Never Again (fictional story)

[Dragoon]

I had the sudden urge to write this little story, that follows below, when I played around with my characters abilities and killed one of horses in the encamped. As result I was suddenly attacked by Calisca and soon the rest of the caravan.
Now with my curiosity triggered, I wondered how far Obsidian went with this RPG. If they had anticipated this totally anti social scenario.
They did, and I am paying tribute to Obsidian by giving this little killing spree, right at the start of the game, some context. Instead just doing usually, evil guy murders everyone senselessly just because he can idiocy.
Fair a warning. English is not my native tongue and I like to place my commas with a shotgun. Could be painful to read, also it turned out to be quite sick.


NEVER AGAIN!

Never again will I allow anyone to have a hold over me. All these years serving on this godforsaken ship as a slave have burned my soul. The cheerful and trustfull person I once was is gone. People are just evil. I have been been abused, humiliated, spit on, as if I were not a human being, but a thing that can be used and thrown away as it one pleases. NEVER AGAIN!

But I played along. Look at the ground. Didn't resist. Followed willingly orders. Surrendered myself. NEVER AGAIN!
Then I knew, the day would come, where they would drop their guard, and turn their backs on me. And it came! The first one was mess. I was so scared, shaking and sweating. His teeth sank deeply into my hand, that I shoved in my panic into his mouth to stop him from screaming. I had to apply my knife 3 times to his through before I finally cut through his windpipe and artery.

Quickly I freed the other slaves and then we proceed to cut the rest of the crew. Everyone of them, and as they scream and begged our rage grew. Because they had no right to scream, to beg for mercy, as they never listen to our cries.

NEVER AGAIN.

We set the ship ashore. Everyone is trying to get home, but where should I go? I have no place, no home, nowhere to go. Everyone who I loved died when they took me. Maybe the old colonies? The Free Palatinate of Dyrwood. Free, that is what I want to be.


I'm now traveling with a caravan through Drywood towards the village of Gilded Vale. As much I hate to depend on others, as people are utterly evil, I had no choice if I want make it through these woods, but I will not drop my guard.

I'm feeling suddenly sick. I can hear the others whispering, staring at me when I'm not looking. Did they poison me? Am I betrayed? This can not be a coincidence. The road blocked by a tree, my sudden sickness. Now the caravan master Odema tells me to go into the woods, to pick berries? This is a setup. They are going to take me. NEVER AGAIN.

Odema sent one of his henchmen ahead to "fetch" water, and now he assigned me an other of his goons to "protect" me picking springberries. Who ever needed protection while picking berries?
I seeing right through him. I will not be fooled. I will pretend to be weaker than I really am. As we walked away from the camp into the woods I see Sparfel standing next to a tree. He is not at the river collecting water as he has been told to do so. This is the final confirmation. It's an ambush! They are going to kill me right now, right here.

I told Calisca I need to relive myself and take a few steeps behind the ruined wall nearby. She seems not to suspect that I figured it all out, as my ruse worked. She must have really thought I was severely weakened, as she turned her back to make me believe she is standing guard. Not going to let this opportunity pass I pushed my rapier from behind right through her. She died with her eyes wide open.
I can tell Sparfel didn't notice a thing. The surprised look in his face when I struck him down, priceless. Who thought foiling an ambush could be so exciting. Now the rest of them.

The caravaneers didn't put up much of a fight, but they would not have gave me mercy. Why should I? Only Odema and his last two henchmen are between me and my freedom. I will make my last stand at the bridge. Forcing them to fight me one by one.

They are all dead. Everyone one of them and this eerie silence suddenly when they spent their last breath. They tried to murder me and they paid the price, but so did I. I'm badly hurt and now there is this sudden wind coming from below, trying to drag me down. Is that one of those Biawacs Odema has talked about? I must find shelter in those ruins...

 

[Jaesun]

 

[Raggg]

 

[Zorba the Hutt]

Welcome, the codex always needs more entrants in its short story competitions. Do you think you'd be good at writing about Cleve Blakemore, Josh Sawyer, MCA and/or Crispy?

