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As an RPer, my first concern is always to be entertaining and interesting, and if I make a few mistakes along the way that's simply a part of the journey and we all have a laugh later. However, as a writer, I know that I have quite a few problems. And while I enjoy a complement from time to time, to improve requires being willing to put myself out in the crucible of criticism. And while Book Club helps quite a bit, it's time restraint means that most people will generally only pick one or two out of the lot, and I'm not always on the list of choices (not that I should be)

So I'm putting myself out on a limb with this topic. I'll be putting all my major topic in here to be read, and any comments are welcome.

Fear No Evil

Leviathan

Intermission From Doom Edit Note: One of the accounts that posted here was deleted, so there's missing posts

The Road of Good Intention

This is Strazio Rockwell's alternate character.

Character name: Renji Kiyomasa, the Immortal Swordsman

Character source: Original

Character history:

From a young age Renji desired to become a master swordsman, at the age of eight he left his home to join a nearby dojo to learn the ways of the blade. Day in and day out every waking moment of Renji's was devoted to honing his skills with the goal to become the greatest swordsman of all time. He learned quickly and by the age of thirteen he was already considered an incredibly skilled warrior, able to best many of his upper classmen. It was on his fifteenth birthday that he challenged his master, confident and cocky Renji was certain he could beat his mentor. The older swordmaster defeated Renji easily and in the process made him look like a fool in front of the entire dojo in hopes of teaching him humility. Disgraced and embarrassed Renji left the dojo and headed into the wilderness in the hopes of separating himself from the shame of defeat. In the nearby forest he found a hidden cave, nestled behind a waterfall. Inside the cave was a small shrine and a red-handled katana in a matching red sheath.

In this cave Renji met the demon Kuzuru for the first time. The demon was bound to the Blade of Lost Souls and hidden in the cave many years ago. Kuzuru offered Renji a deal, he would give the young swordsman the power of the Blade of Lost Souls. The blade captured every soul it had ever slain, granting its wielder their combat prowess and the remaining years of their natural life which was effectively immortality. In return for this power Renji would need to hunt down and slay warriors, increasing his power and that of the demon Kuzuru. Without hesitation the foolish Renji accepted the deal and grabbed the sword, linking his soul to the blade until the end of time. Instantly he felt more skillfull and much more powerful, able to slice through even rocks with ease. The power of Kuzuru and the cursed blade made him reckless and aggressive and in a fuming bloodlust he returned to his dojo and slaughtered everyone student and his old master.

Throughout the ages Renji has learned to control the bloodlust of his sword. A thousand years and countless battles have passed since accepting the pact with Kuzuru. Even with his bloody past Renji has developed into a laid back nomad, only showing his ruthless side when faced with a worthy opponent.

Physical Description: Standing at about 5'5" with a small acrobatic build Renjis does not look very intimidating. He often wears a wide brim bamboo hat, preferring to keep his face obscured. He also sports long flowing simple grey robe-like clothing. For footwear he wears a set of geta (a type of elavated wooden sandals) with metal plates on the bottom of them. He always carries his red handled katana known as the Blade of Lost Souls and can often be found smoking a long thin pipe.

Renji
[spoiler][/spoiler]

Renji consumed by the Blade of Lost Souls
[spoiler][/spoiler]

Stats:
ATK: 2
DEF: 1
SPD: 3
TEC: 4

Starting Proficiencies: Physical Strength (1000)

Starting Powers: Burst Movement (800) Super Jumping: Basic (300) Master Acrobat (400) Foresight (1500)

Starting Moves:

Blade of Lost Souls - Requires Physical Strength (300)

The cursed Blade of Lost Souls is a katana with a three foot long blade and foot and a half long red handle. Through wielding this blade Renji can speak with the demon Kuzuru and draw upon the demonic energies required for some of his other moves. The sword also grants Renji access to his acrobatic prowess and while he is skilled in his own right, without the blade he is no where near as agile. Renji's fighting style is a very fluid and mobile reactive style, preferrering to dodge or parry blows before exploiting mistakes and weaknesses.

Metal-plated Geta - Requires Physical Strength (300)

Geta are traditional Japanese wooden sandals. [spoiler][/spoiler] Renji's geta have metal plates on the bottom of them which he can use to block incoming melee attacks. They also allow Renji to deliver nasty kicks.

