1
General Discussion / Cavalry Charge
« on: March 06, 2015, 05:03:41 am »
Just once in my life, I want to be part of a real cavalry charge.
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2
General Discussion / QQF
« on: September 01, 2014, 01:12:43 am »
Why was this disabled? I for one would prefer to have it reinstated as my build depends on this feature.
Edit: NVM. It appears to have been fixed.
Edit: NVM. It appears to have been fixed.
3
Strategus General Discussion / Black Company Peptalk
« on: June 07, 2014, 05:39:39 am »
Everybody huddle up and take a knee.
4
General Discussion / Unblockable attacks from horseback
« on: May 09, 2014, 09:03:50 am »
is this a thing?
5
Strategus General Discussion / The First Crusade (Seriously, let's invade EU).
« on: April 15, 2014, 04:16:32 am »
They'll never see it coming.
Step 1: Unite the clans.
Step 2: Or don't, whatever, so long as the kingdoms of NA launch a crusade to retakethe holy lands EU.
Step 3: Any warrior who dies fighting for the holy land will be a martyr, and his soul will travel straight to heaven.
Step 4: The winner will be whoever holds the most EU fiefs by the end of strat.
Even if we don't manage to conquer EU, the exchange of knowledge and ideas will spark a new renaissance that will revitalize our community, starting w/ the trading fiefs near the border, and eventually spreading to all of Christendom NA.
Step 1: Unite the clans.
Step 2: Or don't, whatever, so long as the kingdoms of NA launch a crusade to retake
Step 3: Any warrior who dies fighting for the holy land will be a martyr, and his soul will travel straight to heaven.
Step 4: The winner will be whoever holds the most EU fiefs by the end of strat.
Even if we don't manage to conquer EU, the exchange of knowledge and ideas will spark a new renaissance that will revitalize our community, starting w/ the trading fiefs near the border, and eventually spreading to all of C
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Hast thou given the horse strength?
Hast thou clothed his neck with thunder?
Canst thou make him afraid as a grasshopper?
The glory of his nostrils is terrible.
He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength:
he goeth on to meet the armed men.
He mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted;
neither turneth he back from the sword.
The quiver rattleth against him,
the glittering spear and the shield.
He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage:
neither believeth he that it is the sound of the trumpet.
He saith among the trumpets, Ha, ha;
and he smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of the captains, and the shouting.
- Job 39:19 - 25, KJV
Stormclouds gather. A ragged column winds its way through the pass, descending into the valley south of New Jelbegi Castle. The brothers of the Black Company ride with grim determination, for though they have only just buried their fallen at Ismirala, they know that where they are headed another war awaits them.
Pausing then, a single, mustachioed rider dismounts and drinks deeply from his canteen; it does not contain water. He feeds on plunder, pillage, and what passes for trade in his profession--exotic ale from the casks at New Sargoth, horse steaks and exotic eels hellioned from the surrounding peasantry. He has fed on war, and he has grown fat.
From this vantage his gaze sweeps across the plains below. To the east lie verdant prairie lands, stretching all the way to the sea, and to the south and west he discerns the squat, derelict buildings of the settlement at Nova Tahlberl. Skinny farmers drag skinnier unwilling livestock to morning market, brass bells clinking, and yet for a moment Vengt envies them their peaceful trade.
And then he looks to the south. He cannot see it but he can smell it, faintly, mixed in with the morning dew, the wet grass, and the electric taste of thunder, wafts the smell of treachery, and behind it, some greater threat more sinister still. They have fought two wars now in one month, and this will be their third.
A great hand claps him on the shoulder. "Why so glum lad? They can only kill you once." And with that sage advice Unholy passes him by. One by one they straggle past, some on horseback, some on foot, some wounded, being carried in wagons. Veterans of a thousand campaigns, clad in the detritus of slain enemies, they are no strangers to war. Some nod or salute him. Vengt looks into their hardened faces as they pass, and he does not see fear.
"Hail Vengt," Tears, a grizzled warrior, greets him and continues on. A heavy falchion swings from his belt, and a complex killing machine he calls an "arbalest" rests on his back. Vengt had once seen him shoot a man in the back with it. The knight had been "dueling" some other great noble bastard, swords clanging off one another, when suddenly the point of the bolt erupted from the center of his breastplate. The poor sod was dead before he even hit the ground. That's how Tears came by that falchion come to think of it.
