Righty then... My apologies for resurrecting this thread, but I took a break from Valheim (totally not a frustration induced strop. Honest.) but inevitably returned to its pixely but surprisingly beautiful world in order to kick some arse and hopefully get my adventure back on track. So, if you'll humour me, it's time for: The Island 2: Draugr Boogaloo (guest-starring The Artist formerly known as Prince).

I logged in to find my intrepid Viking as I left him: Stood in his cluttered home wearing nothing but a pair of soggy underpants and a gloomy expression (and probably listening to Linkin Park for extra emo). All my gear was stuck on the Island. All my reserve gear was on the Island. All my reserve reserve gear was, you guessed it, on the Island No weapons, no armour, but thanks to the discovery of fine wood, what I did have was a whole new set of items available for construction, including a proper boat and a decent bow. Huzzah! A plan began to form in my head, but it would necessitate gathering bronze again, for the birch is the haughty aristocracy of the tree world and refuses to be felled by anything as lowly as a stone axe. However, as I rummaged through my stores in search of a spare pickaxe, I happened to open the "junk" chest (you know, that chest full of crap you save on the off-chance it'll turn out to be useful somewhere but usually isn't) and found a crap-load of troll hide I'd forgotten I had. By the way, thanks to the kind folks who pointed out you can actually make armour from this, since by the time I was brave enough to fight trolls I already had bronze gear and totally disregarded it. Turns out my petty but murderous vendetta against those Giga-Smurfs for terrorising my early days in Valheim had inadvertently supplied me with a full set of armour, albeit a pungent and disturbingly moist one. Still, beggers can't be choosers, and after a brief montage of my Viking building stuff and forging new gear (probably to some inspirational 80's music), I now have a cool boat, an upgraded bow with plenty of arrows, and some striking blue armour that smells distinctly like a Troll's arse crack. Still it was time to sail for the newish world... again, and with the wind behind me for the first bloody time since I started playing, my new boat (christened "The Ikea") carved through the waves with joyous ease, and soon I had arrived on the opposite shore, set up a portal and a small base, and set my sights on the festering boil of biome I call The Island.

Now, just to clarify a couple of things: This place is small; small enough to run across in a few seconds if it wasn't for the fallen trees and pools of deep water. In theory It should be simple to jump from a boat, grab your gravemarker and be off in a couple of seconds. But the awful terrain and sheer density of monsters means you panic and get lost incredibly easily as you desperately try to find where your stuff is hidden. And make no mistake, this island is heaving with monsters. I don't know if it's a quirk of the engine or I am just unlucky, but I am not exaggerating when I say that no sooner have you killed a Draugr then another one will spawn from thin air a few meters away and snipe you with a bow. Bear in mind that I've since encountered a proper Swamp biome, and I know about corpse piles spawning Draugr, but there is nothing of the sort on the Island; no villages, no corpse piles, only a solitary empty shack on the north-east side that might account for the skeletons. Nevertheless, slimes and zombies and skelebobs with swarm you the second you set foot there, which is why I have a boat, a bow, and a plan...

I call it "Operation: Drive-By. Simply stay in the boat, paddle past at a distance and 360-no-scope the undead bastards on the shore, hopefully thinning their numbers enough to make a grab for my stuff. Simple, right? Well, it is at first, as I make the first drive by (sail by?) with ease, peppering the Draugr with arrows and speeding away while they angrily flick the V's at me. In keeping with suitably tense moment, the clouds above me gather to bear witness, and the falling rain adds some fitting drama to proceedings, like it always seems to whenever I'm doing something important, in Valehim and IRL (seriously, if I wanted to experience British weather I'd just step outside and get drenched in person). Another pass brings me closer, and as the bow wielding Drauhr fall and their mates come shambling over to avenge them, I realise the first flaw in my plan: The undead in Valheim do not give a good ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ about water. They will quite happily charge at you through the waves and hack your boat to pieces from under the bloody sea where you can't get them. The second problem? Leeches. I forgot about the sodding leeches. Perhaps naming the boat Ikea was a poor choice, as the flimsy vessel is getting torn apart by leeches, underwater zombies and whats left of the archers on the shore. There's only one thing for it... Girding my loins, brandishing my bow, I leap from the stricken vessel and land on the shore with a Viking war cry erupting from the very depths of my lungs: "COME AND HAVE A GO IF YA THINK YER ARD ENUFF!"

