Megajoule

Grand storyline? Well, yes and no. I needed an excuse (or rather, excuses) for King to venture out beyond his own territory and his nearest neighbors - things he needs help with, questions answered, etc. City spirits are, by their nature, insular and parochial, inward-directed, tied to their domain. What you're noticing the absence of is actually me running out of flimsy justifications for his ranging afield.

That lack of good reasons was part of why I deliberately ended the series before I got to Peregrine; the other part is that I confess I've never really gotten a good feel for the character of that zone. It's not somewhere you go so much as pass through. You may note that some other places were skipped over - mostly because they were opened after I began plotting out the odyssey, but in one case (Salamanca) because it's far outside the city limits and has many other complications best left untouched.

That said, I do plan to go back and revisit a couple of zones that have received new attention from the Devs. These special chapters will also feature viewpoint characters other than the Row. And when I'm done with that... well, you'll just have to wait and see.

My real anniversary's not until early fall (check the date under my avatar). I've been a supers fan for years, but as a result, was well aware of the many failed attempts to bring the genre to the computer screen (and the successes, like Freedom Force); I was wary of CoH after how long it had been in beta (aka "development hell") and the reports that filtered out. Even after it went live and reviewers started gushing about it, I managed to stay away all summer... until some of my online friends got into it, and I finally gave in and tried it. Like many, I was hooked from the moment I saw the costume screen.

I had a slightly frustrating beginning - my video card was minimum spec back then, and wouldn't run the game at better than a crawl... until I updated my drivers, and it worked just fine. (Still a bit surprised that new software on same hardware made that much of a difference.) But I got past that, and soon I was up and running with my first two heroes. I made level 6 on one in a couple of days (with what I know now, I could probably do that in hours, but I was still learning everything), got Hover, and took the slow elevator to the top of the globe. (This was between Issues 1 and 2, before there was a badge up there.) Then I floated back down and spent the half-hour "night" dancing under Atlas in celebration.

I remember the first time I defeated a Clockwork Prince, watching in relief as it collapsed with my health and endurance bars in the red... then jumped as it dropped a litter of kittens (Gears). Somehow I managed to avoid a hospital visit. Instead, my mediport ride came when I saw something odd while I was flying across Skyway City and went down to investigate. (Hint: it was someone's high-level ambush.)

I remember when the respec trial was new, standing in front of Terra Volta and watching whole teams come out of the door and belly-flop on the pavement. Intimidating.

I remember the chaos of the first Halloween event, and the first Winter event, with the Winter Lord spawning in the city zones - rarely at first, then almost constantly. Many a character of mine got through the 5-15 doldrums (one as far as 20) off Winter Lord xp. I remember the pitched street battles between the familiar Fifth Column and these new guys, the Council, who were mostly the same but with more boring uniforms. (More recently, I remember my utter glee at seeing the Fifth again in Ouro content.)

I remember my first 50, a year and a half after I started. I'd rerolled the other of my first two heroes, to change his Origin from Tech to Natural, and so he was still in the 20s while MJ was getting her Hero of the City medal from Ms. Liberty. He's up to 41 now - won't be much longer. I've also got three other 50s, two villains and another hero.

Let's see, what else...
I remember City of Blasters, when Smoke Grenade made you invincible because of a missed decimal place, and the complaints when it got fixed. I remember the days of wolf herding and portal/behemoth farming (I was invited along on one of the latter, and my screen turned into a slideshow - low spec vid card, remember?) I remember the Paragon Dance Party, before and after they moved the door, and I remember when it was replaced by Pocket D.

I remember CoV beta, and my brute getting to punch out Statesman at the end. I remember my first bank robbery and Mayhem mission, and how much fun they were.

I remember lots of great teams, and some not-so-great ones, and good times and stories with my friends. I remember being inspired to write about my characters.

It's been a great four - eh, three and a half - years. And now, with lots of interesting new stuff coming up (and more character slots, so I don't have to leave Virtue to feed my alt habit), I'm looking forward to more.