Battle Sense - Requires Foresight, Burst Movement (300)

Having survived thousands of battles across hundreds of years Renji is incredibly attuned to the nuances of a fight. Using his immense knowledge of battle and the demonic energy of the Blade of Lost Souls Renji is able to deflect or parry incoming attacks, even energy-based attacks and magic. Every fifteen seconds Renji can deflect or block an incoming attack with a well-execute slash.

100 OM left over

I confirm that I have read and agreed to the Rules of Conduct.

Welcome to Community Accolades, your monthly platform to highlight the success of your peers.

Monthly Community Accolades entails nominating and voting on who you think best epitomizes the categories selected for each month. Categories may vary each month.

This is the nomination thread.

Nominate your choices, and after one week, we will move onto a head-to-head vote between the two individuals with the most nominations (unless someone has +5 more nominations than the next guy… that’s a landslide).

For now, all you have to do is read the category, think of someone who best exemplifies it, and explain your reasoning in 2 or 3 sentences. Post that all in this thread. There is no rule against nominating your own characters, and you do not have to nominate for all categories (just those you feel comfortable with).

Winners will become ''Community Stars' until the next vote. They’ll receive a Medal!, a blue user title, and a bonus ‘reward.’

‘Best’ Character – Which character has you engaged the most?
‘Best’ Writer – Which writer wowed you the most?
‘Best’ Solo Story – What story did you find most riveting/entertaining?
Most Helpful – A staffer or a member who gave you amazing feedback on a story or was simply there to help you sort out some of your problems.
Rising Star – Which up-and-coming member stands at the crème of the crop? (must have joined within the last month and a half or have less than 8000 OM)
‘NPC of the Month’ – For the most entertaining non-player character – can be a prime or secondary.

The Tarrasque has been defeated, as granted to us by Kerrigan in the other discussion thread.

That said, it was also Sarah's idea was for the issue of the artefact to be settled in its own little pocket verse. Only a fight and/or mutual agreement among all parties, IC and OOC, will result in the artefact being created and awarded to one person. Under no other circumstances will the artefact appear or be awarded. Until then, it will remain as it is (a sphere) and be unresponsive to anyone who might try to grab it or otherwise force their hand. Failure to adhere to this will result in ejected from the Tarrasque pocket verse and removal of any bonus or reward from this thread.

If you intend to remain and contend for the artefact, you should state your intentions here so that this matter can be initiated and resolved in a pleasant and timely manner.

Just as a heads up, I do believe that Sarah intended to give everyone damage points from the fight with the monster.

Alright, so my question is simple: how strict are Powers? Me and a friend were discussing this and I have the thought that Powers are more like stepping stones while he states they're more "Face Value."

For example, Hivemind's example of use is with Disassemble, being it is a requirement for the latter. My thought is that it's not JUST for controlling one's own body, but with a proper move the user can use Hivemind outside of his/her own body. A hypothetical situation being the addition of Telepathy for a "Psychic Possession" that can brainwash living beings (probably only secondaries). The flipped version could be Telekinesis to create sentient objects. The specs of the moves aren't in question beyond the big picture. Will Hivemind allow the user to "imprint" on these targets to create something similar to minions?

Another thought for Hivemind is that the user "douplicates" his or her mind to allow greater mutlitasking while maintaining a high focus on multiple mental tasks?

It's probably easy to guess which power was the easiest to question. The description for Hivemind makes it seem like it's ONLY there to act as a buffer for Disassemble.

“GRAMPA! GRAMPA! Will you tell me the story again?” A young troll bounced on his grandfather’s knee and pleaded with big, wobbling eyes.

“O’ course I will! What’s a good tale if no one tells it? But, ye must promise me that you’ll listen very closely,” he teased the child with careful tones of his voice as it blended with the crackling flames of fire.

“I will.” the child nodded and moved to the ground where he crossed his legs, sat up, and opened his ears wide.

The old troll mused with satisfaction as he brushed his wrinkled fingers through his graying beard. The tips were white as the swirling snow that rose with the whistling wind outside of their small wooden hut. “Alright laddie, where should I start?”

