3rd person Hack n SLash mod?

[SIGIL]

Hello all just found this place and joined up. I am interested in making a 3rd person hack n slash type mod for HL2 and was wondering if this is even possible or feasible. I have NO coding skills what so eevr, but I do have modelling, drawing, music, and literary skill, and ( if I do say so meslf ) some degree of design skill.

I am not concerned with wasting my time on some overly ambitious pie in the sky revolution in gaming.... I just want to use what exists in the Source engine to produce an entirely different kind of Hack n Slash.

The point is to get some actual development under my belt to learn the tricks of the trade maybe just make a name for myself in the process. If it turns out well ( read if I can get the help I need :naughty: ) and the mod is liscence worthy I would CERTAINLY put forth the effort to make it as good as it can possibly be. DO not let my attitude fool you, I am VERY interested in making game design my career and am dedicated to this goal.






Anyway some of the features I would like to implement are;


Dynamic terrain deformation

( I would love to see builidings crumble, ground cratered, so on and so forth )

Dynamic adaptable attack and manuever actions

( all attack " combos " would be created on the fly as the fight plays out according to user input and context sensitive interpolation between moves. All moves would stem from the same basic parameters of Horizontal stroke, Vertical stroke, jump, roll, forward, backward, right, left, target lock IO , etc. )

Location specific hit detection and damage parameters

( damage dealt spcific to collision detection on the model, weapon class, and attack type. )

FULLY interactive environments

( Throwing boulders, smashing walls, burning trees, ......... you get the idea... )



Too ambitious?

 

[SIGIL]

Thanks Pendragon. I figured the title mightdraw some neagtive attention but I could not figure out how to sum up the idea in fewer words....


SO you think this could be done eh? Many thanks. Now on to recruiting........ which I forgot to mention in the previous post.

 

[SIGIL]

These are kind of old but they are some character designs that I did with an ENCLAVE mod in mind.


GREAT game BTW.

 

[SIGIL]

first part of an ANCIENT fan fic I did based on the world of Enclave...... Did I mention how GREAT of a game this is?




VETERAN'S LAST STAND; by ravager


Grim and dismal, the pall that hung about the dawn was like a deathshroud draping the remnants of the once great city of Celenhiem. Now no more than a smoking ruin of collapsed towers, crumbling walls, and burning buildings, the ancient city stood like a tombstone marking the mass grave of the Enclave's last surviving forces. beneath a sky choked with the smoke of siege fires roared the mad cacophony of battle. Men, Elves, Gnomes, and Halflings, those who had endured the siege of the enclave against the vicious outlanders, now banded together in a final, desperate struggle to drive back the Dreg 'Atarr. Though their fight was futile, as Celenhiem now was all that remained of the Enclave, the forces of Light valiantly defied the conquest of their home. Everywhere the forces of the Dreg 'Atarr slaughtered the Enclavers with reckless abandon, howling in delight with every death. Out numbered and badly overpowered, all Enclavers knew the dusk would see the end of their kingdom so they fought not in the hope of victory, but in the rage of the utterly defeated who sought to share their doom with their enemies.

It had begun in the hour just beyond midnight when the first flaming boulder smashed into the east wall. He had been standing there then. Only some twenty paces from the only man he had ever called his friend, Yuri, the first casualty of the siege of Celenhiem and the single best reason he could think of to slaughter every last outlander that his eyes could spy. As boys they had run through the streets of this very city waving sticks as swords with barrel tops for shields, how different the city was then. How different he had been then. Not a trained killer, not the merciless war machine who had lost track of the years of bloodshed and the rolling heads of his enemies, not the man who had survived the countless dangers of the outlands along side his boyhood friend. Then he had been the ragged scamp who dreamed of knighthood and glory, one of two boys bravely defending the city from the imaginary outlander hordes. But now. He was the bane of every foe to cross his path.

