That One NPC

It's too much of a bother for a few features, I agree. That's why I'm trying to make that bother and workload impact many features and aspects of the game, Especially changing the mid-climate region tiles. That is so key. I've taken steps to make this easier by eliminating the overworld map, which makes seasonal changes so much easier. I sort of want do to this for my Bound-like. I really, really think it will work well for it. The core seasons and tile shifting/holidays, and the calendar, not so much the time skip actions, which were for a high fantasy concept.

The air was hot and heavy. The sun beat down on the planet like the unforgiving wrath of Ra. The tarmac was cooking under the might of each ray, creating blurry waves above the surface of the airstrip. The planet was cloudy and stormy for 99% of the year, and the few sunny days it allowed to slip past, were so hot you prayed for rain. Ten fresh faced, high spirited rookies walked off the transport ramp one by one. Most of them puked within minutes of entering the planet's atmosphere. The air was so hot and muggy you could barely breathe. The smell of sulfur and decay was unbearable, and the minor change in gravity was taxing on the knees and lower back. It was a total shock to the system and senses. The planet was often described as hell, in a literal, and biblical sense. Sergeant Sean Pentecost stood with his arms crossed behind his back, the collar of his dark green T-shirt soaked with sweat. He squinted his scrutinizing gaze as he examined the crew of wet behind the ears newbies that would be joining his team. The best damn team in UNEGA's arsenal. Alpha were the elite, the chosen and proven. The best of the best came to Alpha to fight. And now half of the squad would be combat virgins. Alpha was looking more like Echo by the minute as he watched rookie after rookie vomit all over the tarmac and the ramp of the transport ship. Several rookies, only males were able to hold their rations down. Trevor Hanken gagged violently, covering his mouth and nose. David Carlyle, arguably the hardest of the bunch barely flinched, but he was visibly affected, even from a distance. "This is the best they could scrape up?" Sarge uttered with pure disgust, crossing his arms. Charlie Hauser stood beside him, hands on his hips, squinting into the sun's relentless gaze. He shook his head, spitting to his left, hardly impressed by the group. "Give 'em a chance Sarge. We were all rookies at one point in time." Sarge lowered his head. "I tell ya, Haus. I'm really startin' to hate my job," he said with disappointed defeat.

Since late last year I have resolved to put well-done seasons in an RPG. I wanted to talk a bit about ideas surrounding the use of a year calendar, and seasons. Using a Year Calendar script, weather/climate script, and a tile switcher script, I plan to incorporate a few features. Calendar menu feature that displays major annual holidays and events, as well as allows the player to set dates and reminders, and doing time skip stuff where you take an entire season (or what's left of it) and do a generic action to 1) skip time, 2) gain loot, XP, and potentially other stuff. Examples would be adventuring, exploring, going to war, working as a local lawman, doing an apprenticeship with the Order of Magic. Or you can do seasonal actions. Examples are farming in the summer, hunting in the winter or fall, fishing in the spring, etc. These would skip chunks of time and provide me with options for rewards, risks (random stat drop risks depending on action, and proportionate to average rewards), etc. Seasonal changes on maps which aren't tropical or polar in nature. Using carefully edited tile sheets that all match, but change based on season, the maps will go from lush green to white-capped as the climate and weather patterns change. Seasonal holidays and quests/events. Each season will offer some unique buzz in the world from holidays stuff, seasonal quests & NPCS, etc. Resource changes will take place, meaning during the winter months, certain plants won't be able to be harvested, etc. Items will change in some stores to reflect what's going on, and prices may change, so that items found only in winter, will be worth more in the summer time, and vice versa. I have more ideas but these are the main ones. I'm interested in what people think of these, and what ideas you have seen or maybe have of your own.