TeChameleon: Heh. Well, the Row and Steel have history, much of it bad. The latter might come across as more sympathetic to someone less, shall we say, blue collar?

And the Founder could certainly manifest as staunch and proud and dignified (and did in the past, I'm sure) - but when I tried to justify all the Rikti and Thorns and DE just standing around in the open in what's supposed to be one of the city's most historic and wealthy districts, the only way I could manage it was to make him a senile Mr. Magoo.


BlueBattler: Thanks. It's been a long time in the works. (*looks back at the first posting date on this thread and is a little amazed.*)

Wow.

It's to my regret that I didn't read this sooner, and to my good fortune that I happened to glance at it while visiting today. This is really excellent.

I have my own reasons for being interested in the Clockwork King, and my own tale concerning him. Alas, it suffers from having been written before much Clockwork canon was revealed, and even more by comparison to your story. Still, I thought it worth mentioning here.

Have you written anything else I should investigate?

EPILOGUE

"Sure it's the real thing." Fracture smiled reassuringly under the permanent grin of his mask. "Real Dyne - make you strong, make you fly, just like the supers. But it's got flavor now, see? Strawberry, lemon... I can even get you coconut if that's your fave."

"C-can I try the lemon?" the older of the two boys asked. The other hadn't spoken at all, looking down at the ground or at his friend rather than at the young man in the black pleather jacket and Skull mask, standing with his back to the wall of the trash-strewn alley a few blocks from their middle school.

"Hmm, I shouldn't..." Fracture said, pretending reluctance. "This is a cash business, y'know? But okay, you can have a taste. Just so you can see what it's like."

Fracture didn't see the huge hand emerge from the brick wall like it was water, matching its color and texture, or the thick arm it was attached to. The first he knew of it was when it closed around his head like a player palming a basketball. He froze in shock.

A deep voice spoke from behind him. "You boys get along home, your moms iz worried about ya." Wide-eyed, the kids did as they were told, running off like Thorn demons were at their heels.

By now, the Skull had recovered enough of his wits to say the only thing that seemed appropriate: "What the [censored]?!" He tried to pry away the stubby stone fingers with one hand while going for his nine with the other. Neither effort was successful; another big stone mitt seized his wrist and squeezed until he cried out and dropped the gun. Then both hands dragged him backwards, Converse heels skidding along the pavement, to the wall - and through it.

It was dark there, completely pitch black, darker even than the chill wisps of shadow that the Bone Daddies summoned with their powers. He couldn't see his assailant or himself, or anything else. That voice spoke again from the darkness, sounding low and amused. "Heyyy Fracture, long time no see."

"You're DEAD!" the Skull shouted into the void, fists balled at his sides. "Papa Oc told me hisself, you're dead! You're just some old ghost who got shanked by a bigger one!"

"Occipital said that about me? Guess I should go pay him a visit after I'm done with you. You wouldn't happen to know where I can find him, eh?" The darkness seemed to gain substance, pressing in all around him, like being buried alive. Fracture gasped, his heart beating faster with claustrophobic panic. Finally it released him, drawing back. "Naah... you're too stupid. Stupid enough to sell that stuff on my streets. That's okay, I'll find him myself. Maybe tell 'im it was you who ratted him out."

"Y-you can't do that!" Fracture protested. "He'll eat my soul!"

"Kid, here I can do just about anything. You got bigger things to worry about right now than your boss." The feeling of pressure returned; the Skull fought it this time, but it was like trying to push a dump truck, or move a mountain. "Which leads me to my next question: what am I gonna do with you? I could just leave ya in a holdin' cell, but... I got a better idea."

There was a sharp yank at the collar of his jacket, as if he'd been grabbed by the scruff of the neck. Light returned, making his eyes water; when they finally adjusted, Fracture found himself high above Police Plaza. Several bystanders and a Freedom Corps trainer were staring up at him in surprise. There was something hard and cool pressing against his back, and his jacket was bunched up under his arms... He started to turn his head to look, then froze again, suddenly realizing his predicament.

