I found a thing.
Thursday 29 March 2012
Wednesday 28 March 2012
You Know What Sucks?
Finding out that the new Kid Icarus game came out last week, on the exact same day your nearest GAME store decides to close.
On the plus side, HMV has DVD's as well, so no real point complaining, eh?
On the plus side, HMV has DVD's as well, so no real point complaining, eh?
Tuesday 20 March 2012
Wednesday 14 March 2012
I Was Going to Whine About RP Again
But then I found this picture of a tiny crab.
Jeez, look at how tiny he is.
Jeez, look at how tiny he is.
Monday 12 March 2012
Street Fighter X Tekken: Why Aren't You Playing King?
This is it.
I've babbled on and on about it. You've put up with me babbling on and on about it.
And now, it's finally here.
It's the review of Street Fighter X Tekken! Or, as I prefer to call it, Street Fighter X King: Play King.
Street Fighter X King is the first in a duo of crossover fighting games by Capcom and Namco, bringing legendary brawlers such as Ryu and Chun-Li into the ring against King and his Tekken chums. Capcom's offering came first, bringing King and co. into the 2D arena of the Street Fighters, and we're going to have to wait a long time until we know how the Capcom characters will look in the 3D realm of the Tekkenites. But until then, this is the game we have, and as is befitting of the first chapter of gaming's greatest crossover so far, it certaintly does not dissapoint.
While this game looks very much like Street Fighter IV at first glance, don't let that put you off - there's a whole lot of stuff in there that makes this game a whole different set of combos. For starters, while characters are played in tag-teams, meaning you have to pick another fighter as well as King, they don't have individual life like in Marvel vs. Capcom - if just one character is K.O'd, then you lose the round, so you have to actually think about when to tag King out with his partner. Also, you can say goodbye to the stuffy old Ultra Combo and Focus Attack and say hello to the shiny new Cross Rush, Launcher and Juggle Combos - two systems designed to add more speed to the fighting and set up opportunites for nasty damage if you pick characters with the right moves (like King).
"But wait!" I hear you cry. "How can a realisitc, close-range fighter like King cope with the unending fireball spam from the Street Fighter side?" Fear not, my fellow gamers, for Capcom is way ahead of you - Each Tekken character has a unique move that allows them to dodge Hadoukens and other projectiles, as well as counter them in some cases. King, for example, has his Jaguar Step, which can then lead into an Elbow Drop that knocks the opponent to the floor. He also carries over many of his combo attacks from Tekken, so he still feels rather Tekken-y whilst on the 2D Street Fighter plane, giving him a large advantage in close combat.
Two of the games most controversial elements are Pandora and Gems. Pandora allows you to sacrifice your current characters to boost King's power, as well as giving him an infinite Cross Gauge and making him look bloody terrifying to boot. However, if you can't kill the opponent before the timer runs out, you automatically lose the round. Secondly, Gems are equippable "power-ups" that allow you to improve a character's damage output, speed or whatever, often requiring certain conditions to activate. The argument against Gems is that they might give new players too much of an advantage against veterans, but in the end the effects are often so negligible that you might not even notice they're there. In the end, while they're good for patching up holes in your playstyle, they don't really detract from the fight.
So Capcom has struck the first blow with their 2D fighter, and now Namco must respond with their own 3D fighter. It'll be interesting to see what Ryu and chums will look like in the photo-realistic style of King's world, and how the 6-button combat of Street Fighter will translate into the 4-limbed pummeling of Tekken. But until that time, expect King to be smashing in faces and reducing Ken's chances of future children with naught but his own two hands. That is, if he can get by Ogre and Akuma first.
Replayability: 4/5 (Go online, that's where all the fun is.)
I've babbled on and on about it. You've put up with me babbling on and on about it.
And now, it's finally here.
It's the review of Street Fighter X Tekken! Or, as I prefer to call it, Street Fighter X King: Play King.
 |
| King is clearly going to win here. |
While this game looks very much like Street Fighter IV at first glance, don't let that put you off - there's a whole lot of stuff in there that makes this game a whole different set of combos. For starters, while characters are played in tag-teams, meaning you have to pick another fighter as well as King, they don't have individual life like in Marvel vs. Capcom - if just one character is K.O'd, then you lose the round, so you have to actually think about when to tag King out with his partner. Also, you can say goodbye to the stuffy old Ultra Combo and Focus Attack and say hello to the shiny new Cross Rush, Launcher and Juggle Combos - two systems designed to add more speed to the fighting and set up opportunites for nasty damage if you pick characters with the right moves (like King).
"But wait!" I hear you cry. "How can a realisitc, close-range fighter like King cope with the unending fireball spam from the Street Fighter side?" Fear not, my fellow gamers, for Capcom is way ahead of you - Each Tekken character has a unique move that allows them to dodge Hadoukens and other projectiles, as well as counter them in some cases. King, for example, has his Jaguar Step, which can then lead into an Elbow Drop that knocks the opponent to the floor. He also carries over many of his combo attacks from Tekken, so he still feels rather Tekken-y whilst on the 2D Street Fighter plane, giving him a large advantage in close combat.
 |
| "Sidestepping, dude. Look into it." |
As is a staple of Street Fighter games, a Super Bar - called the Cross Guage here - has found it's way in, and with it comes the usual plethora of special abilities, like Super Arts and EX Moves, which even King and his chums get. But with the tag team gameplay comes tag team abilities. Cross Arts are perhaps the most deadly - your point character attacks first, then sets the opponent up for King to marmalise with his Muscle Buster. Not only can you get massive damage from these, but they also delete any "grey health" your opponent has, ruining their chances of recovering while in reserve. The Cross Rush involves both characters attacking at once - while not the most effective in single-player, owing to your A.I. controlled partner being as thick as two planks, using them in a co-op match can result in instant death for anything that crosses King's path.
