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#61
Roleplaying / Re: The Black Grimoire: Tales ...
Last post by JDodger - February 19, 2023, 06:39:23 AMBang.
No, not there, killer, not the other place, not where you are dead and not where he is dead
The other one is dead here you are alive
Look into my eyes killer
Look at the Nightblade that weapon that you bear that you become that I have already become
The weapon raised by L'etas Daraghul Sidhei first raiser of the dead ones that walk and kill
You have not even seen it raised by the witch-woman of the Mistwood Raven-Sung
Sorceress of the Black Temple of Enlod and the Black Temple of Zraath
Grandmother Fae you will see her raise it as I have seen her raise it in times long called ancient
Look not to the tall and golden-haired giant blood of the mountain and the Isle
I see that one too I see him now I did not see him then no not among the mountains not among the fires falling from the heavens
Falling from the heavens to make explosions explosions of deadly starshards that rend and kill
He laid a trap for me he did the great killer conqueror of cities burner of lies that were the work of centuries
But I laid a trap for him
The Masked One the Hand of Death laid a trap for him
Greatest of the killers of all the lands new and ancient
Yes
Look into my eyes killer I will show you many things
Yes
Bang.
He thinks he sees us now
Sees us in my Nightblade the weapon which you bear and he bears
First Bearer of the Nightblade exiled and ancient King of an exiled and ancient people
What does your one eye see first servant of the Great Dark One-Eyed One
No you do not see the Masked One nor the one bound to him
Bound by the blood of Kellan
The hidden one who waits and strikes and strikes again
Call me by my name killer
Call me by my name and hand her my Nightblade
"Keltas Dla'kuul."
The shadow beyond blackness called L'etas Daraghul Sidhei has a voice of darkiron, and the crown upon his head glows dark, darker than the dark before dawn.
The darkness that shines forth from them grows too, grows darker as they are given their first names.
Masked One. Hand of Death.
First names given to the Nightblade by the King of the Remnant, the Once-Lords, the Devoured, the Exiled, the Ebonchildren, the Neth Al'afara.
Ancient killers of men and monsters and daimons and elves, and each other.
First raisers of the dead ones who walk and kill raised by my Nightblade deep beneath the earth
Keltas Dla'kuul you have heard it now in two tongues
Masked One Hand of Death
Witness us we are triumphant
Triumphant and he knows it not yet
Bang.
Witness killer
Witness as I hold the blade to his neck
Ancient and exiled King of an ancient and exiled people
When I laid the blade to his neck he was already once exiled
Old one-eyed one, first servant of the Great Dark One-Eyed One of the Thousand Names
Ancient already then already now now the twice exiled
Witness the blade which I did bring to your city the rich city of Oligarch
Oligarch of the high and mighty walls withstander of many besiegings
Ancient Oligarch ancient before the Elflands had their pretty names Anarionath and Sirion
When they were known by darker and more ancient names
Anarionarch and Oslirion twice home of the Neth Al'afara
The blade that did slay the famous dead one in the city of Aix that sprang from the forest of Athla Aix
The blade slick with his blood the blood of a brother yet unborn
The blade slick with the blood of a brother born to die by his brother's hand
The Hand of Death the Masked One greatest killer of them all
Witness now killer
Witness us as she calls us by our name our true name
"Kilhorn," Fae declares, commands, summons them, and they are there.
Bang.
"Kilhorn, Blade of the Night."
The Nightblade...
Kilhorn's hiss is long, and his dead brother's blood, the one yet to be born in this moment ancient and evil, hisses too as he presses the longknife to L'etas Daraghul Sidhei's neck.
Hand her
my Nightblade...
And he does.
She presses it close to her body as she begins a new chant, and the shadows behind the shadows, the nine thousand nine hundred ninety nine diabhalin, add their voices to hers, and the darkness grows until it is blinding...
But not as bright as the fire which rains from above, that fire that is the fruit of the work of a lifetime.
Bang.
No, not there, killer, not the other place, not where you are dead and not where he is dead
The other one is dead here you are alive
Look into my eyes killer
Look at the Nightblade that weapon that you bear that you become that I have already become
The weapon raised by L'etas Daraghul Sidhei first raiser of the dead ones that walk and kill
You have not even seen it raised by the witch-woman of the Mistwood Raven-Sung
Sorceress of the Black Temple of Enlod and the Black Temple of Zraath
Grandmother Fae you will see her raise it as I have seen her raise it in times long called ancient
Look not to the tall and golden-haired giant blood of the mountain and the Isle
I see that one too I see him now I did not see him then no not among the mountains not among the fires falling from the heavens
Falling from the heavens to make explosions explosions of deadly starshards that rend and kill
He laid a trap for me he did the great killer conqueror of cities burner of lies that were the work of centuries
But I laid a trap for him
The Masked One the Hand of Death laid a trap for him
Greatest of the killers of all the lands new and ancient
Yes
Look into my eyes killer I will show you many things
Yes
Bang.
He thinks he sees us now
Sees us in my Nightblade the weapon which you bear and he bears
First Bearer of the Nightblade exiled and ancient King of an exiled and ancient people
What does your one eye see first servant of the Great Dark One-Eyed One
No you do not see the Masked One nor the one bound to him
Bound by the blood of Kellan
The hidden one who waits and strikes and strikes again
Call me by my name killer
Call me by my name and hand her my Nightblade
"Keltas Dla'kuul."
The shadow beyond blackness called L'etas Daraghul Sidhei has a voice of darkiron, and the crown upon his head glows dark, darker than the dark before dawn.
The darkness that shines forth from them grows too, grows darker as they are given their first names.
Masked One. Hand of Death.
First names given to the Nightblade by the King of the Remnant, the Once-Lords, the Devoured, the Exiled, the Ebonchildren, the Neth Al'afara.
Ancient killers of men and monsters and daimons and elves, and each other.
First raisers of the dead ones who walk and kill raised by my Nightblade deep beneath the earth
Keltas Dla'kuul you have heard it now in two tongues
Masked One Hand of Death
Witness us we are triumphant
Triumphant and he knows it not yet
Bang.
Witness killer
Witness as I hold the blade to his neck
Ancient and exiled King of an ancient and exiled people
When I laid the blade to his neck he was already once exiled
Old one-eyed one, first servant of the Great Dark One-Eyed One of the Thousand Names
Ancient already then already now now the twice exiled
Witness the blade which I did bring to your city the rich city of Oligarch
Oligarch of the high and mighty walls withstander of many besiegings
Ancient Oligarch ancient before the Elflands had their pretty names Anarionath and Sirion
When they were known by darker and more ancient names
Anarionarch and Oslirion twice home of the Neth Al'afara
The blade that did slay the famous dead one in the city of Aix that sprang from the forest of Athla Aix
The blade slick with his blood the blood of a brother yet unborn
The blade slick with the blood of a brother born to die by his brother's hand
The Hand of Death the Masked One greatest killer of them all
Witness now killer
Witness us as she calls us by our name our true name
"Kilhorn," Fae declares, commands, summons them, and they are there.
Bang.
"Kilhorn, Blade of the Night."
The Nightblade...
Kilhorn's hiss is long, and his dead brother's blood, the one yet to be born in this moment ancient and evil, hisses too as he presses the longknife to L'etas Daraghul Sidhei's neck.
Hand her
my Nightblade...
And he does.
She presses it close to her body as she begins a new chant, and the shadows behind the shadows, the nine thousand nine hundred ninety nine diabhalin, add their voices to hers, and the darkness grows until it is blinding...
But not as bright as the fire which rains from above, that fire that is the fruit of the work of a lifetime.
Bang.
#62
Roleplaying / Re: The Black Grimoire: Tales ...
Last post by JDodger - February 16, 2023, 09:47:21 AMBang.
FWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...
Boom... boom...boomboom... boomboomboomboomboomboomboomboombooomboom...
He stands alone, longsword still sheathed on his back, hands hidden inside his cloak of sable ermine.
And what do you hold in those hands, Hand of Life, great conquering killer of men and monsters and daimons and elves and dead ones and those ancient ones who first raised them?
Kilhorn's hiss is slow and patient and suspicious of all things, but especially this one.
The Nightblade thirsts for him, thirsts for him above all others, and Godric can taste its thirst, but suddenly its thirst is not his own. In this high and lonely place, he can nearly feel his way back to the other high and lonely place, that place and time where his broad shoulders stoop beneath the weight of a city and many other heavy things.
But did they not bear such a weight before? It is a new voice, and yet it is one the warrior once known as Torxanib Godric Tórrarin , the Dukeslayer, Margrave of Taop once knew.
He stands with Godric now, and Kilhorn sees him not.
The Shadowless Sword is a sword with no shadow.
This is the First Tenet of the Shadowless Sword.
Let this Tenet be understood before continuing to the Second.
Tonight, the shadow of his sword is cast by fire from the heavens.
Bang.
FWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...
Boom... boom...boomboom... boomboomboomboomboomboomboomboombooomboom...
He stands alone, longsword still sheathed on his back, hands hidden inside his cloak of sable ermine.
And what do you hold in those hands, Hand of Life, great conquering killer of men and monsters and daimons and elves and dead ones and those ancient ones who first raised them?
Kilhorn's hiss is slow and patient and suspicious of all things, but especially this one.
