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satoshi-mochida · 7 months

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ENDER LILIES: Quietus of the Knights sequel ENDER MAGNOLIA: Bloom in the Mist announced for Switch

From Gematsu

Publisher Binary Haze Interactive and developers Live Wire and Adglobe have announced ENDER LILIES: Quietus of the Knights sequel ENDER MAGNOLIA: Bloom in the Mist for Switch. It will launch in 2024. It will support English, Japanese French, German, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, Russian, Simplified Chinese, Traditional Chinese, and Korean language options.

“We teased a sequel to ENDER LILIES: Quietus of the Knights nearly two years ago, and we have received countless requests from our online community for a second adventure,” said Binary Haze Interactive CEO Hiroyuki Kobayashi in a press release. “It is an honor and a pleasure to announce our next title with the help of Nintendo during such a prestigious event. We have much much to share in the very near future, stay tuned!”

Here is an overview of the game, via Binary Haze Interactive:

Decades after the Rain of Death, a new journey begins in the Land of Fumes, where mystical powers lie beneath the earth. The kingdom’s desire for conquest led to the creation of the Homunculi, machine-like artificial life forms prepared to execute the king’s will. A recent resource-harvesting mission gone awry caused toxic vapors to emerge from underground, driving both man and machine to feral madness. As the Homonculi devolve into dangerous creatures, guide Lilac—an “Attuner” with the power to purify those infected by the fumes—on a quest to save the kingdom. With the help of friendly machines and spirits who fight in Lilac’s stead, fend off mechanized legions of lunging carcasses, cannonball-firing corpses and chainsaw-wielding goblins terrorizing the land. Turn foes into friends by exorcizing corruption from enemy bosses. Wield their powers to add 30 different abilities to Lilac‘s combat repertoire in an enhanced battle system where she can equip up to four special abilities at once. Improve Lilac’s odds of surviving this hunt for lost memories by leveling up attack strength, HP, and armor. Explore the depths, heights and far corners of the kingdom for lore-filled relics. Collect and trade gold for upgraded items at the Blacksmith’s storefront. Combine story fragments from the kingdom’s fleeing inhabitants with Lilac’s forgotten memories. Seek the truth in an atmospheric hand-drawn setting set to the soothing serenades of returning musical group Mili (Ghost in the Shell, Goblin Slayer) with a brand new original soundtrack available for purchase at launch.

More information will be announced on February 26 at 7:00 a.m. PT / 10:00 a.m. ET via the game’s official website.

Watch the announcement trailer below. View the first screenshots at the gallery.

Announce Trailer

Japanese

youtube

#ENDER MAGNOLIA: Bloom in the Mist #ENDER MAGNOLIA #ENDER LILIES: Quietus of the Knights #ENDER LILIES #Binary Haze Interactive #Adglobe #Live Wire #metroidvania #Gematsu #Heck yeah #Youtube

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rametarin · 4 months

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Angry about something

Please, please, please, let movements be horrible on their own without saying, "The're the [previous thing] of [subject]"

We don't say the Nazis were the modern Napoleonic Imperialists. We don't say the Napoleonic Imperialists were their day's Golden Horde of Genghis Khan. We don't say Muslim pirates and abductors from Tripoli cruising Europe for slaves and conquests were "totally Trans Atlantic Slave Trading it." Muslims were abducting Europeans for slave applications for centuries before Europeans did it for

And when people talk about modern day Intersectional Feminists, capital P Progressives and oldschool TERF-flavor feminists get nasty in accordance with their values all over a pasttime, a hobby, or a group of people that enjoys something and tells them they're doing it wrong thanks to a VERY unreliably narrated assessment of what they are and why they are, they tend to treat their behavior as if it's the same stock mindset of previous experience related to Christian puritainism and religious evangelism.

