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I'm going to stream my game from time to time this weekend. Very roleplay/in character where I'll try to have fun with the dialogue and even voice some of the characters. Analytical, immersive fun with a character rife for moral conundrums. Hope to test the immersion of the game.

 

http://www.twitch.tv/postpigeon

 

 

Here's a brief background to set the motivations for my playthrough.

 

 

Outenne

Death Godlike, Druid

Old Vailian

Dissident

-

 

The crispy carapace of decaying beetle shells weathered translucent after fortnights of rats gnawing for scraps of delicious insect innnards tastes of rotten lemon; physically bearable but conceptually revolting. So I try not to lick my lips often because then I get to thinking about it rather than enjoying the oddity of fragrant citrus breath.

 

So it's not all bad, being me. Just mostly, especially at the start. Frankly I'm bloody ugly and the constant peeling chunks of exoskeleton flaking off my face doesn't give me very long to flash a winning personality.

 

Everyone asks me, “Outenne, so how did you survive being a disgusting demon baby?”. Ok, so they don't actually say those words but the narrowed eyes and clenched jaws send the right signals. Mostly luck I would say, as everyone in my swampy backwards Old Vailian fishing village was covered in mud, filth, and a thick mucus-like oil the resident 'healer' made to keep the more dangerous predators away. No surprise a place like this has a grotesque cursed child.

 

In a way I was an asset to a ****hole like that. Almost a symbol of their identity and what with all that magical potential accompanying my creepy affliction face it was only a few seasons before I was 'donated' to that village shaman figure. My actual parents were gone before daybreak the first night I was away but how can anyone blame them. How would you feel watching yourself birth a crusty bug faced monster?

 

Beatings, queer almost sexual psychological tortures and an occasional dose of insightful simple life philosophical ramblings comprised my formative years. Eora is a hard place and I learned to read, concoct disgusting yet effective tinctures, and how to run a cult. That, of course, was the racket he had going. Yet he never treated it as a game to be played with the people, but a challenge to protect them from their own limitations. Never bend the world to your will, instead guide others through the maze.

 

I don't think much of his name but on the ledger sheet of life I consider that crazy swamp rat and I even.

 

All things must change and civilization won't ever let you forget it. My village, as many others in Old Vailian, was swallowed up in a rash of raiding from the Eastern Reaches Vailian Republics. Fancy representatives in their poofy clothes extend the arm of trade only to drag us down and stomp the entire place into the ground. Cannons, raping, enslavement...the standard operation. By this point my primal magic had come into its own and assuming the form of a boar I slipped away during the chaos.

 

Still regrets that I couldn't be stronger, couldn't have predicted this would happen. Seeing the predatory drive of civilization as I began my journey to the Eastern Reaches; the effects of this colonial era leaves me cold. I sit here bells after the full moon watching a Revuan drifter attempt to catch crabs in the dark; the only time he can find a way to eat without being accosted. I sit here and know that this type of world, this 'society', is not the way I want things to be.

Edited by erragal
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