The Nightblade thirsts for him, thirsts for him above all others, and Godric can taste its thirst, but suddenly its thirst is not his own. In this high and lonely place, he can nearly feel his way back to the other high and lonely place, that place and time where his broad shoulders stoop beneath the weight of a city and many other heavy things.
But did they not bear such a weight before? It is a new voice, and yet it is one the warrior once known as Torxanib Godric Tórrarin , the Dukeslayer, Margrave of Taop once knew.
He stands with Godric now, and Kilhorn sees him not.
The Shadowless Sword is a sword with no shadow.
This is the First Tenet of the Shadowless Sword.
Let this Tenet be understood before continuing to the Second.
Tonight, the shadow of his sword is cast by fire from the heavens.
Bang.
#63
Roleplaying / Re: The Black Grimoire: Tales ...
Last post by JDodger - February 16, 2023, 09:37:12 AMIs it a dead god, Toren killer of the blood of the great killer Karibash? What do you truly know of matters dark and hidden?
Bang.
Gethsemene. Now. The gate crashes open, and a column of tiny brown riders enters the city.
The largest among them, Godric's height but slight and wiry, looks like a strong child in the saddle of a full-sized warhorse. He pulls an already-lit cigar from behind his ear, takes a deep drag, holds it, at length exhaling a long and luxurious cloud of smoke, and begins to sing. It is not the beginning of the song, but his singing begins thus:
Peo-ple say that, we wild like a ti-i-ger
AND GO WAR-RINGGG like Udorian ri-i-der
Some peo-ple say, we more like, dragon-sticks and spi-ders
Dragon-sticks and spiii-ders, dragon-sticks and spi-de-errrs.
Dragon-sticks and spi-de-errrs, dragon-sticks and spi-i-ders
Kilhorn's hiss is filled with rage and hatred and something else, something hidden even from Godric.
Bang.
Bang.
Like a sharp clap of thunder, and yet different, and Godric is torn away from the son of Jonn at the gates of Gethsemene to another place, another time.
The sun is high and hot in the sky, and the shadows cast by the trees are as soothing to Godric as they are to Kilhorn of the Dark Isle, the Masked One who was born into darkness.
They hunt together amongst the boles of dusky giants, the wet sticky heat pleasant as fresh-spilling blood on Kilhorn's oily skin and along the edge of the weapon that is becoming Godric.
Or is it you who becomes the weapon, killer? The thought in Godric's mind is soft and smooth and mesmerizing, like the eyes of the cobra to the swallow.
And do you think you are the first?
The people of the forest of Kamade are tall and strong and dark like the trees themselves, but they are not prepared for killing.
The Lurian soldiers around them are not prepared for killing either, but this is immaterial to the Hand of Death and the weapon it holds.
Even as the midday sun filters through high and leafy branches, they are darkness against darkness, darker than the dark before dawn, the killer called Kilhorn and the weapon called the Nightblade.
And there is much killing.
One of the Kamadi has a spear in his hand, and with it he fights well, but this too is immaterial. Ruthless, relentless, Kilhorn and his blade will not be denied.
The Kamadi killer's blood is even hotter and stickier than the tropical summer air of the forest, and it beats forth his life in quick and violent bursts, but he dies slow, as was their intent.
Godric and the Nightblade, if they can still be regarded as two separate things, are held tight in Kilhorn's clawed and oily hand as he hovers above the form of the slowly-dying man and begins to whisper to him, whispers of darkness, whispers as yet unheard by any other.
This killer is the first, but he will not be the last. The cobra strikes at its prey, strikes home.
Bang.
Bang.
Bangbangbangbangbangbangbang. The echo of it rolls on like thunder against the mountains, and yet different.
Toren Stronghold. Now. The seeing of it threatens to tear Godric's soul from his body, all the way back there on the high walls of another mighty fortress, all the way back there in another world.
They are close now, though less close than they were before. Through Kilhorn's eyes he sees them, the masked giant and the one who was born dead, the wolf. They march under the same banner, together and yet apart.
The Nightblade thirsts for them both.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. The smith's face is black as black iron, black as charcoal, black as the deepest fire, and it is not the face of a human. It grits its teeth in fierce determination as it beats endlessly at the night-black blade upon the darkiron anvil, and it is hot in this small and cramped and deep place, but no sweat drips from the smith's black and high and haughty brow.
Remnant.
Fa'armora, D'varr'grr, X'ostraximos, Ebonchild. Ancient killer of men and monsters and daimons and elves.
First raisers of the dead ones who walk and kill.
Kilhorn's long, slow hiss is one of deepest and darkest appreciation, and of triumph, and Godric can hear the endless shuffling march of a thousand thousand ragged feet in the beating of the blacksmith's hammer. They trample upon every corner of the earth, and Godric welcomes them.
The Nightblade welcomes them, bids them come.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. As the smith's hammer beats down upon them, they begin to hear the chanting that fills the barrow, and yet does not. It is a chanting from another plane, and yet it is here, all around them and inside them. The forge's flame casts the shadows of figures of all shapes and sizes. They silently and watchfully surround the smith and the object of his labors, and behind these shadows are other shadows, shadows cast by the unseen fire of another world, and it is their voices that fill this place.
As they chant, a new darkness begins to push against the dark of the deepest of the already-ancient barrows of the forest sometime called Rapael, but known now and far earlier and far longer by other names, long before the coming of the men who would one day be called the First People, the Darkishmen, the Khalkar, in the days when the dark elves who would one day be called the Remnant called themselves by other names as well.
As the new darkness fills it, begins to shine forth from it, the weapon that will be known as the Nightblade nears its completion. Suddenly, the crowd of shadowy and hidden figures surrounding the smith and his labors parts, admits a newly-arrived member to their number. A human, female, young and beautiful by the standards of her kind, but her eyes are already old and cold and sharp.
Fae.
Witch-woman of the Mistwood, Sorceress of the Great Dark One-Eyed One, Raven-Sung.
Grandmother. Ah, she was so young then! And yet already so full of power, already so full of knowledge of things dark and hidden!
Godric's heart threatens to burst from his chest, here and elsewhere, somewhere else...
Bang. Bang. Bang. The hammer continues to beat down upon them as the witch-woman who is and will be called Fae of the Mistwood turns to one of the nearer shadows to demand her prize. The weapon is what she has come for. It is for her and her alone. Her eyes blaze with the fire of the forge and the darkness of the blade and the dark fire of the other world.
"I can see the desire in your black and ancient heart, L'etas Daraghul Sidhei. Deny me not what is mine."
The shadow beyond blackness she commands, dares to command, draws back, grows tense with indignation and something else, something hidden but seen against the will of its hider.
Kilhorn's hiss is an oath of fealty renewed. Yes, killer, even now he fears you, fears what you will become!
"Deny me not what is mine, what I know will be mine," the young and beautiful, powerful and wicked woman commands the shadow beyond blackness. "Forget not that I have looked into the deepest spae-pool of the place that will be called the Temple of Zraath, that ancient black temple of the Thousand-Named One that lies beneath the forest they call Athla Azros. Forget not what I saw in its black waters, O ancient King of the Neth Al'afara, O ancient killer of men and monsters and daimons and elves, Old One-Eyed One, First Servant of the Great Dark One-Eyed One who walked the world before them all!"
Fae's eyes blaze with darkest magic, and, as if raised from one of the nether worlds by the witch-woman's recitation of his titles, the shadow beyond blackness that is and will be called L'etas Daraghul Sidhei steps into the bale light of the forge to respond to her call.
Bang. Bang. Bang. The hammer beats down, striking sparks of darkness, forging them into something new and strong and sharp and deadly.
His face is like the smith's face, black and high-browed and haughty, except that there is the slightest of pockmarks where one eye must once have been, the empty socket covered over by smooth and near-unblemished ebony skin, and the rest of his features are even more cunning and twisted and corrupted by the evil of millennia uncounted.
Upon this one's brow sits a crown of darkiron, ancient and brutal and spare in its design. As its wearer draws nearer to the blade that is near complete upon the darkiron anvil, the crown glows with a darkness blacker than the black before dawn, and the darkness of the blade grows in answer to it.
"Say less, prating and demanding one, disrespecting one, and forget not what I saw in the flames of the dark fire of the Temple of Enlod, which these hands built alone," says the shadow beyond blackness, the ancient King of an ancient people, L'etas Daraghul Sidhei. "And think not that I forget, no, not for one moment, that already in the land that is called and will be called Nbasah, your people prepare a fleet to sail upon my Isle, and if your vision be proved wrong and mine right, your people will be a curse upon mine and the cause of many troubles.
"And you, witch-woman of the men who are called the Tu'adhana, and will one day be called by other names, but one name above all others! You, warning and promising and scheming one! Ambitious, self-serving and crafty one! Think not that I forget that from your accursed womb has already sprung the accursed bloodline that will outlast all others of your people, and that from your sons will come the ones that will bind the ones now called the Tu'adhana, and the sons of Geg who is and are a curse upon my people yet unborn, and the Shadow Clans whose blood, in time, will be mixed with those who are not men nor daimon nor elfkind!
"Yea, from your accursed womb have sprung the ones that will bind them all with fire and steel, bind them into a Brotherhood that will be as a plague upon this Isle and other lands, and upon my people, the Neth Al'afara, and the tribes of men, and monsters, and daimons, and elves!