Don't fucking do this. Their values are not the same. They come from a different place, and you doing this helps them do something they SPECIFICALLY like to do. First, muck around acting like assholes in self-righteous quests to control how people interpret reality and see things, and when called out for it, have their own controlled mea culpa where they apologize because, "that's just the old Christian White Supremacist in me, the feminism part of me isn't like that and can't be like that because feminism is just good and can't be bad. I'm sowwy. :C"

No. Fucking no. Do NOT fucking allow that to happen. Feminism is not a simple act of seeing women as equal, it's an entire dogmatic baggage that necessitates Class Struggle Theory, the willful adoption of the idea the only thing that matters in sexual politics is that "Women Are Oppressed (TM)" even when circumstances and culture are entirely equal and even handed with them, and that society owes them something to compensate for this inherent oppression- at the expense of men. And that Society is the third wheel in their relationship, automatically there to redistribute from the man.

Feminism bills itself as simply a phenomenon of 'equality'... for women.. but it is no more this than Christianity is synonymous with The Good(tm). It certainly is a shitty way to see the world, but it is not the definition of seeing the world. It boils down to making some very very intensely specific logical leaps and shortcuts out of convenience and then dogmatically insisting these values are immutable and unquestionable.

From that position, we come to the other little black box in the equation. The idea that something that exists in culture that represents an icon or concept, oppresses and exploits that icon, object or group, and that it is specifically wrong to objectify that, but only if it's a woman, a group that is "oppressed." (it's however perfectly justifiable to objectify an 'oppressor.' See how that works.) Right before they say some apologetics like, "It's not MY fault cisheterosexual Judeo-Christian Patriarchy is sexually binary! Maybe if you agreed in more options we wouldn't be having this conversation!"

And it's because of this shitty point of view, they argue that even having big booby fictional characters that are female, boobily boobing down the stairs for the appreciation of the audience, they jump to the next facet of their belief system. Male Gaze Theory.

Built off their idea that Classes Struggle (tm) and Women Are the Obligate Oppressed Class(tm), and that any reference or participation by women is inherently an act of an oppressed political group in bondage to and beholden to their oppressive captors, AND that works of fiction and literature are part of culture, these facets of culture give groups their marching orders, programming and ideas on what they are, mean and even their existence. They believe, uncompromisingly, that your very perception and understanding of reality is built solely upon what books written by the state have to say about what is real and what isn't. That if society writes books about a murderer and don't go out of their way to omnipotently, omnipresently dictate with no ambiguity that, "Murder is bad, ackshully," that you endorse a society where murder happens. And, no joke, this is how they imagine murder, theft and antisocial behavior happening. Because it exists in that cultural bubble like evil waves of energy, just going unneutralized to warp the minds of unprepared people who haven't been told what is right and wrong by society, making them rapists, murderers and exploiters of those weaker than them (and they only care when the person exploits someone weaker than them.)

So they see sexy drawn women as depictions of an oppressed minority being reveled over by a slavemaster class, exploiting their image and the idea of that group for profit (which they also despise) and believe the women should also be profitting off their "exploitation" in fiction, and some sort of state council should exist that oversees the expression or interpretation of women in fiction, or else abolish the work from existing for not fitting their moral and social view of how literature and culture are "allowed" to see women. Seeing this very dour, extreme interpretation about how all men depicting women is exploitation, and by default society is meant for a male, oppressor perspective, is called, "Male Gaze Theory."

At no point in this equation did their greviance or conceptual principles cross over with Puritainism or Christians. They are their own totalitarian beasts, and like the Nazis are not Napoleonics are not The Mongol Horde, FUCKING TELL IT LIKE IT IS AND ACCEPT RADICAL FEMINISM IS JUST LIKE THIS.

You can somehow see one radical conservative and condemn the entire conservative or right-wing party as inherently racist, white supremacist and homophobic, but you can't acknowledge that radical feminism has more Ls to its name and more bad ideas and more bad values than rejecting the idea that trans men and women aren't men and women. All their ideological supremacism, all their logical leaps, all of their antagonistic marching into any fandom and demanding the fandom most conform to their ideas of what is mentally, emotionally an socially healthy, are their own. They are not Puritans, they're fucking radical feminists. Do not use the bad behavior of past groups as an ablative shield when you fucking mean what you mean.

"Well complaining about feminism makes me sound like some kind of CHUD..."

That's a you problem. In the past, complaining about the Church when it was synonymous with power would've made you a "pagan" or an "unbeliever." And before the T in LGBT got traction, it was just "anti-feminist" for a biological man to argue with a woman, giving them infinite instant Ls, even if they did identify as a woman. It starts somewhere.

