Chronicler of Ko-Koro

IC:Gauvik mentally tried to compose an order in his head. Most of the stuff they served was utterly foreign to the Kruenbaulc, and they served soldiers with the most basic of gruel."Uh... I suppose I'll have the sausage then, perhaps some oatmeal too," he muttered in the direction of the barkeep.---Ketarn listened to the names read alone, leaning in slightly closer to Athiah to cast his eyes across the list."Well, these two - Brithlin and Gauvik - couldn't be bothered to assist me in a moment of peril last night. I shall hope they have better character than to do the same to you," he muttered. "Most of these names I don't recognize - I have a few books of prison records in most of the major cities, if you wish to check them for their names. But this one... Elisia Greycliffe? Dear lord, don't tell me you don't know about Lady Greycliffe?"[For Science!]

IC:"I'm most appreciate that," said Gauvik. "I've spent most of my coin for the journey here, that that's already on the fairly meager earnings of a soldier, mind you."---"Ah yes, the werewolf from the Kruenbaulc. Well, I can only hope the best of luck to you in your endeavors," said Ketarn before adding, with a hint of what might have been concern, "...Do you have the names of these fellows? I ask simply for your safety; this is a most dangerous den, after all, and any one of them might wish to cut your throat just for a larger share of loot."[For Science!]

IC:"Perhaps I shall join you for breakfast," said Gauvik, "the music... perhaps not as much."---"My dear, given what other people have said of me, your words are downright complimentary," Ketarn said. If he didn't know better, Ketarn would have almost thought Athiah might be trying to flatter him with such a comparison. "Yes, it's quite hard to find the truth about Sala-Grimna; I know that better than most, I've amassed quite the collection about him. Those who truly knew the wizard... rarely lived long enough to transcribe their thoughts."He chuckled darkly to himself at the thought. Not unlike himself, perhaps, Sala-Grimna liked to surround himself in mystery."Now, I can't imagine you've come to Sala-Grimna's stronghold just to take in the sights. I trust you have a suitable party for exploring these dark catacombs, yes?" he asked, inquisitively. "I couldn't bear the thought of some terrible fate befalling you alone in those caverns. It would be like losing a precious work of art."[For Science!]

OOC: 'Fraid I can't really think of any good plots to jump into, Joe. The fact the Technax finale is taking place out in space pretty much locks new players out of participating in it, and most of the planetside plots already wrapped up because, honestly, we weren't expecting the forums to go down for several months.And KN, I'd like to add that I really hope the "psychic with no taste-buds" didn't come across as anything other than a joke. I don't have any problems with a few psychics running around (clearly, seeing as I just made one a player character ), but obviously if everyone's psychokinetic and stuff it's just gonna get dull for the characters who aren't.IC:Mystic felt the rumble of the elevator descended, arms crossed impatiently. Outside, all eyes were turned towards the massive ball of light which had lit up the night sky - of course, when Mystic said all eyes were looking at it, she knew this for a fact. Somewhere, out there in the blackness of space, events were no doubt unfolding that would decide the fate of the planet, but whether it bode salvation or annihilation was something she couldn't say. Either way, it was beyond Mystic's control.So, she'd kept herself busy with whatever business she could find. It wasn't much, but they could be minutes away from Armagedeon; at the very least she was doing something when it all ended. She'd been busy the rest of the war, helping coordinate engagements on the frontline. But with the bulk of Technax's forces gone and the majority of the fighting over, her tactical services were no longer necessary. There were survivors to help and cities to rebuilt, but proper reconstruction efforts couldn't get underway until the last remnants of the robot army were disposed of.So Mystic found herself assigned to deal with an unexplained case that had just come to the League's attention. Some kind of bizarre incident in Hungary, there some kid at the middle of it, the League had taken him to a holding facility... Mystic wished she had more to go on here, but with the war going on quality reporting had fallen somewhat to the wayside. Still, she had to assess whether this kid represented some sort of threat. For all they knew he was part of some plan by Technax, and even if he wasn't there was an untold number of supervillains poised to take advantage of the chaos.Standing next to her was a superhero by the name of Freebird, sent by the League to serve as protection in case the kid proved dangerous, and more important, to serve as Mystic's eyes. The doors to the elevator opened, and Mystic took a few uncertain steps outside. When she was in a crowd she had enough viewpoints to piece together a good idea of her environment, but here she just had Freebird to rely on, which was a little like trying to walk around a room using only footage from a security camera. It was possible, but there was still a lot of guesswork with regards to spatial reasoning. Still, she did her best not to let those shortcomings show; it wouldn't be very dignified if she ended up stumbling down the corridor."Uh... excuse me, ma'am," Freebird asked as they reached the door to the holding cell, "if you need me to come in with you... I mean, we don't know anything about this kid, could be dangerous... not to mention, you, well...""I'll be fine, his eyes are just as good as any. I'll call you if things get hairy," she said. "Uh... he does have eyes, right?""To the best of my knowledge, ma'am," nodded Freebird. Mystic could sense he was displeased with the implication that he was only here for his eyes, but Freebird was polite enough not to mention it.He swung the door open, letting Mystic enter before locking it shut behind her, just in case the subject was plotting some sort of escape. Mystic could see herself enter through the eyes of the subject within; her every move was proper and professional, looking more like a businesswomen than a superhero. Mystic opened her mind a little to try and skim the surface thoughts of the subject's mind. Not enough to invade his privacy - she didn't want to risk him panicking - but more than enough to tell if he was going to lie to her."Hello... my name is Mystic, I work for the League of Salvation... you know what the League is, right?" she asked, her voice just a little to matter-of-fact to be truly comforting. "Now, can you tell me a little about yourself? Do you have a name? Do you remember anything about what happened before you came here?"[For Science!]