Suddenly the small paneled window in the corner burst open, it was as though the fastened hinge had come loose by the trembling chill of winter and the window itself had shuddered from the cold. The fire flickered with the gust as the troll child ran to lock it once more. He had been taught the heat couldn’t escape if he locked it properly. His scowl at the interruption remained creasing his brow as he trudged back to his cross-legged spot, which was now a little less cozy. It seemed as though the charm had been swept from the room by its exposure to the icy slap of wind.

The troll child was ready once more and eager for the storyteller to begin his tale, yet the aged troll looked over the youth’s head and beyond to the framed square of pristine white. Snow blurred against the glass that offered a view of the outside, but frankly, a valley surrounded the village in the same massive clump of white. Niveous spirals blazed like fire and swirled with the unrelenting wind; the sting of the environment matched those who dwelled in it. The caustic trolls rolled easily with the harsh tides of wind; some protest that the creatures even adapted from a previously peaceful species into their current beings just to survive the murderous weather.

Out the window, past the sky, and layered with snow, a Prime named Gildarts braved the hazardous terrain as he made his way for the very town of Zul’Gurand.

...

“I hear there is trouble in the Frozen Fields...”

The wind played different tunes through the many snow tipped mountains as though it were strumming guitar strings and its icy fingerprints stamped into the very pattern that the soft snow fell. The immortal trudged through the thick blankets of snow as his mind wandered back to the “thoughtful” advice. He didn’t mind the heat when he had faced the smoldering volcano but his joints didn’t agree with the cold. With every third step he took, a frozen clump of ice liked to lodge itself between the hinge where his kneecap would have been in his left metallic leg. The worst part of it all were his socks. Well, sock. It was soaking wet and had frozen against his skin causing him immense discomfort with every step. For once, he was grateful he only had one.

Searching for trouble, that was something he had done in his past too. Things didn’t seem to have changed much and despite a new world of possibilities, he was still the same guy. Granted, he was currently trying to discover where trouble would be found in the icy slates that made up the Frozen Fields. All he was really able to see was a glimpse into the snow studded mountains and wind on the blurred white horizon as it scorched in his eyes.

Gildarts had embarked on his adventure just to pass the time and to escape from the Empire’s expanding domain, this seemed like the right place to do it. Or maybe there was more to it than that, as he remembered the hinting tone of his ally’s voice. The soothsayer had even mentioned answers colliding with his face where the ice in the air was certainly taking its toll. His wind worn cheeks were protected by his five o’clock shadow, the same stubble that had accumulated flecks of snow that clung in tiny crystals to his chin.


It seemed as though he had traveled for ten straight days before dramatically collapsing into a mound of snow. For a moment, he thought he would die right then and there. Die of boredom. The scenery hadn’t changed for a second and well, it was getting old. His eyes were like glass, his nose frozen like a lump of ice, and his auburn hair stuck up in every direction as the wind had tousled it into little splayed ice sickle daggers. He had shielded the sleet from his eyes for many hours and varied the degree of ice on his body by occasionally releasing some energy to break up the freshly formed coating into fragments. Occasionally, he would sit by a warm fire which helped him from turning into a solid pop sickle.

The only way he got through the first range of mountains and the crisp altitude change, was by assuring himself that someone was in trouble here and needed his help. Yet so far, it seemed that if there were an inhabiting people in this realm, there were very few, and they had made themselves scarce. The Frozen Fields were so secluded he had not come across any traces of campfire nor marked paths of travel. Any sign of life would have been helpful, even if they proved adverse to his goal of survival.

The Prime’s main enemy in the fields was not the ice that was carried by the wind (the same ice that threatened to freeze him solid), nor was it the many feet of snow he could easily sink through. But it was the most unsuspecting predator of all. Hunger. He could not feel through his numbed body when his hardened stomach was empty, nor could time be told by the countless hours he spent below the storming skies. Time was no longer measured in minutes, or in the same twenty four hours he knew that made up a day, but it was measured on a new scale, with a new clock. Omni’s clock. A single night, Gildarts figured by his own experience, was completed on a twenty hour rotation. The days here, perhaps due to the season and was far from an equinox, had lasted only about six hours.

Daylight, like warmth, was scarce.

