Darkest Dungeon - The Crimson Court - Halforums Edition
- Thread starter GasBandit
- Start date
Personally I think the style of the game would bore you, but maybe not. You did make it through all of Persona 5 a couple times.
You got to admire the brazen attitude of a company to literally name their love interest "take me"
But I want to play with Natsuki. :|
GasBandit
Staff member
Just a short session tonight.
Shego, Grytpipe, Patrthom, and Hylian go after the Gibbering Prophet. It's a close thing (and Grytpipe has a mental break), but the last of the malodorous madmen is finally silenced.
After many campaigns and hard work, Gryfter, Mikerc and CynicalKat reach level 6.
Shego, Grytpipe, Patrthom, and Hylian go after the Gibbering Prophet. It's a close thing (and Grytpipe has a mental break), but the last of the malodorous madmen is finally silenced.
After many campaigns and hard work, Gryfter, Mikerc and CynicalKat reach level 6.
GasBandit
Staff member
Terrik, Bones, Grue, and Patrthom confront the Beguiling Siren. The combination of zealotry and eldritch knowledge fortifies their minds against the seductive pull of the aquantic temptress, and the party wins the day handily. Now only the final drowned crew remains to haunt the cove.
Dirona and Hylian accompany Frank and Stienman through many difficult battles in the weald. When they return, the men have also reached level 6.
Terrik, Junjun, Dirona, and Snuffles venture back into the cove one more time to defeat the final boss, the Drowned Crew. Despite the party being extremely strong against unholy enemies, the battle is long and difficult. Nevertheless, the undead are put to rest. All of the bosses have now been defeated from the ancillary parts of the desmene... it is now time to venture into the manor proper, and plumb the terrifying depths of...
...The Darkest Dungeon!
GasBandit
Staff member
Spoilered for picture size, and, well, for spoilers. Again, the spoilers won't always be behind a spoiler tag from here on out.
So, first... some mood music
The lower leveled recruits make a few runs through the weald, to mop up straggling beasts and brigands. Their efforts bring DocSeverin, Tress, Sparhawk, Soupy, Adam, and Reverent-one to level 5, and gain enough heirlooms as plunder to finish rebuilding the last district of the hamlet - the statue of the Red Hook, which while serving no pragmatic purpose in and of itself, is nevertheless a symbol of the progress and recovery of the last two-plus years.
It is time to finally breach the manor house, and confront whatever lies beneath it. For the first foray, Shego, Mikerc, ThatNickGuy, and Patrthom are chosen.
I don't know what I had expected to find beneath my ancestral home, but certainly not this - a yawning cavern that stretched off beyond perception into blood-colored, fog-shrouded nothingness, with cracked and jagged rock pillars stretching up from an imperceptible depth below. The party crossed this unsettling cavern upon a grey stone causeway, festooned with cruel, spiked adornments that were only less unsettling than distantly-glimpsed altars and idols, tricking with a crimson fluid that leaked from the cavern ceiling as if from an unclosable wound.
Diseased and mutated cultists came forth repeatedly, unsettling to behold, but my quartet of stalwart fighters had little trouble working their way through them.
All too soon, however, the enemies become less and less human. What appear to be some kind of dark priests turn out to be not even human beneath their robes - although perhaps once they were...
Their undulating, horrific attacks wreak grievous injury and terror among the party, and we are forced to make camp for the night to tend the wounded, beneath a massive brass gong of fell aspect.
When at last the end of the blood-flecked causeway is reach, an eldritch Shuffling Horror confronts the party! The twisted thing rends their bodies and their minds, but eventually is defeated through heroic effort. Some... curious implements are found in its stash of treasures. The party grabs them and flees the terror of the dungeon... when they reach the hamlet, they refuse to speak of their experience, save that the four of them all emphatically vow to NEVER go there again, no matter what. It seems others must carry on the fight from here.
Also... since returning from my ancestral manor... I myself seem to also really need to get some rest. Sometimes I could swear that, out of the corner of my eye, sometimes my compatriots have... too many eyes?