"Don't squirm too much," a voice murmured from the air beside him. "Ya wouldn't wanna fall and break somethin'." There was a grinding chuckle which faded like an echo, or a memory, leaving him alone on top of the flagpole.



It's been a while since he stood here, more than halfway up the side of the Gibson Building, and looked out over his domain - his streets and alleys, his brownstones and warehouses and towers and yards and empty lots, his schools and churches and hospital, his aqueduct and lines of power both electric and mystic, his people, his past, everything that makes him what he is. For almost a year after that fateful encounter with the corrupted spirit of Venice, the Row lacked the strength to manifest like this. Almost a year of silently, helplessly watching and listening, spending all its remaining energy on holding things together around here while it slowly gathered power to take material form again. A long, hard year of crawling back from the brink.

The city's changed a lot in that year, and yet, in some ways, it hasn't changed at all. It's a city that still needs heroes... especially the kind who live right next door and never put on a costume. Heroes who work, build, teach, heal, raise families. And heroes who protect.

The Row was hurt, but the Row survives. Knock the Row down, and it gets back up again. And now, after almost a year of being unable to do more than unlock doors or loosen bricks or whisper in the ears of the sensitive or the dreaming, it can act. It can stand and fight.

Over the last few minutes, the sky above Kings Row has been filling with menacing storm clouds. Now, almost on schedule, a section of the force field curtain sizzles with energy discharges and flickers out. The stone figure on the high cornice shakes its head ruefully as it gets to its feet, the cold wind tugging at its scarf and fedora. If it ain't one thing, it's another.

Facing the War Wall and the approaching Rikti dropships, the spirit of the Row bellows out his challenge to the invaders.

"YOU THINK YOU CAN BEAT THIS CITY? YOU THINK YOU CAN BEAT ME?!

WELL COME ON, THEN! LET'S SEE YOU TRY!"


(end)

Thank you very much.

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adding visual sounds is a great idea but please do not make it silent that would bore me so much. i really dont want to have to stop playing, maybe make sounds optional?

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Welcome to the Forums, BadFish. You've just been Fooled.

As of Issue 11, I'm getting bottom-third ghosting over water even WITH Low Quality water and no bloom, depth of field or FSAA. Is there any solution, or am I finally going to have to just deal with it?

(Running an X850 with the 7.10 drivers at the moment. Couldn't get the standalone-download 7.11 setup to run - it fails after popping up a couple of blank "Notify" windows with buttons but no explanation.)

EDIT: Solved by turning off the new Desaturation Effects that they snuck in. *sigh* I'll miss the nifty sepia-tone effect that I saw on Test, but having water that doesn't look awful is more important to me.

Considering what the devs have been doing lately with sneaking stuff into newspaper missions, I'd have liked to see a reference to the movie... if not in a mission (with the Warriors fighting spawns of all the other gangs who blame them), then as a historical note here.

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Before, there was a bold red alert that was easy to spot and in a channel where there was no other traffic.

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The problem is that it was also in EVERY OTHER channel (and tab). Those of us who use several global channels (I have one for both of my usual playgroups) were getting spammed across the board, and regular conversations were getting interrupted/drowned out.

Men and Women of SCIENCE!

<ul type="square">[*]Have you been forced to submit yourself to short-sighted administrators, petty bureaucrats, and mindless bean-counters?
[*]Has your work been mocked, sabotaged or stolen by jealous rivals?
[*]Do you accept that sacrifices must sometimes be made for the Greater Good, in the name of Progress?
[*]Do you reject the superstitious notion that there are Things which Man is not "Meant" to Know?
[*]Have you been called "dangerous," "irresponsible," "mad" or even "EVIL" by fear-mongering politicans and members of the press, fools who lack the wit to comprehend your Vision, and who care only about votes and sound-bites and keeping their place at the public trough?
[*]Do you believe as Archimedes said, "Give me a lever and a place to stand and I will move the Earth"?[/list]If so, we offer you a place among us.

