Tyler F.M. Edwards's Blog, page 30

Honest Names for SWTOR Companions

My journey through SWTOR’s class stories is now complete, and one of the things that really made that experience memorable was meeting such a large and colourful cast of companions.

[image error]In that time, I also came up with an equally colourful roster of nicknames for my companions, and I thought it might be amusing to share them with the world.

…I’m so out of post ideas, guys.

Imperial agent:

The one that’s going to smother you in your sleep
Bug Boy
Space Jekyll
Ensign Sexy Accent
The other one that’s going to smother you in your sleep

Jedi consular:

Gorn Michaels
Tharan and the Real Girl
Arcturus Mengsk
Actually okay
“Senpai noticed me!”

Sith inquisitor:

Hungry Hungry Horror
Steve Blum
“I hate you but I’ll do whatever you say for some reason.”
Sir Crumpets McBritish IV Esq.
Who?

Sith warrior:

Life is better where it’s Vette-r
[Choke him]
Two! Two companions for the price of one!
“Goon.” “Who?” “Hired Goon.”
Murder Bear

Trooper:

Grumpy Cat
The only good thing about the trooper story
Murica Bot 4000
Sergeant Sleazewad
Marty McFly

Smuggler:

Charles Tucker III
Totally not Chewbacca
Princess Playa
Mandasnorian
“You never even finished Jedi school.”

Jedi knight:

Microwave Mary Sue
Tough Girl
Dr. Nick Riviera
Sergeant Killbot
Sith Happens

Bounty hunter:

Five
Miguel Sanchez
Drywall: The Person
SQUIRREL
Tychus Findlay

Review: Black Panther

At this point, I think it’s well known that I don’t think that much of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. The movies I’ve seen were all mediocre at best. But Black Panther did look to have some interesting visuals, and my friends kept pestering me about it, and I figured paying for a movie with this many black people was a good way to irritate racists, so…

[image error]Since I’m pretty much the last person in the Western Hemisphere to see Black Panther, it’s probably not worth bothering to summarize the story. I figure you already know.

I will say this much: Black Panther is easily the best MCU movie I’ve seen yet.

The thing I really like about it is it’s not really an origin story the way these usually are. T’Challa is already pretty comfortable with his powers and feels pretty well-established as a character. Maybe they already covered his origin in one of the many Marvel movies I skipped. I don’t know. Don’t care.

The important thing is that this allows us to skip the tedious origin story tropes Marvel always seems to cling to, and go straight to the real story. It’s a fairly long movie at nearly two and a half hours, but none of it feels wasted. It’s got a really good balance of character development, world-building, and action.

It’s a visual treat, too. While it’s not stated in so many words, the conceit seems to be that Wakanda’s isolation has allowed technology to develop in entirely different directions from the rest of the world, leading to some very unique and interesting gadgetry, such as vibranium-infused cloaks that can conjure force fields at will.

It doesn’t really affect the plot, but it does lead to some very creative art design.

It leaves me wistful for all the cultures and mythologies, all the stories and artistry, that have been strangled by colonialism. Western culture is full of beauty, too, but its aggressive dominance has cost the world so much…

[image error]Anyway.

Black Panther is also helped along by a very strong supporting cast — with the notable exception of T’Challa’s insufferable kid sister. My personal favourite was Danai Gurira as the badass, honour-bound General Okoye. Any chance she can get a solo movie?

I also quite liked Lupita Nyong’o’s character, though it’s a bit of a shame she was relegated to be little more than a generic love interest.

That’s not so say I loved everything about Black Panther. It leans less heavily on Marvel’s bad habits than I would have expected, but they’re still there. The humour is cheesy and often feels forced. The ending is a little too quick, too neat and tidy. And the cyber rhinos were a bit much.

The themes of the movie are pretty muddled, too. It seems to want to provide an aspirational tale for people of African descent — a most noble goal — but this is somewhat undercut by the fact that Wakanda is, at its heart, a pretty terrible country, being rife with xenophobia and controlled by archaic and oppressive forms of governance.

Perhaps the idea was to offer nuance — to make Wakanda not entirely good or entirely bad — but when it’s presented as an enlightened paradise half the time and corrupt and brutal the other half the time, the end result is only confusion.

Mind you, I’m not exactly the target audience for Black Panther’s messages, and it does seem to have been very inspirational to a lot of people, which I respect.

Either way, I didn’t go to a MCU movie for intelligent social commentary, and I will at least give it credit for tackling racial politics and the dark legacy of colonialism in a very blunt and brave way. That’s more than I expected.

So I wouldn’t say Black Panther is a masterpiece or anything, but it’s the first MCU film I don’t feel any regret over watching.

Overall rating: 7.7/10

Stargate: Universe Is the Perfect Show for Me

Lately I’ve embarked on another rewatch of Stargate: Universe (one of the few TV shows I like enough to have the full series on DVD). I’m once again struck by how fiercely I love this series, and while I’ve already talked about it on this blog some, I felt compelled to gush some more.

[image error]Rather than try to make the objective argument that Universe is a great show, however, I thought I might look at why it appeals so strongly to my own personal artistic sensibilities.

Not that I don’t think it’s an objectively good show, and not that I would be unwilling to make that argument, but I think it may be more interesting to examine my personal relationship with the show, and why it’s so perfect for me.

A journey into the unknown:

One of my favourite scenes in all of fiction comes near the end of the Star Trek: The Next Generation episode “Q Who,” where Q hints at what awaits Starfleet in deep space:

It’s not safe out here. It’s wondrous, with treasures to satiate desires both subtle and gross… but it’s not for the timid.

This, to me, cuts to the very heart of what speculative fiction is all about: The wonder and the terror of the unknown. Sci-fi, fantasy, and horror are about expanding your mind. They’re about making you think it new ways, about new things. They’re meant to expose you to ideas and concepts you never would have considered otherwise.

But that’s just one scene. It’s a brilliant scene, from a brilliant episode, but the rest of Star Trek has lived up to that promise only sporadically at best.

[image error]

Alas, poor Nicholas, I was him…

Stargate: Universe, however, is that one line of Q’s adapted into an entire series.

Space — as depicted on Universe — is a scary place, filled with deadly hardships ranging from the mundane to the incomprehensible. It’s full of threats to snuff your life in an instant, and terrors to chill the soul.

But it’s also a place of beauty. Audience insert character Eli Wallace is always a wonderful reminder of just how lovely and wondrous so much of what Destiny discovers is, just how cool it all is.

Universe gives us both, the terrible and the wondrous, the bitter and the sweet. There’s battles with ruthless alien monsters, and there’s the thrill of aero-breaking through the atmosphere of a gas giant. There’s the brutal deaths of beloved crewmembers, and there’s the beauty of garden worlds never before glimpsed by human eyes.