"Men! Short-lived and petty ones! Hasty and overreaching ones! Regretting and retreating ones! You, sacrificing and entreating one! You who would extend your life a paltry few centuries at the cost of many thousands, yea, thousands upon thousands of the lives of your own accursed race! What can you know, you of few years and much lusting for living, what can you know of the weight borne by one who is already ancient now, in a time your race, the forgetting ones, will one day call ancient? Yea, of the weight of a crown, this crown, forged in the very flame that heats the blade you so desire, the First Fire that was lit before this world was born!
"Men! Selfish and short-sighted ones! I curse them, all of them but the fortunate and happy ones willed by the All-Creator, the mighty and merciful one!"
The shadow beyond blackness that is and will be L'etas Daraghul Sidhei seems to catch himself suddenly, and his booming, ancient voice is silenced for the first time since he first began to speak. Kilhorn's hiss is slow and wary and cautious, and Godric feels the nervous tension that suddenly fills the shadow-crowded chamber, even unto the shadows behind shadows, whose chanting stammers and fades for long moments. Even the smith ceases his hammering for a heartbeat before quickly returning to his task, the work of a century or more and nearly, finally, complete.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang, and the chanting of the shadows behind shadows slowly rises back to life.
The King of the Neth Al'afara, after another frozen and crackling second, regains his composure and continues as well. "Men! Feeble and pathetic ones! I curse them with the dimming of the lights of their bloodlines, yea, a weakening, a shrinking, unto a time of ignorance and chaos and darkness! They will fight among themselves for our benefit! They will fight men, and monsters, and daimons, and elves, and more, and we shall direct them from the shadows and laugh, for a time. I curse them even in their graves, yea, those who are already in their graves and those who will be!"
And with a flourish of his ancient and cunning and as-yet-unblemished hand, the King of the Neth Al'afara, L'etas Daraghul Sidhei, ancient killer of men and monsters and daimons and elves, the Old One-Eyed One, reaches out and plucks the weapon that will soon be called the Nightblade from its anvil.
It is, at last, complete, and its edge is already sharp, and the cunning and keen eyes of the shadow beyond blackness, L'etas Daraghul Sidhei, ancient beyond telling, run admiringly along its blade.
Panic. Panic panic panic. He was not supposed to be the first to touch them. He sees us he sees us he sees us he seeeeeeees... but his keen eyes pass over them, and he does not see them, yet, and they are relieved, if there is relief for those who have been given over to darkness, for those who are become darkness itself.
Then, grasping the curved and wickedly graceful hilt in both hands, he raises them toward the ceiling. Above it they can feel the cold dark earth, in this moment already ancient beyond the understanding of men, and yet younger than many men will one day believe, and within it they feel something stir.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. A new sound. Not the blacksmith's hammer this time, not here in the darkness of the deepest barrow beneath the forest that will one day be called Rapael, for that work is already done. But up there, from every direction, up in the cold, dark earth, they hear it, like ragged fists against the insides of a thousand thousand coffin lids.
L'etas Daraghul Sidhei, the ancient one whose hands alone built the Temple of Enlod and lit its dark fire from the First Fire that was lit before the world was born, raises the weapon that will soon be called the Nightblade, the weapon into which was poured the dark wisdom and craft of millennia uncounted, and the darkest magic of the shadows behind shadows who are even more ancient than that.
"I am the King of the Neth Al'afara, ancient killer of men and monsters and daimons and elves, doer of what he wills, and I have had one vision the likes of which you have not," he declares.
And he begins to chant in the ancient and flowing dark tongue of his people, but all Godric can hear is the shuffling march of a thousand thousand ragged feet, the banging of ragged hands on the insides of a thousand thousand coffin lids.
Bang.
Kilhorn can hear the chanting, and he listens as if enraptured, and what he hears is knowledge that even he, the Masked One, knower of many things dark and hidden, the Hand of Death who is many hands and many eyes, has never known before this moment. His hiss, for the first time but not the last, is one of surprise and of awe.
My Nightblade!
Kilhorn's hiss continues as it becomes one of pride, and of redoubled dark reverence, and of triumph, and it stretches on and on, until it seems endless.
The forge's fire suddenly roars, its wild flames making the shadows dance to rhythms never before heard upon the earth.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang...
Bang.
Gethsemene. Now. The gate crashes open, and a column of tiny brown riders enters the city.
The largest among them, Godric's height but slight and wiry, looks like a strong child in the saddle of a full-sized warhorse. He pulls an already-lit cigar from behind his ear, takes a deep drag, holds it, at length exhaling a long and luxurious cloud of smoke, and begins to sing. It is not the beginning of the song, but his singing begins thus:
Peo-ple say that, we wild like a ti-i-ger
AND GO WAR-RINGGG like Udorian ri-i-der
Some peo-ple say, we more like, dragon-sticks and spi-ders
Dragon-sticks and spiii-ders, dragon-sticks and spi-de-errrs.
Dragon-sticks and spi-de-errrs, dragon-sticks and spi-i-ders
Kilhorn's hiss is filled with rage and hatred and something else, something hidden even from Godric.
Bang.
Bang.
Like a sharp clap of thunder, and yet different, and Godric is torn away from the son of Jonn at the gates of Gethsemene to another place, another time.
The sun is high and hot in the sky, and the shadows cast by the trees are as soothing to Godric as they are to Kilhorn of the Dark Isle, the Masked One who was born into darkness.
They hunt together amongst the boles of dusky giants, the wet sticky heat pleasant as fresh-spilling blood on Kilhorn's oily skin and along the edge of the weapon that is becoming Godric.
Or is it you who becomes the weapon, killer? The thought in Godric's mind is soft and smooth and mesmerizing, like the eyes of the cobra to the swallow.
And do you think you are the first?
The people of the forest of Kamade are tall and strong and dark like the trees themselves, but they are not prepared for killing.
The Lurian soldiers around them are not prepared for killing either, but this is immaterial to the Hand of Death and the weapon it holds.
Even as the midday sun filters through high and leafy branches, they are darkness against darkness, darker than the dark before dawn, the killer called Kilhorn and the weapon called the Nightblade.
And there is much killing.
One of the Kamadi has a spear in his hand, and with it he fights well, but this too is immaterial. Ruthless, relentless, Kilhorn and his blade will not be denied.
The Kamadi killer's blood is even hotter and stickier than the tropical summer air of the forest, and it beats forth his life in quick and violent bursts, but he dies slow, as was their intent.
Godric and the Nightblade, if they can still be regarded as two separate things, are held tight in Kilhorn's clawed and oily hand as he hovers above the form of the slowly-dying man and begins to whisper to him, whispers of darkness, whispers as yet unheard by any other.
This killer is the first, but he will not be the last. The cobra strikes at its prey, strikes home.
Bang.
Bang.
Bangbangbangbangbangbangbang. The echo of it rolls on like thunder against the mountains, and yet different.
Toren Stronghold. Now. The seeing of it threatens to tear Godric's soul from his body, all the way back there on the high walls of another mighty fortress, all the way back there in another world.
They are close now, though less close than they were before. Through Kilhorn's eyes he sees them, the masked giant and the one who was born dead, the wolf. They march under the same banner, together and yet apart.
The Nightblade thirsts for them both.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. The smith's face is black as black iron, black as charcoal, black as the deepest fire, and it is not the face of a human. It grits its teeth in fierce determination as it beats endlessly at the night-black blade upon the darkiron anvil, and it is hot in this small and cramped and deep place, but no sweat drips from the smith's black and high and haughty brow.
Remnant.
Fa'armora, D'varr'grr, X'ostraximos, Ebonchild. Ancient killer of men and monsters and daimons and elves.
First raisers of the dead ones who walk and kill.
Kilhorn's long, slow hiss is one of deepest and darkest appreciation, and of triumph, and Godric can hear the endless shuffling march of a thousand thousand ragged feet in the beating of the blacksmith's hammer. They trample upon every corner of the earth, and Godric welcomes them.
The Nightblade welcomes them, bids them come.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. As the smith's hammer beats down upon them, they begin to hear the chanting that fills the barrow, and yet does not. It is a chanting from another plane, and yet it is here, all around them and inside them. The forge's flame casts the shadows of figures of all shapes and sizes. They silently and watchfully surround the smith and the object of his labors, and behind these shadows are other shadows, shadows cast by the unseen fire of another world, and it is their voices that fill this place.
As they chant, a new darkness begins to push against the dark of the deepest of the already-ancient barrows of the forest sometime called Rapael, but known now and far earlier and far longer by other names, long before the coming of the men who would one day be called the First People, the Darkishmen, the Khalkar, in the days when the dark elves who would one day be called the Remnant called themselves by other names as well.
As the new darkness fills it, begins to shine forth from it, the weapon that will be known as the Nightblade nears its completion. Suddenly, the crowd of shadowy and hidden figures surrounding the smith and his labors parts, admits a newly-arrived member to their number. A human, female, young and beautiful by the standards of her kind, but her eyes are already old and cold and sharp.
Fae.
Witch-woman of the Mistwood, Sorceress of the Great Dark One-Eyed One, Raven-Sung.
Grandmother. Ah, she was so young then! And yet already so full of power, already so full of knowledge of things dark and hidden!
Godric's heart threatens to burst from his chest, here and elsewhere, somewhere else...