It was getting dark as Edge made his way across the harsh, cruel desert. The skies were clear and he looked to the stars for guidance. The sands of Zenobia could be confusing when you run out of water. Heat, and dehydration could cause hallucinations and delusion. His pace had become increasingly hurried after discovering that he was being followed. He was still a day and a half away from Odessa and couldn't be sure who was tracking him, or how many there were. He was scouting for a spot to camp when he sensed a presence behind him; a pair of eyes scanning his form. He spun around quickly, but could see nothing besides dunes of sand and his own footprints. The cool wind howled and whistled across the stoic sands. Some one, or some thing was out there lurking in the dunes. Hunting him like prey. He grew angry; defiant. "Show yourself!" He shouted into the arid desert. He waited, hoped, and still he stood alone. "Fight me, coward!" he yelled out with more aggression this time. Edge caught movement in the corner of his right eye. From behind one of the dunes, a young male wearing an eerie, haunting mask slowly rose to his feet. The mask was white, and looked like it had been carved from bone. It perfectly covered the facial area, leaving only the eyes and ears exposed. He had short blue hair and held a metallic spear in his right hand. The base of the shaft rested above his shoulder, and had an expertly crafted, spade-like blade mounted to it. It's razor sharp edge caught the moonlight, drawing Edge's attention. He thought it strange that the man wore little clothing or armor. His chest was bare, save for a leather strap that held plated armor over his left breast and shoulder. His hands and forearms were wrapped tightly, leaving the fingers bare. His feet were bound in cloth, and he wore baggy, tattered blue and yellow pants tucked into the cloth below the knee. He approached Edge slowly, making his way to the top of the dune where he stopped, removing a water skin from his gear. He tossed it toward Edge, and it hit him in the chest, falling into the sand. Edge was confused. He didn't know if the young man was friend or foe. "Who are you?" he asked intently, not giving proper thought to the water skin. The man continued toward him, neglecting to answer his question. Edge was about to speak again when the man lunged forward, pushing off his left foot, pulling back his right hand for a vicious thrust of his spear. Edge narrowly avoided the attack with a hasty step and sway to the left. He stumbled in the sand, catching himself with his left hand before getting his footing and drawing his sword from his back. With a spear, the man had range and agility on his side. Edge would have to be patient, and wait for an opening to strike. The man held his spear with both hands, spreading his legs and bending them at the knee. He took one side-ways step after another toward Edge, waving his spear back and forth. The red, blood-stained tassel blurred into streaks as it danced back and forth toward him. His eyes struggled to follow the tassel, anticipating the coming attack. With a quick, confusing motion, the head of the spear smacked his sword, toying with him. Again, harder, forcing his sword to the left with startling force. The young man immediately followed up by spinning to his right on his left foot with a long, broad swing of his spear using his right hand. Edge barely managed to duck the attempted decapitation, lunging to his left into a combat roll as the man shifted into a downward thrust after finishing his swing. Edge was no match for him. He was impeccable; flawless in his form. There was an arrogant calculation and ease to his every movement. His spear was not a weapon wielded, but a part of his body. He was one with the weapon. Edge couldn't win this fight, and he knew it. "I don't want to fight you!" Edge blurted out. The man raised his spear for another thrust, but paused as a long, thick needle pierced his neck abruptly. He calmly plucked it loose, lowering his spear slowly as he examined the strange needle. His focus drifted from the needle to his own body. He dropped the needle, staring intently at his left hand palm, curling his fingers slowly. Edge was about to strike when the man staggered, losing his balance. As he fell, he used all of his strength and will power to push off his spear, landing on his side, rather than face-down in the sand. Edge looked around quickly, noticing a strange sight. A cactus with arms, legs, and a pair of eyes. It stood still, glaring at him. He locked eyes with it for several moments, unsure of it's intentions. Suddenly it moved, running off into the desert. Edge sheathed his sword slowly, heading for the water skin which was still sitting in the sand behind the paralyzed man. There would be no camping tonight. He had a head-start, and he was taking it.

I would firmly agree on both. My plots are usually long-form, so I'd end up script 1 or 2 ferry shots prior to the player being able to access/afford a charter. I would 100% have both. And if you have naval exploration, I strongly suggest put in secrets you can access from the ship. At least a few, of varying types. Be it a good Training/drop table area, a treasure find, a secret town with good shops/a secret follower, w/e you end up deciding on.

