Space_hamster

Please say one. genuine. thing. about. my. character. you. think. is. good.

Nice artwork.

Hamster. Goes for the eyes.

But then again, nobody would read such a story.

In the next version, the kid will fill his backpack with a couple of dried fruits, go into the forest to hunt squirrels, find a couple of cool statues, have a piqniq surrounded by deer and go home to his family to tell all about his great day. Yeah.

I think I'll rewrite the whole thing. See; The Dyrwood is presented as something akin to Shadow Mulsantir. *sigh* Well, maybe there's a portal out of there somewhere.

Thank you, both of you. Maybe I made the Dyrwood too dark a place.. wierd, that. I challenge someone to make a story where the mood-as-atmosphere is lighter Fireplace roleplay, something fun going on in an inn.... Lets populate this world, and in so doing make it come alive

Yes! I thought it was about time to try out our creativity in -fanmade- stories, art, pictures, and the like. My english is less than perfect, by I hope it will suffice for its purpose. ---------------- Dyrwood. Anni Iroccio 583. The leaves of the Dyrwood fall twice a year – the very seasons follow the rhythm of Caoth and Bhád, life and death. In spring, the mild winds from the southern regions of the Bay of Crowns make their way up along the pearl coast, bringing a much needed warmth to the frozen inhabitants of the Forked Vale. The trees of the Dyrwood form the canopy above these stubborn denizens who in the forest make a living, huddling together as best they can. To these people, Caoth am Dhin , life of spring, marks yet another turn of the seasons wheel. As the empty red leaves of yesterday release from the canopy above, a feast is held in the village. The firstborn of of Caoth am Dhin receives the traditional seasonal blessing of the Aedyr: a chaplain of Eothas and an elven druid of Berath brings through their chants a new hope for the village’s further existance as birds of the Dyrwood sings in the empty branches above.As summer sets in the green buds of the trees slowly turn into full leaves, and wild game is abundant in the forest. The summer winds are gentle and life is kind to both to the hunter and that which is hunted. But as autumn draws close, the forest turns quieter. The eyes of the hunter wander from left to right in fright as he seeks his game. For in the approaching shadows lurks the promise of Bhád am Nharrock , death of winter. He who has not gathered enough food before the white cold of Nharrock, will surely perish, his bleak bones will feed the grass and his only chance to live again may be to find its way back to life through the lottery of souls. And few who live willingly seeks the embrace of death, as it is in the nature of the living to live, as true as it may be the nature of the dying to accept death. And the lottery of souls is a fickle game indeed. Bhád am Nharrock brings with it that which is feared by all. The nature of the beast known as Bhiamac stirs, now not only from the ancient elven ruins of the Eír Glanfath, nay – now it spontanously runs wild with fury throughout the forest. That which is not hidden, is caught; that which isn’t sheltered, is dead, and utterly emptied - only a shell of it is now remaining on the forest floor. Green leaves turn black, and as the winter winds sets in and snow falls the leaves fall from the canopies above like burnt ashflakes, white snow and black leaves blend in a dance of death as life hides as best it can. Then maybe it is in the nature of the trees of Dyrwood themselves to defy this unholy communion of ash and death, for not before has the season of Bhiamac ended before blood red leaves sprout from the canopies. Then there is only the cold night sky of winter above, red canopies beneath it, and the forest floor now clad white in snow – and an eerie silence in the forest. The leaves of the Dyrwood falls twice a year - but this very winter, the silence is broken. A young boy clad in the traditional colorful Vailian garb marches stubbornly into the heart of the forest. Twelve year old at most, wearing a riding hat with a bright blue feather protruding from it, onward and into the forest he goes. A drum he carries, tied to his waist, and play it he does – his drumsticks beat his drum as rhythmically as the pace at which he marches. Onward he goes, into the forest – with bare feet he walks and drums, drums and walks, and never does he look back the way he came. Only the frightened beasts of the forest see him as he walks by, and as beasts they are unable to realize what cannot be fathomed: His feet does not leave any mark in the snow as he passes by. There lies his destination. The elven ruins of Eír Glanfath stand before him, in all their splendour. The statues of Caoth i Bhád and Bád i Caothaí stand before him, their heads directed at him, fixating him with their empty eyes. The boy doesn’t halt his pace before he stands directly in front of the statues. The only sound heard is that of drumsticks on hideclad drum, their rhytmic beating following a circular pattern of their own. In Vailian the boy speaks. «I have come.» No reply is heard, no sound is heard but that of the drum. The boy speaks again, this time in ancient hylspeak, the old tounge of the aedyrans. «I have come». From the statues of Caoth i Bhád and Bád i Caothaí two voices reply, like a whisper, like a taunt. «Cerath» the female whispers, «Berath» the male statue says. The boy looks up at the statues with defiance in his eyes, yet his drumsticks unerringly beats his drum. Once again, the boy speaks, this time with hint of anger in his shrill voice. «I invoke the fourth principle of air. In balance, the soul will prevail». The boy exhales heavily once, his frosty breath passing into nothingness. The statues are silent for only a few seconds. Then the female statue laughs a hollow laughter. «I invoke the third principle of fire. Magrans doom will burn the soul», she says. A thunder is heard as a circle of fire erupts from nothing, encircling both the boy and the statues. Then the male statue speaks. «I invoke the second principle of earth. The mortality of man will decay the body». A loud crack is heard as the very earth the boy is standing on is formed into two claws, grasping the boys hands , making his drumsticks fall to the ground. A single tear forms in the boys eyes as he looks up at the statues. «I invoke the first principle of water. In all things there is a beginning, in all things there is an end» he whispers. As the boys tear fall to the ground, a blinding flash of light follows. The circle of fire is extinguished, the earth holding the boys arms are gone – but so is the boy. Only the boys drum and his drumsticks remain, lying in front of the statues. The statues scream in anger. «What is your purpose, what do you want», they scream in simultanous fury. From the wind passing through the Dyrwood the voice of the boy can be heard one last time, like a distant sigh. «I watch, and in doing that, I am the Watcher», it says. And so began the War of Black Trees. But that is another tale, for another time.

