KickStarter Black Geyser: Couriers of Darkness - Tales of the Moon Cult expansion on the way

[aweigh]

have they announced dlc yet

 

[Feyd Rautha]

What is known about Black Geyser:

 

[aweigh]

is that your video? btw, it's de-me-gods, not de-my-gods.

 

[Feyd Rautha]

is that your video?

absolutely not. insult me again and I'll rate all your posts shit

 

[ItsChon]

Game's art/graphics look better than other 3D games I've seen so there is that, but isn't this game a meme? Should I bother following it, or is it vaporware?

 

[lukaszek]

deterministic system > RNG

 

[Cael]

is that your video? btw, it's de-me-gods, not de-my-gods.

De-my is American. Same way they pronounce semi.

 

[Ranarama]

De-my is American. Same way they pronounce semi.

Incorrectly?

 

[Cael]

De-my is American. Same way they pronounce semi.

Incorrectly?

Well, as the joke goes:
"You Americans are a funny lot. You live on the wrong side of the ocean, eat with the wrong hand, drive ont he wrong side, and you, sir, just threw the wrong bitch out the window."

 

[Jenkem]

is that your video? btw, it's de-me-gods, not de-my-gods.

De-my is American. Same way they pronounce semi.

This is unequivocally false.

Fuck is there any thread Cael won't shit up?

 

[Cael]

is that your video? btw, it's de-me-gods, not de-my-gods.

De-my is American. Same way they pronounce semi.

This is unequivocally false.

Fuck is there any thread Cael won't shit up?

As far as you are concerned, nope, because you judge by poster, not content. Pretty self-evident QED, really.

 

[Feyd Rautha]

What happens if you follow the good path in this?

 

[Jenkem]

As far as you are concerned, nope, because you judge by poster, not content. Pretty self-evident QED, really.

Nah, I judge by content. It's just that 98% of your posts are either shit or retarded. And it's not even funny like fantadomat. There is a correlation between shit content and the person who posted it, surprisingly enough. Did the person who gave you the dumbfuck and edgelord tag do it because they have a vendetta against you as a poster? Or could your shit really just be that retarded?

 

[Cael]

As far as you are concerned, nope, because you judge by poster, not content. Pretty self-evident QED, really.

Nah, I judge by content. It's just that 98% of your posts are either shit or retarded. And it's not even funny like fantadomat. There is a correlation between shit content and the person who posted it, surprisingly enough. Did the person who gave you the dumbfuck and edgelord tag do it because they have a vendetta against you as a poster? Or could your shit really just be that retarded?

Does Shillarytron have an agenda against the fellow who kicked his fat tranny lover in the ass and pointed out everything that is wrong with his game? No shit, fucktard!

 

[agris]

What does that even mean?

 

[Doctor Sbaitso]

You need to be fully versed in 4chan to follow it. You are better off at you are, good sir.

 

[ArchAngel]

You need to be fully versed in 4chan to follow it. You are better off at you are, good sir.

Are you telling me understanding 'Dex does not reveal all mysteries of the universe? Someone lied to me!

 

[YanBG]

Did you guys already figure it's a Hungarian team? That should mean they are trustworthy. The game still has a weird name though.

I guess that's the old version(~2015), looks more original but then the boss was like "you know PoE, right? i want that same menus, do it!"

 

[ERYFKRAD]

You need to be fully versed in 4chan to follow it. You are better off at you are, good sir.

Are you telling me understanding 'Dex does not reveal all mysteries of the universe? Someone lied to me!

No you just haven't understood 'dex enough. Also [redacted]

 

[agris]

fuck you Dreed i wanna know what the kids know.

also, this is a poe mod. in case you didn't know.

like, for real.

PS: will mindx2 get a box copy?

 

[Infinitron]

Hoo boy: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/grapeocean/black-geyser-couriers-of-darkness/posts/2274945

The Draught of Remembrance

Ho there adventurers,

It’s been a busy month here as we work on adding new content to the game. We wanted to give our backers a little taste of what we’ve been doing and a feel for Yerengal. The following story and music are to give all our backers a chance to imagine the Garden of Delights and better understand the game world. An item we’ve recently added to the game is highlighted, and we hope players will enjoy the way it fits into a quest they will encounter in the Rillow’s pleasure palace. Step for a moment into the Garden of Delights and try to remember…

Spoiler

The red moon rose over the horizon, and Ambros watched it come. The sun had not quite set, and he imagined that somewhere off to the west he could hear the echoes of battle. Blood turns the moon red, they say. It pools in the corners of the world, and the moon bathes in the carnage before rolling across the sky, searching in delight for the source of violence. The young man thoughtfully leaned back and sipped his spiced brandy. The moon, it seemed, would have much to revel over in the coming years. Isilmerald had split, and these skirmishes were only the beginning.

Around him, the smoke smelled less like the destruction out west and more like amber and lilacs. Between the strands of incense floating from the censers, the open courtyard thrummed with casual words and a low, insistent drum beat. Dancers of varying races moved gracefully through the café tables, their colorful, transparent clothes brushing against patrons’ skin as they passed (accidentally of course!) and their perfume mixing perfectly with the scented air. Ambros tried not to marvel. He’d grown up hearing about the Rillow and their decadence, but seeing it first-hand in the Garden itself? More than a little distracting. He needed to keep his head clear for what came next, he thought, as he set down his third empty glass.