 

[Lord Carlos Wafflebum]

Crispy doesn't deserve to be written about.

 

[Zed]

that's a pretty brutal story. like everybody dies. including plot-critical NPCs

 

[Dragoon]

that's a pretty brutal story. like everybody dies. including plot-critical NPCs

That what amazed me so much. The game didn't fall apart, but the devs allowed this to happen, and the story to carry on. This actually caused me to continue to play this character instead to reload, though the premise is different. The writing rather suggest someone that dispatch people when they outlived their usefulness.
Since I had by chance chosen as cultural background slave, I rather chose to play someone that has been a victim violence and abuse in the past. In result lost faith in goodness of people and is paranoid that past events repeat themselves. She expect constant conspiracy against her, and seem miraculously always to find it. Her mind makes the evidence it her believes. The brutality is a defense mechanism. Hurting "them" before they have a chance to hurt you.
The cliche of the victem becoming the perpetrator, and nefarious persons never thinks of themselves as nefarious.

 

[Night Goat]

I had the sudden urge to write this little story, that follows below, when I played around with my characters abilities and killed one of horses in the encamped. As result I was suddenly attacked by Calisca and soon the rest of the caravan.
Now with my curiosity triggered, I wondered how far Obsidian went with this RPG. If they had anticipated this totally anti social scenario.
They did, and I am paying tribute to Obsidian by giving this little killing spree, right at the start of the game, some context. Instead just doing usually, evil guy murders everyone senselessly just because he can idiocy.
Fair a warning. English is not my native tongue and I like to place my commas with a shotgun. Could be painful to read, also it turned out to be quite sick.


NEVER AGAIN!

Never again will I allow anyone to have a hold over me. All these years serving on this godforsaken ship as a slave have burned my soul. The cheerful and trustfull person I once was is gone. People are just evil. I have been been abused, humiliated, spit on, as if I were not a human being, but a thing that can be used and thrown away as it one pleases. NEVER AGAIN!

But I played along. Look at the ground. Didn't resist. Followed willingly orders. Surrendered myself. NEVER AGAIN!
Then I knew, the day would come, where they would drop their guard, and turn their backs on me. And it came! The first one was mess. I was so scared, shaking and sweating. His teeth sank deeply into my hand, that I shoved in my panic into his mouth to stop him from screaming. I had to apply my knife 3 times to his through before I finally cut through his windpipe and artery.

Quickly I freed the other slaves and then we proceed to cut the rest of the crew. Everyone of them, and as they scream and begged our rage grew. Because they had no right to scream, to beg for mercy, as they never listen to our cries.

NEVER AGAIN.

We set the ship ashore. Everyone is trying to get home, but where should I go? I have no place, no home, nowhere to go. Everyone who I loved died when they took me. Maybe the old colonies? The Free Palatinate of Dyrwood. Free, that is what I want to be.


I'm now traveling with a caravan through Drywood towards the village of Gilded Vale. As much I hate to depend on others, as people are utterly evil, I had no choice if I want make it through these woods, but I will not drop my guard.

I'm feeling suddenly sick. I can hear the others whispering, staring at me when I'm not looking. Did they poison me? Am I betrayed? This can not be a coincidence. The road blocked by a tree, my sudden sickness. Now the caravan master Odema tells me to go into the woods, to pick berries? This is a setup. They are going to take me. NEVER AGAIN.

Odema sent one of his henchmen ahead to "fetch" water, and now he assigned me an other of his goons to "protect" me picking springberries. Who ever needed protection while picking berries?
I seeing right through him. I will not be fooled. I will pretend to be weaker than I really am. As we walked away from the camp into the woods I see Sparfel standing next to a tree. He is not at the river collecting water as he has been told to do so. This is the final confirmation. It's an ambush! They are going to kill me right now, right here.