And at the heart of it all are questions about the very fundamental nature of life, the universe, and reality itself. It makes you think. It makes you wonder what could be out there. It makes you ask yourself how much of the universe we still don’t understand, and what the answers to our questions might reveal.

That is what speculative fiction should be at its best. That’s what Universe was all about.

[image error]Dark done right:

I’m a fan of dark, grim stories. Anyone who’s read anything I’ve written can confirm that. It’s not like Leha’s life was all sunshine and lollipops.

I remember back in the TrekUnited days I was always butting heads with people about this. I wanted Star Trek to be darker. I wanted Stargate to be darker. I wanted everything to be darker. I was fed-up with stories where there were no consequences, where characters were always shiny and perfect.

Nowadays the pendulum has swung the other way. Dark stories seem to be the order of the day now. Perhaps due to Game of Thrones, it almost feels like TV shows are now in an arms race to determine who can have the most gore, the most tragedy, the most warped and twisted characters.

You might think I’d be happy about this, but I’m not. I think the current trend toward cynical fiction misses the point of what makes grim stories compelling in the first place.

I don’t want stories that wallow in awfulness, that revel in the worst aspects of humanity. The point of a dark story is to make the light, the optimism, the goodness shine all the brighter.

[image error]That’s what so much of current television — so much of current fiction generally — doesn’t get. But it’s something that SG:U understood very well.

One of the iconic lines of the series is when Colonel Young declares, “These are the wrong people, in the wrong place.” That sums up the character of Universe very well.

The people aboard the Destiny find themselves in an impossible situation, trapped on a decaying alien ship they have no control over at the far end of the universe. To make matters worse, none of them are quite the right people for the job. They’re all battling their personal demons, and things only get worse as the stress of their situation begins to press down on them all.

But they don’t give up. They keep fighting — to get home, to survive, and to be better people. For all their many and sundry flaws, deep down they are largely good people. And that’s what makes it such a powerful show. Watching them triumph despite their demons.

I don’t like stories that are too shiny and happy because they feel cheap. They feel dishonest. When the characters succeed, it doesn’t feel earned.

That’s what makes darker stories more interesting. If the characters are allowed to fail sometimes, it makes it all the sweeter when they do succeed. It does feel earned.

[image error]That’s what Universe gets so right that so many other shows don’t. It’s grim enough to feel real, and uplifting enough to inspire. It’s the perfect balance of joy and sorrow, darkness and light.

That’s what I crave in fiction. That’s what makes a story stick with me, and that’s why Universe will always be a favourite.

ESO: Dungeons and Outfits

Back in February, I injured my hand, and I had to take a bit of time off from gaming. I’m better now, but I’ve fallen out of the habit a little, and I’ve also got a lot on my plate lately in terms of Real Life stuff, so that also has led to me gaming less.

[image error]However, I remain a sucker for pretty outfits, so the addition of the outfit system to Elder Scrolls Online has me poking around it again.

Styling and/or profiling:

The addition of an outfit system to ESO is very long overdue, but the good news is it’s a pretty good system. It’s based on crafting motifs, and it’s account-wide, so even your low level alts can get in on the fun.

There’s pretty much no limitations on it, either. You can use light, medium, or heavy armour appearances in your outfit regardless of what you’ve got equipped, and there aren’t any level restrictions on appearances.

Also, weapon dyes! My Barbaric greatsword looks so much better bone white.

I have heard a lot of complaints about the gold cost of creating an outfit, and it is definitely on the higher end, but once your outfit is set-up, it’s permanent. You don’t need to pay again every time you get new gear like you do in WoW. Given that, I don’t think the gold costs are a crippling flaw.

[image error]Slightly more problematic is the high cost in real money of additional outfit slots given that they are character-specific and not account-wide, but additional slots are very much a nice to have and not a need to have (even for as rabid a virtual fashionista as I), so even that’s not the end of the world.

My main has gone back to more or less the outfit she had while leveling, with only slight modifications. It’s mostly Argonian pieces, all of which are medium aside from the legs. It gives her a very wild and savage look that fits her Bosmer roots excellently. And I love how well it shows off her tattoos.

Meanwhile, my templar alt has gone full Blood Knight, if it is the wrong universe for that. It’s all red, gold, and black. Mostly she’s using Ra Gada and Imperial pieces, though the Abah’s Watch shield is also a core piece of the look.

I’m very happy with these outfits. Turns out your characters actually can look pretty good in ESO when you’re not forced to use whatever gear happens to drop.

Altoholism once more:

Of course, no point designing the perfect outfit if you don’t actually play the game. I’ve been poking around on my main a little, but the majority of my attention has actually gone to playing my templar.

[image error]So far it’s been fun. Even at this low level, she has a pretty solid and enjoyable build/rotation (being overpowered from all those champion points probably helps), and the Dark Elf zones are interesting. Unlike the rest of ESO so far, it’s a pretty unique environment and not quite like anything I’ve seen before. Morrowind definitely has its own unique character.

I also mustered my courage and finally completed a dungeon for the first time. I was tanking, too, which provided me with a quick queue, but also an extra layer of pressure for my first dungeon run in the game.

The DPS were of course channeling their inner Leeroy, but aside from that, it went pretty well. We only had one death, and I don’t think that was my fault. No one complained about my tanking.

Tanking in ESO is an interesting experience. There are single-target taunts, but no other threat modifiers, so it’s actually expected that you won’t be able to keep aggro on everything all the time. Aside from the actual bosses, dungeon mobs don’t seem much stronger than those in the open world, so they’re not going to instantly pound the healers or DPS into the dirt.

It’s a good system. It adds a little chaos to combat, but not too much.

[image error]As for the dungeon itself (Banished Cells), it matches the rest of ESO by being competent if unremarkable. The environment is a little bland. The rest of my group was in too much of a rush for me to properly appreciate the story, but there didn’t seem to be much to it anyway.

On the upside, it was very well-paced. Not too many bosses nor too much trash, and the whole thing only took about half an hour.

I’m not sure I’m going to make dungeons my new focus in ESO or anything, but it’s nice to have the option. At least I get fast queues.

Of MMO Races and Classes

I’ve had another couple of articles published over on MMO Bro.

First, I look at the MMORPGs that offer the best racial options, as well as those with the best class choices. Despite the fact I’m not a particular fan of the franchise, the EverQuest games do very well for themselves on both.

[image error]Also speaking of classes, I do an analysis comparing traditional class systems versus open-ended skill-based progression. No one who knows me should be surprised which system I prefer.

Review: Mass Effect: Andromeda: Initiation

Dem colons doe.

