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HC: Card Slinger | Ch. 67 – Team
🕑 Added 2025-06-05 13:34:19 +0000 UTCDeckard still hadn’t stepped into Cawldera. He’d quickly realized he’d need help. But what kind of help—that was still undecided. At first,
Deckard still hadn’t stepped into Cawldera.
He’d quickly realized he’d need help. But what kind of help—that was still undecided.
At first, he’d considered teaming up with an independent group. Low-profile. No guild politics. No strings. But that option came with problems.
For one, he’d still be up against guild-backed farming teams. Pros. Coordinated, efficient, relentless. These weren’t just good players—they were specialists. No clever trick was going to outpace daily grind and muscle memory.
But even if he managed to steal a kill, it wouldn’t be enough. The Red Macaw dropped two skill cards, and the odds of both dropping in one go were abysmal.
One kill? Feasible. Two? He’d be gambling.
Which meant, like it or not, he had to work with a guild team. Ideally one with a few successful hunts under their belt and the cards he needed. All he had to do was offer them a sure shot at [Scarlet Marrow] in exchange.
He just wouldn’t join anyone without first understanding his future partners, though.
It’s time to delve into the forums!
He looked for any posts related to farming teams in the beginner regions, and found multiple hits.
Life in the Farm Lane
#grindlife #guildpolitics #burnout #scarletmarrow #exploited
Poster: ScarLetMeow
Post: Ever wonder what it’s like being in a top guild’s farming team? Let me break it down for you: you wake up, log in, and spend 10 hours killing the same boss on rotation. You open your eyes and all you see is a red parrot. You go to bed and you have nightmares about red parrots.
And on the off-chance that your time actually gets a [Scarlet Marrow]? It goes straight to the guild’s vault—or worse, to some streamer mascot. We get commission, sure, but pennies. Promotions? Lies. You’re just a warm body with cooldowns. But hey, at least I’m not stuck in an office... right?
Comments
SaltyMage88: Bro said “not stuck in an office” like this wasn’t still corporate.
FlameArcherX: Can confirm. Guilds treat you like you’re on payroll—minus the benefits.
He found several similar accounts. Discontent and frustration.
These farming teams were often composed of players who hadn't made it into the main guild ranks. Some were former competitive players; others were individuals seeking a steady income through in-game farming. They operated under strict quotas, with the promise of commissions or potential promotions dangling just out of reach.
But it wasn’t all bad. He found a post by someone else who actually praised the job.
Three Truffles Later
#guildlife #promotion #powertruffle #grindpays #ogreswag
Poster: FungiFinder
Post: So, guess who pulled three [Power Truffles] in five days? That’s right—this guy. I thought they’d just give me a pat on the head and move on, but nope. Got bumped to assistant team lead, double commission, and even a vote for mid-tier access. Ogres ain’t perfect, but they do notice when you pull your weight. Don’t let the complainers fool you—if you grind smart, the rewards are real.
Comments
SporesBeforeScores: Dang, nice haul. RNGesus loves you.
MeleeMaven: Happy for you!
BitterSweeter: Been a statbooster farmer for a 2nd tier guild. Couldn’t be better off. I get to spend all day playing a game I like and chatting with friends.
Hmmm… So there are chances to climb up the ranks.
If there was even a chance of commissions or promotion, Deckard figured he could win someone over.
The real question was—which guild?
Revealing his class was inevitable. With all the top guilds stationed around the Red Macaw, he wasn’t going to stay hidden for long. So, if he had to show his hand, he might as well go big.
Target a farming team from one of the top ten guilds.
There were good reasons for it.
First, resources. The bigger the guild, the more likely they already had the skill cards he needed from previous kills.
Second, discretion. A top guild wouldn’t be eager to share news of a potential powerhouse class—especially not with their competitors. It was scary to be on a top guild’s radar, but it was even scarier to be on every guild’s radar.
And finally, reputation. Big guilds weren’t saints, but they had images to protect. That made them slightly more trustworthy than the wildcards. That would reduce the chances of someone double-crossing him. Slightly.