Two of the games most controversial elements are Pandora and Gems. Pandora allows you to sacrifice your current characters to boost King's power, as well as giving him an infinite Cross Gauge and making him look bloody terrifying to boot. However, if you can't kill the opponent before the timer runs out, you automatically lose the round. Secondly, Gems are equippable "power-ups" that allow you to improve a character's damage output, speed or whatever, often requiring certain conditions to activate. The argument against Gems is that they might give new players too much of an advantage against veterans, but in the end the effects are often so negligible that you might not even notice they're there. In the end, while they're good for patching up holes in your playstyle, they don't really detract from the fight.
 |
| I smell a Buddy Cop movie. |
The Good Bits
King. Also, the fact that the different styles of two of the world's biggest brawlers have been merged so well together. There's plenty here for both veterans and new players to get their heads around, and once you find the perfect team there's little to stop you from taking yourself online and pummelling anyone stupid enough to use Ibuki or Lili. Or Kuma. Also, if you were a good, games-industry-supporting lad like me and pre-ordered the Special Edition, you get a fancy prequel comic book, 45 DLC Gems to party with and a neat little arcade cabinet money bank for storing your loose change.
The Bad Bits
Right now, the community is having a bit of hoo-hah over the fact that twelve DLC Characters - Dudley and Bryan Fury among them - have been found on the discs by hackers. Without wishing to get involved in the giagantic debate over wherever on-the-disc DLC is a bad practice or not, allow me to clarify that as I have no XBox Live at the moment, I would not be able to download them anyway, so in the end this doesn't really affect me.
...except there's no Armor King. Why is there no Armor King, Capcom?
Scores
Graphics: 5/5 (It's the Street Fighter IV style you know and love.)
Gameplay: 4/5 (Hard to master, well worth it, let down a bit by the Gems.)
Sound: 5/5 (Akuma's theme has gone past eleven in this thing.)Replayability: 4/5 (Go online, that's where all the fun is.)
King: 5/5 (*rawr, growl, roar*)
Final Verdict
PLAY KING YOU FOOLS
 |
| Seriously, play him or he'll Jaguar Bomb you out of existance. |
Wednesday 7 March 2012
Movies to Get Drunk By
There are good movies, bad movies, and then there are movies so hilariously bad it's painful to watch them. Wherever it's low quality special effects, idiotic acting or a laughably idiotic premise, these films usually sell for £5 in HMV and are barely even touched by any sane man. And no two names in the the micro-industry of straight-to-DVD disaster films embody this better than The Asylum and Roger Corman.
While the Asylum is better known for creating crappy rip-offs of popular films so short-sighted grandmas can hand over their cash, of late they've been competing with Roger Corman to see who can create the worst low-budget sci-fi monster flick in existance. And all of them make for great riffing if you get into the right mindset - or, in some cases, if you've had enough shots for the films to make sense. So, if you ever need a crappy film to swig whiskey by, here's six loads of cheap laughs for your drunken enjoyment (hopefully before you smash the disk with a mallet in your stupor).
Mega Python vs. Gatoroid (2011)
by The Asylum
The Premise: When giant pythons begin devouring everything and everyone they can catch, the only solution seems to be to grow equally giant alligators to kill them off.
Why it Fails: Not counting the fact that this is basically the worst attempt at pest control ever, the film tries to tug our nostalgia synapses by throwing in 80's popstars Debbie Gibson and Tiffany into leading roles. Sadly, because the target audience has never even heard of these two, this falls flatter than a pancake. Not even a catfight between these ladies can save this movie.
Look Out For: The aformentioned cat-fight between the leading ladies. Meanwhile, the film makes an extremely clumsy attempt at self-deprecating humour when one of the pythons bites onto a balloon bearing the Asylum logo, which then prrrrrp's away, taking the unfortunate snake with it.
Dinocroc vs. Supergator (2010)
by Roger Corman
The Premise: Two genetically-engineered reptiles escape from their compounds, and only legendary hunter "The Cajun" can bring them together to kill each other off
Why it Fails: One of RC's more entertaining flicks, but the two monsters don't get very much screentime and spend what little they have eating bikini babes. Also, the final fight is a bit dissapointing, with the beasts simply hissing and circling each other before Dinocroc bites out Supergator's throat.
Look Out For: Dinocroc casually walks up to a sleazy movie mogul and his bitches in their hot tub and eats them up as if they were KFC Popcorn Chicken. Not one of the three victims makes any attempt to climb out of the tub or run away, sitting there screaming as the reptile chows down.
And thus, the general public's I.Q. just went down a notch.
Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus (2009)
by The Asylum
The Premise: A Megalodon shark and a giant octopus are released from their tomb in a glacier and start wreaking havoc across the ocean.
Why it Fails: It was overhyped to insane levels, about as much as an actual blockbuster film. Imagine being given a golden box encrusted with jewels, only to find that there's only a few McDonald's vouchers inside. That's how viewers felt.
Look Out For: The shark leaps tens of thousands of feet into the air for the sake of taking down an airplane full of people. The scene is made more hilarious by that one guy's cry of "Holy shit!" just before the plane gets chomped.
Dinoshark (2010)
by Roger Corman
The Premise: An ancient sea predator hatches from an Arctic glacier. Three years later, it's all grown up and taken to snacking on Mexican holidaymakers.
Why it Fails: Wikitionary defines the word prehistoric as "Of relating to the epoch before written record". Roger Corman's dictionary defines it as "just slap a T. Rex head on it and hope no-one notices". The monster's design is so phoned-in it orders cheap pizzas from the local takeout, except there's too many anchovies on them. I mean, is it really that hard to re-design a shark to look like a million-year-old killer? And why does the box art have the cheek to call it a fucking pilosaur?
Look Out For: The Dinoshark invades a swimming pool. It's an all-you-can-eat mini buffet!
Mega Shark vs. Crocosaurus (2010)
by The Asylum
The Premise: The Mega Shark returns, only now it has a new rival in a 1,500-foot-long crocodile that eats miners and hates Englishmen.
Why it Fails: Crocodiles can breathe and walk on land. Sharks can only flop and suffocate. Even if you ignore the one-sided clash of oversized animals, it's never explained how the shark survived being dropped into a volcanic fissure in the first film (SPOILER ALERT!), or how the crocodile got to be so big.
Look Out For: Jaleel White.
Jaleel White, the voice of Sonic the Hedgehog and Urkel.
MOTHERFUCKING JALEEL WHITE.
WHAT THE HELL.
Sharktopus (2010)
by Roger Corman
Premise: The American Navy creates the best weapon ever - a genetically-engineered hybrid of shark and octopus. Of course, they lose control of it and it gets to snacking on people.