EVIL GENIUSES FOR A BETTER TOMORROW
"One World, Our Way!"

We proudly claim the label laid on us by a fearful mob, knowing that we will prove them wrong someday. Great minds are seldom understood in their time; Galileo was tried as a heretic, and many other important discoveries were made by practitioners of "forbidden" and "impious" arts. How can it be wrong to try to understand?

We come from many fields and disciplines of Science - biology, chemistry, physics, robotics and more - but we are united in the noble cause of improving Humanity's lot. A child cannot know the benefits of a vaccine; he knows only that the needle hurts, and would reject it if given the choice. Thus, we must sometimes force our gifts upon an unwilling and ungrateful society.

And sometimes we are opposed by those brightly-clad defenders of the status quo of suffering, those who are called "heroes." If they truly had the best interests of the people at heart, they would recognize that we outcast visionaries offer a brighter future for all. Instead, they choose to stand in the way of that future, self-righteously protecting entrenched interests and obsolete philosophies.

To those who would join us, we offer shelter, security, support, and - perhaps most importantly - the understanding of one's true peers. Scientists and Technologists of all kinds are welcome. We also offer refuge to orphaned creations and former experimental subjects, now abandoned and alone in a hostile world. We make no special demands of our members, allowing them to conduct their own researches and contribute (or not) as they see fit.

We have a small but well-equipped facility in Aeon City. A fully-stocked infirmary doubles as a shared laboratory space for our members. Our workshop contains storage racks and a secure vault for salvaged items, two work tables, a cyclotron, and an interocitor. An ultra-high-speed Internet connection supplements our physical library, which includes the complete run of Mad Science Quarterly and other journals. Teleporters provide quick access to all of the Rogue Isles. Of course, we have our own back-up generator (in the event that the Cap au Diable power system should fail) and supercomputer. The control room also includes a conference table and holoprojector that our members use for lunch meetings, presentations, and delivering ultimatums.

If this describes you, and you would like to be known as an Evil Genius, please contact Dr. Forsythe (@Megajoule) or Gethsemane.

14. VENICE

He is running for his life, down long roadways flanked on both sides by grey-green water, through pools of jaundiced sodium light. His pursuers are legion: hunting packs of psychic monkeys and their alien masters, the tin soldiers of Nemesis and Countess Crey, wild-eyed men who've traded sanity and limbs for chromed steel. And now comes something else, forcing its way through the tangle of rusty pipes and catwalks like a giant brushing aside trees, stepping over smaller buildings and shaking the ground with its footfalls.

He is the Row, and his odyssey is nearly at an end.

His plodding steps have the slowness of nightmare. Normally he would be able to travel faster by melting into the earth and reforming his stone body elsewhere. He tried that soon after arriving in Venice, better known these days as "Crey's Folly"; for a moment, it was like standing hip-deep in battery acid. The soil here is toxic, polluted and poisoned, hostile. He is beginning to fear the same is true of its spirit.

He ducks through a narrow alley between tall buildings, once part of the city's water treatment plant. His plan - his hope - is to try to shake some or all of his pursuers and double back toward the gate. Emerging from the alley, he finds himself in a small parking lot; a few cars and trucks have been sitting here since the first Rikti attack. Their tires are long since flat and rotted out, their windows streaked with unhealthy-looking grime. A large swarm of insects, boiling with constant internal motion, hovers in the cone of a still-functioning street light. They shouldn't be able to penetrate his rocky hide, but he avoids them anyway, trusting nothing in this place.

Peering around the corner, he sees no signs of pursuit, and lets himself hope for a moment that his luck has taken a turn for the better. Then he feels the cracked pavement shake and shimmy under him, and realizes it hasn't changed at all.