While I’ve been a long-time fan of Warcraft and StarCraft’s tie-in fiction, I’ve rarely paid much attention to tie-in books for other franchises. However, I remain heartbroken over the lack of DLC for 2017’s best video game, Mass Effect: Andromeda, so I decided to give its related literature a shot.

[image error]The first Andromeda book, Nexus Uprising, is all about, well, the Nexus uprising, which was by far and away the least compelling part of Andromeda, so I gave that a pass, but the next one, Initiation, seemed a good pick: The story of how Cora joined the Initiative.

It’s not what I expected, but I don’t regret the purchase.

I was hoping for something meditative and character-driven. What I got was more like a buddy cop movie starring Cora and SAM as they investigate the theft of some of SAM’s source code.

It’s a book with some rough edges. The prose is a little dodgy in spots — exclamation points outside of dialogue are a serious pet peeve of mine — and the pacing and overall structure of the story are a bit whacky. It’s definitely shorter than I’d like, and feels a bit rushed.

But it’s fun. It’s fast-paced, there are some memorable action sequences, and while this isn’t a very character-driven book, what character moments there are are well done. SAM, Cora, and Alec all feel like the same characters they were in the game, and their speech patterns are captured well.

Initiation does help to make Cora’s rabid Asari fangirlism seem a little more sane. It’s a less case of her being that obsessed and more just that’s the culture she’s spent much of her recent life immersed in.

If you’re looking for some nostalgia, there are also more than a few nods to the original trilogy, including an appearance by a familiar face… though not necessarily a face you would have wanted to see again.

Don’t expect any big reveals, but there are also some tantalizing hints about the origins of the Andromeda Initiative… and the ulterior motives behind it.

So, yeah, it’s an enjoyable book. I’ve read some tie-in novels that were genuinely amazing and powerful pieces of literature, and this isn’t one of them, but I’ve also read tie-in books that were just shameless cash grabs with nothing interesting to offer, and Initiation definitely isn’t one of those, either.

It’s not DLC, but it’s better than nothing.

Overall rating: 7.2/10

Song of the Month: Metric, The Governess

Yes, it’s another Metric song already. Hey, they are my favourite band.

The Governess is my favourite song from Metric’s most recent album (Pagans in Vegas), and one of my all-time favourite Metric songs period. It’s a total throwback to their gloriously weird and spectacularly bleak early years, which was my favourite incarnation of Metric.

But that’s not why I’m sharing it now. I’m finally getting close to the end of writing the third book of Soulcleaver, and The Governess is my theme song for the character at the heart of this book. It fits him to a T.

When there was a wilderness,

I wandered wild and free.

Guilt, she is the governess

That guides me back to grieve.

Review: Altered Carbon, Season One

Netflix’s adaptation of the sci-fi novel Altered Carbon was first put on my radar by Ashley of Robobeat, who is a fan of the book. Later, I listened to one of my friends here in the city raving about it while we were at dinner. With two people whose opinions I respect recommending it, I figured it was time to give it a try.

[image error]Altered Carbon is cyberpunk-ish series depicting a far future where consciousness has been digitized, allowing people to continually download into new bodies as a form of immortality (Battlestar Galactica fans will find much of this series feels familiar). The rich can afford an endless supply of clones of their original body, while the poor are crammed into whatever body — or “sleeve” in the show’s lingo — is available.

Into this world awakens Takeshi Kovacs, a veteran of a failed revolution who is hired by one of the ruling aristocracy to solve the murder of his last body. As he investigates the case, Kovacs comes face to face with a conspiracy spanning centuries, and the brutal realities of life in the future.

And let’s be clear: It is brutal. This is by far the most absurdly violent and gorey show I’ve ever seen, and I used to be a huge Dexter fan. There’s also more nudity than I’ve ever seen on TV.

Mind you, I’m quite unfazed by both blood and boobs, so I wouldn’t say this is a complaint.

It does sort of touch on my one big issue with Altered Carbon, though, and that’s that this is a show with absolutely no subtlety whatsoever.

[image error]The social commentary, for instance, could give Bioshock a run for its money in the realm of ham-fisted delivery. Just as in the case of Bioshock, I even agree with the show’s politics, but even so it’s just so over the top and shamelessly unsubtle I have to facepalm a bit.

Similarly, most of the characters are cliched to the point of being utterly cartoonish, as is a fair bit of the dialogue.

The one exception to this — and a major highlight of the show — is Poe, an artificial intelligence who runs the hotel where Kovacs stays and has chosen to construct his persona in imitation of Edgar Allen Poe. He’s the perfect gentlemen, and a delight in every scene he’s in.

I also found it very visually appealing show, albeit in a dirty and gritty sort of way. The production values and special effects are easily equal to any Hollywood blockbuster.

The action sequences are excellent, as well. The fight scenes are so intense and well-choreographed they could almost give Continuum a run for its money.

Almost.

[image error]As for the main plot, it’s… decent. Altered Carbon sort of turns into a different show about halfway through, and I actually like what it evolves into, but it takes some adjustment.

It does do a very good job of exploring the personal and social ramifications of being able to download one’s mind into new bodies… but I didn’t find this quite so clever or thought-provoking as the writers probably hoped. Perhaps because I’ve already seen similar ideas elsewhere in sci-fi, or perhaps because I’ve never been all that attached to my own body.

It’s also a bit jarring how the actor who plays Kovacs’ original sleeve is so much better than the actor who plays Kovacs’ current sleeve, with the end result that I really like Kovacs as a character… but only in his flashbacks.

All in all, while Altered Carbon tries to sell itself as intelligent sci-fi, I think it’s much more accurately described as a simple-minded action-adventure/softcore porn series. Looked at through that lens, it’s a fun ride.

If there’s a second season, I’ll watch it.

Overall rating: 7.1/10

Fan Fiction: One Last Time

Caught up in the wave of feels triggered by the release of the Burning Throne in World of Warcraft, I was inspired to write a bit of fan fiction. It tells the story of my warlock (who is also my demon hunter) up to the final assault on Antorus.

[image error]Even by fan fic standards, this is a very self-indulgent story, but I had fun writing it.

And yes, I’ve taken some liberties with how the Vindicaar operates, but it was too cool an idea not to use. And isn’t that the true spirit of Warcraft?

—————————-

One Last Time

“Get away! Get away!”

Dorotaya Duskfury screamed and screamed, words giving way to incoherent shrieks, but the dead kept advancing. She let loose with all the fury of her magic, forgetting all lessons on subtlety and control taught by her masters, but the dead kept advancing.

She delved deep into her herself, and her slender fingers spewed fire like a Dragon’s breath. The blaze consumed everything before her, blinding her, cutting off her view of the horrific monstrosities shambling toward her.

