Zonorhc

The bard glances around for a moment, before leaning in close to Jerod, shifting his lute over his shoulder. "I've a thought that a ballad about a blood raid will repay itself many times over. You will be paid for any aid in Korivan's defense as a mercenary, but I'm willing to pay you a hundred gold pieces here and now, a hundred more when we arrive, and two hundred if we survive." He produces a coin purse from one of his pockets and holds it between himself and Jerod. "This is half a year's wages in the Oathbridge army. Take it or leave it."

Bumpity! Did a little more work on it...

I was a little bored, so I decided to try out a bit of pixel art. Here's what I've got so far. I'm trying to stay away from the Runescape-ish equipment styles while still keeping the concept within the boundaries of the game, hence the lack of Rune armour. I haven't really thought of what to put in the right side or the background yet, so I'd like some ideas for those as well as constructive criticism.

"'Twill be a grand adventure, sir," says the bard to Jerod. "The Urvandt blood raids begin in the spring, and I have heard that there are plenty of openings for mercenary work in that time. We could make it to Korivan by winter if we set out soon, and the first snows will have fallen by then."

Planescape: Torment - Hands down the best CRPG game ever made, and I'm not just saying that because I love the Planescape campaign setting for D&D. Heroes 3 - Beats the snot out of Heroes 4. Not as graphically pretty, but much better gameplay in general. Civilization 3 - Hey, it's a computer strategy game that requires thinking and long-term planning! You sods can keep your stupid Warcraft 3 and your pathetic Dawn of War. Civ3 is THE strategy game.

You can't be serious. I've seen those sprites far too many times, and quite frankly, I abhor them. The fact that you mixed badly-cropped Diablo 2 demi-art with badly-cropped lightning also makes me cringe. Here's my advice for you: pick up a pencil and start learning to make your own art.

Having overheard what was said, the bard walks over to the bar, taking a seat near the end. "I heard that you plan on going to Korivan, master dwarf," he says. "I would like to accompany you, if I may, to find some inspiration for a ballad I plan on writing. It would be wonderful as well if master Jerod accompanies us, as it'll be a grand tale indeed."

That's disgusting. It really is. Dark brown doesn't go with light blue. I hope your fashion sense isn't as bad as that.

The axe tears into the man, cutting the left arm off at the elbow and burying itself in the man's side. Blood pours in generous amounts from the maimed arm, and the severed forearm lies on the ground twitching slightly. The man's eyes go blank as Braden follows through and hurls him five feet away. The man's intestines can be clearly seen in the gaping hole created by the axe blade. The bard sheathes his weapon, heads to his stool and audibly wonders, "Who were those two, and why would they be after that man?" Tortric sets his two-and-a-half-foot-long crossbow on the bar and says, "Right then, who's going to help clean up? You," he points to Braden, "head upstairs and check on that Jerod fellow. He might want to know about these two being after him."

The hooded man with the dagger cautiously approaches Braden as the bard plants his feet and readies himself. Braden's dwarven companion draws his dagger and begins to approach the man from behind, and many of the patrons scatter to the walls. Blood suddenly splashes the ground as a crossbow bolt strikes the dwarf, punching a hole in his side and dropping him in a red pool. Tortric emerges from behind the bar, a heavy crossbow in hand with a bolt loaded in its steel frame. He calmly aims at the hooded crossbowman and fires, lifting the man off his feet and hurling him to a wall with half his head shattered by the bolt, bits of bone, gore and gray matter covering the wall and floor. Tortric produces a winch from beneath the bar and begins to reload his crossbow. The bard silently gestures to Braden to take a flanking position.

The man at the bar signals to his companion, and mere seconds later, a crossbow bolt whizzes past Braden's head. Glass shatters as it hits the shelf behind the bar, and Tortric ducks underneath. The music stops as the bard sets down his lute and unsheathes a shortsword, keeping himself between the combatants and his audience. The man at the stairs calmly reloads his crossbow. The man at the bar draws his dagger and lunges for Braden!

Agreeing with Nadril here. Some people seem to have trouble keeping their IQ above room temperature. *Notes that nk6 uses AOL*

The common room is suddenly beset upon by another draught of chilly air, and the fire flickers for a moment before the door snaps shut again. A pair of hooded men stand by the door, before approaching the bar purposefully with a haughty air about them. The bard pauses his playing for a moment to turn and glare at the newcomers, then resumes entertaining the inn's patrons. One of the newcomers shoves Braden aside and coolly asks the innkeeper, "There is an archer here by the name of Jerod. Take us to his room." Tortric hesitates for a moment, his right hand drifting down underneath the bar, and says, "Could I ask for the visitors' names?" By now, the hooded man's companion has taken a position by the stairs, and the bard is slowing the tempo of his song down. The hooded man at the bar grabs Tortric by the front of his tunic, and hisses, "Tell us or die." Braden's dwarven companion's hand stealthily approaches his dagger, and the hooded man at the stairs tenses a little.

