Damage Report

Well. This didn’t go well.

From what we understand, a party of newbies took up the quest to grab that “treasure” in Fibbin’s museum. You were right. It WAS a gun. Revolver, too. We were a bit slow on the draw this time. Turns out Marshall himself had made an appearance, and the party that nabbed the gun was less than delicate about it. Before we had even heard of what was going on, a crowd of Riders had shown up on Tarn’s doorstep. They muscled their way into the party’s dealings and found out about Higgins.

This is where things kinda went south.

See, we’d gotten word about an NPC wanting to meet one of us. So I went. By the time I got there, Higgins was all KINDS of dead. I guess the Riders got to him first, likely thanks to the party that took his quest in the first place. Our guys spotted them talking with the riders for a bit during and after this whole thing.

So I’d be on the lookout. If the Riders already have their claws in these newbies, that only strengthens their hold on Arlestrous. Hopefully we’ll be able to ally with at least a few of them. I’ve already got word of one of them who looks a promising candidate.

In the mean time, send a few more guys my way. The Riders are getting a bit too comfortable here.

We can’t have that.

I wouldn't call it a "heist," exactly...

Fibbin was nearly pulling his sparse hair out, his life in such disarray at this point. He was assessing the possible damage of the Museum he still hadn’t named. He found himself rather clever, having a small nearby dungeon cleared out by adventurers before converting the place into a museum of interesting artifacts he’d come across. He was even getting a decent amount of business, too! But this doorman he hired, he messed everything up quite thoroughly.

It had only been a few minutes ago. The doorman was a half orc, a brutish sort by the name of Kanglor. He had agreed to work as a doorman so that Fibbin could actually sleep at home during the nights, at least until the knights the DragonLord had commissioned would arrive for a more long-term position keeping the peace in the general area.

Then he let him inside.

He was all set with the thing’s paperwork, and he’d thought little of letting the brute have a free tour. He was suprised the … man … had any interest in any of the artifacts, anyway! But he did.

But why did he pull that lever!


There was one trap Fibbin had missed out on diabling – a lockdown that slammed all the doors shut in the museum, trapping several patrons in and locking him out.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later and a hastily cast explosion that he found himself back inside. The patrons quickly fled (probably scared silly from the whole ordeal), and he fired Kringbot or whatever the damn thing’s name was. Now he was searching for any sign, anything missing or stolen. He was calm, though. His alarm spell hadn’t gone off. Meaning his most prized artifact was still in place.

It was a gun. A revolver of impeccable caliber, an ancient artifact of a far superior civilization.

He moved over to the glass case, just to take a comforting look at it.



How was it gone?


A Disaster

A tiny, panicked creature bolted through the woods of Arlestrous, frantically muttering non-words to itself as it frequently glanced over its shoulder. It was a disaster, he thought, a disaster!

One that it’d certainly expected.

The small kobold’s day had been a traumatic one. It’d just watched some of its best friends die in a raid gone utterly wrong. Their info had been good, and a convoy of two trade carriages had made its way between two of the country’s smaller settlements. They were carrying casks of ale, which would fetch a decent price among the monstrous races that lived in the backdrop of Arlestrous’ Lawful and Good aligned ways. A perfect target.

But they had an escort! A surprisingly diverse band of warriors had defended the carriage from harm, and the kobold band’s near-perfect ambush was thwarted quite violently. The sole survivor, currently running panicked back to his hideout, was the only one with the forethought not to attack when the group could see the escort. Now the task fell on this same kobold to bring its boss the bad news.

The kobold had been through it before. The boss would curse, and yell, and break things. Then he would declare that he would make the roads of Arlestrous a frightening place for the people of this nation if it was the last thing he did.

The kobold felt sad, briefly, for its friends. Just hours ago they were joking and laughing and talking about this big raid, how it would surely get them in good with the boss man.

But he didn’t stay sad. After all, every time a raid like this failed, he always made it back alive. He was proud of himself for living so long. And he did not miss his friends. Every time he set out on a new raid, the group he was with had just as many kobolds in it as his last group. They talked with the kobold like they were already acquainted. Like they always had been.

They were like his new friends.

They even told the same jokes.

Thread: A little help?

Posted: Monday, October 11, 2077; 2:32pm
User: Ajay
Hey, not sure where to post this, kinda new here. My friends and I just made our characters for the first time and we’re in the starting player spawn point. There’s only one player here right now, called “EightEqualsDee”, and he’s trying to get us to join his guild. [Goonmacht]? Anyway, none of us were ready to join anything, so he decided to have a little fun at our expense. He’s trying to kill us! Any help would be appreciated.

Posted: Monday, October 11, 2077; 2:33pm
User: Jin
Someone’s on the way. Just survive.

Posted: Monday, October 11, 2077; 2:46pm
User: John Marshal
Don’t bother sending your goons, Jin. The [Pale Riders] have been watching the new player area for a while now. We figured you creeps would start spawn camping sooner or later. Surprised it took so long for one of you to give it a shot, though.

But then, none of the [Goonmacht] members are very bright, are they?

Anyway. Try something like that again, and we’ll pump whoever you send full of just as much lead as your little crony got to taste today. Abusing FirstLevels is one thing we’re not going to put up with.

Posted: Monday, October 11, 2077; 2:49pm
User: Jin

Posted: Monday, October 11, 2077; 3:23pm
User: EightEqualsDee II
dude! srsly?!?! u were alredy sending peeps to help. none of u assholes culd revive me? I had 2 remake my guy! I’M LVL1 AGAIN!!!!!!

Posted: Monday, October 11, 2077; 3:30pm
User: Jin
Quit your crying. No one told you you had to go spawncamp to try and recruit. Besides, how many goons have you met who rolled clerics? lol.