He rolled over the mountains as easily as the wind and had yet to set off a single avalanche. The sun rose once more and luck finally seemed to be turning in his favor. The blizzard dissipated and he finally saw patches of blue in the sky. The snow covered peaks cradled the pale sky in a way that reflected the brilliance of light. It dazzled into the heavens. Gildarts himself stopped to remark at the true essence of nature. Perhaps it was the calm before the storm, but Gildarts had a feeling he was finally seeing the truth of the very verse he was adventuring. A million drops of snow, like dew on the crests of clouds; it was worth the many unending hours endured and peace settled in his heart.

Another great thing about his exile was that there was no one here. No one to depend on him. This was a relief in itself. There were no houses to accidentally relay his magic into, nor people to fear him as he walked in the room. No one to defend. Gildarts suddenly felt his motive and purpose reduced to ash. He valued and took pride in his adventures because they changed people’s lives, not because he was the first to do them or the last of warriors to stand on the battlefield.

A great gust of wind rolled over him like an avalanche and dusted him with snow, delivering a freshly chilled layer to his once thermal body. Ah well, I couldn’t expect it to last forever. He thought to himself in regards to the cold and carried on, night would soon fall and if he could get a better bearing of his forthright direction from the highest peak, eventually he may hit a form of civilization.

In this desolate place the bachelor could only dream of the drinks he could be having with Martha back at the very warm and scenic Costa Del Sol. He could taste the tropics as he imagined her drinking from a glass; condensation forming in her hands from the humidity and its rims coated in icy looking salt. Shaking the idea of ice from his head he tried again to imagine the warmth of the island sun as together they might slurp from coconut shells and again, the fleshy coconut shavings would glitter in the sunlight to resemble his current snowy climate. He rolled his eyes. It seemed there was no escape from his current isolation. He was, in his own way, stranded. Yet the idea of a vacation cast a refreshingly new outlook on his ongoing adventure.

Little specks resembling people lined the base of the mountain and, like ants, climbed in a line upward. The oblivious Gildarts was not pulled from his thoughts and had already set a brisk pace for himself, he continued to walk as though enlivened by the momentary peace. If he kept his speed he would soon outrun the very people that were following him. The mere strength in a single stride was that of ten feet for the short creatures who trailed in his steps. The youngest in the group of three finally heaved his last effort filled step before he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted upward toward the singular traveler.

“HEY YOU...! STOP!”

An older dwarf with a great brown beard scolded the youngest, “You idiot! Everyone knows better than to shout in the wake of a mountain! You’ll wake them from their slumber and make them angry!”

“Psh, mountains can’t get angry,” the enraged teen hobbled onward. He scowled at the tediously impossible task of chasing the outsider as his eyes fell on his own feet that were buried in the snow.

The shouted echo reached the Prime and reverberated as a ripple through the cup that was the valley. As the voice cascaded upward, it stirred the balance before finally tipping the very stability of the mountains. Suddenly a soundless growl was produced as the colossal slope began to shake from its great blanket of snow.

“Look out!” But as Gildarts pointed to the slipping slope below him, rolling balls had already begun to slide toward the tiny group in the distance. He stared at the beginnings of an avalanche that threatened to steamroll the trio of dwarves below.

The not-so-helpless Prime extended his hand, the force of the growing snow wall would surely kill them with its impact alone. Small creatures were far less durable and he would not let the murderous force of an avalanche be their demise. From his palm, a growing net of white energy flowed down toward the tsunami of snow. It was released in hopes to block the avalanche’s path.

It did not.

Instead, the energy was skewed slightly off its mark and crushed the ground too close to their feet.

“No!” Gildarts’ shout was laden with distress and without a second to loose he charged some energy into the mountain below him. It erupted into the large cracking fragments and the rigidly broken earth carried him as well as the rolling momentum of snow below, to a screeching halt.

It was too late for the dwarves and the very land their feet stood on was compromised by calamity. Not only had the earth broken from beneath them but the three figures fell through the ground with the great wave of rolling fluff that swept over them. When Gildarts came upon them, they were mangled in the thick crunchy snow. Dead.

Both the avalanche and his magic had killed them. What difference did it make if he was able to decipher which? He released a deep sigh as he flung the day’s casualties over his shoulder with his brown supply bag. Gildarts couldn’t help but to think what their lives would have went on to become if they had never so literally crossed his path.