Something formless rears up out of the polluted water in front of him, backlit by the shimmering War Wall that glows only faintly through its murk. It towers over him, thirty or forty feet high, a foaming mass of water and chemicals with 50-gallon drums and old bones and other trash swirling inside it.

"yOU SHouLdN't HAve cOMe heRE," it roars, in a voice that's rushing water and tortured metal and great turbines and pure madness.

Then it lunges forward like a tsunami, sweeping the stone man off his feet, carrying him down to the bottom, to darkness and dissolution.



All over Kings Row, people awaken from nightmares of drowning. A few don't wake up at all.

A chemical fire sets a hundred-year-old building ablaze. A bridge support gives way, rendering the span unsafe. Dozens of new potholes spontaneously appear in the streets.

The industrious Clockwork pause briefly in their scavenging, many tilting their heads as if listening to some faint and distant sound.

The Row will survive, somehow. In time, it may even find the strength to form a new avatar to protect itself and its people. But the portion of its spirit that was devoured by Venice is gone forever... and the Row as a whole is diminished by that loss.

Excellent guide. I would add only two things to it from my own experiences (playing a MA/SR to 40, so far):

DE should get special mention in the "unusually difficult" section, because if a Quartz (the eminator, not the crystal monster) is out, your defenses go away. Completely. Quartz drops are the /SR equivalent of Voids and Quantums for a Kheldian. If you do not get rid of them immediately, you will be on the ground in seconds.

If you can't afford the GINORMOUS cost of the top-rank IO sets for MA, I recommend Kinetic Combat as an effective and relatively inexpensive (and thematic) alternative. Slot all five of the set in each attack and cap it off with an SO or the Acc/Dam IO of your choice (I went with Focused Smite - it seemed appropriate). With four or five attacks, the set bonuses add up quickly. For Dragon's Tail, consider Multi-Strike.

Are there any plans to update this guide for Issue 9 onward? It seems to me that IOs offer many interesting possibilities for overcoming the -recharge of Granite Armor...

I'm gonna miss this comic.
I mean, without it, how would we ever have found out that the canon/in-game Statesman is such a collossal jerk?

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My guess?
They want Earth for humans, right? Well, odds are they aren't big fans of Peacebringers and Warshades then, along with any of the huge amount of non-human heroes out there!

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Exactly. They're so damn righteous and "pure" that, like some people's interpretations of Longbow, they've gone all the way across the line to intolerant jackbooted fascists.

(See also: the Malta Group, making the world safe for Western democracy (hm, no, scratch that) capitalism and non-metas. Of course, to make it truly safe they have to control it...)

Anyway, yeah. Looks like another "heroic" paramilitary group that Knows What's Best For You. And if you disagree, you're obviously a terrorist, er, alien... an alien terrorist! Yeah! Those filthy aliens, coming here to destroy our cities, take our women, steal our jobs, and corrupt our precious bodily fluids...

[ QUOTE ]
Cameos begin!

Cameos conclude!

[/ QUOTE ]

Thanks so much!

... not sure about the art, but it's great to see Ascendant (and a fairly serious one at that).

Also, Lighthouse posted that they've FINALLY gotten #17 and #18 up for FTP. Here's hoping the rest of #19 follows shortly.

13. BRICKSTOWN


TUESDAY
11:02 A.M.

The first punch comes out of nowhere, catching him on the jaw as he ducks through an alley. Staggered, King tries to roll with the blow. He fetches up against one wall, feeling old mortar crumble under his hand as he pushes off and faces his attacker with fists raised.

The mook who sucker-punched him is about his size, with dark ruddy brown skin and a bald (or shaved) head. His eyes are hidden behind a pair of sunglasses with thick black plastic rims. The mouth under his brush moustache is set in what looks like a permanent scowl. He wears a black uniform very much like a PPD captain's, but with a big bronze shield for a badge and another for the belt buckle. Hanging from the belt is a riot baton the size of a Louisville slugger, a pair of shiny steel cuffs made for wrists like his or the Row's, and a holstered revolver that could probably put a hole through an engine block. He fills the end of the alley, blocking the Row's path.