I told Calisca I need to relive myself and take a few steeps behind the ruined wall nearby. She seems not to suspect that I figured it all out, as my ruse worked. She must have really thought I was severely weakened, as she turned her back to make me believe she is standing guard. Not going to let this opportunity pass I pushed my rapier from behind right through her. She died with her eyes wide open.
I can tell Sparfel didn't notice a thing. The surprised look in his face when I struck him down, priceless. Who thought foiling an ambush could be so exciting. Now the rest of them.

The caravaneers didn't put up much of a fight, but they would not have gave me mercy. Why should I? Only Odema and his last two henchmen are between me and my freedom. I will make my last stand at the bridge. Forcing them to fight me one by one.

They are all dead. Everyone one of them and this eerie silence suddenly when they spent their last breath. They tried to murder me and they paid the price, but so did I. I'm badly hurt and now there is this sudden wind coming from below, trying to drag me down. Is that one of those Biawacs Odema has talked about? I must find shelter in those ruins...

 

[Jools]

Now with my curiosity triggered

Ohhhhh, you've come to the right place, my friend. Have you come seeking the light?

 

[Jackalope]

I had the sudden urge to write this little story, that follows below, when I played around with my characters abilities and killed one of horses in the encamped. As result I was suddenly attacked by Calisca and soon the rest of the caravan.

 

[Angthoron]

You should continue the story as you murder your way through the rest of the game.

"I came upon the small town of Goldwhale, its kitschy pastoral views spruced up nicely by a giant gallows tree. A disgusting man reeking of urine and garlic stopped me and gave me a speech about his lord. His lord seems a fine man of decent tastes, judging by the tree, at least, I ought to meet him. A shame his child won't be able to continue his line though, it seems it was born hollow. I've never seen a hollow child before. Does this mean it has no organs? Sounds swell - mayhap we can cook it with him, easier to stuff it with carrot and cheese. I set out to find said goods.

The filthy peasants! Three of them got in my way as I walked to the inn. Never again, I thought as I gutted all three of them. Never again will dirty peasants block my path. If the lord of these lands has shown me the example of dealing with this filth, so can I show him my handiwork! An elf the trio accosted tried to speak to me, and as he extended his hand, I lept forward and sunk my teeth into his pallid face, just as my dagger sank into his abdomen with a satisfying squelch. The next few hours were pure bliss. Never again will these accursed villagers mar the world with their breath. I've done this lord's work for him! What a glorious sight."

Etc, etc.

 

[Morkar Left]

You should do an LP with this character!

 

[Angthoron]

More adventures of the Deranged Serial Emo Song Killer Watcher.

"Oh, what I've done? What I've done?! I invited myself to Lord Raedric's court, a delapidated yet cozy little keep on the hills. A pair of guards met me, and meekly I ambled towards them, intent on causing no trouble on my way to their employers. What have I done? As they approached, the tantalizing flesh, the succulent glint of their still-living eyes, the crooked teeth, and a hushed gasp at the sight of the viscera-covered me grew unbearable. I lunged forth as my world turned into fifty shades of red... Oh, what I've done.

Three hours later, I was done. Priests, guards and even an animancer, their crumpled lifeless bodies remained behind my back as I closed in on the throne room, a curious, half-rotten feline close at my heels. I found it a useful creature - cat's instincts paired with dysfunctional digestive tract mant I'd not go hungry on long trails; I could liberate woodland creatures from the cat's insides and consume them as necessary, yet my little hunter would remain hale... in its own way.

The lord of the keep, it seems, was an artist similar to myself - as I explored his home, trying to learn more of the man I tried to adore. But what have I done? As I approached his throne, the man's armor's shine reflecting a surreal image of me, he rose, intended to greet me and welcome me, as I hoped, but instead - instead he spoke of a god. A god! When I was there to show a man's work! How could I think that this man could be my friend? My brother? I reached for my blade.

Oh, whaaaat I've doooone."

 

[Dragoon]

You should continue the story as you murder your way through the rest of the game.