The Prime carried the weight of their corpses across the land as recompense for taking their lives. He had every intention of righting his wrong and would return them home to their families. One moment they were alive and well, the next, they had been delivered a snowy death. This place was more dangerous than it seemed. Frozen streams glistened from the very top of the gray and white patched mountains. The good news was, he had finally made it to the highest point and could now see a full span of the land.

He would not relinquish three burdens on his shoulder, even as he rested. They were his responsibility now. He would not allow their lives to be for nothing and their deaths to be meaningless. Perhaps he could get the nearby village in the distance to answer some questions he had, or maybe this was another lie from the old prisoner of the Vastly Deep. Behemoth had mastered the art of deception but what reason did he have to lie to the Prime? Wait, was that a village on the horizon? The man squinted against the eternal chill of the wind.

...

Beer glasses clattered and many men lively chattered as they talked about yesterday’s legends, the day’s adventures, and tomorrow’s promise. Laughter smudged in the lines of every man’s lips and the froth of ale bubbled around their beards.

The gray skinned trolls all inclined their heads as they gathered round one table, where the eldest of the room spoke much softer than the rest, which made him all the more interesting to his audience of eager listeners.

“It was then, when me and my men had wandered to the thinnest ice imaginable. We could still see its frosted feathers molded by the wind on the slope that scaled only downward. There was no choice but to cross for there was an army of sabertooth tigers to our right and cowardly dwarves to our left, all while a great avalanche rolled down from Thunder Mountain. We were forced to cross down the slope, only to slip and loose our footing. We all rolled down and became huge balls of snow. After tumbling to the mountain’s valley we had finally reached the ravine of a great glacier! There was no where to turn from there, we faced the oncoming wave like brave warriors, ready to fight to the end. I had prepared the dive set though, holding onto the greater hope of survival so we could take out those pesky dwarves afterwards. At the very last second we jumped and hung onto the scaling rope that was set sturdily into the cliff side, we were all supported by our handy ice axe. We hoped that the thick layers of snow would roll over us as we dangled over the ravine and prepared for the wave of snow to wipe us clean off the Verse! In a rage it rumbled over as we all clung for our lives.”

The elder took a dramatic moment to catch his breath before sipping his ale, “With the added weight of the sheets of ice, the cliffside alone was not strong enough to hold all o’ us as well as the heavy snow that swooped over our heads. It had rumbled and cracked before the ice started to shatter at the very point that our icepick held our dangling rope. Crystals of diamonds fell from above and finally the ledge shattered.”

“This next part is my favorite!” One of the younger trolls looked up the the elder with great admiration.

The old troll spoke of his compelling story, “Of course it is m’boy, but don’t interrupt again or else I’ll never get to it.”

“My favorite is when he crushes the skull of the puny dwarf warrior with his bare hands!” another ape-like creature said as he impressed the audience by knowing and spoiling the details that came later in the story.

“Aw come on!” Jeers of anger filled the bar and finally after some clinking glasses that knocked on the wooden tables, silence fell once more as every troll’s curiosity got the best of them.

“So then, we had all fallen from the icy cliff and the rope had been split and frayed by ice that coated every layer of woven twine. I looked over to my left,” the great story teller depicted his expression as though the bar had became the very setting he spoke about. He turned his bearded chin to look at the crowd of trolls to his left as though he were analyzing the aftermath of his great fall, “We had fallen about five hundred feet. An’ I shook every single troll’s shoulders but I could see from the very stains on the snow that they had died of the fall. Hope fell in my heart for a moment as I realized I had survived. The last troll. But, like a troll, I never gave up! Even as my hands were numbed with frostbite and I couldn’t feel enough to flex my fingers. When my teary eyes fell on the axe that had survived, propped on a mound of snow and mine for the taking, I knew I could get out of the valley alive.”

Eyes continued to watch him intently, as the suspense of the story seemed to reach a climax. “Well, I guess you know the rest of the story, so I just wont tell it...” the great troll paused as his fellow bar mates gaped with exasperation.

“But that’s the best part!” someone shouted from the group and gave the demanding response he desired from his teasing comment. They hung on his every word.

