I couldn't find a sound design or sound effects topic in the forums, I know we have discussed music in the past but what do you guys like or dislike about the sound?
I personally really like them so far, bubbles, whirlwinds, the fireballs, the weapon slams, body explosions (my favourite), the blood and gore, the classic loot sound!
I hear the heroes footsteps, barely, but the enemies' I cannot hear. Masked by the violence? Or just to much clutter.
Ah so lower enemies get lower intelligence and therefore not as likely to sway from their usual 'run up and hit you' tactic... Unless they have a shaman or cultist or whatever guiding them. Hmm... that could work quite well. Be a nice mix.
Hopefully all the enemies physically attack differently than others; the depth that would be easily created
I agree Dolalim, no one wants to talk that long about how to take down a boss, just basics, and keeping the game fun, full of enemies and fast paced. Hopefully that's target. But as long as the enemies just don't fight on one side of you all the time. Like DI and DII. One of two could slip behind or take their time rushing you or flank you etc. Just not the whole pack at once
I apologize for posting lol. Disregard what I said earlier. I was irrational and unfounded. Must have been an odd day because I'm usually so cool and calm and collected. Anyway...
Have you heard of this new game coming out? I think its called Diablo III?...
Have you guys ever gotten on Yahoo! Answers and just made fun of people and their questions? If not, I highly recommend you try it, fun stuff. Lot of people on there posting pictures of themselves just waiting to be told that they're ugly.
Its not worse than alcohol in a sense of deaths directly linked to it. For instance how can 'legalizers' be in support of people using the marijuana while driving. 'They' say it has no effect while operating a vehicle but I'm sure people would get into serious accidents if everyone was high all the time. How ridiculous! Deaths would spike, just like alcohol related deaths already are. People smoking in there basement and hiding from the authorities etc, wow how far you go to abuse the law and look (cough) 'cool'. All for an endorphin release...
As for a 'gateway' drug... lets think about this. If your drug dealer deals in drugs wouldn't that mean that he has access to more than just marijuana? Most likely. Whats to stop him dealing other kinds for more money and selling them to people, along side the weed. Nothing, exactly. Therefore you will be exposed to more than marijuana and you will tempted to try 'something better, man' 'gives you instant highs' etc. We've all been there. And that's just one angle. Sadly it just takes one step for some people I know that isn't always true but its sad when they go down that road and can't come back
We all know people who are hardcore in support of it, many things they say: "if it was illegal, you think people would use it more?" Of course you fool, you want 8 year old kids smoking up (cause they think its cool) while their brain is still developing? Or for any reason whatsoever? Ha! Just like cigarettes or alcohol of course. Cause since when has inhaling any kind of smoke, toxins, or ethanol been good for you?
As an a small example, I work on people's vehicles all day and quite a few clients are high as kites when they come in and as a result they are as stupid as ****! You ask them a question and they have to think for ages or forget things you've just told them or forget mid sentence what their are asking you etc. Its sad! Happens all the time. And really how is that cool or effective in your life?? Doesn't affect brain function or thought processing. My arse it doesn't. Does anyone want these people driving? "Oh it doesn't affect me." Please... anything for an excuse to justify your reasoning.
Why don't we just get rid of all the drugs and alcohol and live happily ever after!? Yay! Screw the job dependencies, cops can catch other criminals, cigarette factory workers can get other jobs. Like really, that's an argument??? You're saving people's lives by helping them not get addicted or poisoning their bodies. Its not their livelihood its their lives, their very being. People get two those confused.
I JUST WANT TO GET TOTALLY PWNZORED WHEN I PLAY DIABLO3!!!!!! I WANT THE ZOMBIES TO 1 SHOT ME TO DEATH AND I WANT IT TO BE SUPER HARD THAT I THROW MY COMPUTER OUT THE WINDOW IN FRUSTRATION!!! Thats me idk about you.
