A fool. nemo knew he was a fool. Helping those who asked, running around solving problems for people he never met, The lumberjacks were the worst. Should he ever meet another lumberjack... his mind began clouding over at the thought, rage blocking all coherent thought.
Heading to Daikra he heard one of those blasted, simple, nuisances begging for help. With out a thought he ran after, stretching his unnaturally strong arms.
Entering the camp was a terror, nemo was met with screaming, the stench of blood, and a mass of strong bodies rushing down the trail, pushing him back the way he came.
The lodgings were worse.
Sprayed across the walls in bright arcs were gouts of blood, the haphazard buildings deeply pitted with fresh scars, he rushed toward the screaming and...
collapsed.
He could hear a futile struggle going on around the corner, see shadows and flashes of crimson steel, but something kept him from moving, a pressure on his emotions, depression and fear and doubt slamming into him like weights.
He barely had time to dodge the ax whirling toward his head when he gained enough control of himself to think of dodging, as it was he could not roll quick enough to evade harm, a second glancing blow hitting him on the left shoulder.
Ignoring the pain nemo got to his feet, sliding backwards to avoid more wild swings, each closing in, getting closer.
All the skills he learned fighting since he left derth seemed to leave him, his movements no longer fluid and graceful. A jerk backwards to dodge a swing aimed at his chest, and nemo slipped, getting his first solid glance at his attacker.
The man was dressed in what used to be lumberjack's standard work attire, but this was shredded. Flesh seemed to melt in some places, turning to a viscous matte black liquid, other it looked to have hardened into horns, leather, and bony knobs.
But his eyes were frightening beyond explanation. It was not the dull red glow, it was the rage and sadness that seemed to radiate from them.
The sadness made nemo hesitate.
The slash of the ax snapped him out of it. Muscle screamed as the blade sliced from shoulder to rib, Ax ground against rib cage.
Pain, had to forget the Pain.
The rest of the fight was a blur of the singing ax, fists hitting flesh, and depression.
When the cursed lumberjack finally fell, shattered and weak, the ground was soaked with blood and ichor, both of the combatants covered in wounds and smeared in gore.
Every single wound on nemo's body screamed, he felt as if he was on fire.... or being frozen... galvanizing shocks rocking through muscle, or maybe acid eating into flesh.
he blamed the ichor that was oozed from the lumberjack, that continued to ooze from the downed body.
nemo could swear he heard the lumberjack apologize before dying.
He swore he left the village, though he could not remember doing so.
nemo did remember dragging himself into a town days later, wounds healing.... strangely.
He sees an elf standing over him, looking grim, then fade to black.
He hears 'it is too late' and then nothing.
He feels blood flowing from his wounds, but slowly.

Did something change in trunk recently? I checked out and built revision 3822 because luajit2 on windows makes tome run that much faster, but now all my characters don't have the Orb at all - which is a right royal pain :(

Days, Weeks, A year? nemo could not tell how long he had been wandering. After emerging from Trollmire, the Rod of Recall clutched in torn and broken knuckles, time seemed to pass... oddly. Dreams that seemed too real, flashbacks of things that may not have happened. He no longer made camp, His scarred skin far to weathered to feel discomfort from anything but extremes. It made him much more comfortable to just continue walking till he dropped from exhaustion. This way he did not have time to lay back and think of what he was becoming...
once, years ago it seemed, he would nurse wounds from barroom brawls for a week or more, skimping on farm work to care for bruised ribs, wincing when he looked in the mirror at black eyes or a crushed nose.
Just yesterday he went toe to toe with a minotaur. One that was almost twice his height.
No dodging, running, fancy tactics.
with his bare hands he crushed the enormous bull's head.
How can this be? How can a human punch a bear to death, or strangle a drake?
As long as he did not rest, he could avoid the thought that told him he was cursed for playing with arcane energies, for wearing magic armor, for playing with space and time...
His delusions were playing tricks on him.
nemo gripped the Rod, wincing at the thrum of energy he could feel from it, and headed to a mountain, said to contain actual Dragons.

This is my newest more-or-less successful character who made it to the East and hasn't perma-died yet, an Anorithil this time around.

