I keep telling you. He's not dead, he just keeps falling asleep during the battle.
--Patrick
They're just happy that Dei discovered a method of significant stress relief.
I need a little edumacation on how visiting a brothel (not that there's anything wrong with thatThey're just happy that Dei discovered a method of significant stress relief.
) jibes with refusing to party with other character classes due to "religious beliefs." 
Just ask Republicans.I need a little edumacation on how visiting a brothel (not that there's anything wrong with that
Not all religions are prudes. Have you heard of our Lord Slaanesh?I need a little edumacation on how visiting a brothel (not that there's anything wrong with that
Or Sithrak*?
--Patrick
*Deliberately linked to imgur instead of source so as to avoid any potential mis-clicks if you are at work.
More that Dei found happiness in a house of ill repute, .but whatever floats your goat...
Me in every RPG: Well, I should probably make the noble decision here, because that's what I'd do in real life.
Me in Persona 3: Wow, she said she loved me. Time to never talk to her again while I romance *Ms. Right Now*.
What's creepy: not really that different from high school me, who was maybe not the greatest guy when it came to romance.
Me in Persona 3: Wow, she said she loved me. Time to never talk to her again while I romance *Ms. Right Now*.
What's creepy: not really that different from high school me, who was maybe not the greatest guy when it came to romance.
This was a fundamental flaw of Persona 3: NONE of the choices you make sound authentic, instead sounding like you're manipulating all the people in your life to get what you want. Persona 4 is so much better about this, with the MC canonically being a bit of a weirdo to soften his choices a bit.
Also some of the issues in Persona 3 were a bit silly, and there were definitely some implications... Like, the mousy sophomore girl with long hair - Chihiro. Okay, so some of the students made fun of her, and guys thought she was easy because she and her mom lived in the red light district. Fair enough. But then you combine that with her being a latchkey kid, and her family being poor, you get an implication that her mom might be a sex worker.
GasBandit
Staff member
Darkest Dungeon
The last outer boss, the Drowned Crew, has been defeated by Charon, Sara_2814, Null, and Dei. It was a tough fight, too. The RNG had been pulling ridiculous bullshit the entire trip, and Charon had already gone over his stress threshold and become "irrational," to put it lightly, and everybody else's stress was also high, especially Null's. But I decided to give it the ol' college try anyway.
The fight was aggravating, and it caused Null to freak out and pull a "SHOOT ME AGAIN, I'M A MONGOOSE! SHOOT ME, I'M A FIDDLER CRAB! IT'S CRAB SEASON!" grade masochistic fit, and caused Charon not one, but TWO heart attacks. The women managed to keep it together, though, and somehow the party managed to whittle down the unholy mariners with no casualties on our side, other than the fact that they'll all need extensive vacation afterwards.
The frequent long pauses in the video were from Terrik apparently deciding that his bus ride through the Chinese backwoods was too boring to watch the sights, and he felt a pressing need to discuss politics with me via google hangouts >_< The action actually starts 3 1/2 minutes in.
Now, the only thing left is to go to the Manor itself, and delve the Darkest Dungeon.
The last outer boss, the Drowned Crew, has been defeated by Charon, Sara_2814, Null, and Dei. It was a tough fight, too. The RNG had been pulling ridiculous bullshit the entire trip, and Charon had already gone over his stress threshold and become "irrational," to put it lightly, and everybody else's stress was also high, especially Null's. But I decided to give it the ol' college try anyway.
The fight was aggravating, and it caused Null to freak out and pull a "SHOOT ME AGAIN, I'M A MONGOOSE! SHOOT ME, I'M A FIDDLER CRAB! IT'S CRAB SEASON!" grade masochistic fit, and caused Charon not one, but TWO heart attacks. The women managed to keep it together, though, and somehow the party managed to whittle down the unholy mariners with no casualties on our side, other than the fact that they'll all need extensive vacation afterwards.
The frequent long pauses in the video were from Terrik apparently deciding that his bus ride through the Chinese backwoods was too boring to watch the sights, and he felt a pressing need to discuss politics with me via google hangouts >_< The action actually starts 3 1/2 minutes in.
Now, the only thing left is to go to the Manor itself, and delve the Darkest Dungeon.
GasBandit
Staff member
A few leather straps, some rusty screws and a suspicious looking syringe (followed by two weeks of convalescence), and you'll be right as rain again.
I didn't know Amy was a Doctor...