I agree, I want a challenge. I want smarter enemies that also have different weapons/abilities when they attack. I want to use my brain when I'm playing a action/adventure rpg, rather than just rush in and click you know? I want to come up with my own tactics to take my enemies down. And yes, bring on the surrounding, flanking, cornering, etc. Anything to make the game better
Can't wait!!! AHHHHHH! I'm going nuts! One more year!
He was bathed in blood. The crimson color oozed and dripped off his haggard body making puddles around his feet. Tate wiped his face with the back of his sleeve still clutching one of his newly acquired weapons. It stung as he did, and he grimaced as the gashes on his head and arms reacted to the movement. He remembered every moment of the battle as if they were each an age in length, all crawling through his mind in slow motion. How he struggled to fend off several demons at once, trying to fight his way to an ally in need. But in a flash, the battle won, it had been over as quickly as it had begun. His arms felt heavy, his neck sore, his legs like stone and his back bent, he felt like an old man! But wait, he realized, he was an old man! At least, most considered him old, many did not live very long by average in these parts, what with war, famine, and plague often marauding through the countryside. He had heard of a far off land where people lived in peace and lived until one hundred years old! 'Fiddlesticks!' He said to himself, no one could live for that long. His parents had died at forty-eight and forty-five, and with him at nearly fifty years old, Tate had begun to worry. Yet, at the moment, standing and grasping two igneous blades in either hand and feeling his sweat mix with the enemy's black plasma covered on his broken skin, made him feel more alive than ever! Alive and still young!
Seeing their rescuers drawing in the crowd of the survivors, he ventured toward them as well, eager to thank them for their heroism. He supposed that their gathering looked like a flock of mindless sheep making their way to their shepherd. Few looked shocked and most had no notable expression at all. Tate knew that he was in a company of experienced fighters, men who had seen many battles. Although some younger kids were there as well, the group mainly consisted of battle-hardened veterans, angels, demons, humans and goatmen. He was the last to make up the circle and a man announced himself as Ignis and addressed the crowd.
"Alright, humans and goatmen, you're hereby free. Come with us back to our encampment, we'll give you safe haven. Angels, you're free to do as you please, we do not expect anything from you, though know that we are fighting the hells and your assistance would be more than welcome. Demons, I don't know what it was you did to be imprisoned, but it's a safe bet to assume you're against the hells. I'll give you the same offer I gave to the angels."
"Don't spend too much time here, the demons will no doubt be coming to check on their caravan. We leave within the hour, check for any survivors and get any equipment you need." He concluded.
Resistance fighters eh? Tate mulled the idea over in his mind. He liked the sound of getting into the action and adventuring even more than he already had but this time with sword in hand and the cry of comradery filling the air as they would charge down and eliminate their foes. For a man who spent so much time on his own he was beginning to enjoy being around people even more so.
With that idea in mind he walked hurriedly back towards the wagon, he was too tired to run about any further, the battle had taken it out of him. And yet, he had seen companions barely breathing hard as they took out more demons than he ever could have, though they were alien forces, hardly human at all. That was hardly fair, he snickered to himself, comparing the two. He was alive though, and that was what mattered.
Almost limping with weariness, Tate rounded what remained of the wheeled contraption, he lay one sword down and with the other blade in hand swung at the rope restricting a large box attached to the vehicle. The box smashed to the ground and broke open as it did, scattering its contents in front of him. He immediately recognized his pick and reached down to grasp the familiar handle. He tugged at it as it was entwined in the rest of the collection of valuables. His pick suddenly flew free bringing some other packages and debris with it. Smiling, he didn't know what he would have done without his axe, holding it up to the sun and seeing its dull gleam. He had spent countless days with just him, his pick and whatever rock need to be shifted or riverbed dug. Other survivors had also began gathering their possessions from the spilled container finding what they needed and getting themselves ready to follow the mercenaries. Tate had just one more stop to make before joining the rescuers.