Now the old man makes his way past, leading a donkey laden with provisions. As always he is smiling. And now Vengt is smiling too. He is silent now, but Vengt recalls his standing orders--"always take the easy kill."
A chill wind blows up from the valley, blowing the hair from his face, and then it catches the banner he holds at his side. Looking to his left and to his right he see dozens of others just like, and even more from other clans, allies forged in battle. For a second time they have been caught unawares, and yet with every fight it seems that their numbers grow even greater.
Looking upon the tired host he realizes, these men have been taking the easy kill their whole lives, and in so doing, killing has become easy. Vengt will never remember this, but he has forgotten all about the farmers at Nova Tahlberl. He takes another sip of the sweet exotic ale. The first drops of rain begin to fall.
Hast thou clothed his neck with thunder?
Canst thou make him afraid as a grasshopper?
The glory of his nostrils is terrible.
He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength:
he goeth on to meet the armed men.
He mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted;
neither turneth he back from the sword.
The quiver rattleth against him,
the glittering spear and the shield.
He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage:
neither believeth he that it is the sound of the trumpet.
He saith among the trumpets, Ha, ha;
and he smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of the captains, and the shouting.
- Job 39:19 - 25, KJV
Stormclouds gather. A ragged column winds its way through the pass, descending into the valley south of New Jelbegi Castle. The brothers of the Black Company ride with grim determination, for though they have only just buried their fallen at Ismirala, they know that where they are headed another war awaits them.
Pausing then, a single, mustachioed rider dismounts and drinks deeply from his canteen; it does not contain water. He feeds on plunder, pillage, and what passes for trade in his profession--exotic ale from the casks at New Sargoth, horse steaks and exotic eels hellioned from the surrounding peasantry. He has fed on war, and he has grown fat.
From this vantage his gaze sweeps across the plains below. To the east lie verdant prairie lands, stretching all the way to the sea, and to the south and west he discerns the squat, derelict buildings of the settlement at Nova Tahlberl. Skinny farmers drag skinnier unwilling livestock to morning market, brass bells clinking, and yet for a moment Vengt envies them their peaceful trade.
And then he looks to the south. He cannot see it but he can smell it, faintly, mixed in with the morning dew, the wet grass, and the electric taste of thunder, wafts the smell of treachery, and behind it, some greater threat more sinister still. They have fought two wars now in one month, and this will be their third.
A great hand claps him on the shoulder. "Why so glum lad? They can only kill you once." And with that sage advice Unholy passes him by. One by one they straggle past, some on horseback, some on foot, some wounded, being carried in wagons. Veterans of a thousand campaigns, clad in the detritus of slain enemies, they are no strangers to war. Some nod or salute him. Vengt looks into their hardened faces as they pass, and he does not see fear.
"Hail Vengt," Tears, a grizzled warrior, greets him and continues on. A heavy falchion swings from his belt, and a complex killing machine he calls an "arbalest" rests on his back. Vengt had once seen him shoot a man in the back with it. The knight had been "dueling" some other great noble bastard, swords clanging off one another, when suddenly the point of the bolt erupted from the center of his breastplate. The poor sod was dead before he even hit the ground. That's how Tears came by that falchion come to think of it.
Now the old man makes his way past, leading a donkey laden with provisions. As always he is smiling. And now Vengt is smiling too. He is silent now, but Vengt recalls his standing orders--"always take the easy kill."
A chill wind blows up from the valley, blowing the hair from his face, and then it catches the banner he holds at his side. Looking to his left and to his right he see dozens of others just like, and even more from other clans, allies forged in battle. For a second time they have been caught unawares, and yet with every fight it seems that their numbers grow even greater.
Looking upon the tired host he realizes, these men have been taking the easy kill their whole lives, and in so doing, killing has become easy. Vengt will never remember this, but he has forgotten all about the farmers at Nova Tahlberl. He takes another sip of the sweet exotic ale. The first drops of rain begin to fall.
7
General Discussion / Vengt's Tale: Exciting Conclusion!