Stumbling on his right heel, the shock of hammer blow to his shield jarred the veteran from his reverie. Years of battle honed skill and instinctive reflexes had saved him from what would have been a death stroke. Nearly toppled from his feet by the impact, the veteran turned on his left foot to face the Ogre who now bore in upon him. Crouching with his shield raised and his broadsword low the veteran launched himself toward his enormous enemy in a brutishly graceless attempt to tackle the lumbering hulk. With it's arms raised above it's head for a heavy handed vertical bash, the ogre went sprawling to it's back as the veteran's armor clad girth crashed into the ogre's mid section. Saving himself from the fall the veteran firmly planted both feet before leaping atop the ogre with his sword held for downward stab. With a blood curtling war cry that seemed to come from the throat of a beast rather than a man the veteran let out the ogre's life by the tip of his sword through the ogre's sternum. Though the immediate foe was finished the veteran would find no respite as a bolt from a cross bow flashed before his eyes, just giving enough warning to allow the veteran to pivot into a kneeling posture facing his right with his shield to save him from the following three bolts. Scanning the crowded battle field the veteran's keen eyes quickly found the source of bolts. Seeing no aid free to lend a hand the veteran resolved this to be his next fight.

Rolling backward away from the ogre's carcass, the veteran regained his footing in a well practiced manuever, using his arms to lever himself out of the roll and onto his feet. Some twenty paces ahead and to the left now were four goblins, each armed with standard crossbows, and running forward as the goblins reloaded were three orc warriors. Without time to retreat or dodge the oncoming orcs the veteran's only choice was to charge and pray for victory. Or at least a quick and clean death. Within the span of four paces the veteran had crossed the ogre's body and met the first of his assailants, a rather unimpressive looking bombardier brandishing a hooked short blade. True to form the fanaticly crazed orc charged blindly with it's blade held high snarling in some unintelligible gutterspeak. Without thought or hesitation in one smooth motion the veteran turned the orc's vertical slash aside with the flat of his broadsword and wheeled a horizontal chop at the orc's neck, rolling the head across the battle field. The second and third orcs would prove more difficult as they both converged upon the veteran simultaneously. Encouraged to caution in the wake of their comrade's bitterly humiliating demise these orc's approached the veteran with the kind of respect afforded to a hissing cobra. At the barked command from some unseen taskmaster the orcs parted to either side of the veteran to open a gap in the line of fire for the now readied and eager goblin crossbowmen. With the kind of calm resolve born only from impending doom, the veteran stood ready for his death but determined to carry at least one or two companions to hell with him.

The first bolt flew, and was struck into the bare rim of the veteran's kite shield, but the second bolt found the veteran's flesh between the plate of his left greave and knee cop, very nearly laming his left leg. Saved by the weakness of human frailty the third bolt flew overhead of the veteran as the second bolt brought him to one knee, but the forth bolt would nearly tell the battle when it struck fast into the veteran's exposed left flank just above the hip. The orcs, emboldened by the veteran's weakened state rushed in for the kill. Barely fending off the first stroke from the faster of the two orcs, the veteran's shield would absorb the brunt of the orc's attack while the veteran thrust his broadsword through the orc's unprotected abdomen. Skewered on the end of the veteran's blade but not yet entirely dead the orc from the veteran's right would find his life let out by the overswing of his comrade's stroke from the veteran's left as the veteran used the leverage of his lodged sword to swing the two against one another. Losing his grip on the sword's hilt as the now thoroughly dead orc fell in a heap, the veteran pushed with all his might on his right leg to regain his footing as the last surviving orc, now enraged, bore in with an unrelenting rapid succession of slashes, and chops, all absorbed by the veteran's nearly useless shield.

Saved in the ebb and flow battle the veteran's rescue came when the assaulting orc found the hammer of an unseen gnome eingineer dashing out it's brains. Without time for the proper thanks or acknowledgement the veteran yanked his sword free from the fallen orc just in time to look up to see three of the goblin archers drop their crossbows to take in hand weapons suited to melee. The gnome who had saved the veteran was already charging the group when the one goblin to keep his crossbow took aim. Dropping his sword once again the veteran pulled his arm free from his sheild and hurled it toward the archer goblin. It was a stupid and clumsy attempt at heroics and the veteran knew it, but as luck would have it the move spooked the goblin fowling his aim enough to reduce a killing shot to a wounding shot. Knowing the gnome was far from rescued the veteran rtrieved his sword once again and charged into the fray. Now the unseen commander showed himself, an enormous hulking demon warlord. Built like an abominable cross between a man and a goat and standing easily the height of two men, the demon was clad in sharply scaled brigandine mail, spiked plate, and chain and carried a spear of incarnate evil. Belching noxious smoke the color of dried blood the demon stamped forward it's hooves wilting the grass as it trod. The gnome had fared well despite the bolt in his shoulder, having already slain two of three goblins but when the demon reared before him the gnome's nerve was clearly shaken. And with mercilessly callous stroke of it's weapon the demon cleaved the gnome's body in two at the waist.