The Weary Traveller inn is the establishment that gives the village of Innshold its name, and is a cosy three-storey building in the centre of the small settlement. The common room is quiet tonight, and the mild autumn rain sprinkles the ground outside and leaves freckles of water on the windows. A cheery fire burns in the fireplace, keeping out the cold. The proprietor, Tortric Brontley, stands behind the bar, cleaning mugs as his two daughters mill about the room, cleaning tables and taking orders. A youthful bard sits near the fireplace, strumming at his lute and reciting an old ballad of a traveller following the Ilacondis river from Marvbek to Karzon's Hold. Several of the patrons have their attentions focused on him. At the end of the bar is a human, a tracker or mercenary archer by the look of his attire and equipment. Along the rest of the bar are two seated dwarves. "'Tis fine now, but I'd say that it'll be a hard winter," says Tortric as he places clean mugs back on the shelves. "Long, too. Care for more ale, master dwarf?" [Out of character: From here on out, participants should only write up their own characters' actions and dialogue. I'll handle NPCs.]

Exactly. That's just a new set of boring palette swaps. Where would you fit it into the level requirements without screwing the people who just managed to reach level 40 and are dying to use their rune? kav, no, she didn't get it from Diablo 2. Not every weapon suggestion comes from Diablo 2. Weapon suggestions sometimes come from actual, real-life weapons. You may have heard of these.

I think they should focus on more generic, standalone weapons rather than new weapon classes or weapon types that appear in multiple classes. It gets boring after a while, seeing everyone of similar levels using the same metal types.

The chu-ko-nu could work, though I'm quite sure that the magazine only held a maximum of five bolts. Fitting a new magazine takes approximately six seconds. I can't agree with the idea that it would be more accurate than a normal crossbow, as you actually only have one hand to control the heading of the weapon, with the other to operate the lever. Standard crossbows, on the other hand, have both your hands available to help aim the shot. The repeating crossbow can fire one shot per second. Ammunition for the chu-ko-nu should be sold separately from standard crossbow ammunition, in non-stackable magazines of five. I call into question the design of the repeating crossbow in the illustration. The lever was more commonly affixed to the side of the weapon, just below the magazine, and worked like a winch to pull the string back and release it when it reached the rear of the groove. The front of the groove should never be ahead of the bow either, as that decreases power. On to the subject of the arquebus, it should be horribly innacurate beyond two squares, to a maximum effective range of six squares, as projectile ranges in Runescape tend to be horribly restricted anyway. Ammunition may not be recovered, and each reload (four seconds) would require one round of ammunition and half a pound of gunpowder, sold in non-stackable powder horns holding two shots' worth of powder each. Power should not be affected by any stat, give it instead a solid range of 3-15 damage between four and six squares, and 5-25 at three squares or less. Range levels affect accuracy, but only slightly. Armour penalties to ranged attacks are doubled, and bonuses are halved. Strength levels determine how quickly the wielder can recover from the shot and reload, and depending on the Strength level of the user, reload times can be as long as eight seconds or as little as three. Ammunition is sold as iron or steel balls, and these can be used interchangeably with no variation in accuracy or power. Overall, well thought-out suggestions, certainly better than the standard "OMG DRAGON BAZOOKA LOL"-type weapon suggestions that seem to crop up on this board.