Call it like it is and just realize radical feminism is rotten from the top windows of the attic to the foundations.

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overfedvenison · 9 months

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Game idea: A Mass Effect-style Sci Fi RPG where your quests are judged on a binary Paragon/Renegade (or similar) scheme and control a similar kind of autonomous galactic diplomat/enforcer kind of protagonist. Paragon rewards give you more credits, and -really- disruptive quest outcomes can drop your credits. After each mission you also have to pay to repair your gear and the like.

This goes on for a while, but some results are weird outliers. Forgiving certain enemies is met with evil alignment values, some really ruthless activities are met with good points. But, your equipment gets better, and you rise in power.

Eventually you figure out this alignment system is fully in-universe, and you are being judged on how well you serve the interests of your organization at every corner. You are rewarded with more credits if you pick the orderly option because they want to gamify obedience and support of their causes into you.

In the second act, you have the option to turn away and go rogue. Doing this overly will lose you all your credits and your resources will slowly dwindle; the game suddenly has a focus on managing this. You have to get repairs by going up to people and trading and otherwise circumventing the game systems entirely.

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rotworld · 2 years

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10: Nothing and No One

a horrific disaster in deep space leaves you (almost) all alone.

->contains gore, body horror, graphic descriptions of corpses, mentions of breeding.

Morning is simulated with warm color light, increasing from a soft glow to standard, sterile white over three minutes. You wake in a bed cobbled together from whatever soft material you could salvage. The ship’s sickbay is the last holdout, the only place where you can still see the naked steel of the walls and ceilings. Breakfast is salty nutrient sludge eaten in the unnerving, empty silence of the sickbay cafeteria, surrounded by empty tables. After that, you spend some time in the viewing bay. The dark of deep space and the glitter of distant stars is a strange sort of soothing.

Your datapad lets out a chime, the screen lighting up. New message from Shelby down in the industry wing. “Hey, just checking in. How are things in medical? Dee’s coming down with something. I don’t think it’s serious, but we could use some antibiotics just in case. Could we trade you for some? I can meet you on the bridge. Just let me know. Please.” You ignore it.

The flightpath hasn’t changed since yesterday, according to the logs. You’re still in a meandering orbit around a gas giant on the edge of known space, and the ship is still sending out a distress signal. The pulverized fragments of the last vessel that came to help drift by now and then, scraps of hull and bits of engine floating soundlessly by the windows. It’s suspicious, but you worry that it’s not enough to deter another kind stranger or curious traveler. A cityship stranded in a debris field looks like an accident, not sabotage.

You get another message, this time from Troy in hydroponics. “I don’t know how it looks in medical, but if it’s as drab as the rest of this place, I finally got some hybrid roses to bloom. Do you want one? They’re a little finicky to take care of but they look great. Just swing by hydroponics to pick one up, or I can drop one off. Please.” You ignore it.

You go back to the cafeteria for lunch. Through the window, a binary star system twinkles in the distance. Your heart sinks when the serving machine lets out a shrill series of beeps and nothing comes out. It’s out of nutrient solution. Your datapad warns of your elevated heart rate as you consider your options. Can’t put it off. You’re easy prey if you let yourself get weak and woozy by skipping meals. The central cafeteria is too far, the route too unprotected. The closest food cache is in the leisure ward, but you’ll have to go through the labs to get there. You stop yourself from pacing and sit down, conserving your energy, with the terrifying realization weighing down on you—you’re going to have to leave the sickbay.

Another message. This time it’s the co-navigator, Apollo. “Hey there. I think it’s about time we break orbit and keep moving. I’m going to send a message for supplies one last time, but then we’ve got to take our chances. Is there anything you really want or need? I understand this is a stressful situation, but you will be taken care of. This will be the last time we get supplies for a while, so get back to me soon. Please.” You inhale shakily and take a minute to compose yourself. You ignore it.