Why it Fails: What could have been the best thing ever - a half-shark, half-octopus monster - is let down by the usual bugbears of obvious CGI and campy acting. The film is more of a let down than anything, thanks to the poor delivery of the titular monster's antics.
Look Out For: "NO, NOT LIKE THIS!" wails a neck-bearded boat painter as the Sharktopus winds a consoling tentacle round his shoulders before eating him. There, there, Beardy McBlubbergut, it could be worse - you might have been in a Uwe Boll film.
And now, for a special guest appearance...
Boa vs. Python
by Sci Fi Pictures
The Premise: Millionare Broddick tries to introduce big-game hunting to the big city with a giagantic python. Needless to say, this doesn't go well, and it takes an equally-large, cybernetically-enhanced pet boa called Betty to stop the creature.
Why it Fails: The film had no relation to the Boa and Python films that were made earlier, and so was rightly accused of trying to captialize on the success of Python. Also, boas look ridiculous wearing cyber-goggles.
Watch Out For: A couple is making out in their SUV, and the python shows up looking for a snack. He eats the man first, then... well, just watch. If you can.
If this post has suddenly given you an appetite for alcohol and low-budget monster flicks, then god helps us all. D:
While the Asylum is better known for creating crappy rip-offs of popular films so short-sighted grandmas can hand over their cash, of late they've been competing with Roger Corman to see who can create the worst low-budget sci-fi monster flick in existance. And all of them make for great riffing if you get into the right mindset - or, in some cases, if you've had enough shots for the films to make sense. So, if you ever need a crappy film to swig whiskey by, here's six loads of cheap laughs for your drunken enjoyment (hopefully before you smash the disk with a mallet in your stupor).
Mega Python vs. Gatoroid (2011)
by The Asylum
The Premise: When giant pythons begin devouring everything and everyone they can catch, the only solution seems to be to grow equally giant alligators to kill them off.
Why it Fails: Not counting the fact that this is basically the worst attempt at pest control ever, the film tries to tug our nostalgia synapses by throwing in 80's popstars Debbie Gibson and Tiffany into leading roles. Sadly, because the target audience has never even heard of these two, this falls flatter than a pancake. Not even a catfight between these ladies can save this movie.
Look Out For: The aformentioned cat-fight between the leading ladies. Meanwhile, the film makes an extremely clumsy attempt at self-deprecating humour when one of the pythons bites onto a balloon bearing the Asylum logo, which then prrrrrp's away, taking the unfortunate snake with it.
Dinocroc vs. Supergator (2010)
by Roger Corman
The Premise: Two genetically-engineered reptiles escape from their compounds, and only legendary hunter "The Cajun" can bring them together to kill each other off
Why it Fails: One of RC's more entertaining flicks, but the two monsters don't get very much screentime and spend what little they have eating bikini babes. Also, the final fight is a bit dissapointing, with the beasts simply hissing and circling each other before Dinocroc bites out Supergator's throat.
Look Out For: Dinocroc casually walks up to a sleazy movie mogul and his bitches in their hot tub and eats them up as if they were KFC Popcorn Chicken. Not one of the three victims makes any attempt to climb out of the tub or run away, sitting there screaming as the reptile chows down.
And thus, the general public's I.Q. just went down a notch.
Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus (2009)
by The Asylum
The Premise: A Megalodon shark and a giant octopus are released from their tomb in a glacier and start wreaking havoc across the ocean.
Why it Fails: It was overhyped to insane levels, about as much as an actual blockbuster film. Imagine being given a golden box encrusted with jewels, only to find that there's only a few McDonald's vouchers inside. That's how viewers felt.
Look Out For: The shark leaps tens of thousands of feet into the air for the sake of taking down an airplane full of people. The scene is made more hilarious by that one guy's cry of "Holy shit!" just before the plane gets chomped.
Dinoshark (2010)
by Roger Corman
The Premise: An ancient sea predator hatches from an Arctic glacier. Three years later, it's all grown up and taken to snacking on Mexican holidaymakers.
Why it Fails: Wikitionary defines the word prehistoric as "Of relating to the epoch before written record". Roger Corman's dictionary defines it as "just slap a T. Rex head on it and hope no-one notices". The monster's design is so phoned-in it orders cheap pizzas from the local takeout, except there's too many anchovies on them. I mean, is it really that hard to re-design a shark to look like a million-year-old killer? And why does the box art have the cheek to call it a fucking pilosaur?
Look Out For: The Dinoshark invades a swimming pool. It's an all-you-can-eat mini buffet!
Mega Shark vs. Crocosaurus (2010)
by The Asylum
The Premise: The Mega Shark returns, only now it has a new rival in a 1,500-foot-long crocodile that eats miners and hates Englishmen.
Why it Fails: Crocodiles can breathe and walk on land. Sharks can only flop and suffocate. Even if you ignore the one-sided clash of oversized animals, it's never explained how the shark survived being dropped into a volcanic fissure in the first film (SPOILER ALERT!), or how the crocodile got to be so big.
Look Out For: Jaleel White.
Jaleel White, the voice of Sonic the Hedgehog and Urkel.
MOTHERFUCKING JALEEL WHITE.
WHAT THE HELL.
Sharktopus (2010)
by Roger Corman
Premise: The American Navy creates the best weapon ever - a genetically-engineered hybrid of shark and octopus. Of course, they lose control of it and it gets to snacking on people.
Why it Fails: What could have been the best thing ever - a half-shark, half-octopus monster - is let down by the usual bugbears of obvious CGI and campy acting. The film is more of a let down than anything, thanks to the poor delivery of the titular monster's antics.
Look Out For: "NO, NOT LIKE THIS!" wails a neck-bearded boat painter as the Sharktopus winds a consoling tentacle round his shoulders before eating him. There, there, Beardy McBlubbergut, it could be worse - you might have been in a Uwe Boll film.
And now, for a special guest appearance...
Boa vs. Python
by Sci Fi Pictures
The Premise: Millionare Broddick tries to introduce big-game hunting to the big city with a giagantic python. Needless to say, this doesn't go well, and it takes an equally-large, cybernetically-enhanced pet boa called Betty to stop the creature.
Why it Fails: The film had no relation to the Boa and Python films that were made earlier, and so was rightly accused of trying to captialize on the success of Python. Also, boas look ridiculous wearing cyber-goggles.