"Who the hell are you, comin' into my yard without asking?" the Warden demands.

"The name's King," the Row answers warily, resisting the urge to rub at his sore jaw. This guy hits like... well, like a ton of bricks.

"Ah. Indy talks about you, yeah." The Warden doesn't move. "What are you doing in my part of town?"

"I've got business in Venice."

"What kind of business?"

The Row's face hardens. "My own."

"That so?" The Warden cracks his knuckles. "People who don't want to talk about their business... they make me suspicious." He leans forward on the soles of his polished leather shoes, thick fingers flexing in anticipation. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

"I've never been much for the easy way," the Row replies, setting himself likewise.

"Me either." The corners of the Warden's scowl creep upward, turning it into a savage grin.

They face off for a long moment, like two gunfighters about to slap leather. Then the Row rushes forward - the Warden braces himself to meet the charge...

And the Row vaults up and over the surprised Warden, leapfrogging the obstacle and landing on the sidewalk beyond, adding a few more cracks to the concrete.

"Hey! Sonofa... get BACK here!"

The Row grins under his scarf as he runs across the street, thinking he's gotten away clean... until he's tackled from behind. Their combined momentum carries them over the curb and into the middle of a small square of untended greenery, more weeds than grass, in the middle of the intersection. A few Council soldiers who were using the tiny park to harangue passersby are scattered like bowling pins.

They roll around together, mashing the grass a little flatter, until the Row manages to get in a couple of good body blows. The Warden backs off, guarding his middle and giving the Row a chance to get to his feet. He's lost his sunglasses; they came off during the scuffle and were crushed. He doesn't look happy about that.

"This is MY town, King. You go through here, you go through me."

The Row brushes himself off and cracks his neck. "If that's the way it's gotta be."

"Yeah."

This time it's the Warden who charges first, arms raised to grapple. The Row meets him head-on, and their hands lock together in a classic test of strength. They strain and struggle, each trying to force the other to give ground, to yield, to submit.



TUESDAY
3:43 P.M.

"You should know," the Warden says as he strains against the sinews of his opponent, "I've never been defeated on my home ground."

"Really." The Row does not sound greatly impressed.

"Every now and then, one of those big Freaks calls me out. I rip his stupid metal arms off and hand 'em back to his buddies." The Warden's grin is positively feral.

"That's nothin'," the Row answers. "You ever hear of the Clockwork Paladin?"



TUESDAY
10:14 P.M.

Under the golden sodium glow of the streetlights, the wrestlers continue their struggle. Neither has moved more than a few inches back or forth since this began; they are too evenly matched.

"How long do you think you can keep this up?" the Warden asks.

"As long as it takes," the Row replies through gritted teeth.

"You don't think you can win." As he speaks, the Warden begins to push forward again.

"Ain't about winnin'," the Row grunts. "It's about not losin'."



WEDNESDAY
8:27 A.M.

"Ever hear of a city called Babylon?" the Warden asks as the sun climbs into the sky behind him. He'd hoped that it might distract or blind the Row and finally break this deadlock, but no such luck.

"Can't say as I have."

"It was one of the first cities," the Warden patiently explains. "And its god, Marduk, was one of the first of our kind."

"Mm-hmm," the Row responds. "Any particular reason you're tellin' me this?"

"What, you got someplace else to be?"

"Actually..."

"Tough. Anyway... Babylon was also a city of brick." Despite his rictus of effort, and the tendons standing out on his bull neck, the Warden manages to sound smug.

"Mm." The Row thinks for a moment. "I guess the cities of straw and twigs didn't do so well."

The Warden has no reply to this.



WEDNESDAY
6:55 P.M.

"Aren't you tired?"

"I don't get tired. Neither do you."

"Right. So how's this gonna end?"

"You could apologize..."

"Not. Gonna. Happen."

"That's what I thought."



