Bay 12 Games Forum

"A planet inhabited by primitive apes who still think that digital wristwatches are cool and new."

Russian media and politicos kept bringing up WWII in the leadup to this invasion. Makes sense to me that they might be tempted to return to the glorious Soviet tactics of olde.

(also PTW I guess)

I decided to take my squad of 24 to Fishman Isle, to grind up some combat experience fighting the fishy hordes. I had a pretty good mix of people of all races (including a skeleton!), weapon types, and skill levels, I had taken on bandits and won, I figured it was time to test my mettle against a new foe. The prospect of possibly taking on the Gurgler King for his bounty and top-tier sword just added incentive, though realistically my team probably wasn't ready for that just yet.

We made our way south of Catun, staying well clear of a Leviathan along the way (those things have thousands of HP per body part in a game where most humanoids top out at 100 or so) and ran across a squad of bandits who challenged us to battle. It went well for us overall; though one person was KO'd and a few others took injuries that slowed them down, the bandits were all defeated. We made our way over to a boulder and set up a temporary camp so the worst-wounded could rest on bedrolls while the rest stood guard. Despite the slowdown I figured we were ready for whatever might come. We were not.

A full half-dozen adult Beak Things came charging in through the twilight, running straight through the boulder that apparently was not the solid obstacle I thought, and began tearing my squad to pieces. My guys jumped to defend themselves, but these creatures have a well-deserved reputation for being the bane of early-midgame teams and several people were downed quickly. Humanoids screamed as limbs were torn away by monstrous jaws, while AoE attacks staggered my best and toughest fighters again and again. Some Beak Things fell as well, overcome by weight of numbers, but for a few gutwrenching minutes I thought I'd have to reload to an earlier save once the last warrior fell and the Beak Things began to feed.

Somehow, we prevailed. Four limping, bleeding humanoids remained standing amidst a pile of unconscious, dying bodies, and they had no time to rest if any were to be saved. The quartet immediately began patching up the most severely wounded (which did not include themselves; several of the fallen were on death's door), while the first of the others to wake up took on the task of finishing off the Beak Things before joining in the emergency triage. Others began to awake, merely knocked out by pain during the battle and not in recovery comas, and began non-vital tasks like splinting limbs or setting out more camp beds to rest on.

All told, maybe half the squad was able to regain consciousness shortly after the battle, though many had damaged limbs and a few were only barely ambulatory. Three squaddies had lost limbs entirely; two an arm each, one (my best medic) a leg. Those three had KO timers running into the thousands of seconds, and for a while I was not at all certain they'd survive given the massive amount of blood each lost. The team was in a pickle; they were stranded far from the relative safety of civilization and were physically incapable of moving to a safer location without leaving at least some people behind to the tender mercies of wild animals. Also they'd be moving at a snail's pace given how bad some of their legs were. I ordered everyone to enter stealth and had the most capable member of the squad (the skeleton, who had been repaired and was functioning nearly as good as normal) drag the Beak Thing corpses far enough away that any scavengers would hopefully be drawn away from us. And then we waited.

A couple of days passed. I rotated the ones resting on the camp beds, trying to get more people up and ready to move. Some folks woke up once they had recovered sufficiently from their injuries. A handful were still down and out. And then I noticed that we had been spotted, by a pack of more than a dozen bonehounds. They were charging straight for us, on an "Attack Others" objective, and I figured this would probably be the end. None of my guys were ready for a fight - indeed, some would only take a single wound before keeling over again. But we couldn't run away. My wearied warriors readied themselves for the last fight of their lives...when suddenly the leader of the wolfpack let out a bark and snatched up my medic's severed leg, running off with it in joy, while the rest of the pack followed hoping to play with the limb themselves. Battle was averted at the very last instant by a canine's desire to play fetch.

I decided (once I stopped laughing) that I had pushed my team's luck long enough. We might not be able to outrun a pack of hounds intent on chasing us, but we could slip away while they were off having fun. The unconscious and the lame were slung over the shoulders of those who could move quickest, bedrolls were packed, and the entire team made for the gates of Catun. We were slow despite the rest, thanks to various injuries reducing stats, but fortune continued to smile on the squad. They limped into the great city of weaponsmiths later that day, unmolested by monsters or bandits, and quickly took over every spare bed in both inns.

I didn't own by slaying hordes of fishmen, or earning a legendary sword through epic battle, or slaughtering packs of monsters. My ownage was getting every single person back from near-catastrophe, alive. Now begins the hunt for quality artificial limbs.

But if they wear visible clothing, how will they be able to complain about that crazy motorist who totally wasn't paying attention and nearly killed them the other night? Better to wear all black with no reflectors or lights on the bike while riding down the middle of the oncoming lane at 5 mph, as the Bike Gods intended.

: "Couldn't hurt to be cautious, I suppose."

Q-14, totem half the ship.

: "Di's a coastal city. We certainly had plenty of fog depending on the season, but nothing like this."

Amberly attempted to shine magical light against the fog, but it almost seemed like the glow simply reflected back and made vision even worse, so she stopped.

So do the robots eat, or are the robots food? Either way it raises additional questions.

: "Hoth reporting, the west side of the arena is clear. This should be over soon, and then everyone can get patched up."

L-12, blast Theodora into submission.