With his pick and sword in either hand, Tate made his way toward the driver's dead body. Quickly frisking the gory mess he found what he was looking for, a crystal clear dagger. He had only seen the deceased owner with it once but once was enough. The hell-spawn driver, thinking his prisoners asleep and likely to never see the light of day again, pulled the dagger out of its holder just for a greedy glimpse, to gaze at his recent acquisition in wonder. Tate wondered where the old gasbag had got it from as he now grasped the same hilt as it lay in its cover. Pulling it out, it felt almost weightless in his hand, how could it be so light? With sudden realization, he was half frightened and half excited that it must be enchanted. He held the dagger up to the dying sunset and gazed at its perfect cut, and suddenly the blade began to grow brighter and brighter until Tate could not bear to look at it. He shielded his eyes and quickly shoved the dagger back in its intricate sheath hoping no one had seen its brilliance. They would probably want it for themselves, or have it destroyed, he thought. Hurriedly placing the dagger and some other useful items in a newly acquired pack he pulled it round his back and walked towards the group with pickaxe slung over his shoulder and the remaining and sharper igneous sword in a sling. It paid to pay attention to detail, he thought, anyone who said otherwise was risking their neck and those around them
His eyes were a blur as he sat staring straight ahead with his knees at his chest, hardly moving. His head rested against the cart that held his body but his mind had escaped long ago, it was far away searching for answers, answers ever just out of reach. His tongue felt like sandpaper, dry and horrid in his mouth, he hadn't had a drink in days. 'Surely demons would want their prisoners kept alive', he thought; 'at least until their would be destination.' Why had he been rounded up and taken hostage?' That question had ever nagged at his mind since his capture. He was no one special, just a hardworking soul trying to make a decent living and minding his own business. He rarely got involved in other people's affairs, he generally kept to himself.
Did he know some sort of information that the hell-spawn wanted? 'That must be it', he thought, 'why else would they want me?' He searched his mind, countless facts and figures, stories and sagas, but he could find nothing of possibility. He must have forgotten. Oh how he yearned to know what knowledge he possessed! The day of his imprisonment seemed so long ago, almost in another lifetime. But it remained so vividly clear in his mind. Again and again he went over the details of how easily the town had fallen and how helpless he had felt. He did not even remember the name of the town he had been taken in, just another place here and there wherever he could trade in his day's takings for some coin. Often just enough for a meal or a bed or a roof over his head or a perhaps just a hayloft to sleep in. There were a lot of things he did remember but towns or the names of towns was not one of them. He did not associate himself with the populace much, he preferred to be on his own. Only as a source of uncommon leisure after a hard days work shifting rock or emptying veins, did he venture into a community. Yet the demons had been lying in wait, specifically for him, just inside the town. Sure, he would have gotten a good deals worth of coin on that day for he had found a richer stream that had ended his day early. But obviously the Demon weren't interested in the gold that still filled his pockets as they had lept on him without warning. There was nothing he could have done against those odds, and he was not a gambling man.
One demon was about to bash him over the head, when another stopped him and viciously slit the other demons throat, leaving him gagging and gasping for air as the wretch clawed futilely, sinking slowly to the ground. "Hands off!" The leader of the small group had yelled. "Do not harm this one. He may carry information that Hell needs. Hands off or I'll gut you like a boned fish." The demon's voice resembled ground charcoal he thought, an very unpleasant sound. He was then ferried away, escorted by the three remaining demons as the fourth slowly choked out his life in the dust. He was pushed into a cart with five spiked and heavy wheels drawn by massive beasts of burden. The cart's fifth wheel was enormous and was located between the front two, which it belittled and walking inside it was a large cave troll. He supposed that the troll aided the other beasts in the movement of the cart. Like the troll the beasts were large and ugly and full of power but instead yielded a massive yolk of many harnesses that slowly shifted the weight of the cart forward. Giant bones made up the skeleton of the cage, bound together with skins and different ropes and hides. And atop the wheel, though suspended above it, sat the driver, an old bloated bag of soars and scars, squinting madly into the sun at his bellowing beasts. The driver held the long reins of the team with one hand and with the other he grasped a cruel looking device in his huge hand that was very much like a whip which he lashed constantly to start out his caravan moving ever onwards. And the last addition to this odd contraption was an annoying little imp situated at the back of the wagon on a pole that rose up into the air that shouted the odds at everything and everyone, ever on the lookout.
