Topics

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Roleplaying / The Daimon Chronicles

« on: April 01, 2014, 10:24:12 AM »

Ixion prowled the lands.

In Qubel, the farmers and villagers gave him sullen, expressionless glances before shrugging and returning to their mundane activities. As if to say to themselves - another adventurer. Another wanderer of the roads, a hunter of beasts, prone to delusion and mad hopes.

Fools! They were the deluded ones.

One day they would learn. He would find the secret weapons, and train up his abilities. And while they were tilling the earth and paying taxes to their leering liege-lords, he would be doing acts of unspeakable might. He would unleash anguish and death upon the whole of the world!

But for now, the thing called Ixion had to wear his human skin, waiting until the dark powers within him could grow and burst forth.

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Roleplaying / By the Light of the Stars

« on: March 15, 2013, 04:40:19 AM »

The scarlet-robed priest walked the desert by the light of the stars. He was alone, no scribes nor servants, no troops nor guards, not even a mule to carry his supplies. Sand and dirt caked on his clothes and his face and his boots. During the day he had slept uncomfortably in the shade of a crumbling boulder, bitten by ants. Now he wandered, having trekked down from the mountains, his belly empty and mouth parched. He carried skins of water with him, which he doled out to himself in measured sips. The journey was hard on the man, he who had once been a knight. His body was sore and he stumbled every now and then, but did not fall.

With the moon risen high, he stopped to take a break. It was bitter cold, but he had no fire to warm him. He knelt to pray; his voice uncharacteristically soft as he muttered words under his smoking breath. He sat cross-legged, his eyes closed in meditative contemplation, and he stayed there as the moon arced across the sky and the stars rotated slowly above him.

As usual, the voices came to him. His own voices, he knew. Questioning, doubting ones, always wondering why he did what he did. Frightened, confused ones, always wondering if he should turn back home, reply to his many letters. Cranky, complaining ones, reminding him of how his feet were sore and his flesh freezing and his stomach rumbling for food. Angry ones, condemning those in his life he had become, for various reasons, opposed against. Reminiscing ones, retelling the stories of his past; the awakening from naivete, the defeats, the victories, the revenges both satisfying and otherwise. And as usual, as time passed, slowly these voices began to quiet down. Not all at once, and often one would quiet only to be replaced by one of the others, in a frustrating cycle.

But eventually there approached a place of silence. He felt his body renewed, aware of every limb and digit with a keen sense. And yet he felt his body slip away too, slowly becoming ... irrelevant. Mind and body - both of the flesh. Both fading from his awareness. Something else remained, however. In a detached way he began to focus on this last thing, to notice it more and more. It slipped and twisted away from attempts at thought. This thing that remained evaded definition, eluded the grasping of his hungry brain. Suddenly he remembered the Bloodstars. The Divine Bloodstars. There was something that remained there, too. Something that was not the mere fact of their physical bodies, these lamps in the sky. Something that was not the mere fact of their influence on mentality and emotion. Something else, something that continually slipped and twisted away. What are you? What is the Divine?

He heard the wolf growl from behind him.

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Other Games / Shartak, Shintolin, Urban Dead!

« on: August 11, 2012, 01:12:53 AM »

Anyone play any of these ones?

Shintolin (Hunters and Gatherers and Builders!)
Shartak (Pirates and Indians and Cannibals and Settlers!)
Urban Dead (Barha!)

These are all somewhat similar; AP-based movements and actions, the 2-d grid style map, searching, building, fighting, crafting.

I was a really big fan of Nexus War too while that lasted. There was a really intriguing theme going on there.

The others are interesting too. Team play helps. There is also pay-for-extra-characters-or-something options but they don't help out all that much (or hurt too much if you don't).

4

General Talk / collaborative writing

« on: May 20, 2012, 06:10:21 PM »

Hey yall,

I've found to my dismay that while I'm a good writer (so I'm told, and I'd like to believe that!) and I have a lot of ideas, I find it difficult to write stories and particularly longer novel-y works. And I find it comparatively easy to write scenes involving my characters here in BM. I think the reason for this is two; one, with no ultimate goal or pressure (say of publication, or of world-building and all that) I can sit down and type it out much more easily, and two, with others involved, the creative juices flow and seem to hold more water.

I still want to write a book though, so I'm inviting you to collaborate with me in a quasi-RP-like manner. Each of us takes at least one character and writes from that characters POV (in third person limited) in a shared setting. We put them together and think up some aspects of that setting and see what happens.

Any takers?

