bloodborne is about waking up and going “wots all this then” and getting increasingly horrifying answers

How to make games: RPGs

Hey! You like RPGs, right? If you don't I have to wonder how the hell you found FAN, given our two most-active subboards being vidya and tabletop RPGs, but, whatever! Let's, for the sake of argument, assume you like RPGs. If you don't, fuck off, Greg! ... I don't know anyone named Greg, I just wanted to see if I could screw with people named Greg. Anyways, RPGs, like the houses in Harry Potter, come in four distinct flavors: traditionalist, gonzo/comedy, h-game, and "Inspired by EarthBound/The Mother Trilogy". And much akin to Harry Potter, only two of these houses actually fucking matter and the other two are just hangers-on of different genres and ages. If you're going to waste the player's time by making your H-game an RPG, you are going about it entirely wrong. Please stop dumping this unabashed garbage-fire of a subgenre on Steam, the market is beyond saturation point and requires arm floaties to compensate. And for those of you who played/know of EarthBound and want to make a "spiritual successor"... just stop. Please for the love of God, stop. There never really was a demand for this kind of thing and EarthBound was not a commercial success, so just stop if you have any humanity left in you. I don't think I can stomach anymore fucking quirkiness after the last installment - anymore stuffed down my gullet and I'm gonna shit out a My Hero Academia OC next time my bowels move. So, in truth, you have two flavors of RPG: the traditionalist and the comedian routes and both can be equally terrible. Traditionalist RPGs range from the swords-n-sorcery setting found in Ultima, Dragon Quest, and good Final Fantasy installments to the sci-fi, cyberpunk, steampunk, and emo shit found in bad Final Fantasy installments - it's a wide gauntlet. The only prereq is that you take your own storytelling relatively seriously, with some level of gravity involved in the overall major story beats. Since traditionalist RPGs are made by people with crippling insecurities about change, and the game will largely succeed or fail on the quality of its characters, I'll go ahead and make your cast for you. I'll avoid giving them names so you can customize them: I mean, some people like their fantasy heroes to be named something like "Bulk McUlraeoth Sword Arm of Jupiter" and some people like their fantasy protags to be named "Jim". Who am I to judge your self-insert fanfiction? Sword McHero Man - The guy with short brown or black hair and a generic face done by a B-list manga-ka and, depending on if you want to make him a chillaxed everyman or an edgy edgelord, you can add or subtract belts, zippers, pouches, and black clothing items according to need. He'll almost always use a generic one-handed sword and have fairly short hair. If your game strongly favors an element system, he'll be either fire or light-affinity, but not have any actual strong convictions beyond the fact that he hates 'bad guys' and probably gets his head dunked in toilets by at least 3 NPCs in the starting town. Anything else about him is ultimately superfluous and interchangeable with the next Sword McHero Man over. Childhood McBestfriend - Oftentimes a female foil to the above, but not required by law to be so. Sometimes this doubles as Sword McHero Man's Suave Cool McLancer. They will usually fill a supplementary combat role in the party, either the thief or the healbot as the story requires. If they are the love interest, they are required to be Worst Waifu(TM) by law and be replaced as soon as a competent party member fills out the roster. Typically wind or water elemented in nature, they'll either help calm the hero-man down if he is the hotblooded sort, or cheer him up if he's currently got his head dunked in a toilet. Suave Cool McLancer - Either a rival or thematic foil of the hero and maybe a rival for Childhood McBestfriend's affections, depending on story necessity. He will be a more specialized unit, either the rogue, the heavy-armor knight, or the attack mage. If male, this character will be Best Hasbando and be incredibly pretty or horrifically scarred and/or disfigured with no potential in-betweens. If female, uncommon but not unheard-of, she'll be the team's big sis figure and likely the most powerful, physically speaking. Potential for Best Waifu(TM) is high, but can also potentially double as Back McStabberton. Back McStabberton - The dark, angsty, clearly-untrustworthy one who the player will see their betrayal coming from a mile off, but will completely blindside the naive heroes. Usually they'll have stats inconsistent with the party (being either over or under-powered depending on context) and clash with their bright, anime-esque color scheme by wearing blacks or dark purples. Either a thief or attack mage of some flavor. Almost universally a male or a "devilish handsome rogue" if they get redeemed at some point. If female, they will always be DOUBLE AGENTS acting