You suit up for the journey in a full exosuit, secure your helmet, and turn on the oxygen supply. It still takes you a while to get everything on and fitted properly. You were never a ship tech, staying firmly on the inside of the airlock. Everyone got a crash course at some point just in case, and you wish you’d paid more attention at the time. The sickbay doors open. The exosuit sensors note a rise in temperature and humidity. All you see is red.

Beyond the sterile walls of your makeshift home lies a hellish, pulsating fleshscape. Your boots squelch and sink into the soft slurry lining the halls, a reddish, bloody pus substance oozing in the footprints you leave behind. It’s hard to believe this is still the same ship. There’s so much organic matter caking every surface, molded around equipment and furniture, that you rarely glimpse metal. Veiny, pinkish-gray membranes stretch across the windows and portholes, vibrating as you walk past. Bulbous growths, fungal and polyp-shaped, shoot puffs of black spores into the air. Everything shudders and heaves like the inside of a creature, and things slither across the walls and ceiling.

Sometimes, you see what used to be people. Unincorporated bone fragments jut out of the mass, yellowed and spongy where corrective enzymes have set to work. You’ll find a spine now and then, a gaping skull with an open-mouthed scream dangling from wall threads. Drooping flaps of skin seal off newborn chambers, hot, musty rooms where flesh gains new purpose. Crew cabins and office space, places that were densely populated, are the worst. Human figures are frozen in time, still hunched over desks or laying in cots. There are no bodies inside those flesh cocoons, no recognizable people. Just sacs of fluid and jumbles of repurposed tissue, pulsating in time with the ship’s heartbeat.

You pass hydroponics. Glass greenhouse walls are foggy with condensation, obscuring whatever’s growing inside now. You see churning movement, hear the rattling breath of something enormous. A terminal screen flashes as you walk by, expecting input. It’s been used recently, a bloody handprint smeared across the screen. Troy is still logged in. His recent searches include: earth plants; popular earth plants; flowers; best flowers; romantic flowers. A thorny bush grows in a large pot beside the terminal. The flower buds are small, pale yellowish-red, and pulsing softly. The soil they grow in is Martian red and slick-looking.

An incoming message displays in the lower corner of your helmet’s internal screen. “EMERGENCY. EMERGENCY. FIND YOUR DESIGNATED CRYOCHAMBER AND AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS. PLEASE.” You dismiss the alert.

You hesitate when you get to the lab. The door struggles to open, caked in clinging, fleshy tendrils. Inside, it’s as dark as a tomb. That same organic substance has grown so thick it chokes the light. The corridors are claustrophobic and breathing. Abandoned research stations hum quietly under a blanket of shifting tissue, control knobs and keyboards manipulated with sluggish dexterity. Simulations are run. Harvested tissue is studied at every stage of assimilation. Whatever it couldn’t learn from the people it consumed, it teaches itself.

There’s an open doorway on your left. A computer terminal lights a conference room, a sea of quivering flesh in the shape of a table and chairs. A tall shape stands in front of the screen, its silhouette familiar but uncanny. The proportions are off, the limbs too long and too numerous. It wears “clothing” made of the same thing as its skin, all color and slickness that shouldn’t exist outside a human body. You see spinal protrusions where they shouldn’t be.

You hold your breath and move slowly, carefully, mindful of where you step. You walk only with each shuddering exhale of the ship, heaving murmurs that disguise the squish of your footsteps. You inch through the dark and feel like a worm through soil, a struggling, burrowing thing. There’s a strange, unsettling sound that echoes throughout the ship, vibrating through every soft, red surface, low and droning like whalesong.

Another message. The sender is Quinn, from the lab. “Hi. Are you doing okay? No one has seen you in a while, and we’re all getting worried. If you’re worried about coming out of the sickbay, don’t be. Everything is fine! It’s been a long time since you’ve come out, so you wouldn’t know, but we got rid of all the problems. We’re going to have a party in the lab, and you should come. I hope to see you soon. Please.”

Things are better on the other side, not as gross and pulpy. You can see some of the leisure ward’s painted walls, gummy, blood saturated posters peeking through ropy lengths of flesh. The cafeteria is small but well-supplied. You don’t like the idea of making more trips through the lab, but it’s good to know there’s a decent stockpile here. You take as much as you can carry in a supply box and strap it to your back. It’s a tight squeeze back through the lab with the extra weight and bulk, but you don’t rush. That same open doorway, now on your right, is still illuminated by the terminal screen, but there’s no silhouette in the way this time. That makes you nervous. It must be on the move. Is it still in the lab, or did it leave?