GasBandit
Staff member
Darkest Dungeon -
The first foray into the mind-shredding terrors beneath the ancestral manor has concluded. I didn't know what to expect down there, but I definitely wasn't expecting a blood-drenched cenobite-paradise of spikes and molten flesh. It was one hell (no pun intended) of a slog to get through, and scouting was useless. Finally, Terrik, Sixpackshaker, Kags and Snuffles came to the first major boss, the Shuffling Horror.
A mind- and body-rending battle ensued, and I was absolutely agog at how many hits Terrik withstood at death's door while insane... but eventually he succumbed. And yet again, his sacrifice was not in vain, for the chthonic nightmare-thing was laid low, and the others returned home triumphant... if... changed for the experience.
On the heels of that qualified success, I sent the next batch of heroes in while the survivors of the first expedition recuperated.
Shego, Bhamv, Dei and Eriol sallied forth into the Dark.
It was, literally and figuratively, a complete horrorshow. Not only was the mission a failure, only Dei returned - and barely at that.... bleeding from a hundred cuts and shrieking hysterically.
Note to future self - next attempt at this, bring more bandages. LOTS more bandages.
Well, plenty of room in the barracks for new recruits, now... just need some worthy replacements to actually show up.
The first foray into the mind-shredding terrors beneath the ancestral manor has concluded. I didn't know what to expect down there, but I definitely wasn't expecting a blood-drenched cenobite-paradise of spikes and molten flesh. It was one hell (no pun intended) of a slog to get through, and scouting was useless. Finally, Terrik, Sixpackshaker, Kags and Snuffles came to the first major boss, the Shuffling Horror.
A mind- and body-rending battle ensued, and I was absolutely agog at how many hits Terrik withstood at death's door while insane... but eventually he succumbed. And yet again, his sacrifice was not in vain, for the chthonic nightmare-thing was laid low, and the others returned home triumphant... if... changed for the experience.
On the heels of that qualified success, I sent the next batch of heroes in while the survivors of the first expedition recuperated.
Shego, Bhamv, Dei and Eriol sallied forth into the Dark.
It was, literally and figuratively, a complete horrorshow. Not only was the mission a failure, only Dei returned - and barely at that.... bleeding from a hundred cuts and shrieking hysterically.
Note to future self - next attempt at this, bring more bandages. LOTS more bandages.
Well, plenty of room in the barracks for new recruits, now... just need some worthy replacements to actually show up.
GasBandit
Staff member
Darkest Dungeon -
I'm starting to notice... changes. The faces of the heroes and townsfolk often slide, fade, and rearrange into revolting displays of horrifying aspect. It leaves me to wonder... am I going mad, or is the perilously thin veil between our world and some hellish dimension dissolving away?
Dei returned to attempt to light the beacons beneath the manor again, this time bringing Charon, Bert, and Snuffles with her. Snuffles was pretty stressed out from a previous fight, but they managed to talk him down on the first night of camping.
It was hard fought, but the knowledge and experience gained on the first foray into this skin-stretched terrorscape paid dividends, and our tasks were accomplished with no loss of life. I nearly screwed the whole pooch by forgetting to light the second beacon after winning the second battle against the scorpion-like templars. Fortunately, after I'd lit the third and realized my mistake, backtracking over explored territory proved blessedly uneventful, and the mission was brought to a successful conclusion despite my potentially world-ending bungle.
There's plenty of room in the barracks now, but all that ever seem to arrive on the stagecoach are classes I already have in high numbers. Still no Crusaders, and no Men at Arms, nor other suitable replacements for the souls lost on this Sisyphean endeavor.
On the heels of the recent success, I sent Frank, Fade, HCGLNS and Squidley down into the Dark beneath the Manor. The stone and metal gave way to membrane, entrail, and humour as it became clear we were descending not just into the earth, but into the very bowels of an otherworldly beast of incalculable size and incomprehensible form. The intrepid heroes stalked their way through cavernous organs and ducts, passing through valves and sphincters best left unscrutinized. Man-sized antibodies, polyps, and other undulating unspeakables worked their gory machinations to protect whatever lay at the center of this horrid maze of pulsating offal. Even worse, some of the larger embodiments of this hellish immune system had the means to teleport the party to another random location within the quivering gutscape in which we fought.
There was little choice but to strike out at random and hope for the best.