with the hero's own good in mind and will promptly be forgiven. Usually dies before the game is out. Grandpa McTeacherperson - Some plot-pivotal character who exists to either give the party a special tool, weapon, or ability they wouldn't have gotten otherwise, or elsewise transfer their own talents to the party in some fashion. Virtually irrelevant as characters since these exist exclusively as jaded props to die off to make the villains' actions more personal. Please stop using this archetype or at least TRY to subvert it into something interesting, you talentless lazy fucks. Sexy McFaceTurn - Invariably one of the bad guy's hot ladies will see a boyish charm in the hero, even if the hero is supposed to be projected upon and therefore would actually have the social skills of a duck - or worse, me. What? I did that joke already? Fuck you, this joke's still more inspired than the Tales games RPGs. Anyways, upon getting wet for the hero, she will abandon her post and all its luxuries and join the party, clad in tight, black leather and probably using either knives or whips and will be your prereq dark-affinity character. She will be the sex appeal your game sells on, so be sure to slap her on all your promo materials even though she doesn't join until the mid-late game. Male versions of this idea die. I can't explain it - it's some straight-up Mr. Poofers dark magic, they just die. Annoying McMascot - Your game needs something bizarre to round the party out with. A talking dog is common. A fantasy creature with bright neon colors is also acceptable. Just make sure that players hate it with every fiber of their being. If the design alone isn't enough, give it an annoying speech habit - like a verbal tic or a lisp - and have it talk a lot and repeat the obvious a lot. It is by law that this must be implemented. However, unlike any of the above, this, coupled with the hero, cannot be killed off. And that should more or less do ya, unless you're the type who wanted to pour dozens upon dozens of dudes into your game. In which case, congrats, you understand that doing the absolute base minimum to be called a "game" isn't the bar you should be shooting for and therefore are already on your way to being better than Squeenix. Next, you need to get to codin'! So go on Steam and buy the latest RPG Maker software when it goes on sale. You won't need to wait long, between the Summer and Winter sales. Once you have that, you already have built-in art, music, and character makers. Fuck it - creativity is hard, so let the software tend to that itself. Make some characters and name some locations, jot up a map with some landmarks and treasure, then make a bad guy. Bad guy making is easy, they all wear black or dark reds and purples and tend to always call themselves "The [Whatever] Empire". You don't even need to be arsed to make a motivation for their evil schemes. Have you seen how much Fire Emblem Fates raked in just on the goodwill left over from Awakening? I'm surprised JRPGs aren't made by fucking algorithm these days! Anyways, that just about does it for the traditional RPG. Comedy RPGs aren't quite as bound to the above and are, in fact, encouraged to break the mold. If you need some ideas to get the creative juices flowin', there's a game you can try out, you might have heard about it since I haven't stopped fellating the damn thing since I did the LP back in 2013: Hourai High. Your plot doesn't need to make sense and is better off if any causality is merely coincidental. Your characters shouldn't really be trying to 'save the world', per se, but should do so by side-effect of their selfishness and/or incompetence. Your team should have robots, aliens, fucking CheetahMen, I don't fucking know, but take everything I said above this paragraph and throw it into a shredder, make it confetti, and wail on established convention! Sweet fucking mother - BE CREATIVE. I'm gonna temporarily break facade here for just a second and say this: you know how you bitched about Final Fantasy 15? How it's a fucking boyband music video with a fucking car commercial crammed in it?! How you hated the hallway simulator of FF13? How no one bought Bravely Second? How Dragon Quest keeps getting away with remaking the same fucking game?! Here's your chance. Flaunt on the establishment. Fuck what is "popular". Make something new. Don't try to be Shigesato Itoi. Do your own thing. Break the conditioning. Get out there and make a fucking game. Make it so when people say "RPG Maker Title" on Steam, they aren't saying it like it's a four-letter word. Put some God-damn soul into it, people! And now, off the soap box. Bonus points if you add a dating sim. Just saying. Rune Factory 5 just got announced. Now, get to work. Congrats. You now know how to be the most fucking boring milquetoast thing on the planet and how to avoid that ass-cancer and do something that actually expresses your individuality and possible talent. This is the one time I'm allowing these rants to be somewhat uplifting. You're welcome.

