Best Story In The World

[Inell Krolick]

Helloguys! I've recently finished EOD story, and now looking forward to buying a living story seasons, but not sure which ones are better in terms of fun/profit. Can you give an advice, please? ?

I liked the story in season 2 the most.

Maps in season 3. (Also good for getting ascended trinkets from the map currency vendors.)

And season 4 .... is required for the best mount (skyscale).

Icebrood had a good start and some nice maps at first (Bjora has interesting atmosphere and nice sound/music) ... but got pretty boring at the end (last chapter). Useful mastery (the one for the waystation - for CC) - for later.

If you're looking for just profitability and nothing more, I recommend Season 4 - or even just S4E6.

As for "fun", that's a bit too subjective, but it's most widely agreed that Season 4 is the peak of GW2 storytelling.

LWS 4, hands down, the skyscale, while a little clunky to learn, is one of the best mounts, period. It's basically the swiss army knife of mounts. It can't do everything the best, and isn't the fastest, but because it can do everything, it's the best for navigating new terrain or terrain you're not super familiar with. I would say at least 1 episode of IB saga so you can get ice shards in your Home instance. That will make farming the currencies in for the skyscale easier.

IB saga is probably the least useful, but you'd probably want at least dragonstorm, and E1/Bjora for the Ice shard HI node. And in fairness, the IB saga strikes are super chill 10-man content, so if you're into that, there's value in all the episodes.

So as you can afford it, choose wisely OP if any of these appeal to you.

When I first heard about what happened to Howard, I was at Shady Grove hospital, with an IV attached to my arm. I was awaiting the results of my emergency MRI with potential diagnoses of "mini-stroke" and "multiple sclerosis", which were later ruled out. That day, I also heard about the most recent threat by the Islamic Sate (ISIS), which vowed to attack high-end shopping malls in my home country of Jordan where most of my family dwells, including my parents, sisters and my 100 cousins (Yes, you read that right, 100).

Howard is a cashier at my neighborhood Safeway. He is known among our community as the "World's best cashier" for his "Spinning and winning" game show and his very pleasant persona. People would line up to have their groceries checked out by him so that they can watch his demonstration. He would turn the grocery shopping experience into a game show where you would "spin" and then "leave out a winner." He had a a radio voice quality to him that many in the community thought he should pursue a career in show biz. If you were having a bad day, all you had to do was go to Safeway to see Howard who will immediately leave you smiling.

So while I was in my hospital bed anxiously awaiting the results of my MRI, my husband told me what happened to Howard. Howard who worked for Safeway for at least seven years or more, was sacked while on vacation because of a scheduling conflict. When the neighbors found out about it, they took action. Using the social network Nextdoor, a resident of Twinbrook informed the community of his firing, and urged them to write to Safeway's management and ethics department to reinstate him.

Other members of the community took to Twitter and started the hashtag #rehirehowardsafeway, while others offered to find him a job, and some took to LinkedIn to find contacts of top Safeway executives. Others went the traditional route and called top Safeway management to complain.

Commenting on his YouTube Video, another neighbor said: "That video needs to go viral and be picked up by someone who can really employ his talents. He should be on the radio or something with that awesome voice of his."

Eventually, Safeway listened to the neighbors' complaints and rehired Howard. Neighbors were encouraged to contact the person who was responsible for hiring him to thank him personally. The day I was released from the hospital, I headed to Safeway first thing. I still had the plastic bracelet from the hospital that said "fall risk" when I entered the store. I ran to his station and gave him a big hug and told him how happy I was he was back. Right behind me was a woman who informed him that she made a point to come to Safeway that day to welcome him back. "You have no idea how many lives you've touched," she told him.