HCGLNS found himself driven to death's door, but Squidley's fervent ministrations kept him upright and fighting. The two lepers, perhaps unsurprisingly, were particularly effective in a battle that was tantamount to an infection wreaking havoc upon a living body. And finally the metaphorical clouds parted, and luck smiled upon them, for though they anticipated a grueling 4-night ordeal, chance had them stumble upon their crucial objective on only the second day. A mammoth cyst and accompanying white blood cells guarded the Locus Beacon, but the doughty troupe hacked their way through the malignancies and activated the beacon.
The tension in the air is palpable. Methinks the final confrontation with the Heart of Darkness is imminent. But what fresh mind-rending terrors will befall the party who will stand athwart the gate between our world and the madness of the spheres beyond?
I'm starting to notice... changes. The faces of the heroes and townsfolk often slide, fade, and rearrange into revolting displays of horrifying aspect. It leaves me to wonder... am I going mad, or is the perilously thin veil between our world and some hellish dimension dissolving away?
Dei returned to attempt to light the beacons beneath the manor again, this time bringing Charon, Bert, and Snuffles with her. Snuffles was pretty stressed out from a previous fight, but they managed to talk him down on the first night of camping.
It was hard fought, but the knowledge and experience gained on the first foray into this skin-stretched terrorscape paid dividends, and our tasks were accomplished with no loss of life. I nearly screwed the whole pooch by forgetting to light the second beacon after winning the second battle against the scorpion-like templars. Fortunately, after I'd lit the third and realized my mistake, backtracking over explored territory proved blessedly uneventful, and the mission was brought to a successful conclusion despite my potentially world-ending bungle.
There's plenty of room in the barracks now, but all that ever seem to arrive on the stagecoach are classes I already have in high numbers. Still no Crusaders, and no Men at Arms, nor other suitable replacements for the souls lost on this Sisyphean endeavor.
On the heels of the recent success, I sent Frank, Fade, HCGLNS and Squidley down into the Dark beneath the Manor. The stone and metal gave way to membrane, entrail, and humour as it became clear we were descending not just into the earth, but into the very bowels of an otherworldly beast of incalculable size and incomprehensible form. The intrepid heroes stalked their way through cavernous organs and ducts, passing through valves and sphincters best left unscrutinized. Man-sized antibodies, polyps, and other undulating unspeakables worked their gory machinations to protect whatever lay at the center of this horrid maze of pulsating offal. Even worse, some of the larger embodiments of this hellish immune system had the means to teleport the party to another random location within the quivering gutscape in which we fought.
There was little choice but to strike out at random and hope for the best.
HCGLNS found himself driven to death's door, but Squidley's fervent ministrations kept him upright and fighting. The two lepers, perhaps unsurprisingly, were particularly effective in a battle that was tantamount to an infection wreaking havoc upon a living body. And finally the metaphorical clouds parted, and luck smiled upon them, for though they anticipated a grueling 4-night ordeal, chance had them stumble upon their crucial objective on only the second day. A mammoth cyst and accompanying white blood cells guarded the Locus Beacon, but the doughty troupe hacked their way through the malignancies and activated the beacon.
The tension in the air is palpable. Methinks the final confrontation with the Heart of Darkness is imminent. But what fresh mind-rending terrors will befall the party who will stand athwart the gate between our world and the madness of the spheres beyond?
GasBandit
Staff member
GasBandit
Staff member
Heh, because the big fights pretty much require a vestal in the party, that mostly leaves the Abominations to do the side quests. But rest assured, you and Bubble are definitely seeing your share of combat, even if it is not as newsworthy by comparison.
After all, every big boss fight needs about 3 to 5 "grinding" missions to finance both the big fight itself and the recovery costs of the aftermath.
So all the grunt work and none of the recognition then?
Again, sounds familiar. [emoji17]
Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk Pro
GasBandit
Staff member
Darkest Dungeon
I...
Well, where to begin.
It is the end. And it is disheartening, in more ways than one.
I think all this goes behind a spoiler tag.
I...
Well, where to begin.
It is the end. And it is disheartening, in more ways than one.
I think all this goes behind a spoiler tag.
Unsure of how to tackle what purported to be the final battle of the entire campaign, I assembled a team of versatile, yet somewhat expendable heroes to make an exploratory stab into the darkness. SeraRelm, Zero Esc and ThatNickGuy were all chosen for their abilities to deal damage to all positions of an enemy formation, and Dirona was the logical choice for team cleric, as she could similarly attack any rank while also healing from the back, and Eriol had been lost on a previous foray into the manor. Was she looking to avenge him, or join him? Or perhaps both? Who can say.