5

Roleplaying / Tocoto's Heroic Tale

« on: April 22, 2012, 06:50:30 PM »

Reports from Tocoto Daycryn, Knight of Ossmat:

Ossmat is under attack! ...What are we doing in Unger? I've been patient enough, though my men are seven days unpaid and unhappy about being so far from home, yet it seems that we simply move around - slowly - while the war rages on, to our detriment.

14 of my men have cowardly fled the unit. Those who remain have extremely low morale. They're angry about being far away from home and not getting paid.

Ten more men have deserted my unit. Perhaps they are angry not just for being unpaid and far away from home, but being from Ossmat and sitting here in a foreign land doing absolutely nothing while the Daimons wreck havoc makes them question their leadership.

Thirty-three more of my men have deserted during the night. I now have just fifteen out of seventy-five troops that I set out with... that is 80% casualties, except we didn't fight a single battle.

What a waste!

Winifael.

"Quite a lot of banners and companies assembled here," Tocoto remarked.

Captain Ernst waited a respectful moment before saying, "Is there a plan to do anything with this army, sire?"

Tocoto shrugged and sighed. "I should like to believe there is. But I admit I have doubts as to that. Ossmat is burning. We had reports of Daimon movement many days ago, reports of battles fought, and still our orders were to move out farther and farther from the fighting. I wanted to return at once, but our Lord Treasurer all but called me a fool. A brave lady suggested something similar, that perhaps we should be looking to fight the Daimons rather than march around in the middle of nowhere, and our good Emperor all but called her a coward. Orders come in sporadically at best, and they're usually to rally in some place I've never heard of, for some mysterious purpose and who am I to question the wisdom of our plan? Just a knight."

Ernst seemed to decide that this was the moment to report that more than twenty more of the men deserted during the night.

"DAMN their inaction!" Tocoto swore, kicking over a bucket of water, breaking it with his armored boot. "What's that leave us with now, fifteen? We set out from Ossmat with seventy-five! That's more casualties the unit has ever suffered and we haven't even fought a single battle!"

The captain had nothing to say to this.

"We've been marching around here for a week now! What can they possibly be thinking? Help our glorious allies? FINE, I say, then we should have DONE so. Are we helping them with our collection of pretty banners? Now it's practically too late. The men will probably throw rocks at me if for some odd reason I do get the order to move. And if they don't, all they will be able to do is throw bloody rocks at the bloody Daimons! Assuming we go to fight them at all, and not just march around like fools while the war is lost!"

"Perhaps you should give voice to these concerns, sire. You're a knight of Ossmat, surely they must take your words into account?" Ernst suggested.

"Bloody hell I will! And have my leaders call me a fool and a coward? They know the situation, surely, unless they are truly evil or foolish themselves. Gods save us all if that be so. I tell you, sometimes...." He lowered his voice. "Sometimes I wonder if they are working for the Daimons. We've handed our capital city to them on a silver platter, and made of our good army a paltry force. It would make as much sense as anything else. Sometimes I..."

But he restrained himself from speaking these thoughts, even to his captain in private. The Daimons were true evil, he knew, and the only honor to be had was in fighting them. Anything else was reprehensible, cowardly. He finished with a different thought: "Sometimes I have no faith in humanity." That was better than what he had been about to say, but still probably demoralizing to poor Ernst, who'd been his loyal man since coming to the realm.

He turned to the battle-hardened and presently entirely useless soldier. "Never mind all that. I'm just ranting. The situation angers me. My estates are under threat and there's nothing I can do. You understand. We'll get through this. It may be bloody - hopefully it will be, in fact - but it will pass."

Ernst said, "A lot of the men feel as you do, sire. Most are from Ossmat. Born and raised." And you were not, the unstated part of that sentiment in the brief glance the captain gave seemed to accuse him. It put Tocoto to shame. "They just want to be doing something for their time and effort to help their homeland."

"And if not, at least some gold, right?" Tocoto half-smiled, but only briefly. That was another thing he could do nothing about. "Well, I have over two hundred in bonds. If only that were of any use to them, it would be of use to me as well."

He sighed, and frowned with a dark look in his eye. "Well, let's to the camp. Can't look pretty when they can't see us. Maybe the Daimons will hear of how pretty we all look and will surrender."

It was a sad little joke. The captain gave a single, half-hearted snort of breath, humoring him.


Pomatim.

"Give us the gold."

"Wha...?" Tocoto rubbed his head. Something was very wrong. The last thing he remembered, he was ordering the men to march to Pomatim. No, they were marching, they'd gone right ahead, only fifteen had remained but good old Ernst had them in control and -

"The gold. Now."