Still thinking deeply, Tate felt his head shake, softer, and then harder immediately after and repeatedly. His head swam, he tried to paw away at the space in front of him fending off against an unseen foe. Yet his hands struck a body, surely not a human body, this body had wings and he looked up to an ageless face. "Wake up!" a voice yelled seemingly audibly uneven, the sound going in and out of Tate's mind. "Wake up man! You must get out of your restraints, I managed mine but I need my sword to set you free. Wait here!" And with that the figure ran out of the caravan hurrying to and from each fallen demons corpse. "Looking for something, he is," Tate said aloud in a daze to himself. "Hope he finds what he's looking for, don't you Mother? He seems like such a nice man. Didn't know a man who had a pair wings before, though, have you Mother? Wonder how he keeps them on? Must fall off easy, Oh! And how hard they must be to keep clean, eh mother? Bet he wouldn't want to get them dirty, have a time of it getting stains out and such wouldn't he? Awful pain that would be. Mind you Mother, I'd help the poor fellow, he seems like such a nice man" Tate's babble to himself continued until the angel returned and broke free his bonds with a touch from his blade; the chains shattering to the ground in a heap of dust. The angel then touched Tate's shoulder and spoke a few words, dispelling the intoxicating Demon powers that had settled in the man's mind.
Tate snapped awake. His brain whirred, he leaped up from the cart floor and almost hit his head on the bone structure. "What happened? Where am I? Who are you?" He shouted at the angel. The angelic being shouted back: "There's no time, we are under attack, Get out of the wagon and join the fight!" And with that the angel shouting at the others to join and the everyone remaining rallied behind him and charged out of the van to meet oncoming demons filtering out from the trees.
Many questions came and went as Tate's brain came back to reality, spinning round like a giant luscent whirlpool right before his eyes. A thousand different pictures and a thousand different words, all speeding round the limits of his vision, he had never seen that before. Pictures of his past and his family and friends lives gone and passed, all interconnected. He saw too much that scared him and too much that made him wonder, more and more questions, never enough answers. Gathering his wits with a shout and a curse he stumbled out of the wagon, his surroundings lurid and still a bit dizzy, he looked around at the dead Troll in the giant wheel and the driver's bloated body who fell off the top with an arrow through his spine and a finishing blow dealt with a sword through his eye.
Tate was the last to exit the caravan, he saw the group led by the angel battling hard trying to route to a group of humans volleying arrows and parrying weapons all about them wildly as hordes of red and black demon spawn churned around in chaos hacking, slashing and burning. He ran and scrambling amongst the numerous dead bodies, he found two heavy swords amongst them, and wielding them at either side, ran towards the defenders shouting. His voice carried a rallying cry as he hurriedly approached: "Back to the fire with you! The Highs help us!"
Description: The painting of him above, was done quite recently and is a good likeness of the old fellow.
Background: Born in a shack in Bear's Hill, he is the son of a poor family. His father was a miner and his father's father before him. His mother was an orphan and lifelong breadmaker. Tate is an only child and has never taken help from anyone, he's muscled through all life's obstacles but is always willing to lend a hand. After his parents died of old age he left the underground mines to pursue a more adventurous life, wandering, working here and there but always on the lookout for gold or other valuable ore to be mined.
Behaviour: At his age now he is considered a cantankerous old coot, but beneath the surface there lurks a darker, wise old wolf who puts up with little. Slightly erratic, he is unpredicatable and very capable. At a glance most would find him harmless, but he has memories of people and other beings who have tried to rob or even kill him. Those tales can only be told by the unmarked graves left behind; he has never said a word. He thinks his problems through and would be considered a schemer, he is also someone who has timely strokes of luck.
