, sir, not very much," I said.
He read it anyway, though. You can't stop a teacher when they want to do
something. They just do it.
The Egyptians were an ancient race of Caucasians residing in
one of the northern sections of Africa. The latter as we all
know is the largest continent in the Eastern Hemisphere.
I had to sit there and listen to that crap. It certainly was a dirty trick.
The Egyptians are extremely interesting to us today for
various reasons. Modern science would still like to know what
the secret ingredients were that the Egyptians used when they
wrapped up dead people so that their faces would not rot for
innumerable centuries. This interesting riddle is still quite
a challenge to modern science in the twentieth century.
He stopped reading and put my paper down. I was beginning to sort of hate him.
"Your essay, shall we say, ends there," he said in this very sarcastic voice. You wouldn't think such an old guy would be so sarcastic and all. "However, you dropped me a little
note, at the bottom of the page," he said.
"I know I did," I said. I said it very fast because I wanted to stop him before he
started reading that out loud. But you couldn't stop him. He was hot as a firecracker.
DEAR MR. SPENCER [he read out loud]. That is all I know about
the Egyptians. I can't seem to get very interested in them
although your lectures are very interesting. It is all right
with me if you flunk me though as I am flunking everything
else except English anyway.
Respectfully yours, HOLDEN CAULFIELD.
He put my goddam paper down then and looked at me like he'd just beaten hell
out of me in ping-pong or something. I don't think I'll ever forgive him for reading me
that crap out loud. I wouldn't've read it out loud to him if he'd written it--I really wouldn't.
In the first place, I'd only written that damn note so that he wouldn't feel too bad about
flunking me.
"Do you blame me for flunking you, boy?" he said.
"No, sir! I certainly don't," I said. I wished to hell he'd stop calling me "boy" all
the time.
He tried chucking my exam paper on the bed when he was through with it. Only,
he missed again, naturally. I had to get up again and pick it up and put it on top of the
Atlantic Monthly. It's boring to do that every two minutes.
"What would you have done in my place?" he said. "Tell the truth, boy."
Well, you could see he really felt pretty lousy about flunking me. So I shot the
bull for a while. I told him I was a real moron, and all that stuff. I told him how I
would've done exactly the same thing if I'd been in his place, and how most people didn't
appreciate how tough it is being a teacher. That kind of stuff. The old bull.
The funny thing is, though, I was sort of thinking of something else while I shot
the bull. I live in New York, and I was thinking about the lagoon in Central Park, down
near Central Park South. I was wondering if it would be frozen over when I got home,
and if it was, where did the ducks go. I was wondering where the ducks went when the
lagoon got all icy and frozen over. I wondered if some guy came in a truck and took them
away to a zoo or something. Or if they just flew away.
I'm lucky, though. I mean I could shoot the old bull to old Spencer and think
about those ducks at the same time. It's funny. You don't have to think too hard when you
talk to a teacher. All of a sudden, though, he interrupted me while I was shooting the bull.
He was always interrupting you.
"How do you feel about all this, boy? I'd be very interested to know. Very
interested."
"You mean about my flunking out of Pencey and all?" I said. I sort of wished he'd
cover up his bumpy chest. It wasn't such a beautiful view.
"If I'm not mistaken, I believe you also had some difficulty at the Whooton
School and at Elkton Hills." He didn't say it just sarcastic, but sort of nasty, too.
"I didn't have too much difficulty at Elkton Hills," I told him. "I didn't exactly
flunk out or anything. I just quit, sort of." "Why, may I ask?"
"Why? Oh, well it's a long story, sir. I mean it's pretty complicated." I didn't feel
like going into the whole thing with him. He wouldn't have understood it anyway. It
wasn't up his alley at all. One of the biggest reasons I left Elkton Hills was because I was
surrounded by phonies. That's all. They were coming in the goddam window. For
instance, they had this headmaster, Mr. Haas, that was the phoniest bastard I ever met in
my life. Ten times worse than old Thurmer. On Sundays, for instance, old Haas went
around shaking hands with everybody's parents when they drove up to school. He'd be
charming as hell and all. Except if some boy had little old funny-looking parents. You
should've seen the way he did with my roommate's parents. I mean if a boy's mother was
sort of fat or corny-looking or something, and if somebody's father was one of those guys
that wear those suits with very big shoulders and corny black-and-white shoes, then old
Hans would just shake hands with them and give them a phony smile and then he'd go
talk, for maybe a half an hour, with somebody else's parents. I can't stand that stuff. It
drives me crazy. It makes me so depressed I go crazy. I hated that goddam Elkton Hills.
Old Spencer asked me something then, but I didn't hear him. I was thinking about
old Haas. "What, sir?" I said.
"Do you have any particular qualms about leaving Pencey?"
"Oh, I have a few qualms, all right. Sure. . . but not too many. Not yet, anyway. I
guess it hasn't really hit me yet. It takes things a while to hit me. All I'm doing right now
is thinking about going home Wednesday. I'm a moron."
"Do you feel absolutely no concern for your future, boy?"
"Oh, I feel some concern for my future, all right. Sure. Sure, I do." I thought about
it for a minute. "But not too much, I guess. Not too much, I guess."
"You will," old Spencer said. "You will, boy. You will when it's too late."
I didn't like hearing him say that. It made me sound dead or something. It was
very depressing. "I guess I will," I said.
"I'd like to put some sense in that head of yours, boy. I'm trying to help you. I'm
trying to help you, if I can."
He really was, too. You could see that. But it was just that we were too much on
opposite sides ot the pole, that's all. "I know you are, sir," I said. "Thanks a lot. No
kidding. I appreciate it. I really do." I got up from the bed then. Boy, I couldn't've sat
there another ten minutes to save my life. "The thing is, though, I have to get going now.
I have quite a bit of equipment at the gym I have to get to take home with me. I really
do." He looked up at me and started nodding again, with this very serious look on his
face. I felt sorry as hell for him, all of a sudden. But I just couldn't hang around there any
longer, the way we were on opposite sides of the pole, and the way he kept missing the
bed whenever he chucked something at it, and his sad old bathrobe with his chest
showing, and that grippy smell of Vicks Nose Drops all over the place. "Look, sir. Don't
worry about me," I said. "I mean it. I'll be all right. I'm just going through a phase right
now. Everybody goes through phases and all, don't they?"
"I don't know, boy. I don't know."
I hate it when somebody answers that way. "Sure. Sure, they do," I said. "I mean
it, sir. Please don't worry about me." I sort of put my hand on his shoulder. "Okay?" I
said. "Wouldn't you like a cup of hot chocolate before you go? Mrs. Spencer would be-
-"
"I would, I really would, but the thing is, I have to get going. I have to go right to
the gym. Thanks, though. Thanks a lot, sir."
Then we shook hands. And all that crap. It made me feel sad as hell, though.
"I'll drop you a line, sir. Take care of your grippe, now."
"Good-by, boy."
After I shut the door and started back to the living room, he yelled something at
me, but I couldn't exactly hear him. I'm pretty sure he yelled "Good luck!" at me,
I hope to hell not. I'd never yell "Good luck!" at anybody. It sounds terrible, when
you think about it.
Click to expand...