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 29 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical threat and violence; unpopular characterisation of an NPC Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

For Which A Title Did Not Present Itself

"I actually have no idea if the compound will be stable in storage - the mixture could become highly volatile if left too long."

Rory nodded as Minaeve spoke. "So this is something we should be making fresh each time it needs to be applied?" she queried curiously.

"It's not ideal, I know," the elven researcher told her. "But the consensus among the Tranquil is that this may be the only way to neutralize the toxin that the greater shades secrete."

"Well, it's infinitely better than watching someone die in horrific pain," Rory mused, blotting her notes to roll them up. She enjoyed her regular meetings with Minaeve; the novice mage might be caustic, but she definitely knew her stuff. "Did the witherstalk ointment help with the chemical burns?"

"Oh, it did," Minaeve agreed, with the merest suggestion of a satisfied smile. "We added a drop of ram's blood, and that accelerated the pain-relieving aspect. Strange, but effective."

"I never would have thought to add blood," Rory admitted, fascinated by this previously unknown combination. "Another odd ingredient to keep in stock."

"Don't buy it from Seggrit," the researched warned suspiciously. "Half of what he supplied at the beginning was useless."

"No fear of that." Rory laughed. "He won't even acknowledge my presence since I slapped him."

Minaeve's lips pulled taut in a rare smile. "I'm still sorry I missed that. Was there anything else you needed?"

Rory shook her head with a smile of her own. "No, I'll let you get back to work. Thank you."

"It's what I'm here for, healer."

Tucking the scroll up her sleeve for now, Rory nodded to Josephine as she left the room, stepping into the nave of the Chantry to find Chancellor Roderick in full oration. The subject wasn't immediately clear, but the man seemed to have gathered specific people to hear him speak this time. Cullen was there, as was Leliana, both looking as though they would dearly like to shut the chancellor's mouth in a less than polite manner; Mother Giselle was also present, together with Sisters Teres and Minah. No doubt Vivienne was lurking in her alcove, listening with interest.

"I find it fascinating, chancellor," Leliana was saying, "that you chose to bring this up when both Cassandra and the Herald are away from Haven."

"I cannot predict when the evidence will be brought to me," Roderick replied in his officious way. "Nor can I stand by and do nothing when such evidence is presented."

"The Chantry does not have authority over the Inquisition," Cullen reminded him yet again. "You have no power here to accuse one of our own."

"With respect, commander, yours is not an impartial voice in this debate," Mother Giselle interjected mildly.

"Perhaps we should worry less about partiality, and instead invite the one whom you have accused to speak for herself," Leliana suggested, her pale eyes rising from the little gathering. "Healer Rory ... join us, please."

Alarm flared in Rory's mind as she automatically moved to obey the Left Hand of the Divine. Accused? What have I been accused of? She could think of any number of things that had rubbed people up the wrong way, but she was pretty sure she hadn't done anything major enough to warrant officially sanctioned Chantry hostility. Unless all of it put together somehow made her a threat.

"Chancellor Roderick, everyone should have the right to defend themselves," Leliana went on. "This is your opportunity to see if your evidence holds water."

Scowling, Roderick turned his stern gaze onto Rory. "You stand accused in the Maker's eyes of heresy, healer," he said with a flourish. "Were this a court of law, how would you plead?"

Rory stared at him, her mouth open. That certainly hadn't been on her list of things to worry about. Heresy? Seriously? That was surely scraping the bottom of the barrel. Her mouth shut with a snap. "Not applicable," she told him firmly. "Who accused me?"

"There is no need for you to know such a thing," the chancellor informed her, but Leliana ignored him.

"Mother Giselle and her lay sisters here have laid the charge against you," the spymaster said calmly.

"Did they really." Rory's unfriendly gaze turned to take in the three robed women. "So I've been accused of heresy by a revered mother who objects to my refusal to bow to her every whim; a sister who makes a habit of trying to steal confidential notes from my clinic; and another sister who almost killed someone three days ago because she decided she knew better than me how much medicine to give someone. Three people, in fact, who don't like me. And their word is considered evidence against me?"

