Inhales
It’s finally time to say goodbye. I finally could not find a reason to continue being with vainglory. Why did I stay so long? I suppose the concept of finality in games pushed me toward mobas. I wanted a game that would never end. Unlike reality, there is a guarantee that will, wits, and hard work will succeed. When I immersed myself in a world forged by passion and a moba unlike any other, I immediately became addicted and fought my way to the top.
It was comforting, knowing the future in a sense. Being able to look forward to something great. This, however, did not happen. There are many flaws with vainglory many other people have put into better words. I’ll explain the biggest flaw I saw.
Death.
Death of passion.
Death of good will.
Desperation.
Slowly, passion died out as devs left and ambition took its place. The world so delicately crafted with lore fell apart and the skill of the playerbase plummeted.
Vainglory is suffering a painful, slow death. I refuse to bear it anymore. I thought, “why not play some vainglory?” Then immediately corrected myself with, “Who wants to wait 3+ minutes for unskilled swine of teammates to fight in a horribly unbalanced, buggy, boring world?” “But the low- quality skins are so enticing!”
Nothings connecting me to vainglory anymore. Not the game, not the hope it will get better, not even monetary investment. It’s just not worth it anymore.
So, This is my farewell.
Vainglory, you’ve done well raging against the dying of the light. Rest in Peace.
I’ll still keep tabs on the forums & vg every once in a while.
Goodbye.
-Sagittericus
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light