Bang. Bang. Bang. The hammer continues to beat down upon them as the witch-woman who is and will be called Fae of the Mistwood turns to one of the nearer shadows to demand her prize. The weapon is what she has come for. It is for her and her alone. Her eyes blaze with the fire of the forge and the darkness of the blade and the dark fire of the other world.
"I can see the desire in your black and ancient heart, L'etas Daraghul Sidhei. Deny me not what is mine."
The shadow beyond blackness she commands, dares to command, draws back, grows tense with indignation and something else, something hidden but seen against the will of its hider.
Kilhorn's hiss is an oath of fealty renewed. Yes, killer, even now he fears you, fears what you will become!
"Deny me not what is mine, what I know will be mine," the young and beautiful, powerful and wicked woman commands the shadow beyond blackness. "Forget not that I have looked into the deepest spae-pool of the place that will be called the Temple of Zraath, that ancient black temple of the Thousand-Named One that lies beneath the forest they call Athla Azros. Forget not what I saw in its black waters, O ancient King of the Neth Al'afara, O ancient killer of men and monsters and daimons and elves, Old One-Eyed One, First Servant of the Great Dark One-Eyed One who walked the world before them all!"
Fae's eyes blaze with darkest magic, and, as if raised from one of the nether worlds by the witch-woman's recitation of his titles, the shadow beyond blackness that is and will be called L'etas Daraghul Sidhei steps into the bale light of the forge to respond to her call.
Bang. Bang. Bang. The hammer beats down, striking sparks of darkness, forging them into something new and strong and sharp and deadly.
His face is like the smith's face, black and high-browed and haughty, except that there is the slightest of pockmarks where one eye must once have been, the empty socket covered over by smooth and near-unblemished ebony skin, and the rest of his features are even more cunning and twisted and corrupted by the evil of millennia uncounted.
Upon this one's brow sits a crown of darkiron, ancient and brutal and spare in its design. As its wearer draws nearer to the blade that is near complete upon the darkiron anvil, the crown glows with a darkness blacker than the black before dawn, and the darkness of the blade grows in answer to it.
"Say less, prating and demanding one, disrespecting one, and forget not what I saw in the flames of the dark fire of the Temple of Enlod, which these hands built alone," says the shadow beyond blackness, the ancient King of an ancient people, L'etas Daraghul Sidhei. "And think not that I forget, no, not for one moment, that already in the land that is called and will be called Nbasah, your people prepare a fleet to sail upon my Isle, and if your vision be proved wrong and mine right, your people will be a curse upon mine and the cause of many troubles.
"And you, witch-woman of the men who are called the Tu'adhana, and will one day be called by other names, but one name above all others! You, warning and promising and scheming one! Ambitious, self-serving and crafty one! Think not that I forget that from your accursed womb has already sprung the accursed bloodline that will outlast all others of your people, and that from your sons will come the ones that will bind the ones now called the Tu'adhana, and the sons of Geg who is and are a curse upon my people yet unborn, and the Shadow Clans whose blood, in time, will be mixed with those who are not men nor daimon nor elfkind!
"Yea, from your accursed womb have sprung the ones that will bind them all with fire and steel, bind them into a Brotherhood that will be as a plague upon this Isle and other lands, and upon my people, the Neth Al'afara, and the tribes of men, and monsters, and daimons, and elves!
"Men! Short-lived and petty ones! Hasty and overreaching ones! Regretting and retreating ones! You, sacrificing and entreating one! You who would extend your life a paltry few centuries at the cost of many thousands, yea, thousands upon thousands of the lives of your own accursed race! What can you know, you of few years and much lusting for living, what can you know of the weight borne by one who is already ancient now, in a time your race, the forgetting ones, will one day call ancient? Yea, of the weight of a crown, this crown, forged in the very flame that heats the blade you so desire, the First Fire that was lit before this world was born!
"Men! Selfish and short-sighted ones! I curse them, all of them but the fortunate and happy ones willed by the All-Creator, the mighty and merciful one!"
The shadow beyond blackness that is and will be L'etas Daraghul Sidhei seems to catch himself suddenly, and his booming, ancient voice is silenced for the first time since he first began to speak. Kilhorn's hiss is slow and wary and cautious, and Godric feels the nervous tension that suddenly fills the shadow-crowded chamber, even unto the shadows behind shadows, whose chanting stammers and fades for long moments. Even the smith ceases his hammering for a heartbeat before quickly returning to his task, the work of a century or more and nearly, finally, complete.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang, and the chanting of the shadows behind shadows slowly rises back to life.
The King of the Neth Al'afara, after another frozen and crackling second, regains his composure and continues as well. "Men! Feeble and pathetic ones! I curse them with the dimming of the lights of their bloodlines, yea, a weakening, a shrinking, unto a time of ignorance and chaos and darkness! They will fight among themselves for our benefit! They will fight men, and monsters, and daimons, and elves, and more, and we shall direct them from the shadows and laugh, for a time. I curse them even in their graves, yea, those who are already in their graves and those who will be!"
And with a flourish of his ancient and cunning and as-yet-unblemished hand, the King of the Neth Al'afara, L'etas Daraghul Sidhei, ancient killer of men and monsters and daimons and elves, the Old One-Eyed One, reaches out and plucks the weapon that will soon be called the Nightblade from its anvil.
It is, at last, complete, and its edge is already sharp, and the cunning and keen eyes of the shadow beyond blackness, L'etas Daraghul Sidhei, ancient beyond telling, run admiringly along its blade.
Panic. Panic panic panic. He was not supposed to be the first to touch them. He sees us he sees us he sees us he seeeeeeees... but his keen eyes pass over them, and he does not see them, yet, and they are relieved, if there is relief for those who have been given over to darkness, for those who are become darkness itself.
Then, grasping the curved and wickedly graceful hilt in both hands, he raises them toward the ceiling. Above it they can feel the cold dark earth, in this moment already ancient beyond the understanding of men, and yet younger than many men will one day believe, and within it they feel something stir.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. A new sound. Not the blacksmith's hammer this time, not here in the darkness of the deepest barrow beneath the forest that will one day be called Rapael, for that work is already done. But up there, from every direction, up in the cold, dark earth, they hear it, like ragged fists against the insides of a thousand thousand coffin lids.
L'etas Daraghul Sidhei, the ancient one whose hands alone built the Temple of Enlod and lit its dark fire from the First Fire that was lit before the world was born, raises the weapon that will soon be called the Nightblade, the weapon into which was poured the dark wisdom and craft of millennia uncounted, and the darkest magic of the shadows behind shadows who are even more ancient than that.
"I am the King of the Neth Al'afara, ancient killer of men and monsters and daimons and elves, doer of what he wills, and I have had one vision the likes of which you have not," he declares.
And he begins to chant in the ancient and flowing dark tongue of his people, but all Godric can hear is the shuffling march of a thousand thousand ragged feet, the banging of ragged hands on the insides of a thousand thousand coffin lids.
Bang.
Kilhorn can hear the chanting, and he listens as if enraptured, and what he hears is knowledge that even he, the Masked One, knower of many things dark and hidden, the Hand of Death who is many hands and many eyes, has never known before this moment. His hiss, for the first time but not the last, is one of surprise and of awe.
My Nightblade!
Kilhorn's hiss continues as it becomes one of pride, and of redoubled dark reverence, and of triumph, and it stretches on and on, until it seems endless.
The forge's fire suddenly roars, its wild flames making the shadows dance to rhythms never before heard upon the earth.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang...
#64
Roleplaying / Re: The Black Grimoire: Tales ...
Last post by JDodger - February 16, 2023, 09:13:44 AMThe dreams were relentless, and the Chief of Justice, Arbiter, Duke, Councilman Godric Warbornsson had of late taken to extra paces along the walls of Oligarch at night, weary heart full of unspoken things.
For the one who goes too often without sleep, the waking world can often take on the aspect of dream. For one such, often matters perfectly rational cease to make sense, and all manner of matters strange -- and too often, wrong and twisted -- seem to be perfectly rational.
Perhaps for this reason, perhaps for the knowledge that one who called himself a Dodger had made a promise, perhaps for any number of other reasons, Godric was utterly unsurprised to turn a corner on his city's battlements and find a shadow, dark beyond the dark before dawn, in the shape of a man beneath one of his walls' torch-sconces.
Godric drew to a halt as he saw it, hand reflexively reaching for his weapon, but perfectly calm in his heart. With the well-practiced composure of a warrior and statesman, he held his ground and silently studied the intruder.
The shadow's face was hidden within a deep hood, but Godric could feel it silently studying him as well. For long minutes, the torch crackled, the high air of the battlements swirled between them. The sudden hiss of – was it satisfaction? - was a shock against the silence as it crept, long and slithering like a serpent, from the deep folds of jet-black cloth.
"Yesss," rasped a speaker hidden in darkness, its eldritch voice evocative of an even deeper darkness. "This one is the famous killer once called Torxanib, who now calls himself Godric the Arbitrating One, the killer who the great killer - I speak not his name - named Dukeslayer, the killer who broke the heart of the famous dead killer Kellan."
"I have seen you through his eyes, killer," it continued, for the first time seeming to address Godric rather than itself or some unseen third party. "I watched your killing in the forestlands of Cathay, on the fields of Lenamaziel, the walls of Colasan, of Ossaet! Yes, Toren killer of the blood of the great killer Karibash – great was the killing in Dwilight when we fought that one! – I know you. Would that I could have looked through the eyes of the famous dead one Kellan, to witness your killing in these lands!"