OOC: To be fair, Mystic was already a semi-recurring NPC for a while now, so the similarities would have still been there either way. :shrugs:But don't worry, you can still salvage the guy, he just needs a few tweaks. Let's see... we've already got a blind psychic, a deaf psychic, a paralyzed psychic, that leaves... uh... a psychic with no sense of smell? No taste buds? All I've got, sorry.IC:The darkness was coming once again, and this time Fade didn't think he could fight it. By this point, he wasn't even sure he wanted to. He'd gotten them this far, fought a blasted war just to get to this point, given everything in his power - literally, considering that phasing stunt and all - to see the team to safety. Fade had confidence they'd be able to make it this last leg, and if they didn't, at least he gave it his all. Fade could die comfortably in the knowledge he'd at least tried.No, wait. Screw that.Fade forced his eyes open, eying one of Esp's stolen lasers, knocked to the ground by the latest impact. What use was all that effort even for, if he wasn't going to see it through to the end? He'd see the others to safety, then he could worry about dying. Fighting every urge to lay down and die, Fade started to drag himself across the floor, fingers clasped around the laser as if it were the only thing in the world left to cling to. He pulled himself to the wall, grasping with one arm for support.And slowly, fighting aching, splitting pain with every movement, Fade hauled himself back up to his feet.Even after all that, just staying up right was a monumental effort. Fade staggered back down towards the ramp, nearly collapsing a few times. But Fade knew he couldn't let that happen; he didn't have the strength to pull himself back up again, and then there was no option other than death. Propping himself against the wall for support, Fade aimed the laser out the ramp, towards the oncoming missiles. He couldn't do anything about the debris, he couldn't risk another phase like that. He'd just have to hope Loadstone or one of the others could clear a safe path.Fade took aim with the laser, pointed at the closest of the oncoming missiles. Thankfully, despite its alien design the controls were easy enough to understand; they probably had to be, considering they were meant for Technax's drones. Fade let forth a burst of plasma, spraying bolts of light towards the oncoming missile, aiming to detonate it early, damage the tracking system, blow out its engines, anything to get it off their tale. In this instance, Fade's shaky aim was working in his favor; its tracking systems would no doubt avoid the first few shots, but the wide, erratic spray of Fade's shooting meant it was unlikely to dodge one bolt without flying straight into another.[For Science!]