How he was captured: Tate had been making his way back from panning a small stream in some nearby rocky hills south of a small village, when a demon army suddenly appeared in town and began to gather up all the villagers. Tate was caught in the turmoil and was forceably subjected into one of the many caravans that carried him and many of the other townspeople away. It seemed like such a long time ago. The train ever moving him and his fellow prisoners away to Heaven knows where, places far from home, places he had never seen before. Now he sits and stares as his head bobbs with the rough jolts of the beastdrawn cart he is cramped in. His mind nearly numb with the fear and death he sees in every village his demon keeper's wagons roll into. An idea was beginning to bubble to life inside the old man's head. He would get his chance to escape. He had a plan.
--==Weaponry, Armor, and Powers==--
-Weaponry: Pick-axe. One end sharp and the other flat, for prying. Tate has also modified it with a light-weight, short, thin spike that protrudes from the pick's head. Great for jabbing at intruders or would be enemies. He also carries a knife.
-Armor: Nothing but the shirt on his back.
-Powers: He is a very strong man, mining all his life has made his fists weapons and even more so with a club or axe in hand. His mind is his aide, his thoughts like his pocketwatch always churning and ever turning . His cogitation is an advantage over most. And he's just plain lucky to boot.
With the hideous decrease in forum discussion, I'm wondering if anyone is even interested in RP'ing anymore.
Want to check this before I commit to any planning or shit like that, granted an RP from me is quite far off (like a month minimum).
As for what it would be like, definitely following the previous RP I made, "Damnation Rising".
I found it much more interesting to be playing as the bad guys, and I hope to get a similar RP down in the future.
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And nothing else matterrrrrrrrs!
SC2 looks good!
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I personally really like them so far, bubbles, whirlwinds, the fireballs, the weapon slams, body explosions (my favourite), the blood and gore, the classic loot sound!
I hear the heroes footsteps, barely, but the enemies' I cannot hear. Masked by the violence? Or just to much clutter.
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Hopefully all the enemies physically attack differently than others; the depth that would be easily created
I agree Dolalim, no one wants to talk that long about how to take down a boss, just basics, and keeping the game fun, full of enemies and fast paced. Hopefully that's target. But as long as the enemies just don't fight on one side of you all the time. Like DI and DII. One of two could slip behind or take their time rushing you or flank you etc. Just not the whole pack at once
DarkMagicc is right on with his first post.
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Have you heard of this new game coming out? I think its called Diablo III?...
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Lol, Dane you crack me up m8 =)
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As for a 'gateway' drug... lets think about this. If your drug dealer deals in drugs wouldn't that mean that he has access to more than just marijuana? Most likely. Whats to stop him dealing other kinds for more money and selling them to people, along side the weed. Nothing, exactly. Therefore you will be exposed to more than marijuana and you will tempted to try 'something better, man' 'gives you instant highs' etc. We've all been there. And that's just one angle. Sadly it just takes one step for some people
We all know people who are hardcore in support of it, many things they say: "if it was illegal, you think people would use it more?" Of course you fool, you want 8 year old kids smoking up (cause they think its cool) while their brain is still developing? Or for any reason whatsoever? Ha! Just like cigarettes or alcohol of course. Cause since when has inhaling any kind of smoke, toxins, or ethanol been good for you?
As an a small example, I work on people's vehicles all day and quite a few clients are high as kites when they come in and as a result they are as stupid as ****! You ask them a question and they have to think for ages or forget things you've just told them or forget mid sentence what their are asking you etc. Its sad! Happens all the time. And really how is that cool or effective in your life?? Doesn't affect brain function or thought processing. My arse it doesn't. Does anyone want these people driving? "Oh it doesn't affect me." Please... anything for an excuse to justify your reasoning.
Why don't we just get rid of all the drugs and alcohol and live happily ever after!?