"So, where are we headed, anyway?" Stryker asked. They had been travelling for two days and could now see the lights of Odessa glowing above the horizon against the night sky. "Beneath these sands is a solid layer of rock," Juakeem explained. "Our destination is deep within that rock. We must first navigate a long, narrow passage into the outpost from a large rock formation near the city. That formation isn't far now." There was several moments of silence as the chocobos trotted through the sand. "May I ask what brought you here?" Juakeem asked. "It's a long story," Stryker answered. "I have nothing but time," Juakeem said with a smile. Stryker looked over his shoulder. "It's your story, Ana. You should tell it." She took a deep breath, conjuring the painful memories. "Well. My friends and I attacked Zenobia. Tried to, anyway. My friends, they didn't make it. I did, thanks to Edge. Stryker helped me escape, and then we met you." Juakeem tugged Shae'elle's reigns, bringing her to a stop. Stryker then brought Boko to a stop, examining Juakeem. His brow was tightened, and for the first time, his expression was that of intensity; even emotion. "You are very brave, Ana. I now understand why Edge has taken your part. I will tell your story to my people and your friends will not have died in vane. Come! You must speak to Commander Fairheart and his men." Shae'elle pressed on, and Boko followed slowly.

ALPHA SQUAD Created by M.J. Saulnier "In 2034 a US deep space probe discovered a planet inside the Milky Way galaxy containing alien life forms. One-hundred and twenty years later, mankind set foot on the planet for the first time... and the war has been raging ever since. Fifty years of combat later, I'm in a UNEGA transport shuttle on my way to the surface. My name is Kayleigh Dawn Mahoney. I had nothing to leave behind, because I lost everything a long time ago. I enlisted at seventeen after my mother died and my father slipped into an abusive, drunken stupor. He'd get so hammered he didn't know who I was, that I was his daughter. I'd turn into some cute little thing he figured was his girlfriend. It wasn't as bad as you might be thinking, but I had to leave, and so I did. After basic training, and a slew of aptitude tests, I was selected by the United Nations of Earth Galactic Alliance to take part in a top secret training mission for the Marines. How could I refuse? Five years later, here I am, headed for a hostile alien planet, lightyears from home, what little I had to call home. It's all so far behind me now..." 2204, The Milky Way Galaxy The shuttle rattled and shook about as it entered the planet's atmosphere. It vibrated violently, producing a loud clanging noise that suffocated the thoughts of ten rookie soldiers. They had been through thousands of intense, realistic drills and simulations, but nothing could prepare them for the real McCoy. Heated, intense combat with an alien race unknown to the regular citizens of earth. It was known that we were away fighting a foreign threat to our planet, but the details get a little mixed up over the lightyears. The truth is a luxury most governments can't, or won't afford to divulge. They didn't know the truth, and most of them weren't ready for it. Kayleigh Mahoney cast her beautiful brown gaze at her best friend Keira Smith. "Are we there yet?" she said, imitating a young child in the back seat of a car on a long trip. Keira laughed. Her medium length blonde hair spilled over her shoulders from under a forest green bandana. She chewed gum through her smile and rolled her blue eyes, looking to her left at Trevor Hanken, who was sound asleep, drooling on his own shoulder. She shook her head in shock, looking back at Kayleigh. "I don't know how he can sleep through this," Keira said. Kayleigh shook her head, laughing at Trevor before she got more serious. "I just can't wait to get there, you know? Settle in, meet this Sarge guy." Jonathan Rhodes looked up from the memo he had been reading. "Who is this guy, anyway?" "They say he's some kind of hero down there. That his men worship him, and the hostiles fear him," David Carlyle spoke up. He leaned forward, an intensity twinkling in his eyes. "They told this one story back on the base ship..." ***** "Negative Ghost 1! This thing is like the wrath of god! We need air support!" Captain Reynolds shouted into the radio over the sound of distant shouting, gun fire and grenade explosions. He sat in a poorly dug trench, screaming into a hand-held communcations device. Sergeant Sean Pentecost lay on his side to Reynolds left, awaiting orders, and growing impatient with the entire situation. The Captain shouted a variety of profane words before he stood up, keeping his head low. "This is the deal, troops! Command wants that Titan taken down, now!! Air support is a no-go on this one, gents. We're on our own!" Sarge leaped from the side of the trench, approaching one of his soldiers. He took a grenade launcher from him, throwing it around his shoulders and shouted across the line. "Cover me!" He took off over the edge of the trench and into the desolate, arid battle field. Miles of rock and dirt. Cloudy, stormy skies that only clear up a few times a month, and odd, unearthly creatures everywhere. Thousands of them marching forward toward the human front. Leading the charge was a giant. The beast was easily four, five-hundred feet tall. It seemed to scrape the sky as it charged forward, crushing any of it's own who failed to avoid it's devastating strides. They shook the earth beneath him, creating the sensation of a series of small earthquakes. Sean didn't flinch, nor hesitate. He pressed forward, fired round after round from his assault rifle. He picked the hostile alien soldiers off one by one at a distance as he ran toward the Titan. Ahead was an old human trench, evidence of a time not so long ago when they had won this battle, only to be driven back by the unrelenting attacks of the natives. He shot two of them in the trench, and three more beyond it as they threw crudely fletched spears in his direction. His shot, even on the move was deadly accurate. Ahead of him, a massive alien spike hit the ground and lodged in the loose, moist soul. The impact lifted dust and clumps of earth into the air. Sarge avoided the massive alien missile that lay in his path, striding to the left, ducking under the upper portion that protruded from the ground on an angle. He dropped his rifle at his side, reaching around his back to pull the grenade launcher around his waist. Moments before reaching the edge of the abandoned trench he took aim and fired a single grenade round into the sky toward the Titan. He pulled a grenade from his vest, pulling the pin as the explosive round hit the Titan in what would be it's face. He lunged sideways into the air over the trench, throwing the grenade with all his might before he fell safely into the trench in a fetal position. The Titan collapsed slowly, creating a massive earthquake, and a raging dust cloud that covered a two mile radius, sweeping over the human line like a sand storm. As the dust began to settle, and the men hacked and coughed the dust from their lungs and throats, the silhouette of a soldier holding a rifle at his breast emerged from the haze. It was Sergeant Sean Pentecost, head hung low, breathing heavily. He stood proudly over the trench. "Hope you pussies were takin' notes." ***** Keira popped a bubble of gum. "This guy sounds hardcore," she said plainly. Johnathan Rhodes leaned forward resting elbows on knees. "There's no fuckin' way it went down like that." "Why not?" Carlyle asked, crossing his arms. "You're tellin' me his whole unit let him go it alone?" "They were shook up, John." "Bullshit! And what kinda grenade launcher can stop something that big? What was it? The only grenade launcher on the planet at the time?" Carlyle laughed. "He's not some kind of god, Carlyle. He's probably some hard ass old man who saved a few asses and won a few battles along the way, so they gave the guy a few medals. Few years and some half-in-the-bag mess hall magic later, the guy's some sort of inhuman alien killing machine." An argument erupted amongst the soldiers, and Kayleigh began to feel like she was the only one on that ship who was focused, nervous, or even worried. She looked down at her lap, a wave of anxiety falling over her entire being. What did she get herself into?