CHAPTER FOUR: Old Blood Vriskath cast his gaze over the cube's field of dust, watching for anything that may approach. The dead baatezu he had heaped into the far corner of the ruined village, and nothing marked their passing but scattered patches of dried blood, black burns in the dust and stones. The fields were still. He sat down on the stones outside the house Thaniel rested in, and gazed up at the infinity above once more. Steel rang like the cries of vicious birds, and shouts echoed through the void. Two cubes approached each other, and their faces met. One battle on Avalas ceased its cacophonic accompaniment to the plane's terrible music. Vriskath held his sheathed blade at his chest, and closed his eyes as the battles raged. There had been other battles. He stared into the cold, hard eyes of a nycaloth, the yugoloth smiling gently as he offered the pen to the tiefling. Vriskath's hand closed around the steel tube, and brought the tip down to the sheet of parchment before him. He needed the money, as did the others who queued behind him. He signed on the indicated line, and the gargoyle-like yugoloth took the contract and placed it amid the piles of similar parchment gathering behind him. Special provision, it had said, that the client's soul would not be the property of the yugoloths should he fall in battle. Vriskath had only taken the money when he was certain he had not damned himself for eternity. The following years as a sponsored mercenary were more than he had bargained for. He crouched low behind the wreckage of a baatezu catapult as arcane fire streaked overhead to explode amid ranks of other mercenaries, followed by arrows and ballista bolts. The two humans who were with him visibly quaked everytime a bolt struck and shook their cover. The githzerai maintained his calm composure, though he, too, was afraid; Vriskath could see it in his eyes. The other tiefling lay in pieces thirty feet away, torn asunder by ballista fire as he ran from the cover of the wrecked catapult. Vriskath held his katana close to his chest. The underfoot soil of the Field of Nettles was black from countless millenia of bloodshed. He raised his face to the grey sky and closed his eyes as the winds of Oinos, first layer of the Gray Waste blew. The stench of carrion was borne upon them, and Vriskath had fought in the Blood War for enough years to know that among the mortals who had died wherever that wind had blown from, there were countless fiends slain as well. It was a strange comfort. "That's horrible," said one of the humans, a nineteen-year old, brown-haired, brown-eyed Sigillian named Brax. "Ye'll get used ta it," replied Vriskath. "It won't matter, anyway," said the other human with downcast eyes, the one whose name Vriskath never knew. He was already succumbing to the wasting despair of the plane, and would soon lapse into increasing apathy and eventually lose all sense of self. Vriskath had resisted the Waste's effects for long enough to ignore them, as had the githzerai, whom he knew as Ar'k'lith. "I'm only serving for two cycles," said Brax, "and I'll go back to Sigil when I'm done. I might join the Mercykillers." Ar'k'lith snorted in derision, but said nothing. Vriskath kept his eyes closed, and could hear Brax sigh as he sat with his back to the catapult's wreckage. It was one cycle later that he, Brax and Ar'k'lith waited in ambush with a small group of other mercenaries and a troop of barbazu. They were still upon Oinos, though their superiors had ordered them to work to disrupt tanar'ri supply lines outside the Field of Nettles. Vriskath knew that Brax and the githzerai were grateful for leaving the main battlefield, though the human had become more sullen and was beginning to lose his emotions. "Here it comes," whispered one of the human scouts as he returned. "Where is the other?" asked the barbazu officer in command. "Dead," replied the scout. "Couldn't take it anymore and killed himself." The barbazu smiled his demented, fiendish smile, and ordered the company to move for the pass. Vriskath loosened his blade in its scabbard, and Ar'k'lith closed his eyes for a moment, relaxing his mind, as he had told the tiefling. Brax calmly loaded his crossbow. The grays of Oinos seemed to become duller for those few more minutes spent waiting. Dead black trees clawed at the wind that reeked of death, and several mercenaries took on a glassy-eyed expression, dropping their weapons before trudging off into the colourless plains. The baatezu cared not at all. Their souls were already forfeit. The caravan came into sight, and the company rushed forward like a silent wave to crash with the dull clang of steel upon their enemies. Men fell silently in that first strike, and the company withdrew, forming into a line before rushing forward again. The barbazu officer gave no orders, as he had spoken enough for his subordinates to know their duties. Again men fell, only a gurgling scream or three puncturing the heavy silence. A bolt of wicked blue lightning arced overhead, its colour blinding in the bleak gray of Oinos, and its sizzling report deafening in the oppressive silence. A line of dead men cut through the disorganized tanar'ri force, charred skeletons stripped of their flesh by the arcane energy. Ar'k'lith's voice rang out once more as he intoned another spell, and the tanar'ri forces charged forward to meet the baatezu troops' next assault. Men fell once more, arcing jets of blood splashing the monotonous soil with colour. Emotions had been drained from many of these men already, and they fought and fell with blank looks upon their faces, no anger or malice, no fear or hatred. Only the fiends seemed to relish the brutal combat. The barbazu clashed in primal hatred with the tanar'ri babaus. The disgusting, skinless humanoid demons tore and were torn apart by the raggedly-clothed, snaky-bearded devils and their glaives. The revolting, mobile blobs of molten flesh which were the baatezu's lemures surged forward to butcher and be butchered by the tanar'ri's pathetic, bloated humanoid dretches. Amid the fiendish slaughter were mortals killing mortals in cold, uncaring blood. Vriskath's blade danced, arcing upwards, sweeping downwards, slashing through and rending flesh as he himself pushed through the ranks and into the horde. Blood covered his face and hands and stained his robe, and he was lost in his inborn primal revelry in the slaughter. He closed his eyes and raised his face to the gray sky as warm liquid splashed over his hands and washed his face, driving the growing chill of Oinos away. Flesh yielded to his steel and flesh fell to the gray soil. He heard it. Heard the gurgle of blood in mortal throats, heard the warbling screams of fiends, heard the steel kissing the steel. He smelled it. Smelled the flesh, smelled the faeces of those who retained their emotional faculties, smelled the stench of carrion in the wind of Oinos. He tasted it. Tasted the blood on his lips, tasted the fear around him, tasted the acrid air. He felt it. Felt the plane without feeling. Felt the gaze of the silent arcanoloth who watched from the ridge. He opened his eyes to the infinity of Avalas, and found that he was fatigued. Memories raced through his mind and drained him of his energy. The diffuse glow of Avalas had begun to brighten as the new day dawned. Feeling that he could not sleep, he rose and entered the house to check Thaniel's condition. Blood had stained the rag over the wound completely red, and was still oozing onto the dusty floor. Thaniel's eyes were still open as though he still meditated and walked the paths of elven dreams, and his chest was still, his breathing nonexistent. Vriskath gave a sigh of disgust, and closed the dead elf's eyes. He took the bow and quiver from the corpse and stepped outside with only a casual nod to Thaniel as he started his trek through the dust and to his mission.