OOC: So, I'm thinking I'll just post my profile for the previously-discussed third character right now. My original intention was to save it my second arc down the road, which I could tie the introduction into pretty naturally, but who knows how long that'll be and let's face it, I'm an impatient man. So here goes; spoilered to save space: Incidentally, Chalcon, assuming there's no problems with the profile, she can probably give Ori some interaction to start him off (I'm assuming that he's supposed to be in a League holding facility, correct?)IC:Bleeding and groaning though he was, Fade could take comfort in one small factor: at the moment, they were not dead. At least, he didn't think they were dead. He really had no frame of reference as to just what death was like, outside of nearly dying a few times which hardly counted. But none of the standard religious texts had any mention of the afterlife involving a giant robot shooting at you, so Fade had to guess they were probably alive.Well, he might not be in a few moments, which was problematic to say the least. The world was switching in and out of darkness, and each time it happened it got harder for Fade to pull back out. Phasing the ship, even for just that long, had been way harder than Fade expected. It probably had to do with the speeds at which Esp was traveling. It might have been the same size as a plane, but throw kinetic energy into the mix and it took a lot more juice to phase it.This information was relevant in exactly no way, of course. Fade just found focusing on matters of mass and velocity made it much easier to cling desperately to consciousness than thinking about, say, the possibility of impending death.[For Science!]

IC:"I had no particular plans, so I suppose just the usual: skulking about some shady corner of the hall, making eyes at people whilst sharpening an axe," Gauvik shrugged. "If you can recommend a better plan, I'm all ears."---Ketarn did of course pick up on the forced politeness in her voice; it was a talent he prided himself on and had honed for many years. As far as he was concerned, the false cordiality of the Brentons was truly the most beautiful thing in Rhithianworn, and a treasure nearly as valuable as any in Sala-Grimna's citadel. Ketarn had no delusions: he was a truly repugnant man, utterly twisted to the core. You probably had to be to declare yourself, in complete sincerity, the Lord of the Isles of Blood. And yet all these lords and nobles who could barely stand the sight of him had no choice but to treat him with kindness and respect, just for the sake of peaceful relations. That, as far as Ketarn was concerned, was a far greater power than wealth or armies could bring."Oh, I've managed, I suppose you could say. Not that you didn't know that, of course, everyone's heard the stories. There's not as much truth in them as you might believe, I assure you," said Ketarn, leaving the implication that there was some truth in those tales left unsaid but implied. "I have expanded my Library quite a bit; traveled here and there to keep rare volumes from being lost by certain... careless hands. And just what might you be reading, if you don't mind me asking? Pardon me, I simply can't help but be curious..."[For Science!]

IC:Gauvik had not quite expected to see another face this early in the morning, years of military training having taught his body to wake itself up at incredibly early hours. Still, he gave a wave towards Brithlin."'Morning," he said as he approached. "I trust you slept well... better than me, at any rate."---"Now... that cannot be who I think it is?"Almost suddenly, Lord Ketarn was standing before Athaih. Either she had been greatly engrossed in her book or Ketarn was silent as a spectre, for there had been no sign of his approach until he spoke. There was something slightly untrustworthy about his demeanor - although there was always something untrustworthy about Lord Ketarn, and he liked it that way - but the fact he was not presently flanked by his well-armed entourage suggested he did not come with ill intentions... not obvious ones, anyway."Ah, Princess Athiah Brenton, I presume? My, you're just as beautiful as they say; I'd say perhaps even moreso, if you can stand the flattery. You must forgive my intrusion, I simply was not expecting to see royalty in such a wretched place as this," he said, motioning disparagingly across the hall with his cane."I trust Rhithianworn is lovely as ever, yes? Oh, it's been years since I've visited it last, I'm afraid. Perhaps when all this is over I shall visit it again; the Sanguine Isles are far too dreary a place to spend too long in, you understand."[For Science!]