« on: March 06, 2014, 07:21:29 pm »
For Part II of Vengt's Tale, please see http://forum.melee.org/general-discussion/vengt's-tale-part-ii/
Previously, on Vengt's Tale:
A Saracen rider, knight of the desert, bears down on our forsaken hero. In a moment of desperation Vengt discovers the jarid, gleaming in the crimson wreckage. Clutching it now, he utters a prayer to whatever gods he worships. His doom at hand, Vengt casts forth the spear, and closes his eyes to meet death....
Part III: The Scorpion's Tail
Vengt is in hell. "So this is death? I smell the hot breath of the devil. I can hear its loathsome snorting, and ..... and it's licking my face?" He slowly opens his eyes. The rider still sits astride his warbeast, unseeing gaze drinking in the far horizon. The jarid protrudes from his left foot, and he is stone dead. Slowly his corpse slides from the saddle, onto the solid ground below. The horse, suddenly docile, licks Vengt's face again.
"So the rider's own momentum was his undoing? It must have amplified the piercing damage from this throwing weapon to such an extent that even a wound to the foot proved lethal." "Yes," he realizes. "If I am to survive w/out paying upkeep, I must learn to use my foe's own strength against him." It is small lessons like these that, in a young man, can accumulate to become experience, and, one day, wisdom. A warrior he is not, and yet he has his life, and those who would take it from him lie slain.
"Since you won't be needing this," Vengt mounts the maneuverable desert horse. Accustomed to the saddle, he guides his new mount gently onward, following after the footsteps of that Smiling old man which, even now, are fading into the shifting sands.
Previously, on Vengt's Tale:
A Saracen rider, knight of the desert, bears down on our forsaken hero. In a moment of desperation Vengt discovers the jarid, gleaming in the crimson wreckage. Clutching it now, he utters a prayer to whatever gods he worships. His doom at hand, Vengt casts forth the spear, and closes his eyes to meet death....
Part III: The Scorpion's Tail
Vengt is in hell. "So this is death? I smell the hot breath of the devil. I can hear its loathsome snorting, and ..... and it's licking my face?" He slowly opens his eyes. The rider still sits astride his warbeast, unseeing gaze drinking in the far horizon. The jarid protrudes from his left foot, and he is stone dead. Slowly his corpse slides from the saddle, onto the solid ground below. The horse, suddenly docile, licks Vengt's face again.
"So the rider's own momentum was his undoing? It must have amplified the piercing damage from this throwing weapon to such an extent that even a wound to the foot proved lethal." "Yes," he realizes. "If I am to survive w/out paying upkeep, I must learn to use my foe's own strength against him." It is small lessons like these that, in a young man, can accumulate to become experience, and, one day, wisdom. A warrior he is not, and yet he has his life, and those who would take it from him lie slain.
"Since you won't be needing this," Vengt mounts the maneuverable desert horse. Accustomed to the saddle, he guides his new mount gently onward, following after the footsteps of that Smiling old man which, even now, are fading into the shifting sands.
8
General Discussion / Vengt's Tale: Part II
« on: March 03, 2014, 06:33:52 pm »
Vengt's Tale
Part II: Anagnorisis
(For Vengt's Tale Part I: see http://forum.melee.org/general-discussion/vengt's-tale-part-i/msg965508/#msg965508)
Chaos reigns.
“Incoming cavalry from behi..” The sergeant's warning was cut short by a cavalryman's saber, and just like that, the disciplined army simply ceased to be. The shield wall broken, men fled in every direction, soon to be ridden down and killed one by one.
A splash of crimson obscured Vengt's vision as a riderless horse careened through the ranks, knocking him face-first into a morass of sand.
"THERE IS NO ESCAPE." He could hear it now, the voice of the war god, calling out, demanding sacrifice. But this was a foreign land and these were not his gods. It was his own neck on the altar.
Triumphant, blade raised high for the killing blow, the rider bore down on him like the swift certainty of death, and looking to his side now, Vengt beheld the visage of his savior.
"Jesus?"
He was an old guard, with eastern countenance, flowing white beard and a face burnished dark by the sun. For armor he wore a wool jerkin, a white cloth skullcap and what looked like a potlid for a shield. In his right hand he gripped a peasant's pitchfork. There was not a single soldier more poorly equipped for war... except for Vengt.