Even as I purchased supplies for the trip, the appearance of the shopkeep warped and distorted. Only for the briefest moment. Then all was as normal.
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, and Nick in particular was starting to show signs of his mind fraying. And it was this bodily unraveling that caused his sanity to give, and his terror overwhelmed him.
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 Nick should receive it, as his will had already been broken and the damage done - thus, sparing the others the trauma.
How mistaken I was as to the nature of the assault. ThatNickGuy 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. Sera, Zero, or Dirona? The cold numbers told me that I needed Sera and Zero'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. Dirona was sent to join her husband.
Zero and Sera desperately chopped away at the Heart, but bleeding and spattered in acid, Zero was brought to death's door. In a last, frantic stab, Sera 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.
And the final disheartening revelation?
I didn't realize that, all this time, my strenuous and mighty struggling was taking place on the easiest difficulty level. I thought I was on "normal." I was not. A final insult.
Of course, it can't really be finality. Not when an end isn't a possibility. Not when it can only begin again.
Even as I purchased supplies for the trip, the appearance of the shopkeep warped and distorted. Only for the briefest moment. Then all was as normal.
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, and Nick in particular was starting to show signs of his mind fraying. And it was this bodily unraveling that caused his sanity to give, and his terror overwhelmed him.
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 Nick should receive it, as his will had already been broken and the damage done - thus, sparing the others the trauma.
How mistaken I was as to the nature of the assault. ThatNickGuy 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. Sera, Zero, or Dirona? The cold numbers told me that I needed Sera and Zero'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. Dirona was sent to join her husband.
Zero and Sera desperately chopped away at the Heart, but bleeding and spattered in acid, Zero was brought to death's door. In a last, frantic stab, Sera 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.
And the final disheartening revelation?
I didn't realize that, all this time, my strenuous and mighty struggling was taking place on the easiest difficulty level. I thought I was on "normal." I was not. A final insult.
Of course, it can't really be finality. Not when an end isn't a possibility. Not when it can only begin again.
figmentPez
Staff member
Of all the games I could play on my new rig... I'm replaying Ghostbusters (the 2009 version). It just barely ran on my old computer, but I had so much fun with the story. It runs a whole lot better on my new rig, and I'm playing with with my Steam Controller on the easiest difficulty. I'm having a great time, the gameplay is only mediocre, but the voice acting is a kick.
And it describes the ending of the game.[DOUBLEPOST=1495311141,1495311060][/DOUBLEPOST]
I can't imagine making it to the end, so kudos on that.Darkest Dungeon
I...
Well, where to begin.
It is the end. And it is disheartening, in more ways than one.
I think all this goes behind a spoiler tag.
Unsure of how to tackle what purported to be the final battle of the entire campaign, I assembled a team of versatile, yet somewhat expendable heroes to make an exploratory stab into the darkness. SeraRelm, Zero Esc and ThatNickGuy were all chosen for their abilities to deal damage to all positions of an enemy formation, and Dirona was the logical choice for team cleric, as she could similarly attack any rank while also healing from the back, and Eriol had been lost on a previous foray into the manor. Was she looking to avenge him, or join him? Or perhaps both? Who can say.
Even as I purchased supplies for the trip, the appearance of the shopkeep warped and distorted. Only for the briefest moment. Then all was as normal.
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, and Nick in particular was starting to show signs of his mind fraying. And it was this bodily unraveling that caused his sanity to give, and his terror overwhelmed him.
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 Nick should receive it, as his will had already been broken and the damage done - thus, sparing the others the trauma.
How mistaken I was as to the nature of the assault. ThatNickGuy 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. Sera, Zero, or Dirona? The cold numbers told me that I needed Sera and Zero'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. Dirona was sent to join her husband.
Zero and Sera desperately chopped away at the Heart, but bleeding and spattered in acid, Zero was brought to death's door. In a last, frantic stab, Sera 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.
And the final disheartening revelation?
I didn't realize that, all this time, my strenuous and mighty struggling was taking place on the easiest difficulty level. I thought I was on "normal." I was not. A final insult.
Of course, it can't really be finality. Not when an end isn't a possibility. Not when it can only begin again.
GasBandit
Staff member
I think I'll do a second playthrough on regular difficulty after the DLC drops.
GasBandit
Staff member
As I said in the post, it was Radiant.