Unaware of their source at first, he felt someone’s soft fingers snake into his. Ambros jumped in surprise and looked up to see the loveliest girl in Yerengal (surely!) smiling at him from under a laced purple veil. “Hu’dai will see you now,” the girl cooed, tightening her grasp slightly. Forgetting why he was there, the young man let himself be led between tables of laughing dwarves and whispering elves, over a puddle of sticky wine and through a silk curtain. Not until the girl released his hand and left his side was the spell broken. He blinked a few times in confusion.

Ambros stood in a small room, surrounded by shelves of bottles and jars. Some had contents which sparkled in the candlelight. Others seemed to devour it greedily, pulling the glow into dark and hostile depths. Most seemed unremarkable, though one might not find that much solace in the uncorking. He felt a slight twinge of danger as his eyes came into focus on the Rillow woman at the table before him. “Sit, child.” He shook his head. But still sat.

Hu’dai held her long, grey fingers in a steeple-shape; bright gold rings and ostentatious rubies suggested to Ambros a cathedral to wealth. Her smile was slow and practiced. “You come looking for dreams.” He shifted, uncomfortable on the lush satin pillow that supported him. “No, I… I need to remember something. When I was a babe, something bad happened, but I can’t-“ The Rillow alchemist let her cathedral crumble to dust with a loud rap on the table. “Dreams, child. May be true, maybe not. I can offer you knowledge, but it’s up to you to decide what it might mean.” He squirmed again, but he wouldn’t have been there if he hadn’t been sure of why. “Fine. Then I’m looking for dreams.”

The alchemist flicked her wrist, and he suddenly felt an odd weight in his pocket. Reaching down with caution, his fingertips closed around a hard glass vial. With his other hand, Ambros searched for the coins he’d brought, but hesitated as he saw her expression. The cathedral stood tall again, the woman’s onyx eyes just beyond like dark stars in the sky above it. “You’ll pay only for what you learn. Drink, child, and dream.”

Ambros looked again at the strange draughts on the shelves around him. Uncapping the bottle in his hand, he decided that he’d rather not know what it looked like. Head back, eyes closed, mouth open, and potion tilted, he let the liquid slide past his tongue. It tasted like nothing. It seemed to be doing nothing, either. Eyes still closed, a fly buzzed past his ear. He swatted at it, annoyed at the distraction, but missed it entirely. It buzzed again, growing insistently louder. He opened his eyes.

The young man sat on a small hill in a meadow. Dragonflies and bees flew lazily about him in the warm sunlight, as above him songbirds called to each other in the trees. Shocked, he grabbed for the pillow he had been sitting on, but his hands instead found blades of grass. He took a moment to reorient himself as the (by the gods, magic!) scene continued to unfurl around him. Below the hill was a hamlet of thatched roofs and cobbled stone, just like the one he remembered in his dreams. Children played in the dirt streets, chasing a cat and shouting in joy. He could smell flowers, and leather, and baking bread. Gaining his feet, he made his way down onto the road.

It all felt familiar. He knew now, as he’d known while he slept, that he’d been here before. But while in his dreams it had all looked blurred and felt distant, everything around him now buzzed in his senses like the errant fly. This surely wasn’t a dream. He ambled through the street, taking it all in. Each house, while built from the same elements in about the same way, had its own distinct details. Herbs hung from racks in the windows and wreaths hung on doors. The doors themselves were carved to be more than plain entryways, depicting scenes of gods and family histories. This village had been here a while, he knew, and it would be here longer still. But at that last thought, he felt a sudden twinge of sadness. Searching his feelings, he couldn’t decide why, but it seemed like… something would happen here. The dreams never lasted long, so he couldn’t say what that something might be, but it made him sad in a way that he couldn’t explain.

To cheer himself up, he approached the laughing children, waving and calling out to them. None of them acknowledged him, lost in their games. Coming close, he laid his hand on an older boy’s shoulder. But the boy didn’t notice, instead grinning at his friends as he moved a branch through the dirt, drawing an obscene symbol (ha, I wonder where he learned that?) for his co-conspirators. Ambros frowned, pulled on the artist’s arm and found himself unable to move it. For all his pulling the boy wouldn’t budge an inch, and not one of his friends seemed to notice the strange man and his violent tugging (are they really here, but I’m not?). Realizing his efforts would bear no fruit, Ambros walked further into the village.

Before long, he came upon something which immediately caught his gaze. Another simple house, thatched and cobbled like all the others. But in a neatly kept garden before it grew rows of roses. Beautiful roses, violet to gold to crimson in hue, and their perfume washed over him in waves; waves not only of sensation but of more feelings he couldn’t explain. Calm, and happiness, and longing… and again, an aching sadness. He stood there for only a moment before his emotions turned to an unbearable compulsion to step inside the house (No. The home.).