 

[SIGIL]

Howling like a mad man the veteran raised his broadsword overhead in a posture of aggression and charged the monstrosity. Turning to face the veteran the demon angled his spear to deflect the expected vertical chop, but just as the veteran closed the distance to follow through, he stopped short on his left foot and threw his wieght into a spin, bringing the sword around his right to flow into a very low horizontal sweep at the beast's left ankle. Unprepared for the acrobatic turn and sweep the demon's steel greave would not even slow the veteran's blade as it seperated the hoofed foot from the shin. With a dischordant shriek like the chorus of a thousand ewes being slaughtered at once, the demon dropped to one knee as it swept out with it's sword bladed spear. Saved by the grace born only to the battle field the veteran tucked into a roll at the end of his swing that would carry him safely beneath the arc of the demon's spear. Rolling back to his feet the veteran charged in again to finish the demon but this time the beast was ready. Switching the fulcrum of it's grip on the spear haft the demon reversed it's overswing into a thrust with the blunt end of the spear, jabbing the veteran in the chest. White fire burst in his lungs as the demon's jab drove the wind from his lungs in a rush. Nearly drowned out over the thrum of his heart beat in his ears the demon's barked command reminded the veteran of another very real danger, but too late. The sharp stab of the bolt through his cuirass into his lung made the wind that he managed to draw rattle with blood in his chest, forcing a racking cough to erupt as the veteran fought to keep from drowning.Fighting utter collapse the veteran attempted to lever himself up by his sword, but the strain was too great. With a rasping curse the veteran's strength failed him, losing his grip on the pommel of his sword the veteran collapsed in a heap.

Laughing in a mockery of humor the demon rose on it's remaining hoof and supported it 's wieght with the but of the spear on it's left. Reaching out it's massive three fingered paw the demon grasped the veteran by the abdomen rim of his breastplate. Hoisting him up from the ground the demon brought the veteran face to face. The acrid stench of decay and brimstone wafted from the demon's muzzle as it growled in a guttural semblance of the human tongue, " little man, wounds hurt does they? " it gloated, " GALBRAKT fix it nice for little man, then GALBRAKT use little man skin for new drum." Finishing it's mockery the demon raised the veteran high by the one hand while it's weapon poised in the other hand to skewer the painracked warrior. In his mind the veteran was defiant but his body could offer no resistance to the whims of a cruel fate so close at hand. Now as the demon held him aloft the veteran managed one last defiant act. Grasping the demon's wrist with both hands the veteran managed to kever himself to look straight down at his enemy, and drawing in a gust of pain laced wind through his nostrils the veteran spouted a stream of blood and spittle into the demon's eyes. Caught off guard the demon could not aviod the offense that momentarily blinded it, and filled with rage the demon slung his victim back and forth before hurling him some thirty paces across the field.

" NOW GALBRAKT ANGRY!!!!!!! LITTLE MAN SEES HIS SKIN STRETCHED OVER DRUM BEFORE HIM DIES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! " the demon snarled wiping away the insult from it's eyes and stamping toward the veteran now thoroughly infirm by the crash and tumble. Barely managing to roll himself over to face his attacker the veteran realized that the demon had thrown him into the corpse of a dead orc bombardier. Perhaps it was fate's twisted sense of humor or some sympathetic god but by some miracle the veteran's hand laid across a burn flask unshattered in the death throes of the orc. As the demon hobbled forward, favoring the severed foot, it wiped it's eyes with one hand while it drew out a wikedly curved and barbed sword the size of a great sword. Many challengers arose in the demon's path to the veteran. A screaming halfling raced toward the lumbering aberration only to be swatted away off handedly. A group of three gnomes surged forward valiantly opposing the demon but in it's rage the gnomes were summarily slaughtered like so much sheep. Many others in rapid succession but the demon's canter hardly faltered. Fumbling through the belt pouches of the dead orc the veteran narrowly succeeded in retrieving the flint striker from the orc before the demon rudely siezed the veteran by his left ankle. As the demon began to drag the veteran to a clearer spot of the chaotic battlefield the veteran frantically prepared his final assault. Stopping some fifty paces from the thick of battle the demon turned to the veteran, and snarling furiously reached down to pry open the veteran's battered cuirass with both hands.