Chapter 1 Darkness Ensues This story is dedicated to Sunal Wolfsbane, my dear old friend. New Haven, New York The night was hot and humid. The streets of New Haven were quiet and eerie. The orange light from lampposts was polished into a fine, dense glow by the heavy moisture in the air. It was one of those nights when the empty streets felt both inviting, and menacing. For Deputy Sheriff Owen Reznik, this particular night had been quiet and uneventful so far. He sat in his squad car eating a hamburger and listening to the radio at a low volume. He was putting in a solo shift tonight. New Haven was a fairly small, relaxed town. Deputy's often worked the graveyard shift alone, although backup was never too far, should it be needed. Owen was a Caucasian male of thirty-two years with short black hair and a hansom, defined face with bright green eyes. He had a small, jagged scar above his upper lip from when he was eleven years old. During a little league baseball practice, he had taken a fly-ball straight to the mouth after failing to catch it with his glove. Funny thing, fear. He never quite shook that one day, that one incident. As a result, he became a benchwarmer and didn't return for a second year. Sometimes you have to ask yourself, if I had caught that ball, that fateful day, could I be playing for the Yankees right now? Fate is not to be taken lightly, you see. Even if you don't believe in it. For fate in itself does not exist. It's just a word we use to make the course of our lives more tangible; To vindicate our failures and glorify our successes. You get up in the morning and consider calling in sick. Instead you get in the car to drive to work, and you're T-boned by a semi two blocks from your home. Was it fate, or random chance? Could you have actually stayed home, or by your own will and admission, was it your destiny to cross that intersection that morning? It's enough to drive you insane. Luckily for Owen, he was a simple, new world man of simple beliefs. As far as he'd be concerned, fate would play no part in the events which were about to unfold. The dispatcher, Carey, came over the radio. "Owen. You're around Kennedy Park, right?" He rewrapped the burger and put it down in the passenger seat, swallowing that last bite. Grabbing the microphone, he answered Carey. That old familiar doubt and anticipation lingered in the back of his mind. You never knew what your next call would be. What you'd be going into. A kid caught shoplifting, or a standoff with six heavily armed criminals. You could say it was like a box of chocolates, you never knew what you were going to get. "Yeah, Carey. I'm sitting on Park Lane right now." "I need you over on Agricola. Some sort of disturbance between two men. It's the alleyway by 85. Doesn't sound serious, but be careful anyway." "Copy that, dispatch. Heading there now." Carey was a sweet young girl, only 19. She was attending university to be a criminologist. Owen liked her. Figured if things were a little different, if he hadn't met Allison... but there we go, dabbling in that fate nonsense again. He pulled away from the curb he'd been parked at, heading north on Park Lane toward Agricola Street, which was only a few blocks north-east of his location. Kennedy Park was a nice area during the daytime, but it seemed to change after dark. It got more gritty and dangerous. So this call came as no surprise. Cruising slowly down the street, he came to the alley near 85 Agricola. He shut the lights off and stopped discretely, assessing the scene. He made eyes on a man hunched over and mounted atop another person. He quickly called for backup, exiting the vehicle afterward. He approached the scene with his sidearm grasped firmly, the suspect directly between his sights. "New Haven Sheriff's Department! Put your hands in the air where I can see 'em!" He couldn't see the victim, but the person wasn't moving at all. The suspect however, slowly stood up with a menacing, hunched posture. Owen's stomach tightened. "Easy! Keep your hands where I can see them, or I will open fire!" The man slowly turned around, locking eyes with Owen. He held something in his right hand. Looked like a knife, or something long and metallic like a blade. "Put the weapon down, and those hands up! Last warning!" The suspect didn't comply, but rather advanced on Owen, as if to will his gun away and attack him as he had the poor soul laying behind him. Owen panicked and squeezed the trigger as he'd been trained to for years. A round exploded from the barrel and found it's mark in the suspect's chest. It pierced the left side of his breastplate with a vicious shockwave of recoil surging through tissue, flesh and clothing. What should have been a direct kill shot, seemed to have avoided him all together as he pressed forward still. Owen squeezed the trigger again, horrified with disbelief. The man absorbed yet another 9mm round at close range. This one he actually seemed to feel. It slowed his pace, almost staggered him. That's when Owen heard the squealing of brakes pinching rubber. His backup had come crashing in at the sound of gun shots. The suspect finally yielded, turning from Owen, dashing into the darkness of the alley, dropping the tool he'd been holding in the process. Owen took a few calculated steps to pursue, firing two more rounds which may or may not have found a mark. What the hell just happened? Could what just happened have really happened? No time to really digest it. His sight moved down toward the unidentified weapon. A long, metal spike, bloodied at the tip. This night couldn't get any stranger. With so much adrenaline and emotion surging through him, he almost picked it up, contaminating the evidence. Settling down a little, he holstered his sidearm and rushed to the victim as another Deputy ran down the alley after Owen, gun drawn. "What the hell's goin' on, Reznik?" the Deputy asked in a panic, looking around the scene frantically. He'd never had a call like this before. Shots fired and all. New Haven was a model American Town. Nothing like the neighboring city of Blackwater, which was full to the brim with crime and violence. Owen kneeled next to the victim. There was blood everywhere. On the ground around him, soaked into his cloths, and all over his neck and face. As Owen went to check for a pulse, he took notice of two evenly spaced puncture wounds on the left side of the neck. He tightened his brow, perplexed even more than he had been. It would take a week to come off this adrenaline rush. Hands slightly shaking, he checked the man for a pulse. No good. He was already dead. Owen stood up slowly, glancing around the alley, inebriated with fear, shock, and confusion.