Watch Out For: A couple is making out in their SUV, and the python shows up looking for a snack. He eats the man first, then... well, just watch. If you can.
If this post has suddenly given you an appetite for alcohol and low-budget monster flicks, then god helps us all. D:
Saturday 3 March 2012
Let The Trial Commence
WARNING WITH A CAPTIAL W: The following piece contains written descriptions of intense horror and graphic violence that some people may find disturbing. Reader discretion is strongly advised, and you may wish to turn to a more cheerful, less grimdark post to avoid nightmares.
That said, if you can actually stomach this sort of thing, you may wish to listen to this while reading, for atmosphere.
The first sensation that Boris "The Weasel" Vandeleur became aware of when he awoke was the throbbing headache.
At first, this didn't strike him has odd - as one of the most successful smugglers of booze in the city, with a reputation of being able to get anything past anyone in the world, he had a penchant for throwing big, excessive parties in honor of the huge amounts of money and success this enterprise was making him. It was not uncommon for him, after a successful series of deals had slipped by the fuzz, to crack open a bottle of Ol' Hobgoblin and get down to a night of debauchery with his aides and co-workers. The results of this excessiveness most often boiled down to a throbbing headache similar to this one, coupled with waking up in someone else's bed and a day of exchanging awkward looks with someone he barely knew otherwise.
He briefly wondered whose bedroom it would be this time - these parties often got like a fucking mystery tour sometimes, with him ending at a different place every time. He struggled to pry his eyes open by force of will, wondering whose face would he see looking back at him. Would it be dear young Clementine again - bouncy, smiling and with an ass that could stop oncoming traffic? Would it be slim yet serious Darla, with her nose always in a book and a head for figures? Or would it be one of those new girls that recently joined up with his workforce? Hopefully it was the tall, curvy one with red hair and green eyes. He liked green eyes, for some reason.
The answer to all those questions was the worst answer he could have hoped to get: none of them whatsoever. Upon reflection, he should have twigged the moment he felt the rush of cold air around his scraggly body, but he foolishy chose to open his eyes, wondering if the central heating of this bedroom was broken. When he did so, he gave a choking gasp - not just because his headache got significantly worse thanks to a sudden harsh light, but because he was not in any sort of bedroom at all. He was, in fact, surrounded by four grimy walls of a uniform concrete grey, stained with grease and dried blood. There was a door on the other side of the room, but between him and that was a very large pit, with a single, thin rope strung out over it, like a circus tightrope. The light that had stung his eyes came from a single lamp, which idly swung back and forth like the pendulumn in a grandfather clock.
But what caught Boris's eye was the symbol painted onto the door - a two-headed eagle, wings spread, clutching a sword and scabbard in both taloned feet. This was a symbol Boris had come to fear ever since he'd gotten into the smuggling business, one he had hoped never to see in what remained of his life, which now seemed incredibly short. One look at this symbol, and a horrible realization had come to the crime boss's head like a hammer blow to the skull, and all the stories and terrors he had heard over the grapevine came rushing back to him.
He was in Purgatorio.
Scratch that - the memories were coming back. Memories of being kicked about by men built like oil tankers, of eating cold slop from bowls and being poked in the back by electrified prods. He was still in Inferno Penitentiary - he'd been carted here about five months ago, although God alone knows how those fuckers had managed to find him. He'd been in this hellhole for over three months now, and was hoping to endure the remaining two with the same dead-eyed complaince he'd put on to avoid the worst this place had to offer, with minimum fuss or incident.
So what was he doing in Purgatorio now?
-------
Solomon, Arbiter of Morality, watched through the two-way looking glass as the man known as The Weasel swore and backed himself against the far wall of the Trial Room. Remarkably, finding the lanky man hadn't been so difficult - he'd found him curled up in the gutter outside a public house five months ago, snoring his head off and with a pink feather boa wrapped around his neck. It had been merely a case of comparing his face to the official description before carrying him to Inferno Penitentiary. The feather boa had been sent to the laboratory for drug testing - the man had probably been on the Pops at the time as well, considering the sick down his front.
A shudder rippled through the officer's body as he observed the actions of the now-hysterical Boris. None would think it of such a scrawny specimin, but this man had committed a list of moral crimes that would endanger a small forest - drug trafficking and pimping among them. But his notorious alcohol smuggling, in blatant defiance of the High President Elect's 18th Amendment, was the one thing alone that had placed him on the Arbiter's list of Public Enemies. And because each and every one of his actions counted as a Moral Crime, it was his duty, and his alone, to track this man down and bring him to justice - something he was eager to do. Considering the length of the list, a stay in the Second Circle was hardly nessecary.
But it's not like he deserves this...
Wait, where had that thought come from? With a grunt, the Arbiter shoved it back into his mind, adding a mental note to not skip breakfast again. One gloved hand reached down and snatched up the microphone that stood on the table in front of him, raising it to his mouth.
"The court is now in session, Arbiter Solomon presiding..."
-------
"The accused is tasked with crossing the rope they see in front of them to reach the door on the other side. If they are successful in this endeavour, they shall serve a minimum sentence of in the Second Circle of Inferno Penitentiary. If they fail, they will be excecuted by the sawblades beneath them. Therefore, the accused has only one chance to escape this room.
"Let the trial commence."
The tannoy clicked off, leaving Boris in a cold sweat. Sawblades. It had to be shitting sawblades, didn't it? Of all the ways those draconion fuckers could have offed him in their little butcher's den, they had to pick the whirrling, hissing, arm-chopping sawblades. That wasn't how he wanted to go! He always wanted to die an obese blob on comfy cushions, wiping chicken grease from his jowls while hot babes fanned his body with palm leaves! He'd have been the best crime boss ever, embarrasingly rich off all that alien tech that kept falling from the-
The whirring.
Oh, God, the whirring.
They'd started up the blades.
With a wimper, Boris looked down. There they were, all eight of them, arranged in a big block to ensure that if he fell, there was no possible way he wouldn't hit any of them instead of the nice, safe floor. The light glinted off their rapidly-spinning edges in a manner that sent chills down his spine. "You're fucked," it seemed to be saying, in the gravelly, smokers-lung voice of his late daddy-oh. "You've done screwed yourself up this time boy, and ain't no angel in heaven's gonna get you outta this one."