She’d been told they would be safe. Ranger-General Windrunner would hold the Elfgates. The might of the Quel’dorei would repel the human prince and his undead hordes. The instructors had assured everyone at the academy that there was nothing to fear, that lessons would continue as normal.

But the Scourge had come all the same. The forests of Eversong had withered at their very touch, and the rotting hordes had invaded the academy before there had even been time to evacuate.

Her heart began to flutter, her strength to fail. Her magic abandoned her, and she slumped, the flames no longer leaping from her hands.

The ghouls before her been reduced to piles of ash, but now the classroom was ablaze. The smoke burned her throat with every breath, and flakes of ash settled onto her radiant golden hair.

Coughing, Dorotaya stumbled forward and leapt through the flames, making it out into the hallway beyond. She sunk to her knees, her whole body shaking.

A shiver went down her spine as she felt something warm and wet soaking through her brightly coloured robes. She looked down, and her throat seized.

There was blood everywhere.

She looked around, her eyes widening. The pale stone walls of the academy were streaked with blood, the floor covered in great crimson pools of it. Broken and mutilated bodies were strewn everywhere, their throats torn, their limbs broken, their faces frozen in masks of horror.

Dorotaya rose unsteadily, retching, and stumbled down the hallway, vainly trying to flee from the horror. The fire she had started was spreading, and the hot smoke mingled with the coppery scent of blood in the air.

She tried not to look at the carnage, but it was everywhere. There was no escape. Her friends, her rivals, her instructors… all had been reduced to naught but shredded meat. The famed grace and dignity of the Quel’dorei meant nothing now. They had been slaughtered like animals.

Tears filled her blue eyes and flowed down her pale cheeks.

She emerged from the hallway into a courtyard at the heart of the academy, but that brought no relief. The slaughter had been no less complete here. The bodies were decomposing with unnatural swiftness, and the once vibrant trees and grass of the courtyard were withering away with the foul sickness of the Scourge. The air smelled of rot and death.

A soft noise to her left broke the tomblike stillness, and Dorotaya’s heart leapt into her throat. She held up her hands, knowing she didn’t have the strength to hold off another assault by the undead.

But the figure that came into view was no walking corpse. He had long platinum blonde hair and a strong jaw, and he wore the elaborate blue and silver robes of an instructor, now streaked with ash and gore as hers were. He walked unsteadily, and she saw her own horror mirrored in his wide eyes.

“Xen?” she gasped. Her voice was weak, sounding almost childlike.

She saw recognition in his eyes, also blue, and he rushed to her side. Xen Frostblaze was one of her instructors. He had taught her the very pyromancy that had saved her from the Scourge.

The full weight of what had happened crashed down on Dorotaya, and she sunk to her knees, the trickle of her tears becoming a torrent. She sobbed uncontrollably, and Xen held her as his own tears started to fall.

* * *

The sky above was a storm of raw magic, and Dorotaya eyed it hungrily.

The hunger was always with her now. There could be no relief. When the Scourge had destroyed Quel’thalas, they had not been content with simply slaughtering her people and razing their cities. They had also poisoned the Sunwell, the font of magic at the very heart of their society. Now their addiction to magic raged unchecked, and nothing could satisfy it. Her skin crawled at all hours. Her whole body ached.

“We have discussed this before,” Xen said sternly, his face shadowed by a deep hood.

He sat on the ground across from her, a meager campfire flickering between them. The only survivors of the academy massacre, they had grown close since the fall of Quel’thalas. He had continued her training, and helped her survive a world that seemed to be constantly at war.

The bright robes they had worn at the academy were gone now, replaced by somber garb of red and black. They were Quel’dorei no longer. The Quel’dorei society had died with the Sunwell. They were Sin’dorei now, the Children of Blood, born in blood, driven onward only by desperation and the lust for vengeance.

The red upon their clothes commemorated the blood spilled by their people, the black their mourning over those they had lost. Every last one of Dorotaya’s friends and family, everyone she had ever loved, had died at the hands of the Scourge. Xen, too, had lost everyone close to him. Such was now the fate of their kind. To be Sin’dorei was to have lost everything.

“The Alliance hates us. The Horde distrusts us. The Scourge seek our deaths, and the Legion plots from beyond,” Dorotaya argued. There was a harsh edge to her voice. There always was these days. “We need all the strength we can get.”

She and Xen had grown close over the years, their relationship growing ever more intimate. They were not exactly lovers, perhaps not even truly friends, but they had no one else.

Their journeys together had taken them across the face of Azeroth and now beyond, to the shattered realm of Outland, where the raw power of the Twisting Nether raged across the skies. Yet still they butted heads often, and arguments such as these were only becoming more common.

Xen was always careful about how he fed his magical addiction. That it needed to be fed was not something any of the Sin’dorei doubted, but Xen believed some powers were too dangerous to tap.

Dorotaya had no such reservations.

“Did not the Burning Crystals help us rebuild Silvermoon?” she continued.

“They also drove our prince to madness,” Xen replied, his smooth voice maddeningly calm.

He was not wrong. Kael’s madness was what had brought them and other champions here, to the surreal hellscape of the Netherstorm.

Dorotaya gritted her teeth, her cheeks heating. “We’ll never defeat the Scourge or the demons who wrought them if we cannot match their strength,” she said.

Her eyes blazed, and they were no longer blue, but a burning green, the mark of the desperate measures already taken by her people in their quest to survive. “We need the fel,” she declared.

“You should listen to Xen,” the third member of their party rumbled from beyond the firelight, joining the discussion for the first time.

His name was Voranaku, and he was a Nether Drake, a kind of mutant Dragon found only in Outland. His body was not scaly like that of his Azerothian kin, but smooth and sleek, and shimmering with an inner violet light. He was as much a being of energy as of flesh.

In their journeys across Outland, Xen had done much to aid the cause of the Netherwing Dragons, and in gratitude, Voranaku had pledged to serve Xen for so long as the Elf would have him, functioning as a steed and a valued companion. But though Voranaku and Xen had become fast friends, the Drake had always viewed Dorotaya with skepticism.

Voranaku stalked forward, his sleek snout illuminated by the flames. “The rage of the fel consumed this world and its peoples, and it will consume you too,” the Drake said.

Dorotaya grimaced. It was two against one. She would not win this argument tonight.

Coming to the same conclusion, Xen said, “Enough. You should rest. We have another hard day ahead of us tomorrow.”

She scowled, but she offered no further argument, and soon both of them had retired to their bedrolls, Voranaku settling in to keep watch. He didn’t seem to sleep much.

Xen’s breathing soon settled into a gentle rhythm, but Dorotaya lay awake. The withdrawal pain was especially bad tonight. It felt like she had worms burrowing through her skin. Xen’s earlier words still echoed in her mind, and she felt her face burn with anger. He was holding her back. He was holding everything back.