IC:Kerarn and party had taken a dark, secluded corner of the Refectory for themselves, walled off from the rest of the hall by a divider of swirled black and crimson cloth. The purposes it served were manifold. In theory, it was there purely to keep out the unwanted and undesirable, but more subtly, it was there for another reason. It was a message, simple but effective: Lord Ketarn is among you, but he is not one of you. Lord Ketarn will not be coming down to your level. Besides, Ketarn knew it would be hard to maintain an aura of mystery if he was lying down to sleep with the unwashed masses.As the other adventurers drifted to sleep, a lantern burned in Ketarn's camp for many more hours before it was casually snuffed out. During this time Ketarn engrossed himself in an aged, faded record of wars on the Plains of Dasaar. It was a dull text that would interest few, yet Ketarn pores over it for hours. What others might see as a dry list of skirmishes and engagements, Ketarn saw as a detailed account of wartime crimes and atrocities, valuable information to hold next time he dealt with the lords of Dasaar. And, at the very least, it was truly boring enough to put Ketarn in a mood for sleep.OOC: Since it looks there won't much interaction this night beyond "Character X was still asleep", I'm just gonna assume no one will mind if I go ahead with the timeskip.IC:Slowly, Gauvik awoke, dark memories thankfully fading into oblivion with the break of dawn. Slowly he rose, stowing his bedroll and fastening his armor on. When he was finished, Gauvik glanced over at a heqvy cauldron once filled with boiling molten metal, but now only stored excess rainwater. He gazed down at his reflection, a weary-faced mountain of a man, nearly all ornamentation on his armor worn away by warfare and time. He tried to remember the face that had once stared back, when he was still a clean-shaven green young soldier, when his armor still bore the regal blue of the High Guard, when he still thought he was making a difference.No use looking for that man; he'd been gone far too long by now. Better to focus on the here and now, whatever it might bring. Lifting his axe, Gauvik left the foundry behind and headed through the early dawn towards the Refectory...[For Science!]

IC:Gauvik chuckled to himself as Brithlin vanished into the pouring rain. Good Gauvik... ...heh... Well, at the very least, one of them still believed that. His laugh grew louder, booming like the thunder as Gauvik marched through the rain. It had been quite a while since he'd truly laughed with anything more than bitter resentment; even a fellow as morose as Gauvik had to admit it felt pretty good. It was probably for the best he was on his own right now; few people would interpret the seven-foot tall man carrying a massive slab of an axe and laughing like a madman as anything other than bad news.Like Brithlin, Gauvik had also chosen to make his camp outside of the safe walls of the Refectory, having chosen one of the abandoned foundries that dotted the outskirts of Sala-Grimna's Citadel. What good memories he'd had left were still of his days as a humble blacksmith, and any place with a forge felt a little like home to him. It was no palace: the walls were crumbling and there was a massive hole at the center of the foundry where part of the ceiling had simply given way after untold ages of neglect. Still, there was enough of a roof to keep the rain out, the open ceiling let in a nice breeze on the hottest days, and when Gauvik was able to get a fire going he had plenty of material to repair his armor and weapons.Gauvik unrolled his bedroll beside a rusted pile of metal that was once a massive furnace and laid down. Sleep never came easy, although it always did come, eventually. He tried letting the patter of the rain lull him to sleep, but that just brought with it more unpleasant memories of Neauburn. He stared at the cracked and faded ceiling for what must have been ages, but with no way to keep time it could have just been seconds. He didn't know how it was he finally calmed his nerves enough to sleep - he never could the next morning, yet somehow it must have happened - and let himself drift off to the land of dream and nightmare.[For Science!]

IC:Fade looked down at one of the control panels, which gave him the perfect view of the Siege Tower bringing its weapons online to target Esp. That thing looked equipped to destroy whole cities; there was absolutely no doubt in Fade's mind that a single barrage from that thing could destroy Esp and utterly exterminate everyone aboard. They were handling the swarm of fighters behind them, but a weapon the size of a skyscraper? If Fade had been waiting for their most desperate moment, it didn't get more desperate than this.His first response was, somewhat understandably, a string of particularly profane curses. Then a pause, a sigh, and Fade placed both hands firmly on the control panel. He thought back, far back, all the way to his fight with Forcefield on that plane. He'd managed then - survived, even - and Esp couldn't be much larger than a plane. Besides, Fade didn't have the time to think about the thousands of ways this plan could go wrong. It was either act or die.Focusing all his willpower, Fade rippled and warped as he began to turn intangible, phase particles jumping from his hand to the control panel and spreading throughout the ship. Doing so, Fade was suddenly very aware of the sheer mass of the ship, but forced that information out of his mind. It simply wasn't helpful right now. As with every large object Fade had ever phased, this wouldn't work for more than a few seconds, but a few seconds would help the ship survive at least survive the first round with the Siege Tower.Fade was a blur now, individual features indistinguishable as he shifted and twisted through various dimensions of intangibility. Finally, letting lose a uncontrolled scream of pain, Fade lost his grip and dropped to the deck, coughing up blood and moaning. The excited phase particles would take a few seconds to return to their normal state; as Fade fought for consciousness he could only hope that was enough to see them to safety - or at the very least, keep them alive a few moments longer.[For Science!]