There was only once chance.
He'd have to try the rope.
Carefully, he put one foot onto the oddly shiny cord...
-------
Solomon's attention was distracted by the click of the latch to the door unlocking. Without turning around, he realised at once who had come to visit him, and soon he could hear the footsteps of two other people as they shouldered their way into the room to join him. One set of footsteps formed a long, regular stride, suggesting a tall, well-built man who did a lot of running in his job. The other set was more of a shuffle than a walk, and was accompanied by the clink of a metal walking stick on the concrete floor, indicating an older man who had some difficulty with his legs nowadays. Thanks to his rigorous detective training, Solomon had become good at recognising people by their footsteps, and he knew at once who had entered - Samson, Arbiter of Violence and regular visitor to the meidcal wards, and Jonah, Arbiter of Heresy and the oldest man on the force.
The two newcomers filed up on either side of Solomon, joining him in watching Boris as he wobbled his way across the rope. For a few moments, save for the rustle of their trenchcoats, all was still.
"'Ow's this one doin'?" Samson was the first to speak, his thick Scottish accent unmistakable to all who knew him.
"He's gotten further than the last one," was the reply from the younger Solomon. "Only slipped about once. I think he stands a chance of making it."
Jonah growled in his throat. "Hedonistic scum. He deserves the fate that awaits him at the bottom of this pit."
Or does he? Solomon caught himself thinking, and brushed that thought aside before it could take root. Thoughts like that were dangerous in the Arbiters. The one thing that held the group together, despite their differences and individuality, was a very clear understanding on the punishment for crimes on a large scale - an eye for an eye and all that.. Either you accepted this and went along with it all, or you were considered a Rogue. And a Rogue usually ended up dead.
"Ach, ye'd think they'd learn," rumbled Samson as he ran one hand over his mossy beard. "Mebbe their mama's didn't spank 'em enough when they wuz bairns, or somethin'."
"A lot of good that would have done this man," sniffed Samson. "He grew up in a violent family, from what I heard. His father used to threaten him and his brother with a kitchen knife if they didn't do their chores. No amount of spanking would fix his mental trauma."
"A poor excuse for supplying drugs and alcohol to Creek Street." Jonah tapped the floor with his walking stick - the sound was like gunshots in the cold air of the viewing room. "That place is a wretched hive already, thanks to the Daughters of Salazaar clogging the streets with their profane rituals. It didn't need this man distributing his filth to the masses. He should have taken the warning when it was given to him."
"Well, we've got the gobshite," Samson retorted, "so ah guess that makes ye job easier, eh?"
Jonah could only dignify that with a dull grunt, as the trio continued to watch.
-------
He was going to make it.
Oh, of course, he'd slipped once or twice, and the unending buzz of the deadly saws beneath him was maddening him. But he was already halfway across the rope now, and the door was growing closer and closer to him, step by step. If he could get this far, then what chance did those authoritarian bastards have of stopping him now? A chuckle ran through The Weasel's thin frame as he imagined walking out of Inferno after a few brief weeks, ready to get his business back on track and catch up with his darling girls. Perhaps he could start with getting the money out of Fat Jones down in the Gravel Pit - the dumb bastard was late with his pay again, and Boris hated people who were late. They usually ended up with a bullet in their heads.
Really, he thought to himself as he took another few steps, this trial wasn't that hard. What had he been so scared about? Those nasty urban legends that got circled around were nothing but fairy tales to scare the new boys! He'd been doing balancing acts on the tops of tall walls since he was a nipper! This was a cakewalk compared to that! He'd be out of that door in no time!
Although, come to think of it, this was an odd sort of rope. For one thing, it stung his feet-
He slipped.
And this time, it wasn't one of the small slips he'd taken earlier. It was a big slip, the kind you take when your attention is elsewhere and your sense of balance decides to go out for tea while you're not looking. Boris felt the sickening lurch in his stomach as he fell, and he quickly twisted, reached out with both hands and grabbed. By a miracle, he managed to wrap his fingers around the rope he'd been balancing from a mere second ago, and coughed as his body jerked with the sudden stop. His fingers sang with pain, and he dangled from the cord like a monkey in a badly-designed zoo enclosure.
"Shit," he hissed under his breath, and looked down. The saws seemed a lot closer now, their edges sharper and brighter, the whirrling of their motors and axles much louder. Up this close, he could see they were of the old Clayton and Sons make - diamond-studded teeth on an aluminium core, originally designed for use in the motor industries his father worked in. He could almost feel their edges slicing through the air, as if they had come to life and were hungry to get at him. A thin sweat broke out on his forehead as all his nervous terrors returned, and he kicked out with both feet randomly, as if he could simply get rid of the looming presence of the things the same way one kicks a spider off their shoe.
He looked back up at the rope, the only thing that was keeping him away from the saws. His eyes scanned it's length frantically, trying to find some way in which he might easily get back up onto it and continue. The shiny surface, however, offered no holds, glinting mockingly at him in the light of the lamp. Now that he looked closer, he could see it wasn't like any rope he'd seen before. It was slivery, and the texture on his skin was more akin to metal than the woven hemp he was accustomed to. And it was hurting his fingers, the same way it had been hurting his feet from moments before as he'd been walking over it.
Curious, he shifted one hand along, wincing as another jolt of pain lanced through his hand.
And then he saw the blood.
He gasped, and withdrew his hand to look at it, now dangling from his other one. There was blood there, too, pooling out of a long series of cuts on his hand. And it had collected on the rope, trapped in the silvery weave and glinting on the sharp edges of the-
...Razor wire.
"Fucking hell..."
It was made out of razor wire.
The colour drained from the man's face as the realization hit him like an express train. All his strength left him as the shock set in, rendering his mind numb and ice-cold. As if in a dream, he saw his free hand slip away from the painful rope; as if in a dream, he saw his world tumble and twist around him; as if in slow motion, he saw the room turn to present the whirring blades that were rising up to meet him, hungry for his blood, reaching out to claim him.
Here I come, mama...
-------
There was an explosion of blood. Bits of arm and torso went everywhere. Something that looked like intestines splattered onto the floor between the saws. Samson jumped as a head, bearing a dazed expression, splatted against the mirror and dissapeared again.