Coming to the door, he tried to pull the handle but found he couldn’t move it. Overwhelmed by his desire to see what was inside, Ambros pounded on the carved wood. “Hello? Let me in! Please, let me in!” There was no reply, at first. Then he heard a woman’s voice, gentle and sweet as the roses. His compulsion reduced again to contentment, the man slumped against the door and listened to her sing.

"I once knew a boy with eyes like the sea
And I felt the tides turn when those eyes turned on me
When I saw him I knew just who I'd like to be
And around us we'd leave the world burning"

He knew the song, though with somewhat different words. Her voice though: that he knew in the deepest parts of his soul. It filled him with peace. Standing, he moved to the window to look in. A young mother rocked a yearling on her lap, smiling down at him and stroking his hair. Ambros reflexively touched his own hair, as though it were him there on her lap. He smiled despite himself as she continued to sing.

"From Freynagar's mountains I traveled afar
I followed the currents to old Dalkivar
I journeyed the spicelines t'ward the great Eastern star
With my heart for my dearest still yearning…"

And then, from somewhere behind him, came the scream.

It pierced through the calm and the joy, a keen note of terror on the breeze. Turning from the window, Ambros looked about frantically for the source. Before long, it was joined by another, and another. From the house’s garden he saw a great mass of distant shapes coming toward him. And no longer could he smell the roses; they’d been replaced by smoke. Not the smoke of hearth-fires burning, or the smoke of rare and exotic incenses. The smoke of destruction. The smoke of war.

Dozens of men, clad in furs and bloodlust, tore into the hamlet on horseback. The stick-wielding artist threw up his weapon in the street, in a vain attempt to parry a descending battleax. Ambros thought he could see the boy’s eyes still blinking in disbelief as the head rolled through the dust. Men and women rushed out to defend their homes but met much the same fate. Ambros turned back to the window in despair and saw fear in the young mother’s eyes. She fell to her knees, setting the crying child on the floor. Looking about wildly, she settled her gaze on the sleeve of her dress, then ripped off a strip of cloth and pushed it into her child’s mouth. Ambros again heard something from behind him.

An impossibly large man dismounted his charger, merely twenty paces from the house. He was dressed strikingly different from the other raiders, in tarnished plate, dented and rusted through in many places. From each such hole, blood ran out in rivulets and dripped to the ground. Ambros couldn’t tell for sure, but it sounded like each drop sizzled for a moment in the dirt, like a splash of water falling into a fire. The giant walked slowly through the roses, reaching out a gauntleted, bloody hand as though to stroke them for their beauty; each fair flower seemed to lean toward his touch, then upon tasting his blood they each caught fire.

Ambros turned back to the window, screaming and striking it in terror. “You have to get out! Go! Go while you still can!” But the woman couldn’t hear him. He watched as she closed a cabinet, tears streaming down her face, the child hidden. Turning her back to it, she sunk to the floor and continued to sing.

"On a ship I booked passage and sailed through a stormOmeyrenon raged in his oceans unwarmAnd my last drowning thought was the waters of homeIn the eyes of the lad I was missing "

The man-thing reached her front door and stopped for a moment. “No!” shrieked Ambros. “Please! Leave her! Let her live!”

The rusted steel helmet turned toward him. A hole in its faceplate seeped burning blood, but behind it Ambros could see pointed teeth and a rotting mouth. Its lips turned upward at the edge, contorting into a grim mockery of a smile.

Inside, his mother cried on the cold floor. She would die, but her child would live. He’d grow to have children of his own.

The last thing he heard was her voice.

"…and around us we’d leave the world burning…"

------

Inside her shop, Hu’dai was opening a door. A well-muscled Rillow man came in, glancing toward the table. “Another one chasing a memory, eh mistress?” She sighed. “Yes. And like all the others, he was lost chasing a truth he could never catch.” The alchemist bent low over Ambros’ corpse, scraping the bubbling, burnt flesh from around his neck with a metal tool and dropping it into a bottle. She capped it quickly, then turned back to her servant. “Take him back with the others. I think we have enough now for the next batch.”

Merchants in the Garden of Delights stock all kinds of exotic goods

The Rillow have a long alchemical tradition, and their mystics and scientists are always coming up with new and unique items. Players who visit the Garden of Delights will be able to acquire many such wonders from vendors, or even on quests. The Draught of Remembrance (top right item in the above picture) is a unique potion that players will encounter in such a quest. But beware: the knowledge you find might not be the knowledge you seek.

 

[santino27]

Couldn't make it past the first paragraph of that 'story.'

 

[RNGsus]

Dreams, child. May be true, maybe not. I can offer you knowledge, but it’s up to you to decide what it might mean.

My soul, its like they know me. Life doesn't seem all that complicated, when I keep to these of wisdom. Thank you, Black Geyser.

 

[Neanderthal]

I have a few pointers on crafting a better story, here follows an excerpt from my editing of the above:

Tits, swords, axes, more Tits, pert arses, pies, drink, KILL ELF, blood, thunder, mail covered tits, bare tits, rape, murder, pillage, drink, pies, KILL ELF, feast hero!

Epilogue: KILL ELF, tits.

You're welcome.

 

[fantadomat]

mail covered tits,