24 Cresthill Drive, White River Valley The Ross family vehicle crawled along Cresthill Drive; a sleepy little street on the south eastern outskirts of town. The curb met lawn in neat, uniform fashion along the curved stretch of pavement leaving no room for the suburban sidewalks Mel had grown accustomed to. The small neighborhood was tucked neatly below the towering valley forest. Everywhere trees stood as ancient landmarks; collections of branches and leaves looming over the town like watchful eyes. The trees here were old, towering in height and robust in width. The sort of trees that muster a distinguished character and presence when gazed upon with a hungry eye. June noted the numbers mounted on houses that passed by her window, her current count at eighteen. Within only a few houses, they began to edge toward the tall, modern American three story home with twenty-four mounted to the porch-side wall in rustic black lettering. It had rain washed green siding made of weathered wood with crisp, recently refinished white trim. The front porch was wide and sweeping, covering the length of the home along the front face. It was love at first sight for the married couple. June had finally found a home. A real home. For Phillip, home was wherever June and Mel were, but for his wife and daughter, this was significant. June had been on the run since two had met, and Mel had never had a place she could truly call home. June was a runner, and he never questioned that. He accepted it because he wanted it all - the good and bad alike - but he was revealed to be settling down for Mel's sake. Melanie was delightfully impressed by the warm, welcoming, spacious home, although she'd never allow herself to completely show it. She was holding out, playing judge and jury this time. They finally decided to plant stakes, and took her to the middle of nowhere. But this house felt like a home. A real home. Not an apartment, duplex or a rental. This was their own family nest, yard and all. She smiled, beginning to loosen up a bit more, already trying to picture the interior of the house. The station wagon began to turn into the driveway of the new Ross home and Phillip noticed a middle-aged man with dark brown hair washing a red sedan in the neighboring driveway at 26 Cresthill. As he parked the station wagon, he glanced at his new neighbor, offering the standard dad nod which translates directly to: Hey. The man returned his gesture as June spoke up from within their vehicle. "Home, sweet home, my loyal luggage carriers," she joked with a smile and a laugh, gathering her purse and phone. Phillip smirked, stepping out of the car to once again lock eyes with his new neighbor. Nathan Elliot nodded again, this time more firmly, and with a closed lip smile. "New in town?" he asked with the casual politeness he was known for, still hosing his sedan down in the morning sun. "Just getting in now," Phillip replied cheerfully. He was the outgoing member of the Ross clan. The one who could get along with anyone and hold a conversation about anything. "Long night following that storm in." Nathan smiled, imagining for a moment what that must have been like. It was a nasty spot of weather to sleep through, let alone drive. "Well. I’ll leave you to it, then," he announced sternly. "We’ll have the wives set up formal introductions," he added with a grin and a wink. Phillip let a laugh slip as June stepped out of the station wagon behind him. "Sounds great to me," he said, heading for the trunk to unload luggage. Mel headed for the porch with several bags, head buried in her phone as June stepped out of the passenger side, locking eyes with Nathan Elliot. It was as though she had frozen in place. Not by fear, or wonder, but by surprise, stun, shock. They shared a strange moment that entranced Nathan, despite his subtle discomfort. Their entranced gazes separated as Nathan looked away, and focused once again on his red sedan. June quickly gave a glance of her left shoulder to Phillip, who seemed busy tending to luggage for her. She took a deep breath, tightened her brow and gave one last, contempt filled glance at Nathan before joining Mel on the porch with the keys to the home.