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Oh I could tame Miley Cyrus, Dane. Easily done. Put her to work, 'clean my house!' lawl.
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I agree, I want a challenge. I want smarter enemies that also have different weapons/abilities when they attack. I want to use my brain when I'm playing a action/adventure rpg, rather than just rush in and click you know? I want to come up with my own tactics to take my enemies down. And yes, bring on the surrounding, flanking, cornering, etc. Anything to make the game better
Can't wait!!! AHHHHHH! I'm going nuts! One more year!
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Seeing their rescuers drawing in the crowd of the survivors, he ventured toward them as well, eager to thank them for their heroism. He supposed that their gathering looked like a flock of mindless sheep making their way to their shepherd. Few looked shocked and most had no notable expression at all. Tate knew that he was in a company of experienced fighters, men who had seen many battles. Although some younger kids were there as well, the group mainly consisted of battle-hardened veterans, angels, demons, humans and goatmen. He was the last to make up the circle and a man announced himself as Ignis and addressed the crowd.
"Alright, humans and goatmen, you're hereby free. Come with us back to our encampment, we'll give you safe haven. Angels, you're free to do as you please, we do not expect anything from you, though know that we are fighting the hells and your assistance would be more than welcome. Demons, I don't know what it was you did to be imprisoned, but it's a safe bet to assume you're against the hells. I'll give you the same offer I gave to the angels."
"Don't spend too much time here, the demons will no doubt be coming to check on their caravan. We leave within the hour, check for any survivors and get any equipment you need." He concluded.
Resistance fighters eh? Tate mulled the idea over in his mind. He liked the sound of getting into the action and adventuring even more than he already had but this time with sword in hand and the cry of comradery filling the air as they would charge down and eliminate their foes. For a man who spent so much time on his own he was beginning to enjoy being around people even more so.
With that idea in mind he walked hurriedly back towards the wagon, he was too tired to run about any further, the battle had taken it out of him. And yet, he had seen companions barely breathing hard as they took out more demons than he ever could have, though they were alien forces, hardly human at all. That was hardly fair, he snickered to himself, comparing the two. He was alive though, and that was what mattered.
Almost limping with weariness, Tate rounded what remained of the wheeled contraption, he lay one sword down and with the other blade in hand swung at the rope restricting a large box attached to the vehicle. The box smashed to the ground and broke open as it did, scattering its contents in front of him. He immediately recognized his pick and reached down to grasp the familiar handle. He tugged at it as it was entwined in the rest of the collection of valuables. His pick suddenly flew free bringing some other packages and debris with it. Smiling, he didn't know what he would have done without his axe, holding it up to the sun and seeing its dull gleam. He had spent countless days with just him, his pick and whatever rock need to be shifted or riverbed dug. Other survivors had also began gathering their possessions from the spilled container finding what they needed and getting themselves ready to follow the mercenaries. Tate had just one more stop to make before joining the rescuers.