The old man who looked like Asian Jesus raised the primitive farming implement in a graceful, almost benevolent motion, and then, with shocking, savage violence, he stabbed towards something slightly to the left of Vengt's head. Behind him he heard the whinnying of a horse and turned back to see one rearing on its hind legs, its rider struggling to stay mounted. The old man had stabbed it, stopping it against all laws of physics and saving Vengt's life in the process. With surprising strength he stabbed again, killing the horse and sending its rider tumbling to ground. Before the rider could even regain his footing the old man was upon him driving the dull pitchfork home with such force that it pierced through the rider's tough leather armor, through flesh, and into the earth below.
Vengt was transfixed. Where the sudden, violent spectacle had shocked him into a state of near paralysis, the old man merely turned away and laughed--a careless, resounding, insane laugh, leaving his enemy there pinioned and cursing in his own indecipherable language.
“Sh..shh...Sha.” The din of war was briefly muted and the sound of the dying man's words seemed to drift there.
And once again the roar of battle washed over them. Vengt did not know the Saracen tongue, but this word was familiar even to him.
The truth struck him like a hammer. “You! You're not Jesus.” Turning to his erstwhile savior he stammered accusingly, “A demon more like! Nay, the daemon I daresay! Spelled with an 'a', whatever kind of daemon that is!"
The old man gave a knowing, smiling grin. “Keep moving! Make towards the dune to the east, and for God's sake find yourself a weapon!” The reprimand jolted Vengt back into action, and suddenly, there was a semblance of order on the battlefield. He felt the war god's grasp slipping away. Today he would live!
Still gurgling in his own blood and offal, the dying horseman clutched a long, gleaming throwing spear of the style favored by the Saracens. Placing one boot on the man's chest, Vengt pried the weapon loose. “Right then,” Vengt reassured himself. “It's just darts at the pub now.”
And then he saw it.
Towards him and him alone, the mameluke charged, screaming a warsong. The Smiling Daemon had already disappeared over the dunes. Help was nowhere in sight.
The desert knight thundered, inexorably forward, ironclad, led on by an all-consuming murder-boner. The sky darkened.
"But, I wanted to live...." he protested, as the wargod laughed.
"I want to live!"
The rider struck home.
Vengt closed his eyes and threw.
Part II: Anagnorisis
(For Vengt's Tale Part I: see http://forum.melee.org/general-discussion/vengt's-tale-part-i/msg965508/#msg965508)
Chaos reigns.
“Incoming cavalry from behi..” The sergeant's warning was cut short by a cavalryman's saber, and just like that, the disciplined army simply ceased to be. The shield wall broken, men fled in every direction, soon to be ridden down and killed one by one.
A splash of crimson obscured Vengt's vision as a riderless horse careened through the ranks, knocking him face-first into a morass of sand.
"THERE IS NO ESCAPE." He could hear it now, the voice of the war god, calling out, demanding sacrifice. But this was a foreign land and these were not his gods. It was his own neck on the altar.
Triumphant, blade raised high for the killing blow, the rider bore down on him like the swift certainty of death, and looking to his side now, Vengt beheld the visage of his savior.
"Jesus?"
He was an old guard, with eastern countenance, flowing white beard and a face burnished dark by the sun. For armor he wore a wool jerkin, a white cloth skullcap and what looked like a potlid for a shield. In his right hand he gripped a peasant's pitchfork. There was not a single soldier more poorly equipped for war... except for Vengt.
The old man who looked like Asian Jesus raised the primitive farming implement in a graceful, almost benevolent motion, and then, with shocking, savage violence, he stabbed towards something slightly to the left of Vengt's head. Behind him he heard the whinnying of a horse and turned back to see one rearing on its hind legs, its rider struggling to stay mounted. The old man had stabbed it, stopping it against all laws of physics and saving Vengt's life in the process. With surprising strength he stabbed again, killing the horse and sending its rider tumbling to ground. Before the rider could even regain his footing the old man was upon him driving the dull pitchfork home with such force that it pierced through the rider's tough leather armor, through flesh, and into the earth below.
Vengt was transfixed. Where the sudden, violent spectacle had shocked him into a state of near paralysis, the old man merely turned away and laughed--a careless, resounding, insane laugh, leaving his enemy there pinioned and cursing in his own indecipherable language.