Siiiick

But really teleporters?!

Vandalin · Mar 11, 2017

Hey @TreeHugger, how are you doing?

TreeHugger said: ↑

I'd point you to the threads where you assume @Broli is the JhelomPK and hijack his sales.
Click to expand...

I can do this all weekend.

Kiryana · Mar 11, 2017

What kind of verbal terror is this!?!?!?!

You can inflate a topic from anything, but how it will develop depends on the pursued goal in general!

This wonderful server is excellent with a perfectly balanced world and a clearly constructed informative and communicative base filled with excellent content and truly devoted fans of this beautiful game in all its manifestations!

I myself am a beginner and did not experience any problems with the search, installation, purchase and in principle with real estate on the server! Yes, I've seen a lot of houses, they change, new people come, but I'm not cramped, I'm not bored. I do not see any problems in the fact that someone updates their own or others' houses! It's none of my business, I'm on the server with my own affairs and enjoy it.

Why these revolutionary and controversial clarification of relations and digging in other people's bags, this shit is enough when you include news of politics!

Until the last I did not want to write anything here, so as not to get under the shooting, but I can not ... This topic will not lead to a good one ...

Guys, I propose to close the booth and play our favorite game, go hunting, hang a picture on the wall, kill the player, steal the house, collect cotton, talk to the bank or fish, but at least talk to the spirits))))

With respect to all of you,
Your faithful friend and companion,
Kiryana

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