So far all the guilds I saw was made up jerks. Better not take any chances with my choice.
He turned his attention to researching the reputations of these guilds. He pulled up the latest rankings of the top 10 guilds.
1 - Dragons
2 - Phoenixes
3 - Griffins
4 - Ogres
5 - Krakens
6 - Hydras
7 - Cerberus
8 - Gorgons
9 - Basilisks
10 - Yetis
He smirked. Apparently, naming your guild after a mythological creature was the fashion. Griffins, Krakens, Basilisks—half the top ten sounded like they’d walked out of a bestiary. Maybe it was a marketing thing. Like sports teams picking fierce mascots to slap on jerseys and banners.
The internet, of course, was flooded with opinions—some glowing, some venomous.
I wouldn’t be surprised if all these stories were written by guilds trying to sully each other’s reputation.
Deckard sifted through it all, cross-referencing posts, digging into player histories, and letting his personal AI sort the noise from the patterns.
A few names stood out for all the wrong reasons. Gorgons, Basilisks, Phoenixes, and Yetis had reputations marred by drama—accusations of toxicity, exploitative leadership, and power-tripping officers.
The Dragons were out of the question. Their focus was entirely on high-end content. They didn’t bother with farming teams, and they certainly didn’t care about anything happening on Beginner Island.
That narrowed the field.
Griffins. Krakens. Cerberus. Hydras. Ogres.
Five contenders.
These guilds had decent reputations—at least compared to the others—and all maintained active farm teams on the island.
Now, Deckard needed to see how they operated up close.
Deckard stood and located the nearest fight. A team of five was halfway through a blue macaw hunt.
He waited for them to finish, then jumped off the ledge. His boots hit the scorched slope with a thud as he finally set foot inside the Cawldera. He landed on the caldera. The stench of sulfur hit harder here, like someone had overboiled a hundred eggs and left them to rot in the sun.
He made his way toward the team, slow and deliberate. When he neared the fallen macaw, he gave the loot pile a wide berth—no reason to make them think he wanted to steal them.
Good thing he did. The group tensed as he approached. No one drew a weapon, but hands hovered near hilts and staves.
The leader watched him closely. Tall, sharp-jawed, with dark copper hair tied in a high knot. Her halberd rested against one shoulder, but her posture said she could swing it before he blinked.
Deckard offered a cautious smile and raised a hand.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hi.” Her reply was clipped. “How can I help you?”
He cleared his throat. “Just looking for some directions. Do you know where the Cerberus farming team is set up?”
She blinked, then frowned. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” he said with a shrug and a sheepish grin.
Her shoulders eased. She gave a dry snort and pointed west, toward a rocky outcrop bordered by twisted brush. “They’re usually over that way.”
“Thanks,” he said—and paused. She seemed approachable enough. Might as well ask a little more.
“By the way,” he added, “I’ve been hearing the top guilds are running the show down here. Kinda unfair, huh?”
She rolled her eyes and gave a tired laugh. “Tell me about it. We gave up trying to contest the Red Macaw. No point.”
Deckard nodded. “It sucks. Shouldn’t be that way.”
“True,” she said. “And cursed be those GMs who do nothing. But don’t stress too much. There are other stat boosters out there. Plenty, actually. Most are easier to farm, especially near mid-grade cities. The top guilds can’t lock down everything, so they focus on the high-value drops.”
That was... interesting. And useful.
He hesitated again, then went for it.
“One more thing. What’s your take on the top guilds’ farm teams? Any I should avoid?”
She made a face. “Where do I start? Gorgons—power-trippers. Basilisks are sleazy. Phoenixes are awful. Yetis are hotheads. And Hydras? Avoid their team leader, Ajax. Guy starts fights just to flex.”
Deckard patted himself on the back for having scratched most of these out already and made a note to remove Hydras from his list.
“Got it. Thanks again.”
She gave him a half-smile. “Good luck.”
Deckard tipped an invisible hat, then turned and started west.
Deckard slipped through the Cawldera like a shadow, weaving between scorched ridges and plumes of hissing steam. He gave a wide berth to every monster and every player. No reason to pick a fight.