THURSDAY
2:01 A.M.

The distant explosion catches them both by surprise. The Warden flinches; the Row counter-flinches; and as the sirens begin to wail their warning song, the two find themselves standing yards apart, arms twitching at their sides. There's another explosion, and a column of smoke rises from the looming stepped pyramid, silhouetted against the city's nightglow and the auroral curtain of the War Wall.

The Warden curses and smacks his fist into his palm, then turns and points at the Row. "I have to go. That's more important than you."

The Row nods. "Yeah, I figured. Good luck."

"Thanks." The Warden produces another pair of sunglasses from his shirt pocket and puts them on as he steps back into the shadow of the monorail's elevated track. "Just so you know... I was winning."

Maybe he melts into the darkness, or into the bricks themselves. Either way, a moment later, he's gone.

With a chuckle, the Row resumes his walk to the security gate. "Right."

Since I refuse to pay for something which was included as part of the subscription, all I want to know is when this issue and the other missing ones will be added to the FTP site for download.

Seems to me that the ideal way to make the Scoop visible to non-forumers is to put a link to it on the Updater.

This is Statesman. You think he's gonna trust a bunch of rookies? (Yes, level 45-50 characters... like I said, this is Statesman.)

Like Siren's Call, this is just a bit of misdirection. I'm sure he plans to go in himself (with a few of the Phalanx, or maybe not) and kick Stefan's [censored] while Spider-Boy and his lieutenants are hunting for those eight diversions. Of course, being Statesman, he'll screw up somehow and actually need those eight to save the day. Then he'll grumble about it like an old man.

In closing, I'd like to thank Jack and all the folks at Cryptic for the thoroughly inspirational way they've portrayed the setting's flagship character. I wouldn't have made this post if not for them.

Ah, but are you aware of the essential difference?

Unlike you, the Devs have access to, and make their decisions upon, facts. Data obtained in a reasonably scientific manner by professionals.

Not the opinions of the tiny, tiny, TINY group of people who have the luck to know of this survey of yours, the time and interest to respond to it, and the self-delusion to believe that it matters in the slightest way.

It's not a cross section. You've chipped a speck of bark off of a tree. Clearly the tree is made of bark all the way through, top to bottom!

But if this is what makes you happy, by all means, continue pleasuring yourself. I'm done and out.

It's irrelevant anyway, as he cannot - CANNOT - get an accurate sampling by this method. I point out why in my post.

Flawed survey methodology.

Results worthless, IMO.

(and for the record, I'd say the same of ANY forum poll claiming to be able to determine what the majority of players feel about anything, considering the number of filtering steps involved - people who read the forums, people who see the survey, people who care enough to answer, etc etc. You'd be astonishingly lucky to get an accurate sampling of 1% of the population - that's one in every one hundred players.)

EDIT: Heck, Cryptic themselves would be lucky to get that level of response, and they have everyone's email addresses.

At any time that the OP or anyone else thinks that the posts on a given forum thread accurately reflect a "majority opinion" about anything, please compare the number of unique posters on said thread to the current approximate number of subscribers to the MMO.

12. WOODVALE


She dances.

Not human, not anymore, save in the vaguest of outlines. Her eyes are too large, too dark, too luminous; her limbs are too long and lithe, moving as no mortal ballerina could. Her long flowing hair crowns her and cocoons her, woven through with flowers and ivy. She is of the earth, yet unearthly; inhumanly beautiful and terrible to behold. She is the wild wood. And she dances.

She is ringed by a faerie court: thorny trees and rock piles and red-capped mushroom men, a Silly Symphony conducted by Giger. They sway and caper to the same music as their mistress. She is their queen and goddess, and they dance in worship of her, here in the depths of the wood.

A stranger appears outside the circle. He is not of this soil, yet he is kindred, and so the dancers allow him to enter. Branches and stones scrape the ground as they bow politely.

The lady of the wood turns to greet her guest, her dance changing tempo - slower now, her steps and gestures smaller. "I know you."