Godric's rational mind screamed at him from somewhere deep within his being. There is too much that is wrong here, he seemed to hear it cry, but the torch's light soothed his eyes with its shadows, and he could hear the screams of the dying on the winds that caressed the battlements.
"You are Kilhorn Dodger," Godric the Arbiter stated, but his statement was a command of admission.
"The killer you address is indeed the Masked One, the Hand of Death, Kilhorn Dodger," the shadow seemed darkly pleased to confirm.
"I received several messages from you," Godric continued steadily. "You claim to have killed the rebel Kellan Dodger."
A slow hiss of wicked satisfaction slithered forth from the hood, and it echoed softly on the stones as, at length, the shadow began its reply. "The famous killer who was my brother Kellan lies slain by my blade, yes. The great enemy of your people is now a dead one, Arbitrating One of the Xavax."
Godric did not visibly react, but continued in the same tone. "You also claim that the weapon called the Nightblade, which has recently come into my possession, belongs to you, and that you 'desire it,' or else, if I recall your words, 'there will be much killing.' Can you prove your ownership over this weapon?"
"I can, questioning one," the shadow that called itself Kilhorn rasped as a clawed, gnarled, wood-brown hand, a blood-stained longknife gently balanced along its palm, slid forth from within the folds of its black cloak. Silently, slowly, the shadow stepped away from the torch toward the strong and broad and waiting form of Godric Warbornsson.
As Kilhorn stepped away from the torchlight, Godric's eyes adjusted, and the soft white light of the full moon overhead for the first time illuminated the recesses of the shadowy hood. The face it revealed was one born of nightmare – the sharpened teeth, bared in a savage and bloodthirsty grimace, were the first to appear; then the piercing yellow eyes, somewhere between a forest cat's and a snake's. Those eyes, as they stared into his, seemed to pierce through to the depths of Godric's soul, bearing darkness and corruption with them.
"Place this blade next to the one you call your own, the Nightblade, which is mine by right," Kilhorn hissed softly, his eyes suddenly and startlingly flashing toward Godric's belt and the weapon held sheathed upon it. Godric, to his surprise, found his hand hovering by its hilt – upon seeing Kilhorn, he had reached for the Nightblade instead of his trusty spear.
"Yes, killer," Kilhorn rasped, a nasty half-smile tugging at the corners of his cruel and ragged lips. "Already you can feel its hold growing upon you. Can you hear the voices of the killed ones? The men, and women, and children – yesss, even the little ones, killer – and monsters, and daimons? Many thousands of the dead ones who walk and kill would cry out, too, if they could! With that blade I have killed thousands, hundreds of thousands!"
Kilhorn's monstrous face shined dully, an oily sheen over its rough and barklike skin reflecting a corrupted mockery of the moonlight. The covetous glare of his sickly yellow eyes never once left the blade, even as Godric slowly and carefully moved his hand away from it and toward the haft of his spear. Then, as if waking suddenly from a trance, Kilhorn drew a quick and rasping breath, and his eyes flashed back to meet Godric's, his posture subtly shifting to one of readiness.
"So, mighty Toren killer, questioning and calculating one," he hissed quietly, "is it killing you desire? Or will you see the proof that the Hand of Death has brought? Upon this longknife is the blood of your enemy, the killer Kellan, my famous little brother. Place its blade upon that of the Nightblade, and you will see things that will bring much amazement, and your questionings will have their answerings."
"But if it is killing you desire," he continued, even as a previously-unseen hand drew a second longknife from somewhere within the voluminous black cloak, "know that I am well prepared for that."
The cruel twisting of the mouth that passed for a smile widened, and Kilhorn's yellow eyes studied Godric's unwaveringly, like the bullfighter studies the bull.
For the one who goes too often without sleep, the waking world can often take on the aspect of dream. For one such, often matters perfectly rational cease to make sense, and all manner of matters strange -- and too often, wrong and twisted -- seem to be perfectly rational.
Perhaps for this reason, perhaps for the knowledge that one who called himself a Dodger had made a promise, perhaps for any number of other reasons, Godric was utterly unsurprised to turn a corner on his city's battlements and find a shadow, dark beyond the dark before dawn, in the shape of a man beneath one of his walls' torch-sconces.
Godric drew to a halt as he saw it, hand reflexively reaching for his weapon, but perfectly calm in his heart. With the well-practiced composure of a warrior and statesman, he held his ground and silently studied the intruder.
The shadow's face was hidden within a deep hood, but Godric could feel it silently studying him as well. For long minutes, the torch crackled, the high air of the battlements swirled between them. The sudden hiss of – was it satisfaction? - was a shock against the silence as it crept, long and slithering like a serpent, from the deep folds of jet-black cloth.
"Yesss," rasped a speaker hidden in darkness, its eldritch voice evocative of an even deeper darkness. "This one is the famous killer once called Torxanib, who now calls himself Godric the Arbitrating One, the killer who the great killer - I speak not his name - named Dukeslayer, the killer who broke the heart of the famous dead killer Kellan."
"I have seen you through his eyes, killer," it continued, for the first time seeming to address Godric rather than itself or some unseen third party. "I watched your killing in the forestlands of Cathay, on the fields of Lenamaziel, the walls of Colasan, of Ossaet! Yes, Toren killer of the blood of the great killer Karibash – great was the killing in Dwilight when we fought that one! – I know you. Would that I could have looked through the eyes of the famous dead one Kellan, to witness your killing in these lands!"
Godric's rational mind screamed at him from somewhere deep within his being. There is too much that is wrong here, he seemed to hear it cry, but the torch's light soothed his eyes with its shadows, and he could hear the screams of the dying on the winds that caressed the battlements.
"You are Kilhorn Dodger," Godric the Arbiter stated, but his statement was a command of admission.
"The killer you address is indeed the Masked One, the Hand of Death, Kilhorn Dodger," the shadow seemed darkly pleased to confirm.
"I received several messages from you," Godric continued steadily. "You claim to have killed the rebel Kellan Dodger."
A slow hiss of wicked satisfaction slithered forth from the hood, and it echoed softly on the stones as, at length, the shadow began its reply. "The famous killer who was my brother Kellan lies slain by my blade, yes. The great enemy of your people is now a dead one, Arbitrating One of the Xavax."
Godric did not visibly react, but continued in the same tone. "You also claim that the weapon called the Nightblade, which has recently come into my possession, belongs to you, and that you 'desire it,' or else, if I recall your words, 'there will be much killing.' Can you prove your ownership over this weapon?"
"I can, questioning one," the shadow that called itself Kilhorn rasped as a clawed, gnarled, wood-brown hand, a blood-stained longknife gently balanced along its palm, slid forth from within the folds of its black cloak. Silently, slowly, the shadow stepped away from the torch toward the strong and broad and waiting form of Godric Warbornsson.
As Kilhorn stepped away from the torchlight, Godric's eyes adjusted, and the soft white light of the full moon overhead for the first time illuminated the recesses of the shadowy hood. The face it revealed was one born of nightmare – the sharpened teeth, bared in a savage and bloodthirsty grimace, were the first to appear; then the piercing yellow eyes, somewhere between a forest cat's and a snake's. Those eyes, as they stared into his, seemed to pierce through to the depths of Godric's soul, bearing darkness and corruption with them.
"Place this blade next to the one you call your own, the Nightblade, which is mine by right," Kilhorn hissed softly, his eyes suddenly and startlingly flashing toward Godric's belt and the weapon held sheathed upon it. Godric, to his surprise, found his hand hovering by its hilt – upon seeing Kilhorn, he had reached for the Nightblade instead of his trusty spear.
"Yes, killer," Kilhorn rasped, a nasty half-smile tugging at the corners of his cruel and ragged lips. "Already you can feel its hold growing upon you. Can you hear the voices of the killed ones? The men, and women, and children – yesss, even the little ones, killer – and monsters, and daimons? Many thousands of the dead ones who walk and kill would cry out, too, if they could! With that blade I have killed thousands, hundreds of thousands!"
Kilhorn's monstrous face shined dully, an oily sheen over its rough and barklike skin reflecting a corrupted mockery of the moonlight. The covetous glare of his sickly yellow eyes never once left the blade, even as Godric slowly and carefully moved his hand away from it and toward the haft of his spear. Then, as if waking suddenly from a trance, Kilhorn drew a quick and rasping breath, and his eyes flashed back to meet Godric's, his posture subtly shifting to one of readiness.
"So, mighty Toren killer, questioning and calculating one," he hissed quietly, "is it killing you desire? Or will you see the proof that the Hand of Death has brought? Upon this longknife is the blood of your enemy, the killer Kellan, my famous little brother. Place its blade upon that of the Nightblade, and you will see things that will bring much amazement, and your questionings will have their answerings."
"But if it is killing you desire," he continued, even as a previously-unseen hand drew a second longknife from somewhere within the voluminous black cloak, "know that I am well prepared for that."
The cruel twisting of the mouth that passed for a smile widened, and Kilhorn's yellow eyes studied Godric's unwaveringly, like the bullfighter studies the bull.
#65
Roleplaying / The Black Grimoire: Tales of t...