I'm beating myself up for ignoring the micro level of my existence, my own community, while focusing my whole attention on the global issues that took a toll a huge toll on my health and my mental sanity. I was too busy focusing on the horrors of ISIS, that I completely forgot that we as a community can make a difference in our small surroundings. The world these days is in need of a good story like Howard's. You might not be able to change the world, but you can definitely leave an impact in your own small surrounding. Kudos to the power of community that is bringing us the good stories that we are constantly striving for.

His name was Charlie Mears; he was the only son of his mother who was awidow, and he lived in the north of London, coming into the City every dayto work in a bank. He was twenty years old and suffered from aspirations.I met him in a public billiard-saloon where the marker called him by hisgiven name, and he called the marker "Bullseyes." Charlie explained, alittle nervously, that he had only come to the place to look on, and sincelooking on at games of skill is not a cheap amusement for the young, Isuggested that Charlie should go back to his mother.

That was our first step toward better acquaintance. He would call on mesometimes in the evenings instead of running about London with hisfellow-clerks; and before long, speaking of himself as a young man must,he told me of his aspirations, which were all literary. He desired to makehimself an undying name chiefly through verse, though he was not abovesending stories of love and death to the drop-a-penny-in-the-slotjournals. It was my fate to sit still while Charlie read me poems of manyhundred lines, and bulky fragments of plays that would surely shake theworld. My reward was his unreserved confidence, and the self-revelationsand troubles of a young man are almost as holy as those of a maiden.Charlie had never fallen in love, but was anxious to do so on the firstopportunity; he believed in all things good and all things honorable, but,at the same time, was curiously careful to let me see that he knew his wayabout the world as befitted a bank clerk on twenty-five shillings a week.He rhymed "dove" with "love" and "moon" with "June," and devoutly believedthat they had never so been rhymed before. The long lame gaps in his playshe filled up with hasty words of apology and description and swept on,seeing all that he intended to do so clearly that he esteemed it alreadydone, and turned to me for applause.

I fancy that his mother did not encourage his aspirations, and I know thathis writing-table at home was the edge of his washstand. This he told mealmost at the outset of our acquaintance; when he was ravaging mybookshelves, and a little before I was implored to speak the truth as tohis chances of "writing something really great, you know." Maybe Iencouraged him too much, for, one night, he called on me, his eyes flamingwith excitement, and said breathlessly:

There was no resisting the appeal. I set him a table; he hardly thankedme, but plunged into the work at once. For half an hour the pen scratchedwithout stopping. Then Charlie sighed and tugged his hair. The scratchinggrew slower, there were more erasures, and at last ceased. The fineststory in the world would not come forth.

Charlie told, and in the telling there was everything that his ignorancehad so carefully prevented from escaping into the written word. I lookedat him, and wondering whether it were possible that he did not know theoriginality, the power of the notion that had come in his way? It wasdistinctly a Notion among notions. Men had been puffed up with pride bynotions not a tithe as excellent and practicable. But Charlie babbled onserenely, interrupting the current of pure fancy with samples of horriblesentences that he purposed to use. I heard him out to the end. It would befolly to allow his idea to remain in his own inept hands, when I could doso much with it. Not all that could be done indeed; but, oh so much!

There are few things sweeter in this world than the guileless, hot-headed,intemperate, open admiration of a junior. Even a woman in her blindestdevotion does not fall into the gait of the man she adores, tilt herbonnet to the angle at which he wears his hat, or interlard her speechwith his pet oaths. And Charlie did all these things. Still it wasnecessary to salve my conscience before I possessed myself of Charlie'sthoughts.

"Look at it as a matter of business--between men of the world," Ireturned. "Five pounds will buy you any number of poetry-books. Businessis business, and you may be sure I shouldn't give that price unless"----

"Oh, if you put it that way," said Charlie, visibly moved by the thoughtof the books. The bargain was clinched with an agreement that he should atunstated intervals come to me with all the notions that he possessed,should have a table of his own to write at, and unquestioned right toinflict upon me all his poems and fragments of poems. Then I said, "Nowtell me how you came by this idea."

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