"You do?"

Her tiny mouth moues in a smile. "You are the one they call King. You could be no other." She glides forward across the grass and moss, leaving no track, to brush her thin fingers over his chest; a willow's caress. "Your heart is stone... weathered by storms, but strong and rooted. Unyielding."

"And you're Woodvale."

"I was. Now I am Eve, and this..." She steps back, spreading her arms wide like boughs as she pirouettes. "This is Eden."

"Eden, huh?" The stranger takes a good look around, hands on hips. "I gotta admit, it's pretty... 'cept for all the monsters."

"There are no 'monsters' here," Eve chides her guest gently. "All live in harmony with the Will of the Earth."

"Riiight." He crosses his arms over his chest. "That include Crey, or the marchin' band?"

The smaller creatures cringe and cower theatrically as the music matches their lady's sudden anger. Her motions are quick and sharp now, lashing the air. "They are a blight. But my Lord will deal with the poisoners and the King of Brass soon enough."

"Your lord?"

"Yes, Hamidon, blessed be his name. My savior." The dance changes again; the circle sways in harmony, raising their spindly or stubby arms high to suggest something much larger than themselves, bending forward in obeisance to it. The one in the middle mirrors them, her rage of moments before entirely forgotten. "I call him lord, but in truth, he has freed me. He can do the same for you."

The Row thinks of revival meetings, and of streetcorner preachers wearing televisions on their heads. "Thanks. Think I'll pass."

Eve just laughs and takes his hands, drawing him toward the center of the ring. "Come, King. Dance with me. Be like me. Cast off your bonds and be free."

The Row wavers as the dance swirls around him. He hears the music now, not just the deep and clattering percussion but the whole melody, thrumming through his being. Eve leads him through the steps, and he finds he already knows them; she nestles against him, so alive she quickens his stone heart, anima to his animus.

And yet, something holds him back.

Somehow he finds the strength to push her out to arm's reach. "No, I... I can't. I've got people who need lookin' after."

"People?" Her laughter is as merry as a babbling brook, as scornful as a thistle. "What need do we have for people?"

"What need...?" He glowers at her, brows drawing together. "People helped make us what we are! Their lives, their dreams, what they built... those things become part of us, even after they're gone."

"People corrupt the earth. They poison it, pave it, smother it. We're better off without them." Her voice is like honey, sweet and earnestly seductive, coating him in amber. Ivy wraps around his wrists and begins to climb up his legs.

"No." His denial is as flat and hard as a cliff face; she flinches from it, the ivy's progress halted. "You're wrong. That ain't how it is."

"Let go of me," Eve murmurs, her upper arms held fast in his big hands.

"You had people too, people you took care of," the Row presses. "Families. Men, women, children, old people. They lived here, went to school, went to church... had barbecues and yard sales, played and laughed and cried and loved. They loved you! Woodvale was one of the best places to live in the whole damn city!"

"Not... Woodvale," she protests, shaking her head slowly.

"Bull!" says the Row. "I dunno what that Ham guy has filled your head with, but you're still a part of this city, and it's a part of you. All the people who lived here... they're still in you, if you just listen for their voices..."

"NOOOOO!"

The cry of anguish blasts out from the center of the ring like a shockwave, shredding the wicker men and the fungoids, shattering and scattering the boulders. When the echoes fade, all that's left is a man of stone cradling a broken, weeping thing in his arms.

"Damn you, King," she sobs. "Why... why did you have to make me remember?"

"I'm sorry," he says, and means it.

She lifts her head like a doe scenting danger, eyes huge and moist. "My Lord approaches. You must go."

"But..."

She pushes him away, strength returning to her graceful limbs. "GO!"

Humbly, the visitor departs, leaving the lady to her grief and her new lord. She will forget; for that is the way of the wild, to have no memory. She will dance again, free of care or sorrow.

But now, alone in the wood, she weeps for her loss.