This, I like.

Boo out.

Yes. I'll be wearing the mask of the rodent. Now...thank you all for...everything. I have many roleplaying rules yet to learn.

as endings in my hermeunetic circle go.

A great game is that, which has an ending.

Metabot: I'm sorry. I am me. I assure you. However, sometimes words fail me. . I wish for a pause in this thread. I don't know what to say anymore. And I don't know what to read. I've got so much work cut out for me. I'm dead tired. Honestly.

@Metabot, do you have some examples that come to mind?

@Hormalakh, you're a fan of shortcuts, I respect that. My knowledge of them are limited...they're sort of, cut'n paste related. doh. I think if Obsidian spends a whole lot of resources in developing a 'revolutionary' new gui, they may thread wrong. I, uh, haven't mentioned windows 8 yet and I will not do so. Maybe the resources are better spent elsewhere? I dunno. But , a few keyboard shortcuts will -defintely- be more user friendly than a radial nwn on screen menu. *shudders*

Uh, oh, I may be saying the wrong words here, but, as encounters go....I really, really liked the overland map concept of ....you know. Storms of Zehir. Random encounters work fine enough, but (ahem) the game mechanic seemed to favour a certain build for the protagonist. Namely, the ...(hihi) Bard/Ranger/rogue! A crazy build, but since the game was mostly about finding stuff in the overland map, or avoiding encounters you did not want to find, it served its purpose. This problem should be, ah, solved if they are to implement it in PE.

Oh well. To each his own. Thank you all - you've been creative beyond words. Did something come out of it? I hope not. At least, don't tell me.

A great game is that, which lets its inhabitants observe the twin soulmirrors of Good and Evil, only to see their own mirror image returned back to them - without bias. All this time the Watchers observe silently from afar.

That is a wonderful heart. I can see an eye in there somewhere. A great game is that, which lets the player play it without fear of being manipulated.

A great game is that, which encompasses an idea, and explores its options to its fullest in a safe environment.

*looks around himself* I'd say so Because the gameplay mechanics does involve player-game interaction. But if a moderator disagree, please feel free to move this thread. All feedback is welcome.

Thank you, Elerond. Your post makes me wonder. Is a game more than the sum of its parts? My claim is - you speak of life. And a worthy adventure that is.

A great game is that, which removes the content from the screen, where it shouldn't be, and gently puts it between the players ears and in his heart, where it should be. -- I appeal to everybody to make a similar statement to what makes a game great. Also, please feel free to add a small picture. May all your dreams come true.

Requiem for Minsc ********************* Listen, oh world, to a tale clad in Sorrow: A Hamster I am, but a hamster who is Hollow Once bound to a Man, a Barbarian Strong we traveled the Land, and we traveled in Song But then came the day, when he found that cursed scroll And actually read it! Who could have known! "Ah Boo, DIS-PEL-MAG-HIC!" - I squeaked out too late and he uttered the words that he shouldn't have made A loud crack of sound, a flash of light followed- I grew and I squeaked as my body thrice doubled "Boo please don't leave me!" I heard him cry out He grasped for my tail, but I stepped on his mouth I fear for his safety and I know he be strong But my claws weigh a ton, so I may yet be wrong I leapt from the world I had come to belong Once a mere hamster, now the Terror of Song Stuck in this place I recall once more my Cleaver of Evil, my Human of War I squeak and I cry but I'm stuck in this place Paddling the Endless Hamster Wheel of Space My fury is boundless, my revenge I will sow And ink will be scarce where e'er I go! --- Hello Everyone. I'm Boo - The new Obsidian Order Space Hamster. Thank you for your initiative. I am happy to be here