No! Now he remembered. The entire army was marching, and his unit had just gone through a shaded copse and he'd gone to refill his water from a nearby creek and then he'd been attacked from behind. Several of the men had grabbed him, knocking him face-first into the dirt, bending his sword arm back and beating on his helmet with a rock. He had time to look up at captain Ernst, getting his throat slit by one of the footmen who'd accosted him as well. Then all had gone red and black for him.

Until now, when the bandits seemed to be demanding his gold. He was tied up, his sword and helmet and shield missing. His purse had been cut off. There goes seven whole coins, he thought dryly. Only they weren't bandits, they were his men. Ossmat Daimon-Slayers. Seventy-five had left the capital a week ago, but over the past few days, complaining about lack of pay and distance from home - a home being burnt to the ground, if the reports were true - desertion had plagued the unit, giving it a pretty high casualty rate considering they'd fought in no battles.

"You've got the gold," he heard himself say. His throat was dry and sore, his mouth tasting very much like salt and dust and blood.

"Bugger this," one of the ruffians said. "It's like he said. We've looked everywhere. All he had were the seven."

"Yeah. Maybe the rest he's got up his arse."

"Probably does!"

There was cruel laughter, while rage made Tocoto's eyes tear as he thought blackly about the great and severe punishment the cowards would all suffer at his hands. "I'd have given you your damn pay if I'd had it," he said through gritted teeth.

"Bah! We've all heard it, day after day! Your dog Ernst told us, didn't he?"

"Oh yes, Ernst told us, we told Ernst, and well that's that, innit?"

"Traitors!" he shouted. They hadn't thought to gag him. Presumably so he could tell them where to find more gold? But perhaps the rest of the army was miles away and no one could hear him. He raised his voice, difficult though it was on his belly and his chin in the dirt. "Cowards! I'll have every one of you hanged!"

"Now, now, now, my lord, oh my lord, I wouldn't be saying such things, if it please you, just now, my lord," someone said, and planted his own sword inches into the ground just inches from his head.

"Let's just kill him and be done with it. I'm sick of his mouth."

"I get his breast-plate!"

"I'll search his arse!"

"Ha ha!"

Just then a horn sounded - a battle horn, and then more trumpets. The call was surprisingly loud. He heard the blasts from the Legion, and those of Old Grehk's allies, and then more he could not recognize, and much shouting and the pounding of heavy horse hooves. Battle, he knew, and he swore under his breath as he realized the battle against Overlord must be going on even now, and they were missing it, because of these cowards.

But the men must have been confused, and drunk to boot, for panic took them quickly. They stumbled over themselves in haste to get away, perhaps thinking the rest of the army was coming for them. In a few moments he found himself alone, struggling against the poorly tied ropes while the chaos of battle, the roaring of daimons and shouts of men and screams of horses blended together, so close, so loud, yet so far away.

By the time he stumbled, helmetless and shieldless (but the ruffians had left him his sword in their haste to leave), toward the battle, it was already over. The carnage on the field was unbelievable. The glory of what had happened had passed him by, the fury of the Daimons had won but they had apparently lost one of their greatest beasts - could that be Overlord himself? he knew not -  and he had nothing to show for it but dishonor.

Dishonor, shame, and endless anger.

Ossmat.

Chaos and madness enveloped the city. Tocoto carefully picked his way through rubble-strewn streets and abandoned buildings, making sure not to be spotted by the enemy.

Unfortunately some of the survivors saw him: sword in hand, armored torso and legs and arms, a true Knight of Ossmat - he must have looked like some sort of shining savior. They were a filthy man and woman, their clothes turned to sweat-and-blood-stained rags, a wide-eyed, dull look on both their faces. He wondered if either of them had been anything but a beggar even before the Darkest Hour had come upon them. The woman fell at his knees, hugging his legs and sobbing loudly. Through the blubbering cries he managed to discern she was begging him to help them, take them away, be their rescuer.

"Quiet, woman. Quiet!" he growled, but she was beyond hearing. The man looked somewhat sheepishly, gave a shrug, and pleaded with his eyes alone. At least he had that decency - and sense. No way was Tocoto going to risk himself for these clowns. "Quiet!" he said again, louder, but it was no use. If she heard, the refusal only made her sob heart-brokenly and louder. Damn her.

He kicked her away, and then she started screaming. No time to think now. She'd bring the whole damn horde on him. He lifted his sword-arm and ran her through the neck with it. Her noises turned to a sickly wet gasping sound as blood spilled down her brown wool potato-sack. The man's eyebrows raised to his bald head's roof and his mouth gaped open. Tocoto decided he couldn't risk the man screaming too, and he opened the man's neck with a backhand slash that nearly took his head off.