1st Wintertide, Year 875 of the Isolation
It's been a while since I've had much to write about here, but given my most recent conversation with Lady Aeryn, I feel it would be prudent to pen my thoughts, for those that might come after me. Having conceded this, Lady Aeryn has deemed that I be Zemekkys' latest mountain rat... err, volunteer to secure aid from the peoples of "Maj'Eyal," a supposed land of "free people" far to the West. As the youngest and least senior member of the Anorithil left here in Sunwall, I have little say in the matter. If this "Maj'Eyal" exists, why would they have forgotten us centuries ago? I was not yet borne into this world, being one of the first of the children birthed in the East, but having lived through centuries of orc attacks, you would think these "free people" would wonder where the orcs attacking them were coming from. Alas, I must stop now; the dotard's knocking on my door.

2nd Wintertide, Year 122 of the Age of Ascendancy
Well, how rude! I've never been so insulted in the entirety of my life, and I've encountered some downright vulgar orcs, too! I was deposited within sight of the Allied Kingdom's capitol, (A fortress of such a scale even a blind orc could see. It is a wonder it still stands with all the orc attacks that go on. But I digress.) and I ask for an audience with the leader of the fortress from the city gatehouse garrison. The brutes took one look at the sun-and-moon tattoo upon my brow, and immediately started tittering amongst themselves, as though privy to some joke. One even rolled his eyes and said, "By Telos' bedevilled spirit, another one." The commander took me aside and instructed me to make haste for the capitol of "my people," Elvala. He even drew a crude map and pointed out important landmarks, in a voice one uses to instruct children! Does he take me for a fool?! As a side note, he also pointed out the "proper" calendar year name, so to better relate to any who find this diary should I perish.

7th Allure, Year 122 of the Age of Ascendancy
Well, I made it to Elvala, but apparently none of the other elves the dotard sent through his farportal made it this far, as I was the first Anorithil any had seen. Most of the guards were old when I was born, so the stories of Maj'Eyal of old (which I had assumed until now were bedtime stories or stories told to ensure children behaved properly) were enough to grant me an audience with the ruling council. One of the more senior members was delighted to hear his brother still lived (my father, of all people), but in private he told me a dreadful truth of the Shaloren: the people of Maj'Eyal have never fully forgiven my people for causing the Spellblaze, to the point of rather evil people called "the Ziguranth" who are said to wear necklaces of elven ears making raids on Elvala. He pointed out that a single person, no matter how lowly, can always be destined for great things, and to test my mettle, he shared with me two secrets the council has been trying to keep from the rest of Elvala and Maj'Eyal in general: One, there are a group of "Rhaloren" elves who practice necromancy and blood magic -forbidden in the East, supposedly the orcs were once elves who dabbled too deeply in these schools- hiding in an abandoned fortress to the northwest; and two, there is a cave to the northeast where a farportal was rumoured to have been, in the days before the Spellblaze. In the hopes of returning with the bad news, I have opted to go to the farportal cavern.

23d Regrowth, Year 122 of the Age of Ascendancy
"Where a farportal was rumored to have been", indeed! Upon entry to the cavern, I find a note left by some other elf. The Spellblaze originated in that cavern, and the farportal (if it still exists) is likely buried under tonnes of rock. Imagine my great surprise when I get back to Elvala that my uncle does not have time to see me. Pah. Politics. I did however encounter the strangest things I had ever seen, though: crystals, moving about as though with a mage's "Phase Door" spell, hurling spells about with eerie precision. There were many colours, even one that seemed to be coloured as light through a prism, and from it a piece fell. As near as I can ascertain it appears to focus arcane energies upon anything it is fastened to, though I have nothing suitable to test this upon. That last red crystal I encountered sent me running, with the sore realisation that my skills might be lacking. I overheard one of the guards saying an "arena" challenge was going on near Derth, so I have elected to find my way to Derth and apply myself to that challenge.

54th Pyre, Year 122 of the Age of Ascendancy
Earlier in my writings I had penned a belief that these people should have sent help centuries ago - I know now that this belief was in error, that they had their own problems to deal with. Their Age of Pyre came at quite a price, and were in no condition to help us. There have been no orc attacks here in a century or more, no need to be as eternally vigilant as we have. But again, I digress. That furry being need not have perished at my hands, yet he did. All because he foolishly wandered straight into a Searing Light spell directed at his attacker, "Z." Both are dead now, but only one needed to have died. Why? I will never know. He even thanked me, in a sense, for besting that "Z" fellow, before attempting to skewer me with his floating greatsword. I will never understand the foolishness of some of these people.

