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About buhbuhcuh

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    Computer Games, Gardening and Etymology
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  1. Crown as offhand weapon. And I really want to get in an alpha test but don't have $500.
  2. The last flames on the hearth flicker as the door slams open. The Innkeep limps in, blood and rainwater dripping onto the floor. He looks around the empty common room. "Bah, I should really hire some help for when I'm away." Laying his greataxe on the bar, he grabs the first bottle in reach, an unmarked earthen jug. Gesturing at the empty room, he uncorks it. "First round's on me!"
  3. The common room starts to fill with the sounds of brave tales and sad songs, as Crows from near and far find their way. The innkeeper watches over it, pulling drinks and keeping the hearth lit.
  4. Pure damage buff vs Guineaceans? Poisons? Darkvision? Or do you think EKs will be beset by plague rats that kill off your poor, enslaved thralls?
  5. The old inn hasn't been this lively in years. A Crow enjoys breakfast in the common room as the innkeep tidies up. Today's special makes it obvious what is in stock: Mincecat Pies.
  6. Anamaht Godsbrew. I own an Inn, nothing else about me is interesting. So don't go asking questions. Come by my Inn, and I'll buy you a drink.
  7. Don't get me wrong. I don't mind if a game includes mature/taboo/racy stuff. What I have issue with is how it is dealt with. Games are a unique media when it comes to the concept of choice and concequence. The "game loop" is all about "I make a decision, and now I have to deal with the result." So what is my problem here? That in there is no choice. There is one way to progress a hero and that is to force my thralls to do it*. I offered an alternative - make them more fictionally servants, but here is an even better alternative: Let us choose! Find a thrall, bring it home, and yo
  8. Not joking at all. There are a lot of people paying more money and spending more time playing video games than they spend on their religion, or movies, or literature, or opera, or any of a whole bunch of things that we've admitted are part of "our culture". I might have a skewed view of its overall impact because my living depends on it.
  9. Yes. Always. Because video games are our culture.
  10. Maybe it is my cultural conditioning, but I'm not looking to "murder" people, nor do the game mechanics force it for progression (although they may encourage it). My headcannon for the game is that I'm fighting a war, defending my allies from those who would destroy us and our way of life. My playstyle encourages this as I usually play support roles and don't roll the Assassin archetypes. Right now, it appears that you litterally can not progress in the game without using Thralls.
  11. It might be the same thing, depending on your beliefs on souls. For me, a "soul" is as equivalent say, a thigh bone. It's kind of cool to think of making a weapon out of your enemy's bones. Now, if you happen to be more religous and think that the soul is the immortal aspect of a person, then yeah, you should have a problem with that too.
  12. When Thralls were first announced it was as part of the crafting system - you could use their souls as an ingredient to make a piece of gear unique. OK, that could be cool. The last couple times I've seen them mentioned, they are also being used as NPCs that populate the EK, contributing to things such as Skill progression "Thrall Priests praying" and trade "'shopkeeper' Thralls." So here is my problem. Thrall is a synonym for Slave, and in fact is derived from a norse term for slave. So yeah, no thank you. I am not going to go to a dying world to bring back slaves for my personal
  13. The day is long since started when the heavy oak door opens and a blurry eyed innkeeper peers out at the open road. Shaking his head, he sighs and returns to the common room to lay a fire in the hearth. Chalked on a board above the bar are the words "Today's Special: Roasted Hellcat."
  14. I wish you had posted this in-character.
  15. At the end of a long road at the end of a long day, there is an Inn where you can always find good food and good friends. A fire blazes in the hearth and Anamaht Godsbrew lives up to his name with bottles behind the bar rescued from a hundred dying worlds. He scrubbs ineffectively at the stained wood of the bar, looking up with every bang and creak of an Inn settling on a cold, windy day. He sighs, shuffles behind the bar and retrieves a dusty bottle. "These spirits were aged on a world that the hunger took before I was born. May Valkyn and The Twelve look on this sacrifice with f
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