“Alright, alright, if you insist I’ll continue. Now, my hand wouldn’t move, the very veins felt as though they were frozen solid and I only had one option. In order to climb out, I needed to wield the axe. What I really needed was another hand. Now, you all remember when I told you of my right arm that was bitten by that villainous dragon? This was not long before, and I still had the bandages from that very injury on my forearm. In my current wounded state I had no hope of crawling out of the ravine alive. But my will was strong and my sense of survival drove me as I plunged the heel of the axe into my arm and used it as an additional foothold to climb up the slippery ravine. Each time I drove the pickaxe into the ice I made progress scaling the ravine and clawed my way to the top. Without this very axe I wouldn’t have been able to escape to vanquish the Dwarven King. This axe is my survival and the very symbol of our fierce troll nature. In it, I have developed the most elite fighting style in troll history an’ it is my honor to wield it as it has saved my very life and brought power to our people in times of death.”

Gasps filled the room as their awe-filled eyes fell on the huge battle axe he had once used as an ice cleaver but now the hatchet had taken the place of his hand.

The low grumble of the ground rippled in their pints of ale, circles grew in their mugs, when suddenly, the entire wall of the bar was ripped open. Wood sprayed in splinters upon them and the dense logs broke around the wake of a single man. In the hushed silence, the trolls’ anger boiled. All eyes fell on the black cloaked male who hung three dwarf bodies over his shoulder before not-so-delicately dropping them to the ground.

“Ye got a lot of nerve showin’ up here with three dead dwarves.”

“Hm?” Gildarts curiously looked around the room and tasted the hostility infused in the air.

The pause was long and heavy as the many gray skinned creatures sized up the sturdy looking human. Their silent reaction was meant to intimidate the Prime but Gildarts merely took in the scene of the bar and greeted the warmth that crept back into his bones. The wordless hostility rolled on for a moment longer before finally another spoke up.

“WITHOUT EVEN INTRODUCING YOURSELF!” The whole room roared with laughter as pints clinked once more in a hearty cheer.

It was a while before the room settled and the logs of the wall had quickly been restacked. Air leaked in but nothing could freeze the bustle of excitement that was delivered with the Prime’s arrival. After offering Gildarts a beer, the bartender asked, “So what brings ye’ here? And what about them?” The man wanted to know the story behind their death, but the explanation was not given by the Prime who responded.

“I was hoping you’d give them a proper burial, I could not find their people.”

“Hah! You do know who you’re sayin’ that to, don’cha?” he laughed a he poured himself a drink with his burly troll hands.

“That’s because they’re all hiding in their little crevasses! Like the very snowrats of the caves...” A hostile troll growled and interjected between their conversation.

The bartender paused, “Ah, indeed Droggle. It seems he does not know much of the land he travels.”

Droggle glared at the dwarf-like human in contempt, “What brings yer kind here anyway?”

“I heard there was work available for a Prime like myself.” Gildarts explained simply and left out the mention of where or of what work he implied.

“Work eh? Ain’t nothing a troll can’t do. Trolls work much better than humans and have the strength of at least ten men. Wait, yer Prime? Can’t be...” The troll prodded the human with his dark eyes and rounded the corners and edges of Gildarts’ metal joints.

“That’s right. Do you know if there is any major strife that plagues this area?” he continued and his eyes were earnest and steadfast. Aside from the weather.

The many drinkers consulted for a moment in a huddle, their whispers could be distinctly heard by the Prime as he took a guzzling sip of the beer. “Let’s give him the most challenging job there is if he thinks he’s so great!”

“What?! And send him to his death?” another troll whispered.


“Ye got a better idea?” Droggle scowled, “If we send him off without doin’ nothin’ he could come back with the dwarves! Humans are so easily convinced by their own kind.”

After a few more murmurings they disbanded from their chat and confronted him. “Looks like we do have a job for you after all.”

“What’s that?” Gildarts asked as he dismissed their malice filled glares.

“Defeat the dragon!” Droggle demanded.

“Dragon?!” Gildarts’ eyes widened.

“That’s right, a great dragon reigns over this land more than any other civilization,” the bartender informed as he wiped out a cup, “The Dragon of Ice threatens every inhabitant of the Frozen Fields, Dwarves included. Our very existence is on the line just where we have established towns. If the beast awakens from his great slumber just for a moment, he could easily fly here and destroy us all.”


“Yes, yes, slay the dragon. An’ bring back proof. Now off with ye!” Droggle ushered the Prime from his seat.

“Wait stranger, I didn’t get your name.” The bartender had asked in order to create a tab for him.