With his pick and sword in either hand, Tate made his way toward the driver's dead body. Quickly frisking the gory mess he found what he was looking for, a crystal clear dagger. He had only seen the deceased owner with it once but once was enough. The hell-spawn driver, thinking his prisoners asleep and likely to never see the light of day again, pulled the dagger out of its holder just for a greedy glimpse, to gaze at his recent acquisition in wonder. Tate wondered where the old gasbag had got it from as he now grasped the same hilt as it lay in its cover. Pulling it out, it felt almost weightless in his hand, how could it be so light? With sudden realization, he was half frightened and half excited that it must be enchanted. He held the dagger up to the dying sunset and gazed at its perfect cut, and suddenly the blade began to grow brighter and brighter until Tate could not bear to look at it. He shielded his eyes and quickly shoved the dagger back in its intricate sheath hoping no one had seen its brilliance. They would probably want it for themselves, or have it destroyed, he thought. Hurriedly placing the dagger and some other useful items in a newly acquired pack he pulled it round his back and walked towards the group with pickaxe slung over his shoulder and the remaining and sharper igneous sword in a sling. It paid to pay attention to detail, he thought, anyone who said otherwise was risking their neck and those around them
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Did he know some sort of information that the hell-spawn wanted? 'That must be it', he thought, 'why else would they want me?' He searched his mind, countless facts and figures, stories and sagas, but he could find nothing of possibility. He must have forgotten. Oh how he yearned to know what knowledge he possessed! The day of his imprisonment seemed so long ago, almost in another lifetime. But it remained so vividly clear in his mind. Again and again he went over the details of how easily the town had fallen and how helpless he had felt. He did not even remember the name of the town he had been taken in, just another place here and there wherever he could trade in his day's takings for some coin. Often just enough for a meal or a bed or a roof over his head or a perhaps just a hayloft to sleep in. There were a lot of things he did remember but towns or the names of towns was not one of them. He did not associate himself with the populace much, he preferred to be on his own. Only as a source of uncommon leisure after a hard days work shifting rock or emptying veins, did he venture into a community. Yet the demons had been lying in wait, specifically for him, just inside the town. Sure, he would have gotten a good deals worth of coin on that day for he had found a richer stream that had ended his day early. But obviously the Demon weren't interested in the gold that still filled his pockets as they had lept on him without warning. There was nothing he could have done against those odds, and he was not a gambling man.
One demon was about to bash him over the head, when another stopped him and viciously slit the other demons throat, leaving him gagging and gasping for air as the wretch clawed futilely, sinking slowly to the ground. "Hands off!" The leader of the small group had yelled. "Do not harm this one. He may carry information that Hell needs. Hands off or I'll gut you like a boned fish." The demon's voice resembled ground charcoal he thought, an very unpleasant sound. He was then ferried away, escorted by the three remaining demons as the fourth slowly choked out his life in the dust. He was pushed into a cart with five spiked and heavy wheels drawn by massive beasts of burden. The cart's fifth wheel was enormous and was located between the front two, which it belittled and walking inside it was a large cave troll. He supposed that the troll aided the other beasts in the movement of the cart. Like the troll the beasts were large and ugly and full of power but instead yielded a massive yolk of many harnesses that slowly shifted the weight of the cart forward. Giant bones made up the skeleton of the cage, bound together with skins and different ropes and hides. And atop the wheel, though suspended above it, sat the driver, an old bloated bag of soars and scars, squinting madly into the sun at his bellowing beasts. The driver held the long reins of the team with one hand and with the other he grasped a cruel looking device in his huge hand that was very much like a whip which he lashed constantly to start out his caravan moving ever onwards. And the last addition to this odd contraption was an annoying little imp situated at the back of the wagon on a pole that rose up into the air that shouted the odds at everything and everyone, ever on the lookout.
Still thinking deeply, Tate felt his head shake, softer, and then harder immediately after and repeatedly. His head swam, he tried to paw away at the space in front of him fending off against an unseen foe. Yet his hands struck a body, surely not a human body, this body had wings and he looked up to an ageless face. "Wake up!" a voice yelled seemingly audibly uneven, the sound going in and out of Tate's mind. "Wake up man! You must get out of your restraints, I managed mine but I need my sword to set you free. Wait here!" And with that the figure ran out of the caravan hurrying to and from each fallen demons corpse. "Looking for something, he is," Tate said aloud in a daze to himself. "Hope he finds what he's looking for, don't you Mother? He seems like such a nice man. Didn't know a man who had a pair wings before, though, have you Mother? Wonder how he keeps them on? Must fall off easy, Oh! And how hard they must be to keep clean, eh mother? Bet he wouldn't want to get them dirty, have a time of it getting stains out and such wouldn't he? Awful pain that would be. Mind you Mother, I'd help the poor fellow, he seems like such a nice man" Tate's babble to himself continued until the angel returned and broke free his bonds with a touch from his blade; the chains shattering to the ground in a heap of dust. The angel then touched Tate's shoulder and spoke a few words, dispelling the intoxicating Demon powers that had settled in the man's mind.