IC:"And with each day that goes by, I fear I find it to be even thinner than I'd thought before," Gauvik said, shaking his head.He lifted his axe out of the dirt, droplets of mud falling off the blade. He ducked under the awning, scooping up his pile of armor under one muscled arm."Well, perhaps I should be seeking sleep. A little rest might cool the mind a bit," he said. "I understand we are both to be in the same exploring party tomorrow. I will look forward to seeing you again, friend."[For Science!]

OOC: A timeskip soon is probably best, there's not much action likely to happen until morning anyway.IC:"That dwarf treated murder - treated life itself - like a game, like a joke. By all rights, I should have taken his head," Gauvik muttered. "Yet I stood by, perfectly willing to let him spill the blood of living, breathing beings before my eyes, simply because I didn't know them, didn't find them honorable. How then can I find myself honorable, I ask you? That man may have been evil, perhaps; it didn't make him wrong."---Lord Ketarn's party marched through the hall, attracting what few eyes were still awake. At least a few of them knew Ketarn - some as the Red Lord, some as He of the Isles of Blood, some simply by the name of Castle Carmine - and knew enough about him to keep their distance. Ketarn knew he was not the sort few people would willingly associate with... yet, somehow, his library rarely went a month without visitors. The hypocrisy of it all was enough to keep Ketarn amused for quite a while; when they showed up at his doors, asking politely to peruse his tomes, if it's not a problem, that is... that was when he saw their true faces.Adela Wystheart sidled closer, a wave of her hand and a crackle of power enveloping the pair in an aura of silence. To others around them, their voices were little more than hushed whispers."What of the dwarf, my lord?" she asked, pointing without moving towards Birodor across the hall. "He could be useful.""...Could. He could also rain destruction down upon us all when he chooses to lop off the wrong head," Ketarn said after some thought. "Keeping a man like him in my employ is a surefire way to create enemies I don't need. For the moment though, he's simply a nuisance. Keep an eye on him, so we can see which way he chooses to turn."[For Science!]

IC:"Orbek and I have an arrangement, I believe I said so when you went into your little 'head-chopping' mood. He provides me with goods and services, I extend a certain level of protection to him. We've both getting something out of the deal; I do believe that would qualify as a 'trade,'" said Ketarn. "And yes, you bloody dwarves can have the things back when I'm dead, what use would I have for it then? Not that I intend to do that for many, many years, so don't get your hopes up."He moved back up the steps to the Refectory, the members of his party following to join them. Orbek shot an angry glance on his way up towards Birodor; nearly getting beheaded was not a matter most people forgave easily."Now, I'm sure you have many interesting stories of murder and mutilation, and I'm sure I'll hear them at length over the next few weeks whether I like them or not, but now is simply not the time," he said, letting the double doors swing wide. "I'd like to get a grasp of just where I'm apparently expected to inhabit for the next few days, then perhaps I'll finally get some blasted rest. As I've said, it's been a long journey."He gave one last glance across the rain-soaked road towards where Gauvik and Brithlin were still watching. Gauvik was still as a statue, hands resting firmly on the handle of his axe, unblinking eyes glowing a faint blue even in the dark."Oh... and thanks for stepping in so heroically when threats of murder were being tossed about," Ketarn said to them as he stepped into the warm, dry hall, the doors swinging shut slowly behind him. "Truly, you are both outstanding members of your respective communities."[For Science!]