RISING Created by M.J. Saulnier Original RP Concept by Sunal Wolfsbane and M.J. Saulnier Introduction "I prefer to go out at night, when the sun has rested after a long day of polishing the earth. The light is inherently forgiving in nature. It has a way of shining a false beauty over even the ugliest of situations. It gives cosmetic value to an otherwise worthless piece of merchandise. The light is the great deceiver, not the darkness. When the shadows close in around us and threaten to remind us of who we are, it's in the light we seek comfort and salvation. I walk the streets of this forsaken city, passed the dregs, junkies and whores. I see and hear everything that happens in these streets; This concrete Gomorrah. I see a man, a spineless worm, unemployed and hooked on crack cocaine. He collects welfare checks from his brother's mailbox and lives with his girlfriend and her two small children. He spends every penny chasing a high he'll never satisfy and watches her kids suffer, neglected and deprived of a mother and childhood. His eyes are fixed upon a young woman, a prostitute. Her long blonde hair, slim figure and schoolgirl face earn her the money she needs to care for the product of a trick gone horribly wrong. The uninvited seed of a low-life rapist. A foreign invader who left upon her both a gift and a curse. A bittersweet signature left upon her world in the form of a pure, and life-long maternal love, marred by the memory of her violator every time she looks him in the eyes. The pipe in his left coat pocket is still warm, and his mind races, the pane of glass between himself and reality slightly cracked and smudged. Only two things rest on his feeble, one-track mind. That perfect backside and the sexual release it will offer him, and the $600 which rests in her purse beside a loaded .45. Nothing good happens tonight. Nothing that can be summed up beautifully, or packaged neatly by a deep moral observation. People hide within the light. Hoping, praying that all of their superficial bullshit is in any way true, or in any way will protect them from the cruel reality of the human condition... Evil. Sin, and the capacity to commit sinful acts of violence, greed, or deviance dwell within us all. The road to heaven is paved with corpses... So watch your step." —Preacher