There was a pause. Then Solomon, who had been holding his breath all this time, let it out steadily as he reached over to the control panel and flicked a switch. Instantly, the blood-stained saws stopped spinning, coming to a complete halt as the power was cut off from them, their teeth glinting with liquid crimson in the dim light, as if laughing at the horror of what had just taken place.
"Fiat Justitia," growled Jonah, glaring with satisfaction at the mangled remains of a former crime boss.
Let Justice Be Done, Solomon mentally translated as he watched another door open, and a team of men in white suits rush into the room, armed with brooms and hoses. Hardly justice when saws are involved.
(I WARNED YOU BOUT GRIMDARK, BRO
I TOLD YOU DOG
And yes, this is my character teaser for ZF7. Sweet dreams, all.)
That said, if you can actually stomach this sort of thing, you may wish to listen to this while reading, for atmosphere.
The first sensation that Boris "The Weasel" Vandeleur became aware of when he awoke was the throbbing headache.
At first, this didn't strike him has odd - as one of the most successful smugglers of booze in the city, with a reputation of being able to get anything past anyone in the world, he had a penchant for throwing big, excessive parties in honor of the huge amounts of money and success this enterprise was making him. It was not uncommon for him, after a successful series of deals had slipped by the fuzz, to crack open a bottle of Ol' Hobgoblin and get down to a night of debauchery with his aides and co-workers. The results of this excessiveness most often boiled down to a throbbing headache similar to this one, coupled with waking up in someone else's bed and a day of exchanging awkward looks with someone he barely knew otherwise.
He briefly wondered whose bedroom it would be this time - these parties often got like a fucking mystery tour sometimes, with him ending at a different place every time. He struggled to pry his eyes open by force of will, wondering whose face would he see looking back at him. Would it be dear young Clementine again - bouncy, smiling and with an ass that could stop oncoming traffic? Would it be slim yet serious Darla, with her nose always in a book and a head for figures? Or would it be one of those new girls that recently joined up with his workforce? Hopefully it was the tall, curvy one with red hair and green eyes. He liked green eyes, for some reason.
The answer to all those questions was the worst answer he could have hoped to get: none of them whatsoever. Upon reflection, he should have twigged the moment he felt the rush of cold air around his scraggly body, but he foolishy chose to open his eyes, wondering if the central heating of this bedroom was broken. When he did so, he gave a choking gasp - not just because his headache got significantly worse thanks to a sudden harsh light, but because he was not in any sort of bedroom at all. He was, in fact, surrounded by four grimy walls of a uniform concrete grey, stained with grease and dried blood. There was a door on the other side of the room, but between him and that was a very large pit, with a single, thin rope strung out over it, like a circus tightrope. The light that had stung his eyes came from a single lamp, which idly swung back and forth like the pendulumn in a grandfather clock.
But what caught Boris's eye was the symbol painted onto the door - a two-headed eagle, wings spread, clutching a sword and scabbard in both taloned feet. This was a symbol Boris had come to fear ever since he'd gotten into the smuggling business, one he had hoped never to see in what remained of his life, which now seemed incredibly short. One look at this symbol, and a horrible realization had come to the crime boss's head like a hammer blow to the skull, and all the stories and terrors he had heard over the grapevine came rushing back to him.
He was in Purgatorio.
Scratch that - the memories were coming back. Memories of being kicked about by men built like oil tankers, of eating cold slop from bowls and being poked in the back by electrified prods. He was still in Inferno Penitentiary - he'd been carted here about five months ago, although God alone knows how those fuckers had managed to find him. He'd been in this hellhole for over three months now, and was hoping to endure the remaining two with the same dead-eyed complaince he'd put on to avoid the worst this place had to offer, with minimum fuss or incident.
So what was he doing in Purgatorio now?
-------
Solomon, Arbiter of Morality, watched through the two-way looking glass as the man known as The Weasel swore and backed himself against the far wall of the Trial Room. Remarkably, finding the lanky man hadn't been so difficult - he'd found him curled up in the gutter outside a public house five months ago, snoring his head off and with a pink feather boa wrapped around his neck. It had been merely a case of comparing his face to the official description before carrying him to Inferno Penitentiary. The feather boa had been sent to the laboratory for drug testing - the man had probably been on the Pops at the time as well, considering the sick down his front.
A shudder rippled through the officer's body as he observed the actions of the now-hysterical Boris. None would think it of such a scrawny specimin, but this man had committed a list of moral crimes that would endanger a small forest - drug trafficking and pimping among them. But his notorious alcohol smuggling, in blatant defiance of the High President Elect's 18th Amendment, was the one thing alone that had placed him on the Arbiter's list of Public Enemies. And because each and every one of his actions counted as a Moral Crime, it was his duty, and his alone, to track this man down and bring him to justice - something he was eager to do. Considering the length of the list, a stay in the Second Circle was hardly nessecary.
But it's not like he deserves this...
Wait, where had that thought come from? With a grunt, the Arbiter shoved it back into his mind, adding a mental note to not skip breakfast again. One gloved hand reached down and snatched up the microphone that stood on the table in front of him, raising it to his mouth.
"The court is now in session, Arbiter Solomon presiding..."
-------
"The accused is tasked with crossing the rope they see in front of them to reach the door on the other side. If they are successful in this endeavour, they shall serve a minimum sentence of in the Second Circle of Inferno Penitentiary. If they fail, they will be excecuted by the sawblades beneath them. Therefore, the accused has only one chance to escape this room.
"Let the trial commence."
The tannoy clicked off, leaving Boris in a cold sweat. Sawblades. It had to be shitting sawblades, didn't it? Of all the ways those draconion fuckers could have offed him in their little butcher's den, they had to pick the whirrling, hissing, arm-chopping sawblades. That wasn't how he wanted to go! He always wanted to die an obese blob on comfy cushions, wiping chicken grease from his jowls while hot babes fanned his body with palm leaves! He'd have been the best crime boss ever, embarrasingly rich off all that alien tech that kept falling from the-
The whirring.
Oh, God, the whirring.
They'd started up the blades.
With a wimper, Boris looked down. There they were, all eight of them, arranged in a big block to ensure that if he fell, there was no possible way he wouldn't hit any of them instead of the nice, safe floor. The light glinted off their rapidly-spinning edges in a manner that sent chills down his spine. "You're fucked," it seemed to be saying, in the gravelly, smokers-lung voice of his late daddy-oh. "You've done screwed yourself up this time boy, and ain't no angel in heaven's gonna get you outta this one."