Frustrated, she kicked out of her bedroll and stood.

Voranaku narrowed huge, dark eyes at her.

“I just need some air,” she said, speaking softly so as to not wake Xen. “I won’t go far, and I’ll be careful.”

Voranaku’s face remained suspicious – it was remarkably expressive for a giant reptile – but he did not say or do anything to stop her.

Dorotaya strode away from the camp, moving downhill across the lifeless rocks. The ever-shifting energies above provided a soft violet illumination, allowing her to find her footing.

When she was out of sight of the camp, she settled down on a cold boulder and pulled out a small sack from within her jacket, along with a bundle of delicate papers.

The spicy scent of dried bloodthistle met her nose as she opened the sack, and she shuddered in pleasure. Another habit Xen did not approve of, but it helped numb the pain… for a time, at least.

As she rolled her joint, she heard a scraping on the stone. She jumped, and her satchel fell, spilling its precious bloodthistle across the ground.

A dark, looming figure emerged from a nearby gully, and she cursed herself for not checking her surroundings more carefully.

Bat-like wings unfurled, and blazing green eyes fell upon her.

A Doomguard.

“Oh ho, little Elf-girl,” the demon rumbled, drawing a sword that burned with felfire. “Gonna make you scream.”

She briefly considered running for help, but to turn her back on this foe would be to die.

Dorotaya turned to face the demon, and her hands caught flame.

The Doomguard lunged for her, moving with shocking speed, its wicked blade held high.

She drew upon her magic, ignoring the pain as she further drained her already meager reserves, and the air shimmered around her. In the blink of an eye, she reappeared several feet to her left, and the Doomguard’s blade cleaved the stone where she had been sitting moments before.

The beast rounded on her, fel energy flickering from its horns.

“Anar’endal dracon!” she cried, and fire leapt from her hands.

The flames spiraled and coiled through the air like living things. Fueled by the hate burning in her heart, each bolt sought its target with unerring accuracy and struck with unnatural force.

The Doomguard reeled under her assault, grunting in pain.

But the demon was not without magic of its own. “Shaza-kiel!” the fiend snarled as it extended a hand. Crimson flames burst forth.

Dorotaya dodged to the side, smouldering rocks pelting her as the ground where had been standing exploded.

The Doomguard readied another spell, but she flung her hands into the air, unleashing an arcane torrent that tore the energy from her surroundings – including the Demon. Its spell flickered and died, and she felt a hot rush of pleasure as newfound power flooded her.

Momentarily free from the pain of withdrawal, she drew forth all her strength. Her mind filled with the image of her slaughtered classmates, and an overwhelming hatred for all that the Burning Legion had ever wrought filled her.

Her blood boiling, she unleashed a cascade of flame against the Doomguard. It tried to defend, flinging its arms and wings up to shield itself, but her flames burned right through them.

The Doomguard died screaming, and Dorotaya smiled all the while.

When the Demon’s ruined body collapsed to the ground, she at last relented, breathing heavily. She stumbled over to the corpse. Its arms and wings were utterly destroyed, as was much of its torso, but its grizzly head remained mostly intact. Its horns still flickered with felflame.

A fresh wave of withdrawal struck Dorotaya, stronger than anything before it. She whimpered as every nerve in her body throbbed and a hopeless longing filled her heart.

Her gaze was drawn to the Demon’s horns, still alight with foul energy, and something within her snapped.

Kneeling down, she placed her hands upon the horns. They were hot to the touch, but it was bearable – just. Her heart pounded, and she barely even noticed the horrific reek of burnt Demon flesh.

Grunting, using the last of her magic to bolster her strength, she snapped the horns off the corpse’s head, unleashing a spray of neon green cinders that stung her skin.

Her breaths came heavy and harsh, but she was beyond all rational thought. The need for magic had drowned out all else.

She plunged the Demon’s horns into her own head.

She felt their shattered bases pierce her skin, and then even the bone of her skull. She barely felt the pain. The fel flowed into her.

It was a power unlike anything she had ever imagined in her most desperate dreams. It burned along every nerve and filled every cell to bursting. She collapsed, writhing and screaming, as her very soul caught fire. It was pleasure so intense it was agonizing, a pain so fierce it was sublime. She prayed for it to be over, and she prayed it would never end.

An eternity later, she came back to herself. She lay on the cold soil, drenched in sweat. Her throat hurt.

She felt different now. The hunger was still there, but it was distant. For the moment, she was sated.

And she felt a new power coursing through her limbs. She felt she could cast greater spells than ever before. She felt she could take the stones and crush them between her fingers.

She felt around her forehead. The horns were part of her now. She could still feel the rage of the fel burning within them, but that too was a part of her now, and she found comfort in it. The skin around them was cracked, blistered, and ruined, but she felt no pain.

Dorotaya Duskfury smiled.

She could sense the Doomguard’s life energy now. Most of it had already bled away, but traces of it lingered in the air, and she breathed them in like sweetest perfume.

A shiver of pleasure ran down her body.

She came to her feet, and froze.

Xen stood on the ridge above her.

They looked at each other a long moment, neither saying anything. Dorotaya could hear her own breathing in the stillness.

She made no effort to conceal the horns now jutting from her forehead, nor the fel flame that still flickered at their bases. She met her master’s gaze proudly, daring him to object.

Xen shook his head, and turned away.

* * *

“Rise up, Argent Crusaders! The hour of justice has come!”

Tirion’s voice cut through the icy air – colder even than the arctic environment could account for – as he lead the knights of the Argent Crusade to the very steps of Icecrown Citadel, the cold heart of death itself, the fortress of the Scourge. They fought to clear the path for a mighty battering ram that would shatter the citadel’s gates and expose the inner sanctum of the Lich King himself.

Representatives of the Horde and the Alliance brought up the rear, defending the ram even as the undead beset it from all sides, and Dorotaya Duskfury and Xen Frostblaze were among them.

No longer were they master and student, but uncertain partners. Dorotaya had spent months delving into the fel and the shadow, and all powers of darkness and chaos, twisting herself into a living weapon. Xen made no secret of his disapproval, but still he stayed by her side. They had no one left but each other.

A squad of ghouls rushed Xen, and he unleashed a wave of icy power that froze them in their tracks. Voranaku swept down from above and belched a torrent of pure energy, shattering the animate corpses like glass, before soaring back into the darkened heavens.

But this did little to slow the Scourge’s advance. Even more monstrosities now rushed in to fill the gap, and Xen struggled to summon his magic quickly enough.

Dorotaya stepped forth, a cold fury burning in her heart.