"The word of any member of the Chantry is ..." Roderick trailed off as his brain caught up with his ears, aghast eyes snapping toward the lay sisters. "Almost killed someone?"

Giselle, too, had twisted to look at Sister Minah. "I was not aware of this."

"No one was," Rory said, her voice cold with anger. "Because we were able to correct the mistake, and the sister seemed willing to absorb the lesson it taught her. Evidently my trust was poorly placed."

"Is this true, Minah?" Giselle asked of her inferior coolly.

Sister Minah fidgeted awkwardly. "I ... made a mistake," she admitted finally. "But my report was accurate, mother!"

"Yet by omitting important detail, you render your evidence untrustworthy," Roderick glowered in annoyance. "Even I know that certain violence is required to purge a stomach. Your tale, sister, is inadmissible."

"As to the words of Sister Teres, I can confirm the healer's suspicion," Leliana added with cool confidence. "The sister has been seen several times attempting to break into the chest where the healer keeps her confidential notes on us all."

Roderick didn't need to let that sink in - he'd been treated not too long ago for a somewhat embarrassing complaint of his own. He knew Rory had notes on him in that chest. "This is your evidence, mother Giselle?" he asked sternly. "The word of a thief and a would-be killer?"

"I stand by my own testimony, chancellor," Giselle stated, her lined face set in what might almost have been anger at the way her seemingly solid accusation had crumbled around her. All credit to her, though, she kept on her course. "This woman is a heretic. She does not sing the Chant, nor does she attend services. She does not pray, even if her patients would benefit from it. She does not show deference to the Chantry, or to Andraste's holy representatives."

"The Chantry has done nothing to earn my deference," Rory heard herself snarl, flaming anger rising to replace the cold at this self-serving accusation.

"You accuse her of being a heretic, yet nothing you say points toward heresy," Cullen pointed out, his expression grim. "All I hear is the false accusation of a woman who believes herself superior."

"Your opinion of this woman cannot be trusted." Giselle frowned at the commander. "Your attachment to her could implicate you in her wrongdoing."

"And your attack is nothing but the spiteful vengeance of a woman who isn't used to not getting her own way," Cullen countered smartly.

"Enough!" Roderick glared at them both until they backed down. His frowning gaze found Rory. "Healer, we can settle this with one question ... do you believe in the Maker?"

She met his gaze in silent fury at the way ego had been allowed to put her in this situation. Her religious belief, or lack of it, was no one's business but her own. "No, chancellor, I don't," she told him fiercely. "I don't believe in the Maker, the elvhen gods, the Stone, or even Koslun."

"Then you are no heretic. There cannot be heresy without belief." He sighed, shaking his head. "There is no point in pursuing this."

"And you would trust such a person with the well-being of the people?" Giselle demanded incredulously, clearly not prepared to just let it go. "A person with no spiritual element to their being is unfit to be a healer."

"Better an atheist who knows what she's doing than a fanatic who doses weak men with four mouthfuls of undiluted poppy juice!" Rory shot back at her, unwilling to let that insult pass.

"I demand to know why you have no belief in the most Holy of Holies," Giselle persisted, looming over the healer as she took a step closer. "Why you think yourself above such a fundamental truth as the Maker's love for Andraste and us all."

Cornered and angry, something in Rory cracked. "Because unreasoning belief in a higher power killed my little brother!" she snapped in response. "He was ten years old - a cut on his leg got infected, and prayer, the only thing my parents would give him, didn't save his life. Why should I believe in a being who keeps his followers ignorant and condemns a child to a needless, painful death?"

Giselle stared at her, all her high dudgeon fled in the face of the answer she had sought. She had clearly been expecting some other reply - an evasion, perhaps, or even a selfish declaration that gods weren't real. But no ... Rory had good reason not to believe. She glared at the Revered Mother, furious with herself for the tears in her eyes, her heart rubbed raw by the memory she'd been forced to share. How dare they assume her reasons were selfish ones, just because they had a faith she lacked?

She turned to Cullen and Leliana, both of whom seemed shocked by what she'd been badgered into sharing.