IC:"Well, unless your Sharkmen know how to drive stick I can't imagine they'll be much help, but thanks anyway," Hivemind shrugged, vanishing back into the cab of the truck.The engine roared furiously as she put it back into drive, and began maneuvering the truck into a position where it could be better lifted aboard the boat.---Fade watched the hoards of fighters closing in on Esp; he might not be in much condition to help, but he sure wasn't about to sit around and do nothing. He checked his belt; he had exactly seven smoke bombs left on his belt. Staggering away from the wall he'd supported himself on, Fade unreeled his grappler and hooked the pin of one grenade around the end. Whirling it like a lasso, Fade whipped the bomb out into the hordes of fighters, tearing the pin loose in the process.His aim was horrible - the pain wasn't helping his focus, and it wasn't easy to stand - but he didn't need good aim at the moment. There were enough fighters swarming behind them that the little genade was bound to hit something, and the flash and smoke was enough to confound the Dual Fighter's sensors for a few moments, allowing Esp to put just a little more distance between them and certain death.[For Science!]

IC:Ketarn stroked his beard, ponderous. He gave a look towards Orbek."So, what do you think?" he asked. "Are his terms acceptable?""Personally, sir, I'd rather nah' be dead," Orbek grunted, hands clasped around his hammer. "What's it matter to me wha' some blasted dwarf customs say I can an' can't trade?""Ketarn turned back to Birodor, solemnly shaking his head."Well, I'm afraid he just won't agree to your terms. You'll have to make a better offer than that, or else these negotiations will just go nowhere," Ketarn said. "Now, look, I really don't want to have to kill you, and I assume you don't want me do that either. There's nothing to be gained from your death, so I'd prefer to avoid the pointless bloodshed. But if you choose to attack dear Orbek, I'm afraid there are only two possible outcomes. You will either fail and die or, should you succeed, you'll have made an enemy of me and I will be forced to deal with you appropriately."So you see, you really have the most to lose here, should you choose to go through with this course of action. With that in mind, I'm sure we can reach an arrangement agreeable to both parties, can we not?"[For Science!]

IC:Orbek raised his hammer to defend himself the heavy stone weapon halting the axe blade. Ketarn's entourage leapt into action; Rusk twirled his hook-blades, attempting to snatch the weapon from Birodor with one and slash at his face with the other, while mages Adela and Krunn waited, staves crackling with arcane power, to blast the dwarf at the first clear moment. Gauvik watched with impassive eyes. He neither knew nor liked either side; provided they didn't try to drag him into this he had no problem with them killing each other."NOBODY MOVE!"The entourage froze; it was perfectly up to Birodor to do the same, but it was likely the others would resume their assault if he did. Ketarn's voice boomed like thunder as he stepped into the fray, taking a moment to adjust his composure before approaching the dwarves."Now, now, there's no need to quarrel. I'd much rather not have you as an enemy; I'm not sure I'd like you as a friend either, but I'm not one to fight battles I could more easily avoid," he said, tone returning to normal levels. "If Orbek and I have a mutual arrangement, I don't quite believe that's your concern. I'm sure there some dwarven custom or ritual you feel has been broken here but frankly, I don't particularly care beyond the fact it's driving you to attack persons in my employ. Besides... a self-professed murderer isn't exactly the sort to accuse another of dishonor, am I wrong?"[For Science!]

IC:"Oh... You're still here. Marvelous," said Ketarn with a disparaging glance downwards. "This? Oh.. perhaps three years. It's hard to say, dear Orbek has brought me so many dwarven trinkets over the years I can barely keep track, and I can't help but notice you're still following me. Yes, you're most definitely still following me. Care to explain why?"[For Science!]

IC:"As much fun as that sounds, I did not come all this way just to get into a quarrel with some vertically-challenged thug who goes to the single largest assessment of riches in the know world to commit a simple robbery," said Ketarn. "I should hope not to see you again, but somehow I doubt I'll have that pleasure."He stepped towards the doors of the Refectory, making a motion for his guardsmen to follow.[For Science!]