There was only once chance.
He'd have to try the rope.
Carefully, he put one foot onto the oddly shiny cord...
-------
Solomon's attention was distracted by the click of the latch to the door unlocking. Without turning around, he realised at once who had come to visit him, and soon he could hear the footsteps of two other people as they shouldered their way into the room to join him. One set of footsteps formed a long, regular stride, suggesting a tall, well-built man who did a lot of running in his job. The other set was more of a shuffle than a walk, and was accompanied by the clink of a metal walking stick on the concrete floor, indicating an older man who had some difficulty with his legs nowadays. Thanks to his rigorous detective training, Solomon had become good at recognising people by their footsteps, and he knew at once who had entered - Samson, Arbiter of Violence and regular visitor to the meidcal wards, and Jonah, Arbiter of Heresy and the oldest man on the force.
The two newcomers filed up on either side of Solomon, joining him in watching Boris as he wobbled his way across the rope. For a few moments, save for the rustle of their trenchcoats, all was still.
"'Ow's this one doin'?" Samson was the first to speak, his thick Scottish accent unmistakable to all who knew him.
"He's gotten further than the last one," was the reply from the younger Solomon. "Only slipped about once. I think he stands a chance of making it."
Jonah growled in his throat. "Hedonistic scum. He deserves the fate that awaits him at the bottom of this pit."
Or does he? Solomon caught himself thinking, and brushed that thought aside before it could take root. Thoughts like that were dangerous in the Arbiters. The one thing that held the group together, despite their differences and individuality, was a very clear understanding on the punishment for crimes on a large scale - an eye for an eye and all that.. Either you accepted this and went along with it all, or you were considered a Rogue. And a Rogue usually ended up dead.
"Ach, ye'd think they'd learn," rumbled Samson as he ran one hand over his mossy beard. "Mebbe their mama's didn't spank 'em enough when they wuz bairns, or somethin'."
"A lot of good that would have done this man," sniffed Samson. "He grew up in a violent family, from what I heard. His father used to threaten him and his brother with a kitchen knife if they didn't do their chores. No amount of spanking would fix his mental trauma."
"A poor excuse for supplying drugs and alcohol to Creek Street." Jonah tapped the floor with his walking stick - the sound was like gunshots in the cold air of the viewing room. "That place is a wretched hive already, thanks to the Daughters of Salazaar clogging the streets with their profane rituals. It didn't need this man distributing his filth to the masses. He should have taken the warning when it was given to him."
"Well, we've got the gobshite," Samson retorted, "so ah guess that makes ye job easier, eh?"
Jonah could only dignify that with a dull grunt, as the trio continued to watch.
-------
He was going to make it.
Oh, of course, he'd slipped once or twice, and the unending buzz of the deadly saws beneath him was maddening him. But he was already halfway across the rope now, and the door was growing closer and closer to him, step by step. If he could get this far, then what chance did those authoritarian bastards have of stopping him now? A chuckle ran through The Weasel's thin frame as he imagined walking out of Inferno after a few brief weeks, ready to get his business back on track and catch up with his darling girls. Perhaps he could start with getting the money out of Fat Jones down in the Gravel Pit - the dumb bastard was late with his pay again, and Boris hated people who were late. They usually ended up with a bullet in their heads.
Really, he thought to himself as he took another few steps, this trial wasn't that hard. What had he been so scared about? Those nasty urban legends that got circled around were nothing but fairy tales to scare the new boys! He'd been doing balancing acts on the tops of tall walls since he was a nipper! This was a cakewalk compared to that! He'd be out of that door in no time!
Although, come to think of it, this was an odd sort of rope. For one thing, it stung his feet-
He slipped.
And this time, it wasn't one of the small slips he'd taken earlier. It was a big slip, the kind you take when your attention is elsewhere and your sense of balance decides to go out for tea while you're not looking. Boris felt the sickening lurch in his stomach as he fell, and he quickly twisted, reached out with both hands and grabbed. By a miracle, he managed to wrap his fingers around the rope he'd been balancing from a mere second ago, and coughed as his body jerked with the sudden stop. His fingers sang with pain, and he dangled from the cord like a monkey in a badly-designed zoo enclosure.
"Shit," he hissed under his breath, and looked down. The saws seemed a lot closer now, their edges sharper and brighter, the whirrling of their motors and axles much louder. Up this close, he could see they were of the old Clayton and Sons make - diamond-studded teeth on an aluminium core, originally designed for use in the motor industries his father worked in. He could almost feel their edges slicing through the air, as if they had come to life and were hungry to get at him. A thin sweat broke out on his forehead as all his nervous terrors returned, and he kicked out with both feet randomly, as if he could simply get rid of the looming presence of the things the same way one kicks a spider off their shoe.
He looked back up at the rope, the only thing that was keeping him away from the saws. His eyes scanned it's length frantically, trying to find some way in which he might easily get back up onto it and continue. The shiny surface, however, offered no holds, glinting mockingly at him in the light of the lamp. Now that he looked closer, he could see it wasn't like any rope he'd seen before. It was slivery, and the texture on his skin was more akin to metal than the woven hemp he was accustomed to. And it was hurting his fingers, the same way it had been hurting his feet from moments before as he'd been walking over it.
Curious, he shifted one hand along, wincing as another jolt of pain lanced through his hand.
And then he saw the blood.
He gasped, and withdrew his hand to look at it, now dangling from his other one. There was blood there, too, pooling out of a long series of cuts on his hand. And it had collected on the rope, trapped in the silvery weave and glinting on the sharp edges of the-
...Razor wire.
"Fucking hell..."
It was made out of razor wire.
The colour drained from the man's face as the realization hit him like an express train. All his strength left him as the shock set in, rendering his mind numb and ice-cold. As if in a dream, he saw his free hand slip away from the painful rope; as if in a dream, he saw his world tumble and twist around him; as if in slow motion, he saw the room turn to present the whirring blades that were rising up to meet him, hungry for his blood, reaching out to claim him.
Here I come, mama...