But sometimes, the fight came looking for you.
A blur of blue feathers swooped low behind him.
He cursed and ducked just in time as a Blue Macaw dive-bombed him, its beak snapping inches from his head. The thing was already half-health—wounded and wild. A quick glance back revealed a team of players chasing it from afar. One of those moments when a macaw broke formation and went full chaos mode.
Seagull Dash!
Deckard bolted, boots crunching over ash and brittle rock, but the macaw gave chase, flapping madly in pursuit.
Finally, he flicked his wrist and fired a web shot straight into its face.
The creature squawked in outrage, wings flailing as it tangled itself in sticky strands. That was enough to slow it down.
Its hunters caught up a moment later, shouting commands and charging in.
Deckard didn’t wait to be thanked. He turned and vanished into the haze.
Eventually, he spotted the Cerberus team near the crater’s heart. Positioned smartly—just off center, within the Red Macaw’s usual patrol zone.
Deckard crouched behind a rock and observed.
Half the group was mid-fight, working down a Blue Macaw with clean coordination. The rest lounged nearby, chatting and laughing like they were on break.
No wonder they prefer this over an office job, Deckard thought.
He watched them for a few minutes. Their posture was relaxed, their communication easy. Nothing about them screamed aggressive or territorial. A separate team passed nearby, close enough to provoke a challenge—but while the Cerberus players shifted, alert, they didn’t cause trouble.
Should I check out the other contenders? he wondered.
He shrugged. He only needed one team to work. Might as well be this one.
He rose and approached the idle half, drawing a few curious glances. When he reached them, he cleared his throat.
“Excuse me. I’m looking for your team leader.”
One of the players stood. Lean build, black armor, and a crown of red feathers streaked with blue and gold. He gave Deckard a slow, skeptical once-over.
“That’s me.”
“Mind if we talk in private?”
The man raised an eyebrow. A few teammates exchanged looks but kept their thoughts to themselves.
After a beat, he nodded and followed Deckard a few paces away.
“I’m Deckard,” he said quietly.
“Rook,” the man replied. “What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to propose a deal.”
Rook crossed his arms. “I’m listening.”
“I can help your team secure the next Red Macaw kill. Not contest—secure. I’ll take it down at your feet. All I want in return are both skill cards from the Red Macaw, and all skill cards from any Blue Macaws during that cycle. Everything else—the [Scarlet Marrow], the gear, the gold—is yours.”
Rook snorted. “And how exactly are you planning to pull that off?”
Deckard lowered his voice. “Let’s just say I have a class that lets me one-shot bosses. I’ll wait until it passes through your patrol zone and take it out clean. No one else even gets the chance to react.”
Rook laughed. “What is this, a prank? Did the Yetis put you up to this? And what—you want me to believe you’ve got a hidden class? This is Beginner Island. No one here even has a class yet.”
Deckard met his gaze, steady. “Then let me prove it.”
He turned without waiting and walked toward the Blue Macaw that Cerberus’ strike team was still engaged with. It still had most of its health.
He paused, watching the fumaroles.
The steam would mask the skill from teams watching at a distance. He knew he was taking a risk by showing his hand—but he wasn’t going to flaunt it without discretion.
One hissed up near the edge of the battlefield, and the moment the steam burst skyward, he acted.
Subdimensionalize!
The macaw shimmered, twisted—and vanished into a card.
The Cerberus team froze. The players who’d been fighting stared in disbelief.
Deckard turned slowly, locking eyes with Rook, whose jaw had gone slack.
“Well?” he asked. “Do we have a deal?”
Rook blinked. Then nodded. “Yeah. We do.”
“One more thing,” Deckard said, stepping closer. “Two conditions. First—you don’t tell your higher-ups. Not a word about me or my skill.”
Rook narrowed his eyes, but nodded again.
“Second—before I act, your whole team signs an NDA. And a contract. One that guarantees you’ll hold up your end.”
“…You c-come prepared.”
Deckard offered the faintest smile. “I usually am.”