Posted: Monday, October 11, 2077; 3:35pm
This section of the forum is for technical questions regarding HeroPlane. Please use the Social section of the forums if you would like to discuss your in-game exploits, as well as the integrated IM system if you would like to chat with other players. A thread should be made here if you are experiencing issues with the game or otherwise have operation-related questions.

Thank you for playing HeroPlane!


A Short Prologue

Strong smells of smoke and death stung nostrils of any left alive to experience their stench.

The village was a small one along the outlying borders of Arlestrous, barely a hundred people living there, with only a small handful of knights protecting it. The party had made very short work of them, had even made it their first act of aggression. The rest of the little hamlet fell into a bloody chaos shortly thereafter. There were three men who had set upon the NPC village were mid level players of HeroPlane; their defeat of the knights stationed there was largely credited to the element of surprise. The rest, however, were hardly a challenge. Farmers, hunters, and other noncombatants of varying age all fell rather easily. The usual sounds of the village were now replaced by the dull crackle of fires and the intermittent wailing of pain.

A scream broke the silence in one of the houses, drowned out by booming laughter.

“Brock? Brock, what are you doing? Did you find a survivor or something?” a robed man called into one of the few huts still standing. He was lean and lithe, his let black hair pulled into a tight ponytail that hung past his shoulders, his face thin and his features sharp. Among the group, he was the only one who carried no weapons – as a monk, his fists served that purpose just as well.

“Relax, Jin, I’m just trying something out!” a rough, thick voice called back. Jin chuckled. They’d been playing this game long enough, but he still had a hard time wrapping his head around how well the game synthesized its players voices – the gruff mountain of a man that had called back to him was a twelve-year-old boy, but you’d think he was actually a large, grizzled fighter from the sound of him. The monk pushed his way into the room from which he heard Brock calling.

He paused at the doorway, bewildered.

“Brock … what the fuck?”

Brock was a giant of a man clad in thick, heavy plates of armor. A massive greataxe lat unattended on the floor, and a female peasant sat cowering in the corner. She didn’t appear harmed yet, which put her in a much more favorable position than the other NPCs that populated this village. She, however, was not Jin’s concern.

The lower half of Brock’s armor was also piled on the floor, and the man stood, frustratedly pulling at undergarments that did not move from their affixed position.

“What the FUCK!?” he repeated.

“Oh, relax.” Brock called back. “I told you, I’m just trying something. Doesn’t look like they let you take all your pants off, though.” he finally declared with an exasperated sigh. Jin shook his head, dumbfounded.

“But you TRIED it.”

“Yeah, I tried it. I heard that some people did stuff like this to NPCs in the beta – I didn’t know if they had removed it or not.”

“Dude. Dude. That’s all kinds of sick.”

“Sure, sure. Raping a real thing is WAY better.”


The man rolled his eyes as he started to put his armor back on, nodding at Jin. “Okay, MOM. Geeze, it’s just a game. They’re not real. Anyway, can you help me out with this? I left my lackey back at camp and I need a partner to put this stuff on.” Jin sighed and began helping the Fighter back into his armor.

A man wearing a combination of robes and armor made his way towards the building, his clothes and shield bearing the symbol of a deity of healing and light. He called out to the building his partners stood in. “Guys, can we go save kittens or something for a while? My alignment is pretty shot, and I’d LIKE to be able to keep patching you douchebags up.”

“Neil, I fail to see why its our fault that you picked a Lawful Good deity.” Jin called back with a smirk. “We told you we were going to be bandits, you knew what you were getting into.”

Neil stepped into the room the two sat in as Jin was finishing putting on Brock’s armor. “Yeah, well, I figured you’d appreciate me being better at healing magic and why are you putting Brock’s pants back on?”

“Because Plate needs an assistant to be put on.”

“But why was it off in the first place?”

Jin opened his mouth to not-answer, when he paused, frowning. “Someone’s outside.”

“Survivors? Hunting party coming back?” Brock asked as he reached for his axe, nonchalantly beheading the cowering woman with one quick motion as his partners started in shock.

“Jesus, man, did you HAVE to?”

“Neil. Hush. Both of you. The footsteps are loud. Heavy The man outside is armored. Could be another knight. We need to be ready.”

Brock cracked his neck as he took thundering steps out of the building, discretion completely absent from the man. He half replied, half shouted out to the apparent eavesdropper. “Hah! We killed half a dozen of those knights already. What’s one more gonna-”

Brock froze as he saw who stood outside. His armor was a pristine, pearl-white The cloth and tabbards draped on him bore a familiar green, yellow, and white symbol that the twelve year old boy knew well as he looked through Brock’s eyes.

It was the symbol of PIOMA, developers of this game they were playing.

“Warden!” he called out in a panic, as he readied his axe. Jin and Neil were beside him in an instant, Neil already preparing to use a healing spell, Jin moving to the side to flank the Warden. None of them had seen one of these before, they only knew of the Wardens as defenders of noncombatant NPCs. They were PIOMA’s answer to the violent members of the player base who simply walked around killing everything. Their slaughter that day must have attracted the attention of the Wardens, Jin thought.

After a nervous pause, Brock yelled, charging after the warden, bringing his axe over his head before slamming it down, obliterating the dirt ground where the Warden had stood seconds earlier. The Warden had stepped to the side, having not yet even drawn his sword as he raised a hand. A few quick gestures later and a bolt of lighting shot from his fingers.

The bolt shot into Neil, picking him off of his feet, as he landed on the ground, gasping in pain. Jin cursed under his breath and moved in, a striking palm shooting forward. The Warden narrowly positioned himself such that the blow bounced off of his armor, and in an instand, his weapon