Last post by JDodger - February 16, 2023, 09:05:27 AMReport from Kilhorn Dodger
Message sent to all nobles of Eponllyn (14 recipients) - many moons ago
Blood King of the Xavax who is not a Xavax
I have issued demandings to the Duke of Blades
He will give to me the land of Commonyr
If he does not
Raise his taxations
Take from him many golds
Attached are the demandings
Letter from Kilhorn Dodger
(Personal message to Andross Blint)
Greetings Duke of Blades I am the Masked One the Hand of Death Kilhorn Dodger
Give to me the land of Commonyr
It is a rich land and I desire it
Kilhorn Dodger
Knight of Westmoor
Kilhorn Dodger
Knight of Westmoor
Message sent to all nobles of Eponllyn (14 recipients) - many moons ago
Blood King of the Xavax who is not a Xavax
I have issued demandings to the Duke of Blades
He will give to me the land of Commonyr
If he does not
Raise his taxations
Take from him many golds
Attached are the demandings
Letter from Kilhorn Dodger
(Personal message to Andross Blint)
Greetings Duke of Blades I am the Masked One the Hand of Death Kilhorn Dodger
Give to me the land of Commonyr
It is a rich land and I desire it
Kilhorn Dodger
Knight of Westmoor
Kilhorn Dodger
Knight of Westmoor
#66
BM General Discussion / Re: The Colonies are Dead (Lon...
Last post by Calvin November - February 13, 2023, 03:47:38 AMQuoteAnd for those of us who know November, he has been an on and off player since 2005...This is patently inaccurate and misleading.
I've not been "an on and off player since 2005", I've been a consistent "player since 2005".
;)
#67
Development / Re: terminology Hinterlands
Last post by Anaris - December 18, 2022, 03:15:29 PMAh, these are not bad. I will see about adapting the Control descriptions to these or something similar (noting that Administrative Power has been removed as a stat, and replaced with Control).
Thanks!
Thanks!
#68
Development / terminology Hinterlands
Last post by Brennaborg - December 18, 2022, 12:26:36 PMThere are two 'Hinterlands' usages in the new update: Region Control (Core, Hinterlands) and Administrative Power (None, Slight, Hinterlands, Heartland, Iron-clad). I would like to make the following two propositions.
Dry, but clear
None, Low, Medium, High, Absolute.
Less dry, but possible less clear
- None (the realm is not recognized in this region)
- Contested (parts of the region recognize the realm)
- Autonomous (Frisians simply killed Henry of Nordheim in 1101 and then started their totally legitimate 300 year 'Fryske Frijheid')
- Customary Law ('Landrecht' – the count is recognized, but still has to recognize local rights)
- Absolute (might makes right)
Dry, but clear
None, Low, Medium, High, Absolute.
Less dry, but possible less clear
- None (the realm is not recognized in this region)
- Contested (parts of the region recognize the realm)
- Autonomous (Frisians simply killed Henry of Nordheim in 1101 and then started their totally legitimate 300 year 'Fryske Frijheid')
- Customary Law ('Landrecht' – the count is recognized, but still has to recognize local rights)
- Absolute (might makes right)
#69
BM General Discussion / Re: The Colonies are Dead (Lon...
Last post by daviceroy - November 23, 2022, 10:24:22 PMI will add a few cents to the jar as I am one of the people who have played a ruler on Colonies off and on for 5 years. My activity has diminished over the last decade from when I started playing. I was brought into BM by my late partner. I've had certain disagreements over the years with the way certain things have been ran. I don't hide this fact.
With this said, Colonies being one turn a day was an interesting idea originally to me. I joined the Colonies to have a different experience. I stayed because of the people. Even when I was thinking of leaving the game, I kept my character to the side just in case I wanted to continue. However, the world seemed to get further and further apart. A bit of indifference happened as we shrunk down including myself.
At this point, I wouldn't bother creating a new character on Colonies. It runs very slow and it is hard to keep any story going long. GM's have been trying their best and I nod to them at this, but the player based stories have fallen. So, what's my point? Is this just a diss track? Nope...
Things I would like to see with Colonies:
1) Switch it over to 2 resets a day
2) More Developed Religious Realms
3) Player Realms bordering each other again
I like the ideas of making it where you can have more troops or a bonus for playing on it. Might get a bit more people into it.
With this said, Colonies being one turn a day was an interesting idea originally to me. I joined the Colonies to have a different experience. I stayed because of the people. Even when I was thinking of leaving the game, I kept my character to the side just in case I wanted to continue. However, the world seemed to get further and further apart. A bit of indifference happened as we shrunk down including myself.
At this point, I wouldn't bother creating a new character on Colonies. It runs very slow and it is hard to keep any story going long. GM's have been trying their best and I nod to them at this, but the player based stories have fallen. So, what's my point? Is this just a diss track? Nope...
Things I would like to see with Colonies:
1) Switch it over to 2 resets a day
2) More Developed Religious Realms
3) Player Realms bordering each other again
I like the ideas of making it where you can have more troops or a bonus for playing on it. Might get a bit more people into it.
#70
BM General Discussion / The Colonies are Dead (Long Li...
Last post by Matthew Gagnon - November 23, 2022, 06:58:19 PMSo the Colonies have existed in this game for a really, really long time now. By my knowledge at least as far back as 2005. I played them way back in my first stint playing BM in 2007-2010, and I play them today.
The pitch that was made to me about the Colonies "way back when" in my original stint, which seems to still be the pitch today, is that the Colonies are a "light" version of Battlemaster for those of us interested in a slower, more chill, less active place to play. Indeed, that is more or less still the description that leads the article on the Colonies on the BM Wiki page, with a couple other "reasons for existing" listed as well:
The reason that I'm writing this post is that after having thought about it for months (and months), and reflecting on what the Colonies says it is versus what it actually is, I've come to the conclusion that the Colonies have failed and that they serve no meaningful purpose at all. Note, however, that I'm not saying they should be shut down... rather I'm simply trying to point out that the game (and we the players) are lying to ourselves about what it is and why it is there, and we should stop doing that if we ever want to make it fun and meaningful to play.
So to evaluate if I'm right about this, let's go back to those things said in the wiki, because they are the only things I've ever heard that seek to justify why the Colonies exist. Again, the main arguments are that it is a slower, lighter-paced, relaxed BM game that could attract people who aren't keen on the "regular" experience of two-turn, battle-centric BM, and that it is a place to deport hated enemies. That's about it. That's all I've ever heard from anyone. Which is fine, I'm just saying there aren't any other reasons I've heard.
Let's deal with that second one first, because we can dispense that one fairly quick(ish).
Do you know anyone who has ever been "deported to the Colonies?" I've been playing a LONG time, and I can't think of the last person who was deported there, treating it like a penal colony. I think the idea was to make the Colonies a sort of pre-industrial Australia, where we send rabble-rousers, criminals, rebels, etc, giving it a very raw and untamed personality, which would of course make the various realms a lot of fun to play because they'd be inherently unstable, hard to control, and there would be a lot of chaos.
Mechanically the game still, I believe, allows deportations to happen, though I don't usually play a judge so I don't necessarily have the commands in front of me right now. Still, I think you can do it. But does anyone do it? Are there even that many rebels and criminals in the game anymore? My character in Westgard just dealt with a Lurian assassin, and I never even considered deporting him -- we wanted to execute him if we got him (which we eventually did). In retrospect could we have tossed him to the Colonies? Yeah I guess we could've but it never dawned on me because no one really does that... and I think that character had a family member at the Colonies already anyway, so it wouldn't have been a realistic option.
Point is, even if it is mechanically possible, I think we should acknowledge "how the game really plays" versus how it "could" play or how it "should" play. In the end, this just isn't a characteristic of the Colonies today. I think there's a little too much of "it really should be played like this and its just the players who aren't doing what they're supposed to do" in this game, rather than brainstorming about real usage and incentives that would result in certain player behaviors.
Which brings me to the lighter version thing.
There's no doubt it is exactly as advertised with that. The single turn makes travel take a while, battles slow to build, and everything be deliberate and intentional. If that is, in fact, what you want, you are probably getting it.
But does that style of play truly attract anyone to the Colonies? I suggest to you that it does not.
There are two types of people who would be attracted to the Colonies given its different mechanics: 1 - players who do not really play the main Battlemaster game, and would choose to play the Colonies because of how different it is because the barrier to entry is lower and easier (i.e. new players brought into the game b/c of the Colonies), and 2 - players that do have other characters, but would like to also have a chill character too.
So lets deal with those two reasons, because again they are the only logical "pulls" toward the Colonies. If you can think of others, I'm all ears (though I dispute such "pulls" are working).
Regarding the light player who'd like to play BM, but doesn't have the time or want to put in the effort (i.e. attracting players you wouldn't get otherwise), it is very clear that the Colonies have failed to do that. I just conducted a review of the players currently at the Colonies, and right now there are only 48 families that play a noble there, and that includes families like The Undying who are actually BM Gamemaster accounts.
For East Continent, that number is 125 families
For Dwilight, that number is 115 families
For Beluaterra that number is 103 families
For South Island, that number is 46 families
So from a raw numbers perspective, it seems like "regular" Battlemaster attracts 100-120 or so noble families. The Colonies attract less than half that.
I went a step further and went in to look at the families that are there to see what "kind" of player they were. Virtually every single one of those players has at least 2, 3 or even 4 active players outside the Colonies, which suggests that most people who play it are really just seeking a "spare" character to play a little bit more than they do on the other continents. While I can't speak to the psychology of every player, that seems like the most logical explanation.