You get your answer. The ship jolts like it hit something, a sudden, violent tremor making you stumble, knees sinking into the bloody muck. You’re still struggling to your feet when another message comes through, flashing, marked urgent.

“STAY WHERE YOU ARE PLEASE.”

Your blood runs cold. It knows you left the sickbay. You rip yourself out of the slurry and push yourself to move faster, but you’re slow and clumsy in the exosuit, and the whole ship is working against you. Sticky membranes unpeel from the walls and try to ensnare you, clinging like flypaper to anything they touch. Tendrils coil around your ankles and fight to drag you into gaps and alcoves within itself, space in the mass opening in your shape and size to welcome you inside. You fight with everything you have. You rip the stringy appendages apart with your gloved hands, spurting red fluid across your helmet, hacking your way to freedom with the exosuit’s utility knife.

It’s not enough to make distance. You hear a metallic rattling as something big comes sprinting down the ship’s halls, shaking the floor with every pounding step. You’re out in the open, exposed, completely at the mercy of whatever happens upon you, and running out of time. With seconds to act, you make a desperate move.

You’ve never been inside a newborn chamber. You’ve read the reports you can access, seen pictures. The real thing is so much worse. It’s a mercy you can see so little, but even through the suit, you feel everything. Constant motion. Wriggling and churning, little suckling growths mouthing at your limbs. You close the door behind you and override the lock with a medical emergency code, sealing yourself inside. The thing comes thundering into the lab and you see just the shape of it in darkness through the foggy glass of the door. The round bulb of a humanoid head with a strange, fluttering membrane like dangling, hooded cloak. The pitted, hole-filled chest, dips and grooves of empty space. Four long fingers slamming on the door, over and over, until the glass starts to crack.

You fumble through your exosuit’s tools for the lighter. A small, blue flame flickers to life at the end. The thing goes completely still. You stare at each other through the glass, neither daring to move. The wall behind it shivers. Then, another message. It’s using the system alerts again, every word in dire capital letters.

“OPEN THE DOOR PLEASE.”

You take a second to breathe, the suit’s heart rate monitor still beeping frantically. You’ve bought yourself a few more seconds, at least. “I want to go back to the sickbay,” you tell it. You raise your voice to make sure it can hear you through the locked door and the awful, churning sounds of the newborn chamber. “I want you to let me go.”

It doesn’t answer for such a long time that you start to think you’ve lost the upper hand. It doesn’t leave. It just stands there, peering through the door. You’re grateful for the darkness of the lab once again. You don’t ever want to see its face. Its spindly hands slides across the cracked glass slowly. Does it regret what it did? It’ll probably have to mend that later.

You hold up the lighter, making sure it can see the threat. You wonder briefly if you’ve just made it even more aggressive by threatening its young, but it doesn’t visibly react. It watches silently. It seems calm.

Finally, the standoff seems to end. It steps back from the door. The groaning of the ship stops. “What are you going to do to me?” you ask. “Are you going to let me go, or are you going to hurt me, or kill me, or do whatever you did to everyone else?” You don’t know why you’re even asking. It’s going to do whatever it wants. The newborn chamber squirms all around you. Something pops and hisses in the dark, dark droplets collecting on the outside of your helmet. Your pulse picks up again. This was a mistake. You shouldn’t be in here.

The thing takes another step back. You can barely see it in the shadows of the corridor, but you know it’s there. There’s no way it left. “Please,” you say. “Just let me go. You got everyone else. You’ll get me, too, it’s just a matter of time. I know that. Just let me have today.”

It does nothing. It says nothing. No more messages come. The darkness shifts, a stray shadow breaking away. It leaves. You hear its footsteps fade. You think about leaving but you wouldn’t get. Tears roll down your cheeks and you can’t reach to wipe them away. The organic mass of the newborn chamber rocks gently against your legs, as though trying to soothe you.