So, first... some mood music
The lower leveled recruits make a few runs through the weald, to mop up straggling beasts and brigands. Their efforts bring DocSeverin, Tress, Sparhawk, Soupy, Adam, and Reverent-one to level 5, and gain enough heirlooms as plunder to finish rebuilding the last district of the hamlet - the statue of the Red Hook, which while serving no pragmatic purpose in and of itself, is nevertheless a symbol of the progress and recovery of the last two-plus years.
It is time to finally breach the manor house, and confront whatever lies beneath it. For the first foray, Shego, Mikerc, ThatNickGuy, and Patrthom are chosen.
I don't know what I had expected to find beneath my ancestral home, but certainly not this - a yawning cavern that stretched off beyond perception into blood-colored, fog-shrouded nothingness, with cracked and jagged rock pillars stretching up from an imperceptible depth below. The party crossed this unsettling cavern upon a grey stone causeway, festooned with cruel, spiked adornments that were only less unsettling than distantly-glimpsed altars and idols, tricking with a crimson fluid that leaked from the cavern ceiling as if from an unclosable wound.
Diseased and mutated cultists came forth repeatedly, unsettling to behold, but my quartet of stalwart fighters had little trouble working their way through them.
All too soon, however, the enemies become less and less human. What appear to be some kind of dark priests turn out to be not even human beneath their robes - although perhaps once they were...
Their undulating, horrific attacks wreak grievous injury and terror among the party, and we are forced to make camp for the night to tend the wounded, beneath a massive brass gong of fell aspect.
When at last the end of the blood-flecked causeway is reach, an eldritch Shuffling Horror confronts the party! The twisted thing rends their bodies and their minds, but eventually is defeated through heroic effort. Some... curious implements are found in its stash of treasures. The party grabs them and flees the terror of the dungeon... when they reach the hamlet, they refuse to speak of their experience, save that the four of them all emphatically vow to NEVER go there again, no matter what. It seems others must carry on the fight from here.
Also... since returning from my ancestral manor... I myself seem to also really need to get some rest. Sometimes I could swear that, out of the corner of my eye, sometimes my compatriots have... too many eyes?
I should really have bought this while it was on sale. I described it to my wife last night and her eyes lit up.
GasBandit
Staff member
I bet it will be discounted again during the steam winter sale.
GasBandit
Staff member
Mood Music!
Soupy, Bubble181, RavenPoe, and Denbrought raid the warrens, stealing food from the swine beastmen, to encourage them further to leave now that their disgusting chieftans are dead. The campaign raises the first three to level 6, with Den being barely just shy of the mark.
Provisioning for the next foray into the Darkest Dungeon, I thought I saw... nevermind, I'm sure it was just nerves.
Terrik, Zero Esc, Junjun, and Grytpipe are the next doughty troupe to plumb the depths. May they come back alive... and sane. They bring with them the flame talismans wrenched from the deathgrip of the Shuffling Horror slain by the previous party. But there are only three.. Jun will have to be carefully guarded to ensure whatever malevolence these trinkets be aegis against... does not take her.
Well, this can't be good. That's a lot of teeth. That's a lot of eyes. That's a lot of... a great many things that should not exist.
In the bowels of the flesh-stretched labyrinth, the party finds three beacons to light, each guarded by horrific beasts whose forms defy belief - nightmares of contorted organs and unnamable dread. Their worst attack would normally be a devastating blow to body and brain, but the talismans protect against it completely... if only the secondary attacks were not so fearsome.
Terrik is slain. But the die is cast, and the first beacon is lit. The other beacons must be as well!
Zero is cut down by a fell blow. Only Jun and Grytpipe are left to light the remaining beacons.
The battle is a real nailbiter, but Jun and Grytpipe manage to light the second beacon.
Struggling through the hellscape, battered by the enemy, Grytpipe-Thynne's morale breaks.
The stress continues to twist him until he dies of a heart attack....