Indeed, there is only a single family -- one -- that plays the Colonies and only the Colonies, and that is the November Family. And for those of us who know November, he has been an on and off player since 2005, so it isn't as though this somehow attracted new blood or was some kind of recruiting tool for BattleMaster at large to try to get casual players into the family, as it were. There are four families (Mersault, Maxwell, Kingsley and X'arpa) that have a character on the Colonies and only ONE other continent, but remember that Mersault has several paused characters and has been playing for 12 years, Maxwell has been around for 11 years, and Kingsley has been around for 17 years. X'arpa seems to be the only family on the entire island I can point at that is reasonably new, and has only one character from elsewhere, thus possibly meaning that he/she is playing because of the style on the Colonies.
Which brings me to that "second reason" I was speaking about before that would "pull" people toward the Colonies: players that like the normal game but also find the concept of a "chill" character appealing.
I have no true evidence I can use here to characterize player choice, but I will say that anecdotally as somebody who has played the Colonies for a while, I get the sense that this is much less of a reason for participation in the Colonies than you would think. I've heard way too many people frustrated by slow travel times, the impact on war, the malaise on the island, and other complaints that are unique to the Colonies that come directly from the player base currently playing the Colonies. That indicates to me that people are choosing it because it is there, and not necessarily for the mechanics being different. Just my read on it, but I think it is an educated evaluation of things. I certainly know why I'm at the Colonies: it is a way of having one more character.
So I think by now it is reasonably clear that the Colonies do not attract new players (which I find undisputable) and that their pull to the already established player is very weak, and likely nothing all that special. Now let's take a look at gameplay.
Recently I went absolutely bonkers trying to stir up things on the Colonies as the primary instigator to the "religious war" thing that we tried to pull off between Sacris Incendium and the Covenent of the Undying, which dragged basically all the non-Halcyon realms into the fight against Halcyon. I spent WEEKS working on it, spending extra time in the game, writing RPs, working with other players to try to make it fun and build some kind of storyline, etc. I did enough, with the help of several other great players and the GameMasters who were into it, that the war kicked off. I may not have been happy about the "gang up" on Halcyon, but at least it was something... it was activity... it was war... it was something to do. I won't say it was a full time job, but I devoted a LOT of my time (of which I don't have a lot) to doing it, with the hope that it would end up being fun for people.
And then nothing happened.
Long story short, while the war still technically exists, almost nothing has happened in it and it has turned entirely into a dud because the travel times and remoteness of realms is absurd, and just doesn't lend itself to a fun atmosphere where a war can and will be fought. I'm not saying it is impossible or anything, but it is extremely hard, and it has a lot to do with the long wait times and mechanical issues. Add to that a player base that has atrophied from inaction for so long, and it just isn't likely to produce much in the way of action or fun.
And that's my thesis of this entire post: this is supposed to be about fun, and the Colonies are never really going to be fun as they are now.
What was my reward for committing all that time and effort to try to do something fun and interesting? Basically nothing. And that has a powerful disincentive to me ever trying to do something like that again, because why should anyone commit time and effort to things if there isn't much of a point to it and the mechanics make it really hard if not impossible to enjoy the fruits of your effort?
The GameMasters are doing their damndest to help, and I do really like the proposal that was put forth for an all-encompassing human war against the Lich King (something I've advocated for and wanted to see since he first appeared). That's great. But it shouldn't take the GMs trying to "stir things up" to make the experience there fun. The goal of the game should be to mechanically set things up so that it is as enjoyable as possible to play, so that we can recruit new players and share the fun with others.
A really big step was taken in lessening the density requirements, which I greatly appreciate, but I think the Colonies are still fundamentally broken because of the differing mechanics. Maybe I'm wrong and there's this big demand and desire for single day turns and slow as molasses play, but I have my doubts.
Which brings me to "okay, so what do you want to do about it?"
I'm not going to claim to be an expert or say that I have all the answers, but I will say this: I do like that the Colonies are different in some way from the rest of the game, and I think we should seek to preserve that aspect of them. But I think we should ditch entirely the "slow pace" aspect of it, and seek to make it different in other ways... ways that might incentivize fun and expansion. The War Island having only 46 families doesn't bother me because I see more people there who are there specifically because of the mechanical difference (i.e. it is more exciting and interesting because there is constant warfare). Let's make the Colonies have a similar draw.
What I think I might do -- though I'm entirely open to other suggestions -- is make it an "experimental island" in ways that go beyond what Beluaterra is with "testing" code changes and what not. I think things should be different here than they are anywhere else. Some of that might be simple... what if we think of the Colonies undergoing a shift, much like the Americas did after they were settled in the 1500s through the 1600s. At first they were sparse, poor, agrarian, dangerous, and difficult to tame... but eventually populations grew, industry was built, wealth was tapped, and incredible natural resources caused the American colonies to be more prosperous than the mother countries.
Maybe we say that the Colonies in our game are experiencing something similar. Maybe we radically increase population numbers, we dramatically increase personal wealth here. What if we ramped up the size of things, so that troop leaders could command much larger units here -- instead of 100 men, you could carry with you 1,000 or even 5,000 perhaps, turning you into something akin to the commander of a Legion rather than just a minor Lord commanding a small amount of troops in a medieval setting. If everything was "scaled up" proportionally (wealth, population, etc) and everyone experienced the same increases in capacity, you could have some really badass wars where 10 troop leaders could command say 50,000 men into battle... 20 could command 100,000 men or more even. Real numbers that you absolutely saw frequently in antiquity and even sometimes in medieval Europe.
You could do other things that are incentives too... like having a player on the Colonies entitles you to a 10% (or 20%) wealth cap increase for your family... so you can earn and hold more, and the Colonies will likely give you a lot of gold.
And then there are things we could do which I admit would take time and effort to implement and wouldn't be overnight... but I would like to see a complete and total reimagining of the Priest (and frankly the adventurer too) games. Specifically for priests, I would love to see religion strengthened significantly (to give us a reason to actually play it) by treating Priests like adventurers (i.e. not normal nobles you have to sacrifice, but "extra" characters that could be exclusively played), thus ramping up the number of priests we would have... I'd like to see an automatic tithing system whereby nobles would have part of their tax income automatically diverted to the church without having to pay a fee (that no one ever pays). I'd like to see nobles be forced to make a decision of a religion that they must join to be a noble in a realm, subject to added realm commands for the rulers (i.e. default religion, official religion, suggested religion, general tolerance of government to each religion commands, etc).
In other words, I'd love to see the Colonies be a world that had the religious flavor that I think was originally intended by the Priest game, allowing them to flourish and grow, and giving thousands of new potential plot lines to build on and conflict to brew from.
But whatever is done, I think it should remain different from the rest of the game, but should instead become a destination for the players due to those differences, rather than "just another place to store a character" which is what I think it is today.
After all, if we aren't supposed to really care about the continent and it is either boring, slow or lame... than why exactly do we have it? If that's how we're going to run it, we should probably just shut it down and focus on the other islands.
That's my take, at least.
Matt
The pitch that was made to me about the Colonies "way back when" in my original stint, which seems to still be the pitch today, is that the Colonies are a "light" version of Battlemaster for those of us interested in a slower, more chill, less active place to play. Indeed, that is more or less still the description that leads the article on the Colonies on the BM Wiki page, with a couple other "reasons for existing" listed as well:
QuoteAre things happening so fast you don't know where you are anymore? Are you looking for a more relaxed pace of life? Is the stress of it all finally getting to you? Looking for a truly lightweight version of BattleMaster? Looking for a place to deport hated enemies? If the answer is yes to any of these things, then the Colonies is the place for you!
The reason that I'm writing this post is that after having thought about it for months (and months), and reflecting on what the Colonies says it is versus what it actually is, I've come to the conclusion that the Colonies have failed and that they serve no meaningful purpose at all. Note, however, that I'm not saying they should be shut down... rather I'm simply trying to point out that the game (and we the players) are lying to ourselves about what it is and why it is there, and we should stop doing that if we ever want to make it fun and meaningful to play.
So to evaluate if I'm right about this, let's go back to those things said in the wiki, because they are the only things I've ever heard that seek to justify why the Colonies exist. Again, the main arguments are that it is a slower, lighter-paced, relaxed BM game that could attract people who aren't keen on the "regular" experience of two-turn, battle-centric BM, and that it is a place to deport hated enemies. That's about it. That's all I've ever heard from anyone. Which is fine, I'm just saying there aren't any other reasons I've heard.
Let's deal with that second one first, because we can dispense that one fairly quick(ish).
Do you know anyone who has ever been "deported to the Colonies?" I've been playing a LONG time, and I can't think of the last person who was deported there, treating it like a penal colony. I think the idea was to make the Colonies a sort of pre-industrial Australia, where we send rabble-rousers, criminals, rebels, etc, giving it a very raw and untamed personality, which would of course make the various realms a lot of fun to play because they'd be inherently unstable, hard to control, and there would be a lot of chaos.