Striking the wick of the burn flask with the flame of the flint striker the veteran slung the implement of pain at the demon's face. Smashing open and covering the demon's head and shoulder's along with the veteran's arms and chest with green flames the burn flask would prove the undoing of the demon. Dropping the veteran to swat out the flames engulfing it's head and torso, the demon flailed madly about totally forgeting the human warrior who scrambled frantically to retrieve the errant demon sword. Hefting the mighty blade, himself still burning with unnatural fire, the veteran charged the burning demon, and with the might of the berserk ended the demon's howling with a vicious chop to the neck. Crashing to the ground with the burning carcass of the demon as the head rolled away flaming into the midst of the battle, the veteran rolled in the attempt to smother the flames charring his body. Defiant of death, even now in the end, he fought to rejion the futile battle of the ENCLAVE's last resistance, but in the final moment of his arduos life the veteran found solace.

" Death may come ", he rasped as the flames smothered with his last breath " but defeat shall not. "



My second attempt at fan fic was not so well reieved but I will post it up anyway...

 

[SIGIL]

And remember BOTH of these were written in a single sitting and not really proof read. :|


SHE

In the waxing light of dawn the Aylewood forest seemed a nightmarish reflection of it's former glory. Where once stood the ancient and majestic Red Wood trees, tall and mighty, now lingered their smoking stumps and leafless cadavers, a testament to the irreverent malice of the Dreg 'Atarr. The forest floor once blanketed in the verdance of centuries of nature's favor, now was choked with the corpses of the Aylewood guardians. No quarter had been spared to the elves of Aylewood nor their home. The Dreg 'Atarr overlords had deemed the forest a monument of the old Enclave, and thus the symbolic power of it's destruction would echo through the centuries to come. Hanging from the transoms of the buildings within the forest were the defenders and inhabitants of those strucures, some mutilated, some hanging inverse, all horrifyingly displayed as vulgar warnings to any who survived. Scattered throughout the forest were Red Woods left unburned but not unscathed. Twisted by the sorcerous magics of the Dreg 'Atarr, the antithesis of the pure magic of the druidic order, these nightmarish forms clutched with their thorny branches and ragged vines the corpses of the druid elders and initiates. How cruel the outlander witches had been in their sport, for the victims of this vile degradation had been alive in the act, though now all were dead. At least all but one.

Trembling with despair and fear the last of the druidic guardians of Aylewood crouched in the smoking husk of a burned out Redwood stump. Her once bluish white tunic, now shredded to a tattered scrap of cloth and sullied with the filth of mud, ash, and blood. Her hair once long and luxurious in tumbling curls of radiant red now hung in a chaotic mass of matted tangles and choppy locks. Her once silken flesh the embodiment of luxurious living now told the tale of her desperate flight through the embattled forest, riddled with thorn cuts and rock scrapes and smeared with the grime of the ordeal. How she did not look the legacy of the druidic order. Only the irrational cowardice of desperate fear had saved her from the wrath of the Dreg 'Atarr raiders. In the chaotic frenzy of battle her nerve had failed her, and she in turn had failed her people, her home, and her spirit. Now as she remembered the horror of the night her sobs and inarticulate wails were the only sound that broke the silence of the dawn. Over and over again in mind did the nightmare play out. How she had heard the whistling arrow flights that ended in death groans and wails. The dischordant sibilance of the Dreg 'Atarr witches cant spawning poisonous mists that choked the air and dissolved the flesh. The maddening howls of the lesser demon spawn as they tore through the flesh o fthe defenders. The taunting gibberish of the goblin fanatics as they mobbed the weakest of foes like rabid wolves. But the sound she could hear above all else, the sound she wished to never hear again, was that of her own name. Over and over they had called to her in those horrible hours, she could feel the anguish and fear in their voices as they called. She had deserted them in her desperate flight to escape the carnage of the Dreg 'Atarr raid, and now she was all that was left of the once noble and pure druidic people.

