Gather ’round readers as I recount a tale for the ages. It is a tale of sacrifice, honour, betrayal, and bullshittery – a great struggle against a tyrannical lord in a long-dead realm. This is the Tale of Two Worlds: The Lament of Dr Cock.
We begin, as with any good story, by setting the scene.
By modern standards (and even many contemporaries), Two Worlds‘ multiplayer is a broken mess. The maps and servers still load, but you can’t easily link everyone up to the same server without enduring endless wait times while the game attempts to sync up a player, then syncs again once they fail to connect.
Still, Two Worlds: Epic Edition was on sale for £0.69, and one of my friends remembered having fun with it when it first came out, so myself and three brave (yet utterly naive) friends decided to have a blast.
Two Worlds: The Lament of Dr Cock
For three hours we had laboured, straining against the ancient machine which at this point ran on little more than our collective willpower. Roughly half of that time was spent in suspended animation – waiting for a member of our party to sync up and load in, only to fail and incur another lengthy load time.
Thankfully we didn’t run the risk of having to deal with others as we tried and failed to make the most of our pitiful investment. With the minuscule player count spread over a huge number of desolate servers, it was unlikely that we would run into anyone.
But run into someone we did.
After hours of hysterical laughter and frustrated tinkering with both server and client-side settings, we were finally playing Two Worlds. The voice acting was adorably terrible. The animations made no sense. Combat was as baffling as it was brutally difficult and enjoyable, and we began to see why one of our party recommended it in the first place.
Then the overlord came. The stalwart, slightly-absent guardian of this forgotten realm.
Lord knows why he chose to check in – it could be that some die-hard fans still logged in and he wanted to keep their tight-knit community going. Perhaps he was curious to see who dared disturb his decade-long slumber and incur his laggy wrath. Maybe he was just looking for a friend.
Either way, he wasn’t happy.
In particular he seemed to take offence to one of my friends’ in-game names – the grand title of “Dr. Cock”.
At the time my brother-in-arms was absent, roaring himself silly at the latest line spat out by a villager, and so Crysher didn’t get an answer immediately. This annoyed the vengeful god, who proceeded to take the matter into his own hands.
Now, Dr Cock isn’t a petty individual – if he had been politely asked to alter his title then perhaps things could have been different. Maybe his decline could have cooled before reaching critical mass. Maybe they could have parted amicably.
As it was, Crysher pushed his buttons, and Cock let loose.
The immediate reaction, and the olive branch
Dr Cock (or, rather, “MeinKonffety”) wasn’t having any of it. His in-game title had not changed since the days of Halo multiplayer shitstorms and sniper wars, and this Crysher wasn’t about to intimidate him that easily.
Incidentally, it’s worth noting that the person behind the newly-christened MeinKonffety does not, in fact, have the family name of “Cock”.
Thankfully, however, the fog in Cock’s mind lifted for a brief moment – just long enough, in fact, to offer an olive branch.
Admin Crysher, to his credit, was apologetic while responding, but nonetheless denied Cock’s request. There would be no reinstatement of the old title, and neither would the new name be accepted.
And thus the lamentable fate of Dr Cock was sealed. Attacked out of nowhere, for risk of offending the absent and almost non-existent player base of a decade-old, glitchy, multiplayer mess.
Most any of us would have left it there and tried to get whatever enjoyment we could, or (at worst) quit immediately and not bothered coming back. After all, finding fun in that godforsaken land was an exercise in futility, with any laughter springing from our own growing hysteria.
Dr Cock, however, was not “most people”. So he decided to fight it with tooth, nail, and loutish force.
Cock’s indignation first took the form of denial, with a dash of attempted guilt thrown in.
Unfortunately for him, 69 pence isn’t a whole lot to complain about, and the only fruitful part of that conversation came to be that of post-Brexit economics.
Meanwhile, Commander_Nayr (another member of our intrepid group) was busy making things worse via shitposting.
This seemed to anger Cock, who promptly threw a challenge towards Admin Crysher. With the pseudo-God having stayed silent for this exchange, none of us (not even Cock) expected a reply.
But reply he did.
The beginning of the end
It was time. A fight for the ages. The maligned and slandered Dr Cock, standing up to the fairly reasonable (if a little too sensitive) Admin Crysher.
Most in Cock’s position wouldn’t necessarily be looking forward to the coming battle. Crysher had no doubt played this game for years, while Cock was a new player with neither the ability or patience to learn the mess that is combat in Two Worlds. Nevertheless, he seemed optimistic.
Unfortunately for both Cock and Crysher, we had all forgotten one important thing.
For three hours prior we had nearly driven ourselves insane attempting to connect to each other and play this sodding game. And apparently, Crysher didn’t know how to get it working either.
While Crysher attempted to get the fight arranged, WantedEye (the final member of our group) tried cracking a joke to ease the tension.
It didn’t help.
In fact, it probably helped to escalate Crysher’s already testy mood.
Dr Cock’s last stand
As I’ve already established, Dr Cock doesn’t respond well to threats – especially not when half-hysterical from hours of futile efforts to just get the multiplayer to work correctly. Thus the shit talk commenced.
To his credit, he had a point. Remember, dear reader, that not only did we not physically encounter another player other than Crysher, but out group made up almost 10% of the average player count across every server combined.
Still, Cock’s disbelief quickly turned to goading – if he was to lose this battle, he would poke the sleeping dragon and make as much noise as possible.
This, in turn, devolved into meme-ing, for if Dr Cock could not be allowed to exist in this world, then the sanity of others would go with him.
Eventually, Cock threw caution to the wind, removed all of his armour, and began streaking.
In the end, however, Crysher caught up to him, and Dr Cock was subject to the wrath of the admin.
With the odds against him, his armour discarded, his connection failing, and the ban hammer closing in, Dr Cock had time for a final message – his cry of defiance before the Leviathan swallowed him for good.
And thus the fate of Dr Cock was sealed. As true friends – brothers in arms of the most loyal degree – we mourned his passing for as long as any man would a true comrade.
All that was left was for Crysher to push salt into the wound one last time.
So, dear readers, beware what lurks in long-dead RPGs. You may go in with every intention of having a grand old time, but beneath the surface you may find your very own sleeping dragon, watching and waiting for the latest set of unaware players to stray into their desolate realm.
Still, come the year 2850 at least Mein Konffety will be able to try once more to make the most of the 69 pence product I gifted him.
The reality of Two Worlds: The Lament of Dr Cock
On a serious note, this article was an exercise in editing for myself to see how I could spin a tale from a set of chat logs which, while mostly in the right order, took on a life of their own when swapped around and tweaked.
I had a huge amount of fun, but if you want to see what actually happened in Two Worlds when myself and a group of friends joined up, the original screenshots are linked below.
If you have any tales of your own admin encounters or multiplayer session madness I’d love to hear them in the comments!
Gaming nerd and movie over-analyzer. Has credits on Appcues, Usability Geek, and Process Street, but comes to Secret Cave to unwind and spit the shit.