“Sh..shh...Sha.” The din of war was briefly muted and the sound of the dying man's words seemed to drift there.
"Shaaytan...."
And once again the roar of battle washed over them. Vengt did not know the Saracen tongue, but this word was familiar even to him.
The truth struck him like a hammer. “You! You're not Jesus.” Turning to his erstwhile savior he stammered accusingly, “A demon more like! Nay, the daemon I daresay! Spelled with an 'a', whatever kind of daemon that is!"
The old man gave a knowing, smiling grin. “Keep moving! Make towards the dune to the east, and for God's sake find yourself a weapon!” The reprimand jolted Vengt back into action, and suddenly, there was a semblance of order on the battlefield. He felt the war god's grasp slipping away. Today he would live!
Still gurgling in his own blood and offal, the dying horseman clutched a long, gleaming throwing spear of the style favored by the Saracens. Placing one boot on the man's chest, Vengt pried the weapon loose. “Right then,” Vengt reassured himself. “It's just darts at the pub now.”
And then he saw it.
Towards him and him alone, the mameluke charged, screaming a warsong. The Smiling Daemon had already disappeared over the dunes. Help was nowhere in sight.
The desert knight thundered, inexorably forward, ironclad, led on by an all-consuming murder-boner. The sky darkened.
"But, I wanted to live...." he protested, as the wargod laughed.
"I want to live!"
The rider struck home.
Vengt closed his eyes and threw.
9
General Discussion / Vengt's Tale: Part I
« on: February 27, 2014, 11:42:14 pm »
Vengt's Tale
Part I: Media Res
"Hold!" The sergeant's bellow drowned in the thunder of approaching hoofbeats. Pounding, Vengt's heart raced faster still.
"Hold!" Vengt wanted to run, every fiber of his being urged him too, but something held him back. He squinted and forced himself to look to the horizon, icy terror gripping his bowels.
In two's and threes the saracen riders crested the dune with the sun at their backs. "Perhaps they want to trade?" he mused hopefully. As if in answer the lances of the foremost horsemen dipped level, couched, serpents of sand hissing in their wake. The earth shook. Vengt swallowed.
"Hold!" A hail of tatar arrows began to beat a jolting, metallic rhythm on their shields. Vengt heard a pained shriek behind him as one found its mark.
A fellow pilgrim to the left suddenly broke ranks and fled.
"Keep your formation!"
The command went unheeded. He was no soldier. The coward made it ten paces before dying in a cloud of arrows. "I musn't be like him." Vengt said to himself. "I will die with honor."
They were almost upon them.
As one the grim-faced caravan guards drew their scimitars, sunbursts glimmering on naked steel to meet the onrushing danger. Vengt reached for his own blade, but was dismayed to find that the scabbard was empty. "Bloody upkeep!" In a foreign land, unarmed and outnumbered, the wayward knight cursed his sad fate.
The frenzied horde descended upon all of them, and Vengt was afraid.
For the next exciting chapter of Vengt's Tale, please visit http://forum.melee.org/general-discussion/vengt's-tale-part-ii/new/#new
Part I: Media Res
"Hold!" The sergeant's bellow drowned in the thunder of approaching hoofbeats. Pounding, Vengt's heart raced faster still.
"Hold!" Vengt wanted to run, every fiber of his being urged him too, but something held him back. He squinted and forced himself to look to the horizon, icy terror gripping his bowels.
In two's and threes the saracen riders crested the dune with the sun at their backs. "Perhaps they want to trade?" he mused hopefully. As if in answer the lances of the foremost horsemen dipped level, couched, serpents of sand hissing in their wake. The earth shook. Vengt swallowed.
"Hold!" A hail of tatar arrows began to beat a jolting, metallic rhythm on their shields. Vengt heard a pained shriek behind him as one found its mark.
A fellow pilgrim to the left suddenly broke ranks and fled.
"Keep your formation!"
The command went unheeded. He was no soldier. The coward made it ten paces before dying in a cloud of arrows. "I musn't be like him." Vengt said to himself. "I will die with honor."
They were almost upon them.