This was what they had fought for. This had been their dream from the moment the Scourge had come to Quel’thalas. To end the threat of the living dead once and for all, and exact vengeance upon the monster that had all but destroyed their race.

It had been a brutal campaign across the frozen continent of Northrend, the very roof of the world, but now, against all odds, they had made it to Icecrown itself.

And Dorotaya would let nothing stop her now.

With a wordless cry, flames of red and green spewed forth from her palms, turning wave after wave of ghouls into cinders. She felt the power pulse through her body, and it exhilarated her.

The dark powers she courted had changed her. Her skin, always pale, had become as pallid as a corpse’s, and her once golden hair was now a dull white. Her eyes burned with unholy intensity, and her horns still flickered with the fel.

The Scourge fell before her, but they just kept coming. The Scourge seemed endless, and with each living warrior that fell, their numbers grew. As an enemy, they were like quicksand. The harder you fought them, the stronger they became.

Scanning the melee, Dorotaya identified the source of the reinforcements: a necromancer near the back of the enemy lines.

She gritted her teeth in rage. This was the most hateful of creatures, a man who served the Scourge willingly, desiring the power and immortality the Lich King offered. Dorotaya was no stranger to the lust for power or dark bargains to attain it, but she had perverted her soul in the name of justice. She had made herself a monster that even monsters would fear, so the children of Azeroth would never have to see their friends and family butchered as she had.

The Cult of the Damned could make no such claim.

She fully gave way to the hate that burned in her heart. Shadow and flame rose to wreath her body, and where a slender woman had stood a moment before, there was now a massive brute forged of living darkness, its feet hooved, its hands clawed, its back host to mighty wings.

With a roar like thunder, the monster Dorotaya had become charged, tearing through the Scourge forces with sheer brute force. Lightless flames leapt from her transformed body, ravaging all who came close.

In the face of such fury, the Scourge could not stand.

She saw the necromancer’s eyes widen as she bore down on him. He fired a bolt of dark magic at her, but she shrugged it off, the dark energy wreathing her serving as armour.

Before he could flee, she grabbed the man by the throat and lifted him from his feet. He was a human, pale-skinned and ragged. He kicked and struggled, his breath coming in hoarse gasps that misted in the frosty air, but he could not break her grip.

She could crush his throat in an instant, but that was too easy an end for one such as him.

“Shaza-kiel!” she rumbled.

The necromancer’s body arched in agony as a flickering energy began to flow from him to Dorotaya. His flesh withered away as she drank his life and his very soul, and she shuddered with pleasure as new strength filled her.

The ruined husk that had once been a man dropped from her grasp, the last of his essence now hers. Undeterred, the unliving hordes pressed toward her, but she unleashed the energy she had taken from the necromancer, and a shockwave of dark energy reduced the Scourge minions to ash.

Her strength spent, she let the shell of dark power around her dissipate, and she was but a woman once again. She had bought a reprieve for the forces assaulting the citadel, though, and the lines were now holding. The Scourge’s counterattacks were weakening, and the ram even now hammered against the saronite gates of Icecrown, ringing them like a terrible gong.

Dorotaya strode back to where Xen stood, regarding her with an unclear expression. She read judgment into his stare and bristled. She had saved his life, and even now he doubted her, she thought.

“Well fought,” Xen said, and her eyes widened in surprise. That was not the response she had expected.

Xen leaned on his staff, a construction of polished wood and gleaming violet crystals, and weighed his words.

“I know we don’t always see eye to eye,” he began. “But I’m glad we’re together now.”

Dorotaya allowed herself a guarded smile. “Me too.”

Xen looked up at the spire of Icecrown Citadel. It could not be seen from here, but atop its peak was the Frozen Throne, the seat of the Lich King’s power. It was here that the Scourge had been born. From this place had come the army that had destroyed Quel’thalas and stolen away everyone Dorotaya had ever cared about.

Light willing, this would also be the place where the Scourge ended.

“Do you think we can really do it?” Xen asked. Deep within his hood, his eyes burned with intensity. He may have kept a tighter rein on his emotions, but his hatred for the Scourge was no less than hers.

“I don’t know,” Dorotaya answered. Her heart fluttered. She had scarcely dared hope that this day would come, but now it had. The Lich King was within their grasp. “But I will give everything I have.”

Xen nodded. “I know you will.” He straightened, and a look of determination came upon him. “Come. The gates are about to fall. The time has come. Selama ashal’anore.”

“Selama ashal’anore,” she repeated.

Justice for our people.

* * *

Dorotaya bathed in the light of the Sunwell.

Through great hardship and much sacrifice, it had been restored, and cleansed, infused with the Holy Light by the sacrifice of M’uru. It had provided relief from the eternal thirst for magic afflicting the Sin’dorei, and given hope to their shattered people.

To Dorotaya, though, it had brought less relief. Her embrace of fel and shadow had filled her with a hunger that nothing could ever fully satisfy, and her crusade against all things dark and foul gave her little time to come and commune with the Sunwell.

First it had been the campaign against the Lich King. At last, he had fallen, but shortly afterward Deathwing had unleashed the Cataclysm, bringing forth new troubles, new horrors to fight.

Now, at last, there was a lull in the fighting, and Dorotaya had returned home to find what comfort she might from the Sunwell’s radiance.

The Sunwell lay at the heart of a great temple, its vaulted walls painted red and gold and black, the colours of the Sin’dorei. Its ceiling was open to the blue sky above, letting the light of the Sunwell mingle with the light of the true sun. The Sunwell itself was a pool of clear liquid lit by its own inner radiance Along with Dorotaya, many Sin’dorei pilgrims clustered around its edges, finding relief in the warmth of its light.

A few of the pilgrims looked quizzically at her horns, but no Sin’dorei had escaped the last few years without scars, or without making desperate choices. They understood.

Nothing could ever fully satisfy the hunger in her heart, nor fully soothe the pain of all that she had endured, but here in the presence of the Sunwell, she felt closer to whole than she had since that day at the academy. The hunger was distant, numbed by the power she drank from the Sunwell, and she allowed herself to relax as much as she was able.

She heard footsteps behind her, and she turned to see Xen approaching, accompanied by Voranaku. The halls of the Sunwell were wide enough to accommodate even the Nether Drake’s bulk. Most Dragons could take on mortal form if they chose, but she had never seen Voranaku do so. She wasn’t sure if he wasn’t able to, or just didn’t want to.

“Bal’a dash,” she said, greeting her companions. She sighed, folding her arms. “What new crisis demands our attention now?”

“For the moment, nothing,” Xen said. “That is not why I have come.” Though the words should have been reassuring, his tone remained grave.