7th Decay, Year 122 of the Age of Ascendancy
I am beginning to see why this tower is known as "Dreadfell" - it is a truly evil place, beset upon by many undead. I think I died, not even an hour ago - I felt a pain I wish to never feel again, but before it ended I was placed in the Void of all places, near a being that called itself "Eidolon." I've no idea why, but he saw fit to continue my adventures among the living. The most ridiculous thing, though - I had not a single foe left moving in sight, all had perished. It was their diseases that ended me - diseases! My healing light had not yet had time to begin again, nor my infusions of regeneration or disease-curing. If only I had listened to Lady Fillarel on her lectures of Totality, and how it may aid in such situations.

8th Allure, Year 123 of the Age of Ascendancy
Is this the price we Shaloren paid for our immortality? That the pioneers who had the vision to grant us this gift were cursed with insanity and decay of their form? Is this truly the legacy we have for future generations?

70th Regrowth, Year 123 of the Age of Ascendancy
Have I changed so much, so rapidly? I finally made it back to the East, and Lady Fillarel did not even recognize me. She was facing off against some orc filth as usual, and after dispatching the beast, she suggested I go to Sunwall. This cavern was the training cavern in my youth, and I knew full well where I was, and where Sunwall was. Still she needed to point out where it was.

73d Regrowth, Year 123 of the Age of Ascendancy
I suppose as I am back in the East I should revert to the nomenclature for the years that we had devised to remind us to stand strong, but I feel it unnecessary. I have made too many memories in Maj'Eyal, and not being recognized in Sunwall by anybody further reinforces this feeling. I suppose the dotard - Zemekkys can be excused, but literally nobody recognizes me. Lady Aeryn seemed a bit disappointed when I told her I was the only of our kind to make it to Elvala or even be treated with any sort of seriousness, but as leader I expect her true feelings were more profound, but buried for the sake of appearances.

Today will begin the Epic of nemo, a willful resident of Derth who will find that the life of an Adventurer can be rewarding... and horrifying.
nemo was born near Derth, parents unknown for he was abandoned. Growing up poor, but not needy, he learned the importance of being a hard worker and treating others well.
But having no ties meant he was always restless.
Having no family meant he had no lineage to look back on, no family pull to allow martial training.
with only the desire to become someone important, and the fighting techniques he learned in a few barroom brawls he traveled to Trollmire, seeking to prove himself against Prox.
He would soon find out how strange the life of one who spends time collecting artifacts and at the whim of arcane energies can become.

Many things to celebrate today!

We finally hit the 5000 played days, this is about 13 years and 8 months of play time!
We also hit the first thousands euros of donations.

This is bringing me much hope for the future, as in those cases, more is always better :)

My fellow players, please, continue to have fun!

Alright, sorry for my sudden and unexplained absence. More has been delayed but not forgotten and now work on it will be resumed. In the mean time, I continue my little series of teasers.

This time I would like to highlight a MoRE exclusive--the throwing dagger tree.

The throwing dagger tree is a new tree for both the vanilla rogue and the new Charlatan class. The base skill is a hybrid between a ranged attack spell and a weapon attack. While not requiring any equipped weapons, it uses weapon crits and other characteristics. While it does a relatively minor amount of damage, especially at higher levels, it has higher than normal chance for crits at higher skill levels and, most importantly, does not break stealth. The other 3 skills allow for special attacks based on the damage of the base skill.

Stealth just became a lot more fun.

Hi my fellow players

You might have noticed the te4.org server had quite a few hipcups in the last days/weeks/months.

I have decided get a new server for hosting.

It will have 16GB of memory (2 in the current one), a quad core intel i5 2.66GHz (dual core 2GHz in current one), 2 TB of hard drive (512GB in current one) ! That's quite the next step!

And it will only cost 20euros more per month (for a total of 50/month).

So if anybody feels generous, do as Canderel did, make a reccuring donation, this way I can sleep well, knowing the server will always be paid :)

It should be available in about a week :)

Until then (and after that!) : have fun!

My first thought: this game needs DCSS autoexplore.

When trying to donate some people got a very uniformative paypal login page, this is now fixed and you may all enjoy the act of donating to the game that brings you pleasure and fun! :)

Also, coming next beta, donators will get a little fun reward in game: custom tiles!

All donators, when logged on their online profile, will be able to use a custom tile for their character, chosen from a list of over 180, ranging from special clothing to downright madness, check out the video for some examples:

PS: There are a few donators who didnt donate while logged or from an email known to the system and are thus not credited as donators, when beta29 comes if you are in this case contact me and we will fix the issue swiftly!