Stealthily, quickly, Tocoto moved out of the now-lifeless building - some shoppe or tavern, he couldn't tell anymore and didn't care - and continued his way through the city.

6

Roleplaying / The Book of Faith (A Series of Discourses in Times of Great Darkness and Evil)

« on: April 01, 2012, 02:37:53 AM »

Rabisu, sensing the great import and meaning in the Prophecies of the Bloodstars, knew the time was at hand to share his understanding with those who might listen when the news came that the Netherworld had declared a war upon not just his realm, but every realm of man. In this he speaks or writes letters primarily concerning the Faith of Sanguis Astroism, to the Faithful that they may be strengthened and illuminated, but also to the unbelievers that they may see and take heart before it is too late.

I. Regarding the Vision of the Prophet Concerning Daimons

O Brothers and Sisters!

Our Most Holy Prophet, in the Golden Farrow, was granted by the Stars a vision of what was to come - listen, then, for the time is clearly at hand! I write to you now from Farrowfield, not a night's walk from where the First Prophet Malthurin gained this powerful and hopeful insight. I am but a man of the Faith, and whereas previously I had considered submitting these writings to the Authorities of the Church to be placed in their holding - lo, the forces of the Netherworld block the routes! And so I write to each and every one of you now, that you may carry this knowledge in your mind, and keep it locked within your heart, that you may hear in this the true wisdom of the Stars in these dark times!

Our Prophet saw a vision:

    On a verdant plain a worshipper of the Stars laid a stone carefully upon the good ground.

    A creature of fang and fear that shunned the Stars, crept upon the man and attacked him.

    The man was pressed mightily by the terror, but he was stalwart and stood his ground by the stone. The Stars shone for him in the sky above, and there was a movement below.

    A warrior clad in blood-red robes, an infant wrapped in scarlet cloth and a woman dressed in a crimson gown approached in silence, each bearing a gift.

        The warrior handed the man a spear.
        The infant handed the man a helm.
        The woman handed the man a scroll.

    Light lined the spear and it impaled the monster. Light edged the helm and softened the blows of the monster. Light danced across the writing on the scroll and words of power drove the monster back.

        The spear was broken,
        the helm sundered,
        the scroll torn;
        the creature gone.

    The man carefully placed a second stone by the first, on the plain, under the light of the Stars.



What is the stone of the faith? It is laid by a worshipper of the Stars, upon a verdant plain, with good ground. It is this stone which the creature of fang and fear that shuns the Stars despises, and the cause of its fierce attack. In attacking the man, the creature hopes to attack the stone of his faith.

What is this creature of fang and fear? A Daimon? A walking undead abomination? A monstrous beast? Yes, but it is also the terror of the unfaithful, the confusion and despair the unbeliever holds in his heart, the rage against the unmovable Stars themselves - a beast of endless hunger, which though it may feast on flesh or fear, is never satisfied.

Why does the man stand his ground by the stone of faith, when he is beset by terror, and helpless in and of himself against the creature which assails him? Because the Stars above shine, and through them he, like his faith, is unshaken. Though his mind tells him to flee, though his heart fails him, he does not, for the Stars do not abandon one who worships them.

Who is the warrior, the infant, and the woman, all clad in red? These too are the faithful, who are moved by the Stars and by the rock of faith. For in their blood is the Bloodstars. The warrior gives the gift of a spear, a weapon to fight with. The infant gives the gift of a helm, a protection of innocence and youth for the mind. The woman gives the gift of the scroll, the writings and knowledge of wisdom which are the mother of our faith. Without a young, open mind, the spear is useless - without courage and strength, the helm is useless. Without the wisdom imparted to us by the Holy Prophet, both neither intelligence nor strength have purpose. The Light of the Stars is what imbues these three things with meaning and purpose - nothing else. For it is written that the spear is broken, the helm is sundered, and the scroll is torn - for these are nothing but items. It is the Light of the Stars in them that give us hope for victory, and defend the faith.

And when the dark creature of fear - which may dwell within as well as without - is gone, the stone of faith is added to, and grows. For with every act of success, with every victory against the darkness, the faith is demonstrated and built. And so it will be, for those whose faith in the Stars is true, and in whom the Stars shine - they shall lay the foundation of the true Faith which is, in fact, unassailable by any mortal power, and which shall outlast any hope placed in helms, spears, scrolls - and any temptation of strength and fear there may seem to be in the creatures that oppose the Stars. When all is gone, the Faith remains, as do the Stars.

May the Light of the Stars be ever in your hearts.

7

Roleplaying / A Free Man

« on: March 13, 2012, 06:55:47 PM »

Thirteen coins clinked and clanged in Lokenth's leather pouch. Not too bad, all things considered.