IC:Ketarn's eyes drifted away from Gauvik and and Brithlin and turned - rather deliberately downwards - towards the dwarf."Truly sorry, I'm afraid I'm using all of those, and quite particularly attached to one in particular. But trust me, if I ever feel the need to part with them I'll be sure to let you now," he said to Birodor. "Still... it is impressive - admirable, even - that you feel confident to make such claims by surrounded by close to half a dozen heavily armed, bloodthirsty murderers."He gave a quick glance towards his gathered party."I do apologize for that, but there really isn't a better name for what you folks do."[For Science!]

IC:"It seems your sayings translate far better than mine," chuckled Gauvik. "God... I suppose I've been a soldier for far too long. Fight as many battles as I have, it's hard to see peace as anything but the lull before the next big storm."And then, because fate is known for her flair for the dramatic, the lull broke, and a new storm came crashing in.Somewhere in the distance, hidden behind a wall of pouring rain, came the rattle of a carriage. All was curiously silent for a few moments, then a shape started to emerge from the downpour. Not the massive, armored shape of Gauvik's dreams, but perhaps just as dreadful. This man was slim and slender, dressed in a slick overcoat and carrying a cane at his side; most curious, since he did not seem to have even the slightest limp. His face was obscured at a distance by the rain, but unmistakable even in these torrents was the man's almost unnaturally bright red hair. He was a man unlikely to be mistaken for anyone else; the Lord of the Isles of Blood always ensured that his reputation proceeded him.More shapes slunk in the fog behind him; the superstitious might think for a moment they were demons, said to dance in Lord Ketarn's court for his amusement. As they drew closer it became clear they were merely mortals, but that might prove little comfort. While Ketarn surrounded himself with an aura of fear and misdirection, the band that followed him were much more direct in their intentions, the tools they carried practically radiating the harm they wished to inflict. Lord Ketarn - giving practically no heed to the rainfall beating down upon him - clasped both hands atop his cane and leaned forwards to address the dor and kruewen."Good evening, sirs. My, my, some weather we're having, isn't it?" he asked, curiously casual. "They say the devil himself rides in storms like this, but it's never where I've met him. My name is Lord Ketarn... perhaps you've heard of me, yes?"[For Science!]

this was my point (and im not surprised anybody missed it)- he originally described indestructible zombies that couldn't die or be cured. there was no hope of ever getting out alive. there's just a handful of people biding their time. if you can't win, why fight?And I believe my post addressed that very point. Like I said, that very point makes an interesting internal conflict: should you give up and accept the inevitable, or defiantly fight fate to the bitter end? Go gentle into that good night or rage against the dying of the light, so to say. Personally, I think that makes for a lot of interesting plot potential and character development (and the fact we can have such different opinions on the subject is only proof of that, in my opinion).[For Science!]

I could not disagree more, because of the critical distinction between "survival-horror" and "action-horror". Survival horror puts the focus less on fighting the enemies, either by making them nigh/totally impossible to kill, or making weapons and ammo so scarce that it's simply not practical to fight them, making surviving the crucial aspect of the game. It's not about cutting a path of bodies towards the end boss, it's just about getting out alive. Action-horror (which most previous RPGs with horror elements have fallen under), by contrast, is pretty much any other game ever, but the enemies look "kinda gross." Personally, I see a lot more potential in a game about survival-horror.And I really disagree when you say there's no potential for story. On a basic level, this is simply because I believe claiming any idea has no story potential is a fundamentally broken conclusion, but on this specific topic I'd like to offer specific counterpoints. You say a major problem is that defeat is inevitable and fighting is no use; personally, I say those exact complaints are an excellent point to build a story around. When you're faced with an enemy you simply cannot hope to defeat, what do you do? Do you simply give up now, or grapple with fate to the last just to survive? And what sort of mindset would you have to have to keep fighting when all hope is lost? Really, there's some awesome story potential there.If anything, I'd really like to see someone finally get a non-combat RPG out there, just to prove that a game can succeed without a "yay yay fighty time fighty time blood blood blood" mentality to it.EDIT: Oh yeah, and I totally agree with giving the enemies a Lovecraftian/creepypasta vibe. They should be the sort of enemies who intimidate and frighten players by their inhumanity.[For Science!]