Dorotaya’s former master sighed. “I have come to a decision. For a long time, my hate for the Lich King drove me onward, but now that he is gone, the heart for battle and peril has burned out of me. I am still a scholar at heart, Dorotaya.” He met her gaze, eyes sad. “I’m going to return to my studies. I think I serve our people better as a keeper of knowledge than as a warrior.”

Dorotaya’s heart fell, but in truth, she was not terribly surprised. Xen had been different since the Lich King’s fall.

“I’d try to talk you out of this, but I know there’s no point,” she said. She smiled wryly. “Stubborn old man.”

Xen smiled. “You could join me. You’ve a keen mind, and you would make an excellent scholar. You could lay down your burdens and find peace at last.”

She shook her head immediately. “The Scourge may be gone, but there are other horrors stalking this world. There are other monsters that must be made to suffer for their crimes. And somewhere out there, the demons of the Burning Legion still plot against us. I cannot rest.”

Xen nodded. “I knew you would say that. I know I have long doubted your methods, and I still worry for you, but I see now the good that you do. I may not trust the powers you deal with, but I do trust the passion that burns in your heart, Dorotaya Duskfury.”

She inclined her head. “Thank you.” And she meant it.

“I want you to have your best chance to succeed,” Xen continued. “To that end, I am giving Voranaku over to your service.”

“What?” the Nether Drake exclaimed. Clearly this was news to him as well.

“What use does a scholar have for one of your talents?” Xen said.

“I pledged to serve you,” Voranaku argued. “Not your fel-addled apprentice.”

Dorotaya frowned.

Xen turned to Voranaku, face stern. “Yes, you pledged to serve me, and now I order you to aid and protect my student. Unless you wish to rescind your oath.”

Voranaku scowled fiercely, but he said nothing more.

Xen’s manner softened again, and he turned back to Dorotaya. “Belono sil’aru, student.”

“Elu’meniel mal alann, Xen,” Dorotaya said sadly.

Xen left. Her throat felt tight.

* * *

The years advanced, and Dorotaya’s journeys continued. She fled into the shadows when Garrosh’s Kor’kron came for the warlocks, and she was there to avenge her allies when the Darkspear Rebellion ended his rule.

She traveled across time and space, and fought the Iron Horde beneath the alien sky of Draenor. She watched as the Orcs once again fell under the Legion’s sway.

And with horror in her heart, she saw the demons return to Azeroth.

Upon the Broken Shore, beneath the blazing tempest of the Felstorm, the armies of Azeroth marshaled. They marched upon the Tomb of Sargeras as one glorious, united force: the Horde, the Alliance, the Argent Crusade, and more. All the best Azeroth had to offer stood as one against the burning shadow.

And they failed.

It was Sylvanas Windrunner – once one of Dorotaya’s own people, now something far darker – who sounded the retreat and led the broken remains of the Horde to their ships, and to some semblance of safety.

Dorotaya Duskfury stood at the rail of a decrepit Forsaken galleon, watching the Broken Shore recede. The occasional felbat flew overhead, spitting globules of poison upon the fleeing Horde fleet, but Sin’dorei arrows and Troll spears kept them at bay. It was a token effort by the Legion; the demons were toying with them.

Those who had not been lucky enough to escape the Legion could be heard between the lapping of the waves, their agonized screams forming a choir to chill the blood and haunt the soul.

Dorotaya gritted her teeth. One of the monsters had gotten in a blow with its claws, and deep gashes along her ribcage leaked blood even now. But the pain of that injury was nothing compared to the sting of defeat.

With every breath, she inhaled hate and exhaled fury. But beneath it all was something worse: fear. Fear that she was going to see her people ruined again. Fear that all they had managed to rebuild in the last few years would crumble. Fear that what was still good and lovely in Azeroth would be reduced to ashes before the rage of the Burning Crusade.

Voranaku slumped next to her. He had also been injured, and burns mottled his violet skin. They were not fatal wounds, but for now he lacked the strength to fly.

“I spent my whole life watching the Legion ravage what was left of Outland,” the Drake said. “They burned and broke and tainted everything.” There was a harsh edge to his voice she had never before heard from the normally placid Voranaku. “They took whelps of my own clutch, tortured their bodies, consumed their souls,” he spat.

“I don’t want any other world to suffer that fate,” he continued. “And I no longer care what it takes to prevent that.”

She turned, meeting his dark eyes. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I was wrong to doubt you,” Voranaku replied. “I’m saying I want you to kill them. Every last one of them, until demons no longer darken the cosmos.”

Dorotaya clenched her fist, feeling the rage – and the power – rise to her call. “I will,” she said, turning away. The fire of the Felstorm matched the fire in her eyes. “No matter what it costs me.”

* * *

Azeroth burned at the touch of the Legion, but its people rose to fight it, and Dorotaya was among them. She found allies among the warlocks of the Black Harvest and the demon hunters of the Illidari, and with their aid, she made the Legion pay for every crime committed against the peoples of Azeroth.

Victories came slowly, and only at great cost. Good people were lost, and those that survived earned scars that would never fully heal, both physical and spiritual.

But the line held. In the face of the full fury of Sargeras and his servants, Azeroth endured, and in time, its people even began to make gains.

Then came the turning point. The Tomb of Sargeras fell, and Kil’jaeden with it. At that moment, Illidan Stormrage – called Betrayer by some, and a saviour by others – tore open the skies, and opened the way to Argus, the heart of the Legion’s power.

On a clear Aszunan night, Dorotaya looked up the sky, where Argus brooded like an emerald scar upon creation.

“It will all be over soon,” Voranaku said at her side. “One way or another. Stormrage has seen to that. Either we will end the Legion, or the full might of Argus will come down upon us, and all hope will die at last.”

The cool sea wind ruffled Dorotaya’s lank, colourless hair. She was grateful for his presence just now. She didn’t want to be alone this night. “Do you think we can really do it?” she asked softly, a rare note of vulnerability creeping into her manner.

Voranaku looked at her quizzically. “I know we have to try. And I have faith in you.”

She said nothing.

* * *

She could feel the cold steel of the Vindicaar’s hull through her clothes.

She sat on one of the lower decks, amid storage rooms and utilitarian facilities, and leaned against the wall. There were few people on this deck, especially now, and it was quiet, save for the gentle rumble of the arcane mechanisms at the ship’s heart.

Dorotaya welcomed the solitude. The Army of the Light was too desperate for aid to turn anyone away, but the Lightforged looked at her with judgment and suspicion in their eyes. They could not see the difference between her and the demons.

These days, even she hardly saw the difference. The fel had taken a terrible toll on her over the years. She was deathly thin, her vaunted Elven beauty reduced to a macabre death mask. Her skin was dry, her lips cracked, and her fingernails were now more akin to claws.