Soggy, enraged and determined not to die on this bastard island again, I take down the last archers and scramble inland. The melee Draugr are busy twatting my boat to bits and ignore me, and in another stroke of good luck, I spot the two rafts from previous attempts not far away; perfect for a slow but useful getaway. Quick map check, first marker to the south, and I stumble across the water logged terrain, grinding my teeth as the stamina bar recharges agonisingly slowly, since according to Valheim, the Vikings were more allergic to water than the bloody aliens from Signs. But wait, I reach the first marker, and by luck it's the one with all my top tier gear. Success! Some light-speed inventory management ensues, but as I finish up and head for the next marker, I am blindsided by two skeletons and some respawned archers. Smack, twang, and there goes most of my health.

Eff this, I'm out.

Arrows whistling past my ears, I make a break for the boat, only to reach the shore and find nothing but axe-wielding zombies charging at me. The bastards destroyed Ikea! Damn you all! Damn you all to hell! But no time to mourn; the archers are closing in, the axe masters commeth, and I leg it to where I saw the rafts earlier.

Aaaaand they've vanished.

Eaten by leeches? Devoured by a game bug? Who the hell knows. What matters is that the damn things have gone and taken my chance of a quick getaway with them. In short, there are two options: Fight and die pointlessly, or run like a whippet with a bum full of dynamite and try to make the swim to the mainland. Not much of a choice, but I pick the second option and somehow manage to evade the undead as I sprint south, cursing the endless rain and my bad luck, only to find Prince waiting for me on the shoreline.

Well, I can't be 100% sure it is thereanimated king of funk, but this Draugr is a proud and flamboyant shade of purple; a gaudy beacon of immaculately coiffured undead virility, and while the other snot zombies have been busy shambling about waiting for the next thought to turn up, this guy has been hitting the weights, tapping himself some fine Draugr booty and probably writing his next sudio album while he waits for me to show up. But wait he did, like he knew ahead of time that I would be there, like he knew he was cosmically ordained to be my nemesis by some cruel twist of fate, and he his ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ ready for me. Dismounting from his motorbike, the Artist formerly known as Prince draws his bow as I sprint past, low on stamina and health, ready to bring the purple pain as I launch my bedraggled Viking into the sea and frantically doggy-paddle towards the mainland. He fires his bow… and misses! Kiss my arse you diminutive zombie ponce! Cool as a cucumber, Prince runs a perfectly manicured finger along his pencil ‘stache before taking aim again… Another miss! There are leeches nipping at my backside, a small army of Draugr chasing me, and a psychotic zombie popstar firing a bow at me, but I’m almost safe. If I can just reach the portal… But Prince has other ideas. He tosses back his hair, adjusts his shoulder pads, and with grim finality, nocks and draws his final arrow, this one tied with a single purple ribbon for luck. Taking careful aim at my bright blue backside, he fires again, the world holds its breath, doves fly, doves cry, and the arrow…

The arrow hits me square in the back.

My Viking dies within spitting distance of land, staining the water crimson as Prince smirks to himself and mounts his purple motorbike, riding away to do whatever zombified popstars do in an afterlife confined to a ♥♥♥♥♥♥ little swamp island in the middle of nowhere, and my quest is at an end. Not the glorious triumph I envisaged, but rather a bittersweet half-victory. It’s only a short swim to retrieve my gear, and while there are grave markers still stranded on that Island carrying some of my reserve equipment, I am content to leave them for now. Thanks to this tricky, frustrating, but ultimately enjoyable slice of emergent gameplay I am now considerably more knowledgeable about and immersed in this wonderful game world than I would have been otherwise. In fact, it’s little adventures like this that remind me why I keep playing videogames, and while you may not have bothered reading this in full (or at all), it’s been a great deal of run writing and reliving the whole experience. Mark my words: I will return to the Island one day and reclaim my lost equipment, perhaps when I’m carrying the Viking equivalent of power armour and a Gatling gun, and wipe every bloody Draugr, bouncing snot ball and skeleton from the face of creation. But until then, I have mead to brew, a world to explore and other challenges to face…

Speaking of which, killing the Elder was a piece of piss compared to that whole ordeal.