IC:Gauvik couldn't speak for the quality of Brithlin's music - he'd never listened to nearly enough to feel qualified as a judge - but he couldn't deny the soothing effect it had."...Thank you for that," he said with a courteous nod. "But the dreams will simply come again, I'm afraid. And while I appreciate the assistance, I'm sure you'll understand why I'd rather you didn't sing me to sleep with lullabies every night. So, in the end, what does it solve?"[For Science!]

OOC: Well, here's my third character. Hope there's no problems with him; looking forward to mixing things up with some good old-fashioned EVIL.Username: Chronicler of Ko-KoroName: Lord Tral KetarnAge: 47Race: HumanGender: MaleClass: RoyalEquipment: Sword, hidden within his cane, knows some offensive magic, mostly fire spells. In his entourage:-Rusk Wormwind, human fighter, wields twin hooked blades. Bald, dark eyes, muscular despite his small, wiry frame, wears patched leather clothes.-Adela Wystheart, elven mage, wields a quarter staff entwined with thorns. Inky-black hair, violet eyes, clad in a torn black dress patterned with red veins, revealing enough of skin to show strange tattoos covering most of her body, displaying symbols of some forgotten - perhaps fortunately - language.-Krunn Prektor, Liech mage, carries a shortstaff made from fused bones. Thin even by the standards of Liech, with especially pronounced spikes extruding from across his body.-Orbek Rockrun, dwarven champion, wields a powerful stone hammer. Has a think russet-shaded beard, and wears heavy plate-armor accented with copper.Appearance: A tall, thin man with fiery red hair and an identical forked goatee. Dresses in a variety of expensive crimsons and blacks, capped off by a black overcoat.Personality: Smug and arrogant, treats others more as objects than people. He IS perfectly willing to deal honestly with others if they can make a convincing argument... but it takes a lot to convince him.Alignment: Lawful EvilBio: Far south of the Great Citadel, in the Sanguine Isles lies a towering spire of blood-red stone: Castle Carmine, home to the infamous Lord Ketarn. There is much talk of Lord Ketarn, most of it spoken in hushed whispers. Some say the walls of his fortress are soaked crimson with the blood of disagreeable peasants. Some say he keeps a werewolf chained in the lowest dungeons and fed on human flesh, the only window providing the perfect view of the full moon’s rising. Some say he deals in the blackest forms of magic, keeping his subjects in line with dark trances. And some even say devils from beyond the furthest planes dance in the halls of Castle Carmine, but Ketarn cares not a word for any of it. If anything, he welcomes such speculation, and regularly slips rumors of his own into the mix. Yes, there is some truth in those stories, but good luck guessing which ones. The more outlandish stories circle about him, the harder it is to prove one as anything but.While few can say exactly what lurks behind the walls of Castle Carmine (some say space bends backward and time sideways in its halls, while others say chants of no earthly tongue haunt the catacombs), all know of the grand library at the top of Ketarn’s tallest tower. Nowhere near the largest in the world nor the most extravagant, but it is home to some of the rarest and most ancient tomes around.For all his carefully-cultivated impressions of terror, Ketarn considers himself a man of culture, and as such has built an impressive collection of rare and obscure books - genealogical records of all major bloodlines, vivid accounts of epic wars, early copies of religious texts before the editors got to them - some the last copies in the world (but some, of course, speak of the mysterious circumstances in which the other copies were lost...). Lord Ketarn shares this impressive collection openly, letting anyone lord or peasant browse his archives for just the right information (although there are those who say it felt as if the book had been waiting for them to pick it up)... provided they have no problem being in the debt of the Lord of the Isles of Blood.Among the many texts contained within his library, none are held more dear to Ketarn than those on the subject of Sala-Grimna. Fascinated by the legends of the ancient sorcerer, Ketarn went to exceptional lengths to procure whatever few texts still survived describing his reign, trying to piece together any clues towards what secrets he might have left behind. Which, in turn, left him infuriated when his Grand Citadel was simply stumbled across, with no aid from him whatsoever. Not wanting to risk sending some underling who might betray him at the first sign of riches, Ketarn set out from Castle Carmine with his most trusted servants, the Grand Citadel of Sala-Grimna his destination. If anyone was to uncover the sorcerer’s secrets, surely there was no one more deserving than him?[For Science!]