...leaving Jun hopeless and broken. She flees, whimpering in terror, back to town, the mission a complete and utter failure.
Soupy, Bubble181, RavenPoe, and Denbrought raid the warrens, stealing food from the swine beastmen, to encourage them further to leave now that their disgusting chieftans are dead. The campaign raises the first three to level 6, with Den being barely just shy of the mark.
Provisioning for the next foray into the Darkest Dungeon, I thought I saw... nevermind, I'm sure it was just nerves.
Terrik, Zero Esc, Junjun, and Grytpipe are the next doughty troupe to plumb the depths. May they come back alive... and sane. They bring with them the flame talismans wrenched from the deathgrip of the Shuffling Horror slain by the previous party. But there are only three.. Jun will have to be carefully guarded to ensure whatever malevolence these trinkets be aegis against... does not take her.
Well, this can't be good. That's a lot of teeth. That's a lot of eyes. That's a lot of... a great many things that should not exist.
In the bowels of the flesh-stretched labyrinth, the party finds three beacons to light, each guarded by horrific beasts whose forms defy belief - nightmares of contorted organs and unnamable dread. Their worst attack would normally be a devastating blow to body and brain, but the talismans protect against it completely... if only the secondary attacks were not so fearsome.
Terrik is slain. But the die is cast, and the first beacon is lit. The other beacons must be as well!
Zero is cut down by a fell blow. Only Jun and Grytpipe are left to light the remaining beacons.
The battle is a real nailbiter, but Jun and Grytpipe manage to light the second beacon.
Struggling through the hellscape, battered by the enemy, Grytpipe-Thynne's morale breaks.
The stress continues to twist him until he dies of a heart attack....
...leaving Jun hopeless and broken. She flees, whimpering in terror, back to town, the mission a complete and utter failure.
GasBandit
Staff member
The next attempt to light the beacons is undertaken by Sixpackshaker, MindDetective, Grue, and Bones. Jun's information was that most of the creatures opposing her ill-fated expedition were eldritch based - so this time, we stack the deck against the eldritch. Fortunately, Jun made it back with all three Talismans of the Flame - Sixpack is there to guard Mind Detective, who will have to go without one.
Team Occultist+Doge has a much easier time dealing with the scorpion-like templar guarding the first beacon, and his floating-mouthball friends don't fare much better.
I'm sure glad we are shielded by the talismans from whatever sanity-shredding nonsense THIS is trying to implant in our brains.
At the second beacon, disaster strikes - two templars attack, and though their worst attack is blunted, their poisoned tail spikes put the bearded one to a Grue-some end. Nevertheless, they defeat the twisted tormentors, and light the second beacon. Only one to go.
Outside the room containing what the party is certain will be the final battle and beacon, they make camp for the night. MindDetective equips the protective talisman belonging to the fallen Grue, and everyone steels themselves for the fight of their lives.
It is a close battle, indeed... but victory is clawed back from the yawning abyss of defeat. The final beacon is lit, and the screaming of something... unearthly, echoes up from the bowels of the deep... Despite winning the day, the crushing sense of doom that has been our constant companion for the last two and a half years intensifies ten fold. The remaining members of the party hasten back to the relative safety of the hamlet... joining the others in their vow to never, ever set foot beneath the manor again.
PSN's holiday sale started today and I was able to get the game Crimson edition for $12.
It's beautiful and I was stupid for feeling overwhelmed about it before. Then my wife tried it and bought it on her Vita so she can take it with her places.
It's beautiful and I was stupid for feeling overwhelmed about it before. Then my wife tried it and bought it on her Vita so she can take it with her places.
GasBandit
Staff member
I was waiting SO LONG to make that pun.
I think my main problem is knowing when to retreat.
GasBandit
Staff member
From the battle, or the mission entirely? I never do the former unless I intend to immediately do the latter.