"I came upon the small town of Goldwhale, its kitschy pastoral views spruced up nicely by a giant gallows tree. A disgusting man reeking of urine and garlic stopped me and gave me a speech about his lord. His lord seems a fine man of decent tastes, judging by the tree, at least, I ought to meet him. A shame his child won't be able to continue his line though, it seems it was born hollow. I've never seen a hollow child before. Does this mean it has no organs? Sounds swell - mayhap we can cook it with him, easier to stuff it with carrot and cheese. I set out to find said goods.

The filthy peasants! Three of them got in my way as I walked to the inn. Never again, I thought as I gutted all three of them. Never again will dirty peasants block my path. If the lord of these lands has shown me the example of dealing with this filth, so can I show him my handiwork! An elf the trio accosted tried to speak to me, and as he extended his hand, I lept forward and sunk my teeth into his pallid face, just as my dagger sank into his abdomen with a satisfying squelch. The next few hours were pure bliss. Never again will these accursed villagers mar the world with their breath. I've done this lord's work for him! What a glorious sight."

Etc, etc.

Ah pricesless. Loved the detail and the language. I wish I had your vocabulary at my disposal. You should continue yours.

However it doesn't fit my character so much as she doesn't kill for joy or feelings of inferiority. It's more that the torture and experiences during the enslavement broke her mind, and there was no one to put her back together. She is clearly a sociopath but not a psychopath. Her action are nothing less than the result of pure fear out of control. Like a rat trapped in a corner.
Harmless events are interpreted as hostile actions aim towards. When she cuts someone throat then doing so in the utter believe it's self defense.

But I love Pillars of Eternity for freedom it allows you. I slaughter the caravan and the game didn't end. It so much more fun that when things go wrong and you don't have to reload, but instead can let things play out. See where it leads you. The writers didn't suffer from tunnel vision, but think more like a PnP DM. Remembers me of NWN2 where something really bad happened. I was about to reload, but I sucked it up and later something really good happened to me. Better than had I reloaded and not faced the consequences of my actions.

(Spoiler alert Wasteland 2) Or Wasteland 2. All these power gamers complaining about not being able to save both locations, High Pool and Agricultural Center. But you can have a unique and fun experience if you fail to save either locations. How many people actually read the hilarious lines from your fellow rangers citing your actions? This didn't broke the game either. Even it seemed first the main quest failed a new third options became available to continue.

 

[Crooked Bee]

Great thread, would read again.

 

[Jools]

A handful of days later, in the sun-blessed hamlet of Dyrford...

The mother was an easy one. She was turned around when I first saw her, a few paces away, hunching over whatever action her deranged mind was compelling her to do over and over again, her hands soiled with dirt, those shrill chimes jingling at her every movement. It's funny how, with her, I swear I literally felt the scale of my mind tip over into insanity. I realized with mind-blowing clarity the very instant during which something shattered inside me, and my arm reach for the iron-headed mace dangling from my belt. Those chimes did it. Their sound would pierce through any wall, reach any ear within range, and drill right into the back of your brain. Luckily, no more. Even if her hadn't been far away, she wouldn't have felt a thing: I swung my mace from behind my head, a long, horizontal swing which sent the head of the mace right through her ear and buried it right into the side of her skull. I had to yank it out by kicking the head off the mace repeatedly. After, came the jingles. Oh, I silenced those little copper banshees, I silenced them so good that when I was done with them, all was left of the mother's wrists was no more than a thick puddle of blood and pulp, so thick that even the dull soil underneath wouldn't absorb it. I could see little lumps break its otherwise smooth and shiny surface. Never again I'd hear that mind-needling sound. Never again.