"I want the Chantry out of my clinic," she told them harshly. "They can't be trusted."

"You are not in a position to make such demands," Roderick blustered, but abruptly stilled when Cullen rounded on him.

"You have abused your position, chancellor, by allowing this farce to go on for so long," the commander growled. "This has been nothing less than a sustained personal attack. I will be placing a guard on the clinic. No member of the Chantry will be allowed entry without invitation by the healers themselves. This has gone on long enough."

"Indeed," Leliana agreed coldly. "We are done here. Mother Giselle; Sisters Teres, Minah ... a word."

Steaming with unexpressed anger she had been holding onto for more than a decade, Rory turned on her heel, storming toward the doors that lead out into the village. They opened before her - thank you, Vivienne - and she continued out into Haven, her fists clenched and her expression black.

How dare they? How dare they think they were better than her, just because they believed? Her parents had believed, too - believed so much that they had watched their son die for lack of medical care and called it divine will. Her refusal to accept that had turned them against her; it was the reason, in fact, that she'd run away at fourteen. And she'd slowly come to terms with the understanding that faith was a comfort to many people, learning not to judge them badly for it. Yet these so-called priests, so certain in their faith ... She didn't even have words for them. They truly thought themselves her betters, when most of them wouldn't even raise a hand to help if someone collapsed in front of them. It was infuriating. How could they possibly put themselves on a par with Sister Carys in Frosthelm, or Mother Lisl, or Divine Justinia - all truer representatives of Andraste the Maker than those power-hungry wolves.

Evy took one look at her expression when she entered the clinic, and wisely decided not to ask what was wrong. Anger like that was not to be prodded, certainly not in front of patient. She simply kept her head down and applied herself to her duties, not even speaking up when Rory shut the door on Cullen's attempt to cajole her out of her black mood. Suffice it to say, it was not a comfortable afternoon for either healer. Yet dinnertime brought a surprise.

Rory had sent Evy to dinner, still too worked up herself to eat. Alone in the clinic with two sleeping patients, she was startled when the door opened to admit Cullen, Fabian, and four others she didn't know.

"What's going on?" she demanded, her voice hushed to avoid disturbing her patients.

"You're taking the night off, I'm training some nurses for you," Fabian told her promptly. "This is Netta, Luis, Andra, and Melcor, and by morning, you'll have a rota in place that keeps you and Evy from falling off your feet."

"Now wait just a min- "

"You missed dinner, again," Cullen told her sternly. "I will not allow that to become a habit. Now, are you walking, or am I carrying you?"

Rory frowned at him, not appreciating the way she was being steamrollered. "I'm not leaving the clinic, I have too much to -"

"Carrying it is." In one smooth motion, Cullen bent and hoisted her over his shoulder, turning to make his way out of the clinic even as she flailed.

"Put me down," Rory demanded, her banked anger flaring as they passed the tavern and she caught sight of Varric's grin. "I mean it, Cullen, put me down!"

"No." That was it, just no. No explanation of why, or even where he was taking her, though that much was easily discernible when he turned right out of Haven and joined the path into the woods.

"This is humiliating," she informed him tartly, her breathing a little constricted by the press of his shoulder into her diaphragm.

"You're not fighting to get down," he pointed out with annoying confidence.

"What's the point?" she countered, her own tone resigned. "It's a long way to fall from up here, and knowing my luck, I'd break something important. Like your neck."

"Your concern is overwhelming."

Ducking to get into the cabin, he locked the door before bending to set her on her feet, looking long into her eyes with a serious gaze. Whatever he saw there seemed to satisfy him, because he turned her about, giving her a push toward a table in front of the fire laid with a plated meal.

"Sit. Eat."

In sullen acquiescence, she did as she was told, eating the plate of roasted meat and vegetables in silence. All the while, he watched her, not saying a word himself. Part of her resented the heavy-handed coddling; part of her appreciated that he seemed to know her so well. She was quite capable of skipping several meals when her mood was this low, and it was strangely reassuring to know that Cullen clearly wasn't going to let that happen. He made sure her cup stayed full, only moving to sit beside her when she had finished every morsel and sat in steaming silence in the firelight.

"Now," he said quietly, in a tone that brooked no argument. "Talk to me."