As for the latter, I only do it when, assuming it's not a mission that requires you to sacrifice a party member to retreat:
1) Someone dies on a non-boss encounter
2) 3 people die on a boss encounter that will require more than 1 hit to finish off the boss
3) Someone fails a sanity check and becomes afflicted (unless you're REALLY confident you can finish anyway)
4) I run out of food and there are still half the rooms or more left to go in a mission
Apart from that, I don't retreat. But also bear in mind, on missions that require a party member to die in the retreat, that requirement is waived if you're down to your last party member.
Last edited:
Welcome to my world!
I'm still pretty early, so I haven't even faced a boss. I was just in a hopeless situation and my cleric's sanity checks keep resulting in bonuses instead of affliction, so I didn't want her to die in vain.
GasBandit
Staff member
"The Maniacal cultists are quelled for a time, but there can be no celebration. Your progress is measured only in progressive realization... and dawning horror. You are in the shadow of the end." - The Ancestor
Adam, DocSeverin, Tress, and Sparhawk attain level 6 on a patrol through the Weald. Curiously enough, they also find the shield that was lost when Grytpipe fell beneath the manor... Despite our costly victories, the corruption is clearly not any more contained. In fact, it might be as close to unleashed as it has ever been...
The interminable stone corridors were but a threshold! The horrifying beast beneath the manor must be battled from within. Rock and mortar give way to membrane and humour. Frank, DarkAudit, Junjun, and Hylian attemt to locate the weak spot of the... thing... marching ever deeper into its undulating bowels.
Their opponents are mammoth cysts and emormous stalks of white cells. Fleshy, bulbous, and revolting. And when the party seems to gain the upper hand, the stalks push them through the boundaries of reality itself, teleporting the heroes to an unknown other place in the intestinal maze!
After confused wandering and nauseating battles, the quartet finally defeat a massive teratoma guarding a great gateless gate, the maddening stretch of warped infinity beyond. Before it, arcane scratchings on the ground and wafting outworldly smoke signify they have come upon what they sought - the Locus Beacon.
Activating it grants them a glimpse of unfiltered revelation. The Heart of the World is laid bare... be it for sword, or supplication. Oblivion engulfs the party, and they reawaken in town... say it with me now... vowing never to venture beneath the manor again.
The time has come for the final confrontation. The fate of the sane world teeters upon the precipice.
Last edited:
GasBandit
Staff member
Meanwhile, Reverent-one, Denbrought, Dirona and Squidleybits make a scouting run through the warrens to make sure it is clearing out. Squidleybits finds a book... reading it awakens needs inside her.
The expedition is successful, and Reverent-one, Denbrought, and Squidleybits advance to level 6.
The Gateless Gate beckons. DocSeverin, Eriol, CynicalKat, and Sara2814 sally forth.
Passing through into the infinite void beyond, we were confronted by the image of my ancestor! I'll... just let the highlight reel tell the rest of the tale.
But for those who want my florid prose, I'll plagiarize from my previous playthrough -
A single path lay before the party. Stepping upon it seemed to make the world dissolve away, and all was bathed in some sort of unnatural luminescence. Time, space, light, and dark seemed to have no meaning here. But the path lay ahead, and onward they sallied.
Imagine my surprise when they were confronted by the Narrator. My ancestor, whose mailed suicide letter had brought us all here and set these events in motion. His apparition appeared multiple times, explaining how his delvings had uncovered a horrible truth, and it stripped away his humanity and made him herald of the apocalyptic ur-creature. And he invited me to join him.
Well, I didn't slog all this way, and sacrifice all these people, just to throw in the towel here. Enraged by my denial, my ancestor shimmered and split, like an image seen through a rotating prism, and where once there was only he, now there were four.
Empowered by the eldritch he might have been, but my ancestor was still no man of violence, and the heroes were not overly taxed hewing through his copies. But as quickly as they did so, more copies took their place, so that no progress seemed possible. Until, by chance or lapse of concentration, one of his copies came out... imperfect. Warped. Mutated. When cut down, injury manifested itself upon the original. Understanding the required tactic, if not the underlying mechanism, I had the party form a meat grinder, chewing through dozens of copies but keeping themselves hale and hearty for what was surely to come. Each time an imperfect reflection was sundered, my ancestor seemed to grow weaker.