She could not remember how she came to inhabit the haven of the dead tree, or how she had come to possess the orcish cleaver clutched firmly in her right hand. It was obvious however, from the orc corpse in the narrow gap of the stump and the blood dried on her arms and belly, what purpose the heavy knife had served. At once repulsed and gratified at the thought of the scene she could not bring herself to cast the horrible implement of death away. Looking at the orc's body cleaved open from collar to sternum she could not imagine the strength needed that had dealt the death stroke. Surely she had not. Strangely, as she eyed the corpse her sobs cracked into a lax chunkle, though she felt no humor. How long had the thing been dead? Had it made noise in it's demise? Were there others about that may have heard? Another humorless chuckle welled up. If there were others about perhaps she might learn what their deaths sounded like. The thought only made her shiver, though the air was only somewhat cold. Strange that. It was early fall, the heat of summer still lingered some days, why now was the breath of winter whispering in the burned out forest?

Thinking of the forest again she felt the voices of her dead people once more. Only now it was not just memory. The voices seemed to echo in her mind without sound. More a sensation that rippled in the fabric of the ether than a disturbance of the air, the voices, if they could be thought of as such, seemed to emanate from somewhere, or lead to somewhere. Devoid of articulation the " voices " did not relate their intent in words, but rather through emotive sensation and empathic perception. They summoned her, they called to her not for rescue, not for vengence, or torment. Their empathic resonance communicated only a duty of dire urgency. Now weeping again but oddly detached from emotion, she stepped to the cleft of the stump husk. Peering beyond into the ravaged forest she could sense the presence of outlanders somewhere nearby. The resonance through the ether she felt from the Dreg 'Atarr was strangely kindred, as though there were some kind of simulance between the outlanders and herself. As if she could see the outlanders through the haze of lingering smoke and mass of demolished forest she knew the exact direction to which she would find the invaders. As she stepped from the sanctuary of the burned out tree stump her symbiotic affinity to the spirits of the land seemed somehow changed. Where once she felt all together at peace with her connection to the powers of the elements, she now felt invasive to those powers as though her spirit somehow degradated the purity of nature. Once the forces attuned to her will resonated divine benevolence, now those forces seemed beyond reach. Yet in the absence or tenuity of her former bond, she now felt a new unfamiliar bond. Something primal and feral now whispered to her through the ether, and resonated in tune to her own spirit. She had never felt such a force and had never known of any other who had. But as unfamiliar as it seemed, this new force was comforting and empowering in a way she had never known.

Feeling the loss of her former connection, she firmed her resolve that now she was no longer who she had once been.She now was something all together different than the last of the Druids. And soon the Dreg 'Atarr would know the fear they visited upon her and her people. Intent on the resonance of the spirits of her people she set for the direction of the Standing Stones where she knew she would find the legacy of the Dreg 'Atarr raiders. The straggling scavengers whose very nature betrayed their presence were at some kind of labor or sport in the Standing Stones. With the ease of great cat she stalked the forest, knowing that she would sense the presence of any foes long before they would sense hers. And in those moments they would meet their doom. Still sensitive to the voices echoing in her mind she never faultered once in her trek through the savagely razed Aylewood forest. Soon she reached the inclining, rock strewn slope surounding the Standing Stones. Here the Red Woods had grown strongest, towering high above the surrounding forest. Though now the once gargantuan trees were reduced to a jumble of fallen trunks and smoking stumps. Picking her way carefully over, between, or underneath the fallen trunks she noticed the creative vulgarity of the Dreg 'Atarr marauders. Here they had impaled on roughly hewn pikes those defenders who had tried in vain to protect the slopes. The visage of these proud elven warriors so viciously slaughtered and callously displayed disgusted her in a way so profound that she could barely contain her rage. She realized with a start that she was growling like some wild beast in a low inhuman voice. Trembling with rage so intense that her hands and feet tingled from the adrenalin she quickened her pace through the tangle wood.

With her rage at the merciless slaughter of so many the unfamiliar force within her resonated now with barely restrained power. As she neared the Standing Stones, the sensation of the outlanders presence only fueled the flames of her savage fury, tearing at the fabric of her already tenuous sanity. The injury to her people and her people was too great that no justice could be wrought to heal the wound. But the fury she would visit upon the Dreg 'Atarr would surely be some retribute for the savagery of their raid here. With her vigor renewed at every footfall nearer to the Standing Stones she quickly topped the rise that leveled out into the open field that encircled the center of the Aylewood forest,the Standing Stones. There she could see the source of the resonating disturbance, for within the circle some fifty paces across the feild were gathered five orc warriors, three ogre berserkers, an Adept and an Intiate. Unable to see clearly the labors of the group within the Circle she crouched low in the tall flaxen grasses of the feild and crept ever closer taking great care to make not a sound. Once within ten paces of the circle the toil of the outlanders was clear. At each Stone they had crucified an Elder of the High Council. And in the center at the Altar the Adept practiced necromantic magics with the entrails of the Elders.