He had been on the Isle of Arcachon, going where he had not gone before, exploring countrysides recently conquered by the realm of Arcaea. New lands, he figured - perhaps the walking dead abominations and the snarling beasts there would be easier to kill. As of late they'd been harder than ever. His body still ached from the serious wounds they'd given him, and more than once since then he'd had to run for his life. He wondered if he was getting too old for this business. His skills were sharper than ever, and his equipment the best he'd had - what else could it be, but weariness and age?

But he'd hardly had a chance to test himself against the curse of the lands on that island than the Baron's men had set upon him, and before he could think to defend himself (not that he would have tried to resist) he was bound in fetters and hauled off to a dark, damp dungeon.

He entertained thoughts of trying to escape, or writing to the King whom he'd given that sword to once - bribery was out of the question - but he was freed, as wordlessly as he'd been captured, and let out onto the streets of the capital.

Now night was on him, and he had acquired a bottle of hard liquor to celebrate. He walked the ways of the city, not quite roaring drunk, humming to himself. He'd wanted a better life, wanted a chance to serve as a knight, and perhaps that would happen one day - but for now he was simply a free man, with all he needed in his sack and in his bottle, and he was content. He swaggered and smiled at the women and the men alike, enjoying the pleasures of life as a commoner. Perhaps he needed nothing more.

He headed to the tavern for a refill, and tried not to think of the caves and crypts where his future dwelled.

8

Feature Requests / horses?

« on: August 13, 2011, 02:28:01 PM »

Nobles should be able to purchase and ride horses, in general. They would decrease travel times, but only if the player has no unit (army units travel slower than a lone horseman); they could require food or grazing time, be of a variety of different breeds (mostly just description/flavor differences), etc. Horses might be purchasable by adventurers and priests too. But will cost a pretty penny, mostly beyond the reach of any adventurer. Infiltrators couldn't ride horses since they're not stealthy/blend-in-able. Horses could die if not fed properly, or in combat, and maybe nobles on horseback could gain a small leadership improvement in battle. Horses maybe could have names and descriptions (i.e. Blue, a spotted palfrey) which might be visible in battle or scout reports.

Thoughts?

9

General Talk / Game of Thrones

« on: July 30, 2011, 09:42:40 AM »

Anyone else read the book(s) and/or watched the HBO show?

I read the books and was immediately enthralled by them. Game of Thrones is basically Battlemaster in epic novel series form. (Or Battlemaster is basically the Game of Thrones in game form?) It inspired me to write my own novel, get back to playing BM, and reminded me just how much win this game is.

I got the newest book the other week and finished it in a feverish three days of being glued to the page. Not nearly as interesting by itself as the others, but still damn good. Damn good.

Anyone who plays battlemaster ought to enjoy these books.

10

Roleplaying / The Adventure

« on: July 28, 2011, 07:03:49 AM »

I made it. That is what Lokenth thought as he traveled with blistering feet from the shore he had washed up upon nine hours ago. This was the land of Arcaea, he knew. Though his family was from Atamara, tales of the ancient and mighty realm had made their way to the taverns and brothels where he spent most of his time. And, too, he could read and write - he learned from his older brother and sister, who had the benefit of an Academy education - and so he wasn't nearly as lost in this Far East as he felt.

His lord father had made it clear that he wanted no bastards contending with his trueborn son and daughter, or their children, for the dubious honor and wealth of House Daycryn. And while Lokenth had made a good number of friends amongst the common people of the land, his father was tired of "wasting good gold on whores and wine." There was nothing to do but leave, and go conveniently far away.

It didn't get much farther than here, Lokenth realized wearily. He was a stranger here, and the land was strange; the people worshiped strange gods, and worried about recent wars, realms, lords and lands, all of which he was completely ignorant. It would take a long time, he knew, to find his destiny: honor, coin, and recognition for his deeds.

With just four silver coins in his purse, he couldn't afford a whore or an inn. He'd spent all of his coin on the ship; the miserly ship's captain, knowing Lokenth's delicate situation, had robbed him blind, and stuck him in the dank cargo hold along with smelly casks and boxes to puke his guts out on the long sea journey. Then the ship had to go and sink in a storm, leaving him to swim ashore.

He didn't think any of the crew had made it. While he wasn't unhappy about the death of the captain, it made him ache to think of all the good coin that was now on the bottom of the sea.

I have to find a benefactor. Someone who is of noble blood... or at least rich.

Fatigued, hungry, and cold, he found a thick hedge by the road and, after a while, drifted to sleep. In his dreams he was a powerful lord, feasting and whoring and drinking, and all the people knew his name.