When at last it seemed the matter might be rectified, the copies melted away, and my ancestor grew in stature until he was easily twice the height and size of a mortal man. Surrounding him appeared tangible manifestations of absolute nothingness, impossible to hit, impossible to kill. Avoiding these pockets of oblivion, the party continued to lay into the familial malefactor. But he had a new trick up his sleeve... with a wave of his hand, he caused the bones, muscle, and flesh of the party to revolt against their own very cohesion to one another, then readhere - doing seemingly little physical damage, but an altogether terrifying experience. In fact, most of the assaults upon the group seemed to be aimed at undermining their sanity more than attacking their physical health.
Just as before, when the towering form of our opponent seemed to be on the verge of collapse, he was entombed in a giant ball of sinew and flesh that flowed over him as if liquid, then solidified into a pulsating mass. A throbbing heart the size of a small house, wrapped in tentaclular veins and arteries of greater circumference than wagon wheels. Troubling as this was, it barely defended itself with caustic aerosols as everyone hacked away at it with all their strength.
And then it opened.
I don't even know how to describe it. As a phoenix rises from the ashes shrouded in new flames, so did some androgenic form burst from the heart, wrapped loosely in haphazardly-draped ribbons of skin and glistening with blood as well as unspeakably malign purpose. Hundreds of slits opened upon the surface of the enormous beating heart, revealing myriad black, shining eyes gazing at us as would a crow eye an insect for dinner. The eyes didn't blink as one would expect, it was more as if they burst, deflated, and reformed anew like bubbles upon the surface of some hellish stew. Blisters of knowing, hateful intellect.
Still, the heroes fought on. Bravely. Effectively. And then, the great thing counterattacked.
It made me pick who was targeted.
Fearing some new psychic assault, I decided that DocSeveren should receive it, as his hardiness was the highest, best to weather whatever was to come.
How mistaken I was as to the nature of the assault. Doc was instantly, cruelly, and completely... torn from existence. Gone, as if he was never there in the first place.
I had the remaining trio redouble their efforts. The Heart was already down by more than a third of its capacity, and clearly this needed to be ended swiftly.
Not swift enough. As it weakened, I was again forced to choose, myself, who would die. Squidley, Eriol, or CynicalKat? The cold numbers told me that I needed Sara and Eriol's higher damage output if this escapade was to have any hope of succeeding. In a fight where a great cosmic abomination simply chooses that you cease to exist, a healer becomes... expendable. CynicalKat was sent to non-existance.
Eriol and Sara desperately chopped away at the Heart. Bleeding and spattered in acid, Sara finally managed to bring the eldritch organ down.
And in victory, I came to know The Truth.
The inevitability.
It doesn't die. It just sleeps. Our world, our reality, is its chrysalis. It will slumber until the stars are again right for it to burst forth anew, ending and yet reuniting all men, all life, in the shrieking, howling, psychotic hereafter.
And I am to become its herald.
Just a short note, dashed off and mailed to a distant cousin.
And then the release promised by a pistol to the temple.
Of course, it can't really be a final release. Not when an end isn't a possibility. Not when it can only begin again.
Imagine my surprise when they were confronted by the Narrator. My ancestor, whose mailed suicide letter had brought us all here and set these events in motion. His apparition appeared multiple times, explaining how his delvings had uncovered a horrible truth, and it stripped away his humanity and made him herald of the apocalyptic ur-creature. And he invited me to join him.
Well, I didn't slog all this way, and sacrifice all these people, just to throw in the towel here. Enraged by my denial, my ancestor shimmered and split, like an image seen through a rotating prism, and where once there was only he, now there were four.