-------
There was an explosion of blood. Bits of arm and torso went everywhere. Something that looked like intestines splattered onto the floor between the saws. Samson jumped as a head, bearing a dazed expression, splatted against the mirror and dissapeared again.
There was a pause. Then Solomon, who had been holding his breath all this time, let it out steadily as he reached over to the control panel and flicked a switch. Instantly, the blood-stained saws stopped spinning, coming to a complete halt as the power was cut off from them, their teeth glinting with liquid crimson in the dim light, as if laughing at the horror of what had just taken place.
"Fiat Justitia," growled Jonah, glaring with satisfaction at the mangled remains of a former crime boss.
Let Justice Be Done, Solomon mentally translated as he watched another door open, and a team of men in white suits rush into the room, armed with brooms and hoses. Hardly justice when saws are involved.
(I WARNED YOU BOUT GRIMDARK, BRO
I TOLD YOU DOG
And yes, this is my character teaser for ZF7. Sweet dreams, all.)
Thursday 1 March 2012
So I Heard...
...that you guys are talking about how the bargoers would fit into a fighting game. Seeing as this is a topic I love very very very very very much, here's how I think my previous RP chars would work out in Ultimate Fight Yer Mates! Arcade Edition 2012 or whatever.
Shuma-Gorath
Origin: The Chaos Dimension.
Eye Colour: Pink.
Hair Colour: "I have no hair, stupid fleshling!"
Fighting Style: Can transform his body into various forms, such as a tooth-studded mouth, spikes and bludgeons. Can also fire energy blasts in varying forms.
Weapons: Has no need for them.
Special Moves: See his MvC3 movelist.
Super Moves: See his MvC3 movelist.
Assist Character: Dormammu, Lord of the Dark Dimension, summons a black hole that hits multiple times.
Alt. Costumes: Quaggoth outfit from UMvC3, Christmas Woollen Jumper.
Fatality: Grabs the victim in his tentacles and rips them apart, a la what he did to Spy in FYM.
Health: Medium.
Speed: Medium.
Eddie Riggs
Origin: The World of Metal.
Eye Colour: Blue.
Hair Colour: Black and greasy.
Fighting Style: A self-taught brawling style that incorproates lots of rocker moves, such as a jumping kick and a knee slide.
Weapons: The Separator axe, Clementine for casting Metal spells.
Special Moves: Fire Chord, Power Slide, Shock Bomb, Somersault Axe, Charging Axe (These are all skils Eddie can learn in Brutal Legend).
Super Moves: Rams the foe with the Druid Plow, Roman Candle (a blast of fire that lifts the opponent into the air), Earthshaker.
Assist Character: The Fire Baron rides past, tossing a flaming bottle of vodka to the floor. This works in a similar manner to Arthur's Fire Bottle in MvC3.
Alt Costumes: Zaulia Threads (DLC costume), Pool Party trunks.
Fatality: DECAPITATIOOOOOOOOOON!
Health: High
Speed: Low
Rain (A.K.A. Nicholas Winter)
Origin: Edenia.
Eye Colour: Brown.
Hair Colour: Black.
Fighting Style: Martial Arts derived from Zi Ran Men.
Weapons: Storm Daggers, Redemption blade.
Special Moves: His MK9 moveset adapted to a 6-Button configuration.
Super Moves: A multi-thunder strike similar Thor's Mighty Thunder, his X-Ray attack from MK9, coats himself in water for a brief power boost.
Assist Character: Reptile runs in and fires a Force Ball that pops the opponent into the air.
Alt Costumes: MK3 Klassic outfit, Ironheade threads.
Fatality: Does It Sting fatality from MK9
Health: Low
Speed: High
Just tossing that out there to show I'm hopping onto the bandwagon. Of course, if you guys want me to write up a detailed treatment of this thing, then I'm totally up for that.
Shuma-Gorath
Origin: The Chaos Dimension.
Eye Colour: Pink.
Hair Colour: "I have no hair, stupid fleshling!"
Fighting Style: Can transform his body into various forms, such as a tooth-studded mouth, spikes and bludgeons. Can also fire energy blasts in varying forms.
Weapons: Has no need for them.
Special Moves: See his MvC3 movelist.
Super Moves: See his MvC3 movelist.
Assist Character: Dormammu, Lord of the Dark Dimension, summons a black hole that hits multiple times.
Alt. Costumes: Quaggoth outfit from UMvC3, Christmas Woollen Jumper.
Fatality: Grabs the victim in his tentacles and rips them apart, a la what he did to Spy in FYM.
Health: Medium.
Speed: Medium.
Eddie Riggs
Origin: The World of Metal.
Eye Colour: Blue.
Hair Colour: Black and greasy.
Fighting Style: A self-taught brawling style that incorproates lots of rocker moves, such as a jumping kick and a knee slide.
Weapons: The Separator axe, Clementine for casting Metal spells.
Special Moves: Fire Chord, Power Slide, Shock Bomb, Somersault Axe, Charging Axe (These are all skils Eddie can learn in Brutal Legend).
Super Moves: Rams the foe with the Druid Plow, Roman Candle (a blast of fire that lifts the opponent into the air), Earthshaker.
Assist Character: The Fire Baron rides past, tossing a flaming bottle of vodka to the floor. This works in a similar manner to Arthur's Fire Bottle in MvC3.
Alt Costumes: Zaulia Threads (DLC costume), Pool Party trunks.
Fatality: DECAPITATIOOOOOOOOOON!
Health: High
Speed: Low
Rain (A.K.A. Nicholas Winter)
Origin: Edenia.
Eye Colour: Brown.
Hair Colour: Black.
Fighting Style: Martial Arts derived from Zi Ran Men.
Weapons: Storm Daggers, Redemption blade.
Special Moves: His MK9 moveset adapted to a 6-Button configuration.
Super Moves: A multi-thunder strike similar Thor's Mighty Thunder, his X-Ray attack from MK9, coats himself in water for a brief power boost.
Assist Character: Reptile runs in and fires a Force Ball that pops the opponent into the air.
Alt Costumes: MK3 Klassic outfit, Ironheade threads.
Fatality: Does It Sting fatality from MK9
Health: Low
Speed: High
Just tossing that out there to show I'm hopping onto the bandwagon. Of course, if you guys want me to write up a detailed treatment of this thing, then I'm totally up for that.
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