Tate snapped awake. His brain whirred, he leaped up from the cart floor and almost hit his head on the bone structure. "What happened? Where am I? Who are you?" He shouted at the angel. The angelic being shouted back: "There's no time, we are under attack, Get out of the wagon and join the fight!" And with that the angel shouting at the others to join and the everyone remaining rallied behind him and charged out of the van to meet oncoming demons filtering out from the trees.
Many questions came and went as Tate's brain came back to reality, spinning round like a giant luscent whirlpool right before his eyes. A thousand different pictures and a thousand different words, all speeding round the limits of his vision, he had never seen that before. Pictures of his past and his family and friends lives gone and passed, all interconnected. He saw too much that scared him and too much that made him wonder, more and more questions, never enough answers. Gathering his wits with a shout and a curse he stumbled out of the wagon, his surroundings lurid and still a bit dizzy, he looked around at the dead Troll in the giant wheel and the driver's bloated body who fell off the top with an arrow through his spine and a finishing blow dealt with a sword through his eye.
Tate was the last to exit the caravan, he saw the group led by the angel battling hard trying to route to a group of humans volleying arrows and parrying weapons all about them wildly as hordes of red and black demon spawn churned around in chaos hacking, slashing and burning. He ran and scrambling amongst the numerous dead bodies, he found two heavy swords amongst them, and wielding them at either side, ran towards the defenders shouting. His voice carried a rallying cry as he hurriedly approached: "Back to the fire with you! The Highs help us!"
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Ol' Tate (Tate 'Luckyman' Mallock)
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Height: 5' 7"
Weight: 168 lbs
Eye Colour: Hazel Brown
Description: The painting of him above, was done quite recently and is a good likeness of the old fellow.
Background: Born in a shack in Bear's Hill, he is the son of a poor family. His father was a miner and his father's father before him. His mother was an orphan and lifelong breadmaker. Tate is an only child and has never taken help from anyone, he's muscled through all life's obstacles but is always willing to lend a hand. After his parents died of old age he left the underground mines to pursue a more adventurous life, wandering, working here and there but always on the lookout for gold or other valuable ore to be mined.
Behaviour: At his age now he is considered a cantankerous old coot, but beneath the surface there lurks a darker, wise old wolf who puts up with little. Slightly erratic, he is unpredicatable and very capable. At a glance most would find him harmless, but he has memories of people and other beings who have tried to rob or even kill him. Those tales can only be told by the unmarked graves left behind; he has never said a word. He thinks his problems through and would be considered a schemer, he is also someone who has timely strokes of luck.
How he was captured: Tate had been making his way back from panning a small stream in some nearby rocky hills south of a small village, when a demon army suddenly appeared in town and began to gather up all the villagers. Tate was caught in the turmoil and was forceably subjected into one of the many caravans that carried him and many of the other townspeople away. It seemed like such a long time ago. The train ever moving him and his fellow prisoners away to Heaven knows where, places far from home, places he had never seen before. Now he sits and stares as his head bobbs with the rough jolts of the beastdrawn cart he is cramped in. His mind nearly numb with the fear and death he sees in every village his demon keeper's wagons roll into. An idea was beginning to bubble to life inside the old man's head. He would get his chance to escape. He had a plan.
--==Weaponry, Armor, and Powers==--
-Weaponry: Pick-axe. One end sharp and the other flat, for prying. Tate has also modified it with a light-weight, short, thin spike that protrudes from the pick's head. Great for jabbing at intruders or would be enemies. He also carries a knife.
-Armor: Nothing but the shirt on his back.
-Powers: He is a very strong man, mining all his life has made his fists weapons and even more so with a club or axe in hand. His mind is his aide, his thoughts like his pocketwatch always churning and ever turning . His cogitation is an advantage over most. And he's just plain lucky to boot.
Text Colour: The colour of gold
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