“Ah don’ worry about it. I’ve already got a name picked out for ’im.” Droggle antagonized with a sneer, “We’ll call you Ten-to-One.”

“Huh?” At first it seemed like troll custom to name the travelers that came to town. Gildarts even figured it was some sort of tradition or cultural trend. “What’s that mean then?”

“Hahahaha! That’s your odds of surviving out there on your own!” Droggle slammed his hand on the wooden bar and laughter shook the entire room as it formed ripples on the troll’s ale.

Menace grew in the Prime’s expression, his eyes challenged I dare you to underestimate me as his posture squared as though preparing for battle. The rumbles of the room ceased and their eyes fell on him once more. It was the bartender who prevented the aggression from becoming an all out fist fight, “Oh, Droggle. It seems you’re actually right.”

“Hm? I am? How’s that? I mean, I know it, this guy doesn’t stand a chance out there!” Droggle turned his head from the Prime’s daring eyes.

“No, I mean, if it is a test of strength it seems he wouldn’t fail if he has vanquished three dwarves and also ripped a hole in our wall without lifting a finger. But I think a guide should go with him. How else will he find the dragon?” The bartender explained, sweat dripped from the troll’s grey skin as he hoped to quell the violence or risk loosing the roof of his pub too.

“Just slaying a few puny dwarves will not make this man a king. But a guide is a great idea, someone should witness his failure. Who did’ya have in mind?” Droggle asked.

“...” All eyes fell on Droggle, the best navigator in the tribe of Zul’Gurand.

“OH NO. Don’ make me go with this stinking human! He smells terrible!” Droggle’s protests were futile as Gildarts felt his eyebrow twitch.

“Oi, I’m right here.” his eyebrow had creased with anger. These beasts lacked decency, he had tried to not let their bloodied scent of war cause him to cringe and they said that he smelled. Gildarts observed their violent behavior and the mere shaggy tarps they wore for clothing. As he looked closer he could see that the tarps were actually skins of their vanquished prey. He found this species had a warped sense of pride and honor as they carried trophies of death on their backs. Then again, so had he in a not-so-similar way.

“It was your idea in the first place!” one smirked in amusement.

“C’mon troll up!” another said to him.

“How else is he gonna get to the dragon’s lair?” the last troll reasoned.

“Grr... Fine.” Droggle guzzled his pint as streams rolled down his white beard. With a slam that caused the cup to chip as he brought it with great force into the table. In the corner of the room the eldest troll eyed the action that took place as the Prime and Droggle set off.

After the Prime left with Droggle, a troll of the bar smiled with malice, “D’you think he bought it?”

Another agreed, “O’course he did. Humans are stupid creatures. Nothin’ but serving our kingdom was on his mind.”


The real reason they wanted him to defeat the dragon was not for the risk that its existence posed to their many tribes. They had no regard for the well being of the other populations, but their motive surrounded what was always their first priority: War. They were more concerned that the dwarves were in pursuit of the dragon to find a way to tame it, control it, and later learn to use it as a weapon of dominance in a way to end their everlasting feud in one mighty bout of destruction. And they simply couldn’t have that...

September 2009

Karl Jak sat is a half-empty office.

A year ago, Karl had been king of the world, with a fat pension, an entire planet full of people who loved to hate him, and most importantly, an endless stream of wine and dandy boys to keep him warm during the winter months. All of that had dried up six months ago, when the Board of the company announced that they would be restructuring the coming competition. Apparently, last year’s tournament hadn’t been without its controversy, and although he denied all the rumors, there had been talks that the games had been fixed from the start.

After that, all it took were a few snide words from a few jealous coworkers to get Karl slipped into the role of ‘Consulting Producer.’ It was a slap in the face for someone who had helped to reinvent the company after a ratings decline that nearly bankrupted them just four years ago. Karl had even hosted two tournaments in his first calendar year as Executive Producer of the Dante’s Abyss brand. Two! And both had been phenomenal successes, helping to transform what had originally been a tournament fought in some backwater planet into a hugely popular television program and sporting event.

Damn you, Damon…

Karl scowled as he sifted through his desk for the folder he desired. He needed to find some way to remove Mr. Dukes from the equation if he wanted back in control of the tournament. The new format had been a reversion to the older style with an extra layer of intimacy, and as much as Karl despised the lack of creativity, the concept had tapped into a lot of individual’s nostalgia of years passed. In the aftermath, Karl was on the outs, with only his wits to help him break back into the inner circle of the company.