Lord Harond wasn't nearly as much soothing an experience. The greasy sod begged and grovelled, which put me in a foul mood: not because I was afraid of feeling those pesky pangs nagging at my insides, which I used to call remorse, but because I always hope people would have the decency to die with some dignity. Maybe I shouldn't have told him how his niece died, not to mention the unborn child she was bearing. In fact the latter is likely to have died first, my blade ripping through flesh and bone-to-be without much effort. Obviously, the mother was still alive, I was staring right into her eyes as I slid my sword through her swollen belly. It's always an empowering feeling, to look into someone eyes as you're taking a life. And hers had been a powerful sight, and the more so because the life I was taking wasn't hers: well, maybe it was hers, but not her own. Her turn, as a matter of fact, came shortly after: it was clear she relished her own demise, at that point. Her uncle, father, whatever -he blathered about the baby, his daughter being actually his niece, I'm not sure whether to convince me to spare him, or the opposite, and I didn't really listen anyway-, didn't relish it at all. He pleaded for his life till the very last moment, and I did not enjoy killing him either. In fact, I felt disgusted. Not because of the act itself, but because of his lack of dignity. To me, he wasn't even worth killing, and yet I had to do it. I grabbed his head by his hair, and slammed his head against the stone mantelpiece. Twice was enough. Never again he'd foul the same air as I breathe with his lies, with his base desires, with his deception and scheming. Never again.

I left town the day after, an eerie silence behind me. Never again I's set foot in this cesspool of a town. Nor would any of its citizens, if I have my way about it. Far on the horizon, I could see the dim glow of Defiance Bay, and that's where I was headed. There was work to be done.

 

[Dragoon]

This was heavy, and oh the glory gory details. That can make you shiver. I like how the story is well embedded into the events of the game. I would brofist if I could.
Although I don't really know what that means, and I don't want you get the wrong picture. . I mean I just joined the forums, but I have been stalking the site for a long while. Thanks to the quirky reviews.

But please Angethoron and Jools stop posting stories. I'm starting to spend more time in this thread than playing the actual game. Just kidding, keep it going.

 

[Jools]

This was heavy, and oh the glory gory details. That can make you shiver. I like how the story is well embedded into the events of the game. I would brofist if I could.
Although I don't really know what that means, and I don't want you get the wrong picture. . I mean I just joined the forums, but I have been stalking the site for a long while. Thanks to the quirky reviews.

But please Angethoron and Jools stop posting stories. I'm starting to spend more time in this thread than playing the actual game. Just kidding, keep it going.

I think you got balls of steel for knowing the Codex (you said you've lurked for a while) and still posting that short story as one of your first posts.

BTW, Brofisting is the Codexers' way agenda to express nohomo appreciation for one another's line of thought agendas.

And fuck no, never again I will let you play that averagely-written game. This thread, much more entertainment will provide you.

 

[Angthoron]

From the life and times of Deranged Emo Song Killer (DESKter).

"I heard first rumors of a copycat as I wandered through the city. Gruesome details passed from vessel to vessel. Mild terror in their eyes. It made me curious. What kind of a man could do such a thing? A man without fear of neither man nor god, or one so fearful that he had to kill to save himself from the judging stares and unknown fates? I lost control of my thoughts and marveled at the possibilities for the longest time, people casting wary sideway glances at my stained clothes and my rotting cat. For a moment, I felt a part of the world, immersed in its grime and its toil, but who would it be to break my reverie but a filthy, filthy, politicking attention-beggar and hate-mongerer?

'Hoi', he said, 'Did you hear about true evil, my friend?'. I shook my head, still dazed with my own thoughts, and the vessel took it upon himself to educate me of the vile animancers and their perverse ways. It was them that had brought about the Hollow Children and a myriad other terror. They had to be stopped, he yelled, they had to be destroyed. And as I looked at him, I realized I needed a new cloak. He looked like a snug, snug cloak that could keep me warm on the rainy nights. Or he wore a cloak. I am not sure. I admit I lost control. His shouts, his passion, the mention of unstuffed children, the gathering crowd and the strange gazes, all I felt now was a twofold rush, a rush of excitement, and feeling in a rush to complete another landscaping masterpiece. 'The animancers', a thought flashed in my mind as the gathered crowd suddenly recoiled in horror, crimson stains covering their twisting faces and faded clothes, 'I will help this town understand their ways; I will learn their ways and walk with them'.

And then, I admit, I lost control."

 

[ghostdog]

NEVER AGAIN

you should write fan fiction.