It doesn’t take long for the thing to come back. It’s holding something. You watch as it sets the pot of hybrid roses in the middle of the hall, right in front of the door. It’s so absurd that it makes you laugh. What is that? A bribe? A pity gift? The thing waits and the minutes tick by. You’re going to run out of oxygen eventually.

“I’ll burn them,” you tell it, desperate and cornered. “I’ll burn all of them. All your young, gone, just like that.”

Silence. The thing steps closer, out of the shadows. “NO YOU WILL NOT.”

“I’m not bluffing!”

“YOU WILL NOT. THERE ARE NO YOUNG YET.”

That surprises you. You look around yourself and it’s hard to make out anything. You’re careful with the lighter, not wanting to lose your leverage. Dim blue light shows you deflated spherical shapes like pods and buboes, but nothing inside. Flesh winds and coils tight to form alien wombs, but the thing is right. It doesn’t have any young—

You glance out the glass, a new fear taking root in your chest. “What do you mean ‘yet?’” you ask.

The thing stares back at you. It presses its face against the glass. Harsh, labored breaths fog up the surface, droplets of condensation sliding slowly down the door. Its hand touches the glass again, caressing. You feel yourself trembling.

“OPEN THE DOOR PLEASE.”

#rotpeach writes #goretober #original

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bramblewolfbooks · 2 years

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Status Effect Designs and You

So there is this sentiment I see a lot online when people talk about RPG. A thread goes on for long enough and this line comes up in some form

There are a few lessons about game design and communication to be found here.

But the one that I always like to take is "players like feeling like their actions have value and impact." Which, simple, but is still important to think about. People like to feel like what they are doing has value. And while value and impact can be measured in many different ways, both narrative and mechanical, it should feel both consistent and readable to players most of the time.

When a tool consistently does not work in a situation that feels like the most important like a boss battle, players are discouraged from trying or experimenting with those things in other circumstances. This often goes double for something like a status effect which is often an investment to better circumstances on a later time such as throwing off the tempo of a monster, damage over time, or an increased vulnerability. It's a powerful tool which needs a control valve, but constancy is often part of value for a player, as is, again, communication.

So what are some solutions?

Readability won't solve a lack of consistency, but will prevent unneeded frustration from players trying strategies that won't work.

Good ui or visual design will help here. Both maybe having a reminder screen or an impact animation.

Something you could do is offer abilities where the status effect is additive. Making the option still feel attractive even if the status doesn't go off, because there is a mitigation of risk, a lack of feeling like the thing doesn't have impact still!

Etrian Odyssey as a series offers two different sets of status effects, both of which can be used to mitigate or deny certain enemy behaviors, forcing players to plan around the things they don't want to deal with.

Status effects are super impactful in this series (maybe too impactful) And both monster and your party can trade bind and ailments, often making boss battles a measure of when as much as what as you try to target certain targets or parts of enemies. Despite some skeezy art choices it's a good example where your status effects are built in and considered in every part of the game.

It might not be the best solution for your game but it's an example of that consistency and conditioning a player to explore all their tools.

A third solution: Build and design encounters that communicate certain strategies. Readable weaknesses. You know in most game that plant based monsters usually don't do well again fire spells. It's just extending that thought to be a bit broader.

Maybe monsters weak to charm have big eyes? Maybe monsters weak to sleep look sleepy? Go wild!

Of course, you could take a note from Hades and tune a boss to have statuses have more limited effectiveness compared to normal encounters instead of a binary yes/no. This might take a bit more tuning but can still make your investment feel good.

Of course the best solution is always going to be to work it in to your games bones. The more a player gets to use, or is encouraged to play with a tool, the more likely they are to think of it. If you find players aren't using a tool, it's often that the tool feels underwhelming. Is it underscaled for the threats you face? Is it too powerful so it almost never connects? Is your tool balanced and fair? Or at least fun?

-What role are your statuses even playing in your systems?

-Are combat encounters built in a way where status effects feel efficient?

-Does it /feel/ fun? What sort of fun? For who?

#game design #rpgs #status effects #game thoughts

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forexindicatorcashpowerdownload · 1 year

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tracy1607 · 3 months

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collectornahas · 2 years

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#Rpg maker xp crack 2015

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