Over the last four years, Karl had amassed a lovely little network of contacts, and he’d be startled if he didn’t find at least some ammunition with which to sully the Board’s new golden boy. Even if he found nothing, he’d reclaim his spot through whatever means he needed to. There’d be no amount of zeni he wouldn’t be willing to spend to destroy his competition.

Like it or not, Damon Dukes was going to find himself in the realest version of Dante’s Abyss ever to be produced by the one and only Karl Jak.

"Sweet dreams"

A voice calls out to the prime, one of calm nature, as if to remind one of something. Whoever it is, it's calling out from somewhere, no...not just somewhere but...everywhere? The voice seems to be projecting from the left...no right, wait, it's coming from both sides, the front and back too, from all directions perhaps? Deep and loud as the voice may be, the words it carries with it is in no way hostile.

"Carn, are you still there?" , the voice starts to make out more clearly now, Carn responds with a motion of the head, as if scanning where exactly the voice is coming from.

"Who are you? Did we meet before?", the anomaly continues to sweep from left to right, trying to find the origin of this sound.

"Ofcourse, in fact, we met many times throughout your time in the Zone but I wonder if you are even aware of my presence.", the voice says so jokingly as it echoes with a chuckle.

"What do you mean?", the Anomaly says, clueless of what this voice means.

Suddenly, as quickly as Carn finishes the sentence, a white figure, similar to the one called Omni but bigger and with toned muscles, appears in front of Carn with a stern look.
A hand reaches out to Carn as the figure starts to speak slowly and clearly.

"Do you remember me? I am the one who made you, my actions are responsible for your current form. Everything that is you was made by me.", the figure declares to the Anomaly, quite certain of the words he is saying. He assumes a pose as if he is proud of his doing. This time the voice is clearly coming from the white figure.

"Yes! I am your creator, your potter, the one who has shaped you and am proud of it." he flexes his overgrown biceps to prove his statement.

With a slow, declarative but strong tone, the figure says:"I am your~"

"-mother?", Carn interrupts.

"Ack! What did you say?", the figure looks baffled from the way he lost his stature.

Carn clarifies it further with "Mother, my mom, mommy?", every word like a cannonball lobbed at the white being.

"What is wrong with you? Can't you see these tight, toned abs? These firm biceps and triceps? These stunning obliques? These..." he goes on and on, showing off each set of muscles he mentions with a flex.

"Yes, I can. You said you made me, thus, you are Mom", the Anomaly concluded, with squinting eyes, Carn runs to the figure with arms extending sideways to accomodate a hug and instantaneously intercepted by a large hand.

"Hands off, kid. No touching. I just came here to tell you something.", derailing the Anomaly from the intended destination of his core muscles.

"Aw. That hurt.", Carn states the obvious absent-mindedly.

"Nevermind that, listen. You're stuck in there for a while, kid. We don't have the means to get people out although the place seems to pull more in. Just hang in there. You might find your own way out or learn to like the place." the figure proceeds to deliver his intended message.

"Well, that's all of it. Just don't get into too much trouble. This may not be like the world we watch over but the effects on an Anomaly are pretty much the same upon descent. Take care kid.", the figure vanishes as quickly as it appeared moments ago.

"Wait! How do I get out? Where am I exactly?", Carn asks, looking puzzled.

The figure reappears infront of the Anomaly, grinning but with a 'sorry' face.

"Oh yeah, I forgot, sorry, kid. Bed time's over", he sends his huge fist into the puny Anomaly infront of him.

With no time to react, Carn absorbs the full force of the blow, knocking him unconscious, or something like one.

"Starry nightsky we have, eh? Wake up, kid."

So tomorrow the sequel to one of my most favorite games is coming to early access on steam. Killing Floor is in short fucking sweet and a ton of fun with a group of people. This is the store link <!-- m --><a class="postlink" href="http://store.steampowered.com/app/232090/">http://store.steampowered.com/app/232090/</a><!-- m -->

So anyways I'm looking for people that want to tag along and play this awesome game with me and two buddies of mine. If you're interested in having a blast of a time add my on skype - skullboyskb123 or drop a reply in this thread.