Boko's talons cut through the sand with ease. Stryker sat atop his back, with Ana right behind him. They wore Bedouin robes in order to disguise their identities from any Zenobian soldiers they may have encountered as they drew nearer to Odessa. Juakeem rode Shae'elle a little ways ahead of them to the right. He slowed down to mirror their speed and ride alongside Boko. "Do you have a plan once you have reached Odessa?" Juakeem asked. "We're headed for the Inn," Stryker answered him. "You are rebels then?" Stryker grinned, taking a moment to think about it. "You could say that, yes. But what makes you say that?" "Odessa Inn is merely a disguise for a rebel outpost. And your friend, Edge. He is a rebel. One can only assume..." he finished with a smile. Ana thought for a moment. "What's Odessa like?" she asked curiously. There was a moment of silence; hesitation. Stryker just couldn't lie to her. "It's the fourth largest city in the Empire," he answered gravely, pausing for a moment. "The Zenobian Empire." There was a heavy, grim silence now. it loomed in the sweltering air, and the cores of Ana's eyes. They were headed right back into enemy territory. Directly toward hundreds of Zenobian soldiers. "How could you keep this from me?" Ana asked Stryker calmly. "I didn't think it was necessary to make things worse for you." "I had the right to know." "Hey. This Odessa thing wasn't my idea. I came along to protect you. We're not exactly gonna strut on into town. I'll find a safe way in." "You mistake me for some common chocobo breeder," Juakeem said, looking at Stryker with a closed-lip smile. "I know a way directly into the compound beneath the Inn." Stryker smiled wide, shaking his head. "Thank you, Juakeem."

I like simple stats, with simple systems. However I have grown to dislike systems rooted too deeply in "# vs #" mechanics. It's almost always a case where you just get the fighter's ATT as high as possible so he 1-hits everything. Or you max the tank's DEF so nothing can stop him. YOU max the thief's speed so she gets the preemptive on every. Single. Fight in the entire game. These systems of absolute numbers are just predictable, easy, and boring in the late stages. There has to be a balance of enemy stats meaning something, and your stats meaning something. Many people will play an RPG, max their defense stat and get legitimately salty when something can still kill them. I think it comes down to play styles, whether you want to be challenged, or work toward breaking game logic to have OP characters who are opposed by nothing expect the last boss. I care more about the game play using said stats, than I care about the stats. Dogmatic stats where the highest number wins, every time, no matter what, because math, are definitely my least favorite. I like stats systems where you grow depending on what you do, vs getting a bunch of different stat increases with each level. (In terms of Skyrim. This might help people understand that it's a question of the damage reduction cap, not your armor rating.)

You can create a process upon death that takes the position on the map, and stores it in a variable you can late draw on. I'm not good at this stuff, but I know it ca be done. A good fix is having them just disappear. Instead of a downed sprite, maybe have no sprite. That way they can be looted (if have click looting), and are gone once you leave the map.

What about switching? Because I noticed the event name is how the engine identifies that an event is a monster. This is not good. You may need some pro help with this one. All I can do at this point is fire up the @Kayzee signal.