Let's not forget a disgusting amount of conformity. Thank you, globalization. :roll:

Yes, I did. That's only a thumbnail, in case you hadn't noticed. I'm not about to post a 1024x768, 473kb image on this board.

This being the third and last landscape I make this month, I decided to do something a little brighter than usual. I must say, I love the water. Constructive criticism is welcome, as always. :)

I second that. Find your own style. It's better in the long run.

I'm not quite certain as to what you think you're trying to achieve, Netflix. In any case, we speak English on this board, not some disgusting, bastardized "ghetto" language.

your supposed to learn how to spell when your 5 "comeone!" come one? "You're." Don't be a hypocrite.

Greetings, all. I'm setting up a roleplay of my own. It will not be based on Runescape, as will be explained later. Much of the story will be dictated by your characters' actions, though not necessarily controlled by you. There will be several differences to the already-running thread in here. First, there will be a limit of four characters in the roleplay. Feel free to PM me your concepts and I'll approve or reject them on a basis of originality. When describing your character's merits in social or combat situations, please avoid creating a "perfect" character. Any single character cannot be the deus ex machina in every situation. Secondly, the players post their character's actions and no-one else's. Problems tend to arise when things happen to others' characters without their express consent. For instances where one character is temporarily divided from the group, I will run that specific sequence through PMs. I myself will not play as a character, rather as a sort of game master to show the world around the characters. Combat, if it ever occurs, is to be done on a turn-based, post-by-post sequence, with characters making their actions and myself running the actions of NPCs. Thirdly, the issue of player knowledge versus character knowledge is to be paid special attention. If a character describes an action which takes place in a different room, for example, none of the other characters should know what is happening, unless alerted by an effect of interaction with the environment, such as shattering glass. Lastly, please make a conscious effort to maintain a standard of spelling and grammar in both your character concept and subsequent posts. Orsia [map] Orsia is a large, temperate island continent. To the east lies the great Sea of Illusions, the Great Dividing Sea stretches to the north, and to the south is the Grey Sea. To the west, the Starsea divides Orsia from the lands of Thoris, and beyond that lies the Uncaring Ocean. Orsia itself is divided into five main territories. The dwarven kingdom with its capital at Belgim occupies much of the mountainous north of the continent, with other major cities at Glandest in the Forgotten Hills and Marvbek at the headwaters of the Ilacondis river. The dwarves serve a partriarchal monarchy, with the benevolent King Urfin on the Belgim throne. Dwarven clans are close-knit societies of their own, and individual families within these clans coexist peacefully. During wartime, the dwarves show their lawful, disciplined nature, organizing themselves into warbands by family and armies by clan, all under the command of the royal army itself. The dwarves keep active trade routes between their mountains, the Coastal Alliance to the south and west and the Darchon Confederacy to the south-east. They gladly trade valuable metals, gems and machinery for the Alliance's pearls and maritime produce, as well as for the abundant grains, vegetables and manufactured weapons of the Confederacy. The Coastal Alliance holds the lands between the two cities of Mutineer's Point and Seeker's Cove, the former to the west of the Misty Peaks of the dwarven kingdom, and the latter to the south, with only the foothills stretching from the mountains to the coast at Hidden Bay separating the two. Both cities are ruled by their own democratically-elected governments, and enjoy a prosperous relationship with the dwarven kingdom and the Confederacy. Mutineer's point is also the most easily-accessed port for traders from Thoris. There have been no major conflicts in the Coastal Alliance for a century, the last war having been with the independent city of Janimor far to the south-east, which ultimately resulted in Janimor's destruction at the hands of a coalition of Alliance, Confederacy and dwarven forces. The Alliance