 

[SIGIL]

Roaring like a rabid lioness she charged the Stone circle,the bloodied cleaver held high above her head. She was no warrior but the scene invoked something within her that siezed the moment with murderous intent. Something had snapped in her mind. If the new force's presence had ever felt unfamiliar or seperate from her being before, now it WAS her being. The moments between the out set of rage and the first scent of orc blood in the air the air were too quick to percieve. No mortal could move this fast, nothing humaniod at least, and yet she had. Or the forces inhabiting her had. Having caught the arrogant marauders completely off their guard within the span of a breath three orcs lay dead while the two who had escaped her initial strokes had retreated beyond her reach, for the moment. Turning in startled horror to attempt a desperate attack on the mad woman druid the ogre nearest the edge of the Circle's circumference, found his foe much faster and more vicious than he had anticipated. Ducking the wild swing she gutted the ogre on the returning stroke of the third goblin's felling blow.

Still somewhat disoriented by the sudden onslaught, the outlander Adept and initiate stood stunned as the wild woman leaped the altar with feline grace. Attempting to save herself from the savage brutality of the mad druid the Adept threw her initiate in the path of the stroke that would have taken her head off, but instead took that of her pupil. Further enraged at the act she swung again at the Adept, only to be blown backward through the air in a blast of sorcerous magic. Slamming backward into the crucified corpse of an Elder some ten paces across the expanse of the circle from the altar, she landed on all fours with the dexterity of a feral beast and launched herself once more toward the Dreg 'Atarr witch. Screaming in an inarticulate fury she slammed into the imposing shield of an Ogre berserker. Momentarily stunned from the unexpected impact she sprawled on her back at the Ogre's feet as he raised his club for a slaughter stroke. Deftly rolling to her right she dodged the ruthless blow, and in one smooth motion sprang to her feet and hacked open the Ogre's throat with a swift back handed upward swing. Using his slumping form as a spring board the wild druid leaped above the clumsy swing of the second ogre's axe and landed with both feet against his chest and her cleaver in full swing for his skull. Riding the partly decapitated corpse to the ground she turned to face the Adept.

Partly focused on some lethal spell and partly focused on the rabid woman who had just slaughtered most of her bodyguard, the Adept had no time to react when the mad druid hurled her bloodied cleaver end over end. Ending it's arc firmly embedded in the sternum of the witch the cleaver would be of no use to Druid as the two surviving orcs circled the wild druid like hungry wolves. With her weapon gone only through sheer tenacity could she hope to avenge the horrible massacre of the Elders. Slowly the two orcs cicled her leering like grinning skulls and licking their mass of sharp teeth with black tongues.

" Poor, poor missy lost her elf gutter. " growled one of the orcs in a barely intelligible parody of human speech. " me, Hugok got one. Missy want Hugok's elf gutter? Hugok give it to missy real nice." it chortled, holding up the replica of the cleaver she had herself wielded in a mock offer.

" Yah, missy get elf gutter from Hugok, but get kisses from Grak ." Cooed the second orc while making a poor attempt at kissing noises that just sounded more like smacking. " Missy get kisses wot she no cry anymore. Poor, poor missy."

Suddenly she realized she was crying, she had not known she had been. She felt no sorrow or fear, but these vile orcs mocked her! Now she felt cold outrage. Remembering the orc back at the tree stump she could not help but to crack another humorless laugh wondering if that orc had mocked her before it's death as well. With the sudden return of mockery the orcs backed a pace further away from the wild druid as her laugh began to carry out. Looking at each in confusion the orcs seemed at a loss what to do next until their egos provoked action. Now her breath was husky and rapid in between humorless chuckles as the orcs began to close in once more. taking cautious steps they moved forward for the kill. This fate she could not accept, would not accept. Thinking of the horrors she had seen in her trek toward the Stones and the callous disregard for the lives of all who had perished here,the fury that had spurred her to such a ferocity in the moments of her attack now burned even brighter than before. She would not meet her death here, the Dreg 'Atarr would not know absolute victory over the ancient Druidic order. With an Immortal shout of power and rage she channeled every bit of spiritual strength within her being into the ether. Reverbating in tune to the mad druid’s primal rage the earth beneath the feet of the orcs trembled violently before jagged spikes of stone as tall as an ogre jutted forth to impale the stunned orcs. Just as quickly as the spikes had formed they crumbled to dust dropping the lifeless corpses of the orcs to the ground.