Empowered by the eldritch he might have been, but my ancestor was still no man of violence, and the heroes were not overly taxed hewing through his copies. But as quickly as they did so, more copies took their place, so that no progress seemed possible. Until, by chance or lapse of concentration, one of his copies came out... imperfect. Warped. Mutated. When cut down, injury manifested itself upon the original. Understanding the required tactic, if not the underlying mechanism, I had the party form a meat grinder, chewing through dozens of copies but keeping themselves hale and hearty for what was surely to come. Each time an imperfect reflection was sundered, my ancestor seemed to grow weaker.
When at last it seemed the matter might be rectified, the copies melted away, and my ancestor grew in stature until he was easily twice the height and size of a mortal man. Surrounding him appeared tangible manifestations of absolute nothingness, impossible to hit, impossible to kill. Avoiding these pockets of oblivion, the party continued to lay into the familial malefactor. But he had a new trick up his sleeve... with a wave of his hand, he caused the bones, muscle, and flesh of the party to revolt against their own very cohesion to one another, then readhere - doing seemingly little physical damage, but an altogether terrifying experience. In fact, most of the assaults upon the group seemed to be aimed at undermining their sanity more than attacking their physical health.
Just as before, when the towering form of our opponent seemed to be on the verge of collapse, he was entombed in a giant ball of sinew and flesh that flowed over him as if liquid, then solidified into a pulsating mass. A throbbing heart the size of a small house, wrapped in tentaclular veins and arteries of greater circumference than wagon wheels. Troubling as this was, it barely defended itself with caustic aerosols as everyone hacked away at it with all their strength.
And then it opened.
I don't even know how to describe it. As a phoenix rises from the ashes shrouded in new flames, so did some androgenic form burst from the heart, wrapped loosely in haphazardly-draped ribbons of skin and glistening with blood as well as unspeakably malign purpose. Hundreds of slits opened upon the surface of the enormous beating heart, revealing myriad black, shining eyes gazing at us as would a crow eye an insect for dinner. The eyes didn't blink as one would expect, it was more as if they burst, deflated, and reformed anew like bubbles upon the surface of some hellish stew. Blisters of knowing, hateful intellect.
Still, the heroes fought on. Bravely. Effectively. And then, the great thing counterattacked.
It made me pick who was targeted.
Fearing some new psychic assault, I decided that DocSeveren should receive it, as his hardiness was the highest, best to weather whatever was to come.
How mistaken I was as to the nature of the assault. Doc was instantly, cruelly, and completely... torn from existence. Gone, as if he was never there in the first place.
I had the remaining trio redouble their efforts. The Heart was already down by more than a third of its capacity, and clearly this needed to be ended swiftly.
Not swift enough. As it weakened, I was again forced to choose, myself, who would die. Squidley, Eriol, or CynicalKat? The cold numbers told me that I needed Sara and Eriol's higher damage output if this escapade was to have any hope of succeeding. In a fight where a great cosmic abomination simply chooses that you cease to exist, a healer becomes... expendable. CynicalKat was sent to non-existance.
Eriol and Sara desperately chopped away at the Heart. Bleeding and spattered in acid, Sara finally managed to bring the eldritch organ down.
And in victory, I came to know The Truth.
The inevitability.
It doesn't die. It just sleeps. Our world, our reality, is its chrysalis. It will slumber until the stars are again right for it to burst forth anew, ending and yet reuniting all men, all life, in the shrieking, howling, psychotic hereafter.
And I am to become its herald.
Just a short note, dashed off and mailed to a distant cousin.
And then the release promised by a pistol to the temple.
Of course, it can't really be a final release. Not when an end isn't a possibility. Not when it can only begin again.
Last edited:
Since I can't play the snippet, I'm just going to assume she found "50 shades of grey"?
FTFY
FTFY
Anyone planning to get this, I recommend playing vanilla first before doing a Crimson Court run.
GasBandit
Staff member
I think I've said this a few times, but it bears repeating. The whole game is a crash course in learning what works and what doesn't with absolutely no way to know that ahead of time unless you've played before, so it's already super unfair. The Crimson Court addon is for people who've played through once and have figured out what works and what doesn't, because it turns the whole thing on its head and more than doubles the complexity of the game.
No DLC on your first playthrough, for best results.