Mechanically the game still, I believe, allows deportations to happen, though I don't usually play a judge so I don't necessarily have the commands in front of me right now. Still, I think you can do it. But does anyone do it? Are there even that many rebels and criminals in the game anymore? My character in Westgard just dealt with a Lurian assassin, and I never even considered deporting him -- we wanted to execute him if we got him (which we eventually did). In retrospect could we have tossed him to the Colonies? Yeah I guess we could've but it never dawned on me because no one really does that... and I think that character had a family member at the Colonies already anyway, so it wouldn't have been a realistic option.
Point is, even if it is mechanically possible, I think we should acknowledge "how the game really plays" versus how it "could" play or how it "should" play. In the end, this just isn't a characteristic of the Colonies today. I think there's a little too much of "it really should be played like this and its just the players who aren't doing what they're supposed to do" in this game, rather than brainstorming about real usage and incentives that would result in certain player behaviors.
Which brings me to the lighter version thing.
There's no doubt it is exactly as advertised with that. The single turn makes travel take a while, battles slow to build, and everything be deliberate and intentional. If that is, in fact, what you want, you are probably getting it.
But does that style of play truly attract anyone to the Colonies? I suggest to you that it does not.
There are two types of people who would be attracted to the Colonies given its different mechanics: 1 - players who do not really play the main Battlemaster game, and would choose to play the Colonies because of how different it is because the barrier to entry is lower and easier (i.e. new players brought into the game b/c of the Colonies), and 2 - players that do have other characters, but would like to also have a chill character too.
So lets deal with those two reasons, because again they are the only logical "pulls" toward the Colonies. If you can think of others, I'm all ears (though I dispute such "pulls" are working).
Regarding the light player who'd like to play BM, but doesn't have the time or want to put in the effort (i.e. attracting players you wouldn't get otherwise), it is very clear that the Colonies have failed to do that. I just conducted a review of the players currently at the Colonies, and right now there are only 48 families that play a noble there, and that includes families like The Undying who are actually BM Gamemaster accounts.
For East Continent, that number is 125 families
For Dwilight, that number is 115 families
For Beluaterra that number is 103 families
For South Island, that number is 46 families
So from a raw numbers perspective, it seems like "regular" Battlemaster attracts 100-120 or so noble families. The Colonies attract less than half that.
I went a step further and went in to look at the families that are there to see what "kind" of player they were. Virtually every single one of those players has at least 2, 3 or even 4 active players outside the Colonies, which suggests that most people who play it are really just seeking a "spare" character to play a little bit more than they do on the other continents. While I can't speak to the psychology of every player, that seems like the most logical explanation.
Indeed, there is only a single family -- one -- that plays the Colonies and only the Colonies, and that is the November Family. And for those of us who know November, he has been an on and off player since 2005, so it isn't as though this somehow attracted new blood or was some kind of recruiting tool for BattleMaster at large to try to get casual players into the family, as it were. There are four families (Mersault, Maxwell, Kingsley and X'arpa) that have a character on the Colonies and only ONE other continent, but remember that Mersault has several paused characters and has been playing for 12 years, Maxwell has been around for 11 years, and Kingsley has been around for 17 years. X'arpa seems to be the only family on the entire island I can point at that is reasonably new, and has only one character from elsewhere, thus possibly meaning that he/she is playing because of the style on the Colonies.
Which brings me to that "second reason" I was speaking about before that would "pull" people toward the Colonies: players that like the normal game but also find the concept of a "chill" character appealing.
I have no true evidence I can use here to characterize player choice, but I will say that anecdotally as somebody who has played the Colonies for a while, I get the sense that this is much less of a reason for participation in the Colonies than you would think. I've heard way too many people frustrated by slow travel times, the impact on war, the malaise on the island, and other complaints that are unique to the Colonies that come directly from the player base currently playing the Colonies. That indicates to me that people are choosing it because it is there, and not necessarily for the mechanics being different. Just my read on it, but I think it is an educated evaluation of things. I certainly know why I'm at the Colonies: it is a way of having one more character.
So I think by now it is reasonably clear that the Colonies do not attract new players (which I find undisputable) and that their pull to the already established player is very weak, and likely nothing all that special. Now let's take a look at gameplay.
Recently I went absolutely bonkers trying to stir up things on the Colonies as the primary instigator to the "religious war" thing that we tried to pull off between Sacris Incendium and the Covenent of the Undying, which dragged basically all the non-Halcyon realms into the fight against Halcyon. I spent WEEKS working on it, spending extra time in the game, writing RPs, working with other players to try to make it fun and build some kind of storyline, etc. I did enough, with the help of several other great players and the GameMasters who were into it, that the war kicked off. I may not have been happy about the "gang up" on Halcyon, but at least it was something... it was activity... it was war... it was something to do. I won't say it was a full time job, but I devoted a LOT of my time (of which I don't have a lot) to doing it, with the hope that it would end up being fun for people.
And then nothing happened.
Long story short, while the war still technically exists, almost nothing has happened in it and it has turned entirely into a dud because the travel times and remoteness of realms is absurd, and just doesn't lend itself to a fun atmosphere where a war can and will be fought. I'm not saying it is impossible or anything, but it is extremely hard, and it has a lot to do with the long wait times and mechanical issues. Add to that a player base that has atrophied from inaction for so long, and it just isn't likely to produce much in the way of action or fun.
And that's my thesis of this entire post: this is supposed to be about fun, and the Colonies are never really going to be fun as they are now.
What was my reward for committing all that time and effort to try to do something fun and interesting? Basically nothing. And that has a powerful disincentive to me ever trying to do something like that again, because why should anyone commit time and effort to things if there isn't much of a point to it and the mechanics make it really hard if not impossible to enjoy the fruits of your effort?
The GameMasters are doing their damndest to help, and I do really like the proposal that was put forth for an all-encompassing human war against the Lich King (something I've advocated for and wanted to see since he first appeared). That's great. But it shouldn't take the GMs trying to "stir things up" to make the experience there fun. The goal of the game should be to mechanically set things up so that it is as enjoyable as possible to play, so that we can recruit new players and share the fun with others.
A really big step was taken in lessening the density requirements, which I greatly appreciate, but I think the Colonies are still fundamentally broken because of the differing mechanics. Maybe I'm wrong and there's this big demand and desire for single day turns and slow as molasses play, but I have my doubts.
Which brings me to "okay, so what do you want to do about it?"
I'm not going to claim to be an expert or say that I have all the answers, but I will say this: I do like that the Colonies are different in some way from the rest of the game, and I think we should seek to preserve that aspect of them. But I think we should ditch entirely the "slow pace" aspect of it, and seek to make it different in other ways... ways that might incentivize fun and expansion. The War Island having only 46 families doesn't bother me because I see more people there who are there specifically because of the mechanical difference (i.e. it is more exciting and interesting because there is constant warfare). Let's make the Colonies have a similar draw.
What I think I might do -- though I'm entirely open to other suggestions -- is make it an "experimental island" in ways that go beyond what Beluaterra is with "testing" code changes and what not. I think things should be different here than they are anywhere else. Some of that might be simple... what if we think of the Colonies undergoing a shift, much like the Americas did after they were settled in the 1500s through the 1600s. At first they were sparse, poor, agrarian, dangerous, and difficult to tame... but eventually populations grew, industry was built, wealth was tapped, and incredible natural resources caused the American colonies to be more prosperous than the mother countries.
Maybe we say that the Colonies in our game are experiencing something similar. Maybe we radically increase population numbers, we dramatically increase personal wealth here. What if we ramped up the size of things, so that troop leaders could command much larger units here -- instead of 100 men, you could carry with you 1,000 or even 5,000 perhaps, turning you into something akin to the commander of a Legion rather than just a minor Lord commanding a small amount of troops in a medieval setting. If everything was "scaled up" proportionally (wealth, population, etc) and everyone experienced the same increases in capacity, you could have some really badass wars where 10 troop leaders could command say 50,000 men into battle... 20 could command 100,000 men or more even. Real numbers that you absolutely saw frequently in antiquity and even sometimes in medieval Europe.
You could do other things that are incentives too... like having a player on the Colonies entitles you to a 10% (or 20%) wealth cap increase for your family... so you can earn and hold more, and the Colonies will likely give you a lot of gold.
And then there are things we could do which I admit would take time and effort to implement and wouldn't be overnight... but I would like to see a complete and total reimagining of the Priest (and frankly the adventurer too) games. Specifically for priests, I would love to see religion strengthened significantly (to give us a reason to actually play it) by treating Priests like adventurers (i.e. not normal nobles you have to sacrifice, but "extra" characters that could be exclusively played), thus ramping up the number of priests we would have... I'd like to see an automatic tithing system whereby nobles would have part of their tax income automatically diverted to the church without having to pay a fee (that no one ever pays). I'd like to see nobles be forced to make a decision of a religion that they must join to be a noble in a realm, subject to added realm commands for the rulers (i.e. default religion, official religion, suggested religion, general tolerance of government to each religion commands, etc).
In other words, I'd love to see the Colonies be a world that had the religious flavor that I think was originally intended by the Priest game, allowing them to flourish and grow, and giving thousands of new potential plot lines to build on and conflict to brew from.
But whatever is done, I think it should remain different from the rest of the game, but should instead become a destination for the players due to those differences, rather than "just another place to store a character" which is what I think it is today.
After all, if we aren't supposed to really care about the continent and it is either boring, slow or lame... than why exactly do we have it? If that's how we're going to run it, we should probably just shut it down and focus on the other islands.
That's my take, at least.
Matt