Summoning such great power without the aid of a staff or talisman instantly sapped every once of physical strength within her being. With the Dreg 'Atarr dead she fell to a heap of quivering flesh too weak to support her own weight. Now in the absence of the Dreg 'Atarr she remembered the crucified bodies of the council hanging from the rocks standing around her. Desperately she tried to stand to cut them down but her strength failed her. Lying on her back looking up at the cloud choked dawn she felt the first drops of a gentle rain and heard the distant rumble of thunder. Her mind seemed somewhat less clouded now, and as her sanity returned she remembered the resonating " voices " of her people. Suddenly the anguish of her loss fell upon her like a massive stone weight. The deaths of the council, the deaths of her people, the destruction of Aylewood, her cowardice in the face of the doom of her people, and the affinitiy to this wholly savage and feral entity that had so possessed her. But through her greif she felt the resonance to her people once again. Conveyed in the wordless communication of empathic perception their meaning stunned her to her soul, SHE had been chosen, there would be others. She was compelled to seek them out and rally them against Vatar. In the instant before the darkness of unconsciousness overcame her she thought of that kindred resonance she felt to the outlanders. Had her ordeal so corrupted her spirit that now she was as vile as the Dreg 'Atarr, or had the ordeal invoked some primal energies that infuse the savage and feral? Whatever she had become, the Dreg 'Atarr had created her, and they would come to know the fury of their own brutality.

 

[SIGIL]

Thanks for sitting through all of that if you managed it.

 

[SIGIL]

WOW Pendragon.... I REALLY like that mod idea linked in your sig. Need a concept artist / modeller? I am unsure how much time I can devote but I will do what I can.

 

[SIGIL]

Same one.

I do not have any recordings of my music. I play guitar by ear but I have been known to take those melodies and with someone with the right equipment, turn it into orchestrated music. I will see what I can do. A friend of mine has all the stuff I need I just have to get the time and opportunity to use it.

Oh and thanks for the compliment as well.

I forgot to mention that my modelling skill only applies to the use of Wings3D, but Wings3D will export to any format............ I just tried to pull up Wings but it is having a coniption ATM ( MeH b0Xx0Rz tEh HaxX0rRZed!1!! ) I will try top get something up by tommorrow.

 

[CyberSh33p]

well I had a long post written up but I scrapped it for this: its feasible in source quite easily it would seem (combos should work too) and it sound slike a great idea.

 

[SIGIL]

Thanks CYberSh33p. I wonder if perhaps I should work up some concept art based around this idea to start the ball rolling so to speak?

I am browsing the page you linked now Pendragon.

 

[CyberSh33p]

that would be good. tell me, is the mod going to be 3rd person hack'n'slash a la dynasty warriors, prince of persia, or what? anything I could relate this to?

 

[SIGIL]

I am thinking something along the lines of a mix between Rune, Otogi, Enclave, and Prince of Persia, with a multi player deathmatch, CTF type of twist.....

Sound interesting?

 

[SIGIL]

There would be some element of Rpg' ing involved in this idea.

Enclave influences the way I imagine the arenas being set up to threaten the players.

POP influences the way I imagine how the players will be able to interact with the environment and the acrobatic flair of the combat .

Rune influences the way I imagine the brutality of combat and the gritty darkness of the atmosphere.

Otogi influences the way I imagine some the players supernatural abilities ( limited flight and magic use ) and the way their actions will directly effect the enviornments.

and finally ( one I forgot to mention earlier ) The Collective's Buffy the Vampire Slayer captures the essence of how I imagine the intuitively controlled chaos of melee in the game.


The whole focus of the idea is to create a MP / SP combat experience of visceral exhiliration and spectacle, with the core of gameplay revolving around a sand box principle that offers the players myriad of possibilities of play and a myriad of abilities to toy with.

 

[palindrome]

I'd like to see a mod like the game manhunt.