And always, the hunger for more – more magic, more power, more life – burned within her, gnawing at the edges of her sanity. To keep it in check, to keep herself from becoming the monster so many saw her as, was a struggle that would never end.

She was so tired.

Her sacrifices had not been in vain, though. Against all odds, the Army of the Light and the forces of Azeroth had fought across the face of Argus, and now the Vindicaar prepared to deliver them to the final assault on the very seat of the Legion: Antorus, the Burning Throne.

She had never dared think this day might come, and now that it had, she didn’t know how to feel. She could not bring herself to fully believe a world without the Legion was within sight. There was every possibility the horrors within Antorus would prove their end, and Azeroth would end in flames after all.

As Voranaku had said, one way or another, it would all be over soon.

Needing something to calm her nerves, she pulled a roll of dried bloodthistle out of her pocket and put it between her teeth. Flame flickered from her fingers, lighting the tip, and she breathed deep, holding the hot smoke in her lungs for a long moment. It had a mild, slightly spicy flavour.

She exhaled slowly, a stream of smoke escaping her ruined lips, and took another deep drag.

Almost immediately, she felt the bloodthistle begin to take effect. It numbed her feelings, killing her nerves and blunting her eternal hunger, even as it focused her thoughts and enhanced her senses. She could hear every whir and click of the ship’s machinery. The steel of the Vindicaar’s floor felt smooth as silk beneath her fingertaps, and her clothes caressed her like a lover.

She relaxed, sighing in contentment.

She heard footsteps approaching, and she frowned at the violation of her solitude. She made no attempt to conceal the bloodthistle, however. It wasn’t as if the crew could think any less of her.

“Still indulging bad habits, I see,” spoke a voice she had never thought to hear again.

The joint fell from her lips, forgotten, and she came to her feet. “Xen?” she said softly.

The man before her draw back his hood, revealing brilliant green eyes, a strong jaw, and flowing platinum hair. “They said the final push against the demons was at hand, and I knew you would be here,” he said. “I could not let this moment pass without settling my own debts against the Legion, and I did not want you to face it alone. If you will have me, we will face this together, fighting side by side, one last time.”

Dorotaya smiled, and a grim delight danced in her burning eyes. “Today is the day that demons will learn the meaning of fear.”

Xen returned her smile.

Her manner softened, and she said, “It’s good to see you again. I’m glad you’re here.”

He just nodded to her.

The tenor of the Vindicaar’s machinery changed, and Dorotaya felt her stomach drop.

“It’s time,” she said.

Walking side by side, Dorotaya Duskfuy and Xen Frostblaze made their way to the Vindicaar’s bridge as the ship made its final approach to Antorus.

The bridge was a large, roughly circular chamber with a great crystalline window at one end, through which could be glimpsed the blazing edifice of Antorus. The bridge was crowded with those who would be leading the charge against Antorus, their faces solemn, their eyes nervous.

There were many Draenei, both the lesser Draenei who had fled to Azeroth and the radiant Lightforged, but also many representatives of other races. There was a pair of human women, one gray-haired and stern-faced, another dark-haired and wearing the uniform of an SI:7 operative. There was another Sin’dorei lady, who radiated a strangely sinister aura, her face concealed behind a mask. There was a Night Elf woman with sad eyes and a great spear slung over her back, and there was an ancient Orcish man bundled into furs, his face a tapestry of wrinkles and scars.

They were the best Azeroth had to offer. At other times, some of them might have been enemies, but now, they were united in their quest to see the Legion’s end, and seeing them, Dorotaya dared to believe there might yet be hope for her war-torn world.

There was even a Nether Drake among them, and when he spotted Dorotaya’s companion, his eyes widened. “Xen!” Voranaku exclaimed, lumbering over.

“Hello, old friend,” Xen said, smiling. “It’s good to see you.”

As Xen and Voranaku got reacquainted, Dorotaya moved to the platform at the fore of the bridge, where the great window was irising open to allow disembarkation.

She gritted her teeth in frustration as the Vindicaar moved all too slowly toward her final vengeance, but with an impish grin, she realized she need not wait.

With a running leap, she hurled herself from the platform.

Hot, sulfurous wind buffeted her face, but wings of living shadow spread from her back to catch the blazing updrafts, and she glided down towards the ruined earth, the twisted towers of Antorus looming before her.

A few moments later, Voranaku leapt from the Vindicaar as well, Xen upon his back, and together the three of them soared towards landfall.

Despite it all, Dorotaya found herself smiling, and she felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. One way or another, it would all be over soon, and she dared to believe that victory was possible, that had not sacrificed her soul for nothing, that a world free from the fear of the Legion was truly within her grasp.

With Xen at her side once more, she believed it was possible.

“One last time,” she muttered, the words lost to the howling Antoran wind.

Age of Empires: Definitive Edition Thoughts

This week saw the long-awaited release of the Age of Empires Definitive Edition, a full HD remaster of one of the greatest classics of the real-time strategy genre. Age of Empires was one of the defining games of my childhood, so of course I jumped in immediately.

[image error]It’s a solid remake. Graphically, it’s a huge improvement. It may not exactly look top of the line, but it does look pretty damn good.

Unlike Blizzard’s bitterly disappointing StarCraft remaster, AoE:DE also polishes the clunkier aspects of the old game, as well. Attack-move is now an option, as are unit queues and an idle villager button.

The enemy AI seems slightly improved, too, though it can be a bit wonky at times. For the most part, it’s surprisingly smart and challenging — I’ve even seen the computer stutter-step ranged units — but it does have some hiccups. Enemy units have a tendency to freeze and wait to die when confronted with a wall.

To be honest, I would have liked a few more tweaks. The ability to re-seed farms automatically would have been nice, and unit pathing still leaves much to be desired. Still, I recognize it’s a difficult balance to strike. You don’t want to change too much.

Beyond those small changes, this is Age of Empires. If you played in the 90s, you’ll still recognize this as the game you know and love. All the civilizations, every campaign mission, every unit, every song on the soundtrack… it’s all there, almost exactly as you remember it.

Even the wololo.

[image error]

Oh, my beloved elephant archers. How I missed you.

That said…

I feel kind of bad saying anything negative about the Definitive Edition, because it’s pretty much everything that a video game remaster should be, but I must admit it hasn’t stoked my passion as much as I expected it to.

Maybe it’s that I’m having a busy period in my life right now and can’t focus on video games as well as usual, but I think maybe it’s just hard to get too excited about what is still fundamentally a twenty year old game I’ve already sunk dozens — if not hundreds — of hours into.

Well, if nothing else, I got a few hours of fun out of it, and I don’t regret buying it. If anything I’d recommend it, especially if you never played AoE back in the day. Quality RTS games really need to be supported these days.