- the end

 

[Dragoon]

NEVER AGAIN

you should write fan fiction.


- the end

Finally someone who tells me to fuck off. I almost thought I fell victim to a typosquatter website.

 

[Angthoron]

Nah, everyone has to start somewhere. I imagine a 14-year-old MCA writing Nietzsche/Plato slashfics, for example.

Also, what's a typosquatter?

 

[Dragoon]

Nah, everyone has to start somewhere. I imagine a 14-year-old MCA writing Nietzsche/Plato slashfics, for example.

Also, what's a typosquatter?

People that prey on common misspellings errors and or different top-level domain. Like yuube.com (spam) instead of youtube.com, or Whitehouse.com (former adult site) instead of Whitehouse.gov

 

[Jools]

Nah, everyone has to start somewhere. I imagine a 14-year-old MCA writing Nietzsche/Plato slashfics, for example.

Also, what's a typosquatter?

People that prey on common misspellings errors and or different top-level domain. Like yuube.com (spam) instead of youtube.com, or Whitehouse.com (former adult site) instead of Whitehouse.gov

Indeed, you learn something new every day.

Well, not those creepy, robed, quill-pushing fanatics holed up in the Hall of Revealed Mysteries. No more learning, for them. Indeed I helped them have the intricate mystery that is life resolved. They didn't even try putting up much of a fight. One tossed some dusty tome at me, its covers spreading out mid-flight, pages flapping like a crazed bird. To his credit, he hit me straight on my brow: not that I flinched, in fact feeling the hit and the timid warmth of drawn blood made me feel more alive, if only for the slightest fraction of a second. I stabbed him in the neck as he was hurling himself at me, full body. He had enough momentum to impact against my thigh with his head, my hunting knife still jabbed in his neck, blood gushing out and down his neck. Collapsing against me, he left a broad, warm, red streak on my legs.

On I went, calmly. My mind felt like a crystal-clear mountain lake. My breathing, controlled. My movements, measured. Before the first scream, most of those freaks didn't even see me coming, busy as they were, bent over their prized leather-bound manuscripts, trying to unravel their mysteries. Even when the fuss started, most of them just ran away to some corner, or invoked their god, Wael, I think: I can't really listen, when my dark passenger (cit.) takes control, it's like watching myself from a distance, and even the sounds come as if heard through a wall.

The last four or five were huddled together in the farmost corner of their study room, trembling and cowering in sheer terror. I hacked and slashed at them blindly, until nothing was moving anymore in that fleshy mound, out of which it was nigh impossible to tell which limbs were whose. From underneath, a puddle of blood slowly started spreading towards me: I didn't move, and let it reach my feet, and soon it had encicled them entirely. I stood there for a few minutes, in some sort of life-death communion, my eyes gazing well past the blood-spattered wall that was a few feet away, into nothingness: it seemed the right thing to do.

On my way out, a kitten was rummaging through some garbage. I stopped a few paces away, to stare at it. It noticed me, and was cheeky enough to come near. Maybe the smell of blood that wafted in my wake drew his attention, or maybe it was a lonely creature, hungry for food and for some affection, for a cuddle, for the warmth of another being. He timidly approached me, and even started licking up the blood that was caked on my boots. Such an innocent act, I thought, and so horrible if you ask those people out there, I added to myself, looking up at the city roofs in the distance. I picked the kitten up, held him in my arms like a mother would a baby, stroke the fur on his back, his head, behind his ears. He squeezed his eyes, relishing such pleasures, and purred.

This time, I actually spoke out loud: "Not this time, my little friend. I walk this road alone. Never again will I let my own attachment to someone, or something, weight me down and hinder my steps". Crushing his small head in my hand was a matter of an instant, his bones still soft. I tossed the lifeless furball in a nearby brazier -there were plenty leading up to the Halls-, and strode on, without looking back, the stars the only spectators to my actions. There was a breeze on during this warm summer night, and it carried a distinct smell of yew.

 

[Crooked Bee]

No! Not the kitten!