As one the grim-faced caravan guards drew their scimitars, sunbursts glimmering on naked steel to meet the onrushing danger. Vengt reached for his own blade, but was dismayed to find that the scabbard was empty. "Bloody upkeep!" In a foreign land, unarmed and outnumbered, the wayward knight cursed his sad fate.
The frenzied horde descended upon all of them, and Vengt was afraid.
For the next exciting chapter of Vengt's Tale, please visit http://forum.melee.org/general-discussion/vengt's-tale-part-ii/new/#new
10
cRPG Technical problems / Error Sending Outgoing Packets
« on: March 19, 2013, 04:28:50 am »
NE1 know what this error message means? Is this just a framerate issue on my end? Need to lower graphics settings?
11
cRPG Technical problems / Heavy Bastard Sword Unavailable in In-Game Inventory
« on: March 06, 2013, 09:18:44 pm »
I have a heavy bastard sword, but it doesn't show up in my in-game inventory list, so I can't equip. I've always been able to equip the thing prior to the recent patch, but now I can't. Any ideas?
12
Mercenary Recruitment / Recruiting Archers
« on: September 29, 2012, 05:25:35 am »
9.29 12:27 PM U.S. Eastern Time (6:27 PM Server Time)
http://c-rpg.net/index.php?page=battlesupcoming
http://c-rpg.net/index.php?page=battlesupcoming
13
Strategus General Discussion / Rivacheg Defense in 3 Hours
« on: July 22, 2012, 10:21:32 pm »
Is there a TS channel for the defenders?
14
cRPG Technical problems / Picking up Items Causes Item You're Already Holding to Dissapear
« on: July 03, 2012, 05:02:53 pm »
I'm a hybrid thrower, so I often have to pick up my spent ammo, or other people's ammo.
I usually spawn w/ 6 heavy jarids and a 2h.
When everything works correctly: I throw 3 jarids (1 stack) and pick up a heavy throwing axe. I now have a 2h, 3 heavy jarids, and 1 heavy throwing axe.
When it's annoying: I throw 3 jarids (1 stack) and pick up a heavy throwing axe. For some reason I dropped my other stack of jarids in order to pick up the 1 heavy throwing axe (this never used to happen before recent patch).
When it's really annoying: I throw 3 jarids (1 stack) and pick up a heavy throwing axe. My jarids and my 2h have completely disappeared. They aren't in my inventory, they aren't on the ground. They've simply been sucked away into oblivion.
In one round last night on NA1, the enemy team, who we outnumbered, barricaded themselves inside a tower. Naturally our team was throwing and firing everything we had at these fish in a barrel, getting lots of kills. I then picked up a light crossbow and 3 bolts that were lying on the ground, and at that point my sword of war just disappeared. Suddenly I'm unarmed. Luckily someone had left a masterwork longsword lying there on the ground so I was ok, but still...
I usually spawn w/ 6 heavy jarids and a 2h.
When everything works correctly: I throw 3 jarids (1 stack) and pick up a heavy throwing axe. I now have a 2h, 3 heavy jarids, and 1 heavy throwing axe.
When it's annoying: I throw 3 jarids (1 stack) and pick up a heavy throwing axe. For some reason I dropped my other stack of jarids in order to pick up the 1 heavy throwing axe (this never used to happen before recent patch).
When it's really annoying: I throw 3 jarids (1 stack) and pick up a heavy throwing axe. My jarids and my 2h have completely disappeared. They aren't in my inventory, they aren't on the ground. They've simply been sucked away into oblivion.
In one round last night on NA1, the enemy team, who we outnumbered, barricaded themselves inside a tower. Naturally our team was throwing and firing everything we had at these fish in a barrel, getting lots of kills. I then picked up a light crossbow and 3 bolts that were lying on the ground, and at that point my sword of war just disappeared. Suddenly I'm unarmed. Luckily someone had left a masterwork longsword lying there on the ground so I was ok, but still...
15
General Discussion / Aquaman
« on: July 02, 2012, 08:38:41 pm »
So, yesterday on NACRPG1, I was wading across a river next to a bridge w/ my teammate. We were ambushed by an enemy with green pants and an orange shirt, wielding a trident. He was Aquaman and he killed both of us, never leaving the vicinity of the water the whole time. It was awesome.
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