nevertheless fields a fair standing army of heavy infantry as well as local peasant militias. Both cities in the Alliance also maintain strong naval forces, with Seeker's Cove holding the stronger of the two. The Alliance trades mainly in fish, coral and pearls with the dwarven kingdom and the independent city of Oathbridge to the east. In past times, there was also active trade with Janimor, though that is now unfeasible considering the destroyed nature of the city. The dwarven kingdom trades its metals to both cities in the alliance, while Oathbridge provides grain and other produce to augment Seeker's Cove's relatively small land production. In recent years, Oathbridge has also taken up the old Janimor trade of bladewood from the Razorwood, highly prized in the Alliance for its durability and strength. Almost all ships in the Alliance fleet are constructed from bladewood. The Darchon Confederacy lies on the east of the continent, with the dukes of the three cities surrounding Blood Bay in the service of the Grand Duke at Port Darchon, situated on the peninsula of cliffs above the narrow mouth of the bay. The three cities of Black Cove, Karzon's Hold and Nijen were allied with Port Darchon in a long-forgotten war, and the alliance has held. All four cities in the Confederacy maintain navies smaller than that of the Coastal Alliance's, though their standing armies of heavy infantry and archers easily outmatches the Alliance's. Karzon's Hold and Black Cove also field strong cavalry divisions. The Confederacy trades its manufactured weapons for metal and machinery from the dwarven kingdom, and this trade is most evident in the grand cliffside coastal defences of Port Darchon, with dwarven cannons being brought to bear against corsairs. Port Darchon also uses dwarven lifting machinery to transport citizens between the city proper and the many underground and cliffside levels necessary to facilitate the city's growth. The Confederacy also trades these weapons with Oathbridge to the west and Korivan to the south. Oathbridge is the neutral ground of the three surrounding nations. It maintains this position through its enforced amnesty and its control of the only safe bridge for several hundred miles along the Ilacondis river. The city also protects its five satellite villages of Low Hold, Innshold, Angler's End, Miller's Hold and Armsburg, which in turn provide the city with farming produce. In the past, Low Hold also provided for the city with its iron and copper mines, though the latter have now been depleted. The army of Oathbridge is comprised mainly of cavalry and a large contingent of pikemen. The army is also augmented by a large number of mercenaries using the city as a base of operations. It has not seen action beyond repelling bandits in the surrounding areas, though the city's cavalry regiments were instrumental in the defeat of Janimor. Oathbridge serves as the trading centre for all three surrounding nations as well as the independent city of Korivan. It makes good use of this constant influx of commerce to increase its wealth, and augments it with its steady surplus of wheat and other produce. Iron is also traded with Korivan for luxurious hides and bladereed, a variation of bladewood which grows as sixteen-foot-tall reeds in the Pool of Blades, the lake to the west of Korivan. These reeds are easier to work into weaponry than bladewood, and are prized by Oathbridge for its application in its army. Korivan is an independent frontier city acting as the final buffer between the civilized northern lands and the Urvandt tribes to the south, being only fifty miles north of the Barrier Hills. In this position, it fields a strong army of heavy infantry and archers, emphasizing defensive tactics to withstand the occasional Urvandt blood raid, where hordes of the barbarians pour forth from their plains, over the hills and north to kill and plunder. Korivan trades mainly in bladereed and exotic animal furs, though its relative isolation keeps such trade to a minimum. The Story The story is what the characters make of it; I only serve to provide feedback relating to the consequences of the characters' actions. That said, the story itself begins in the village of Innshold, seven miles out of Oathbridge. Please submit your characters to me via PM, and any questions directly relating to the roleplay should be PMed as well, in the interests of keeping this thread solely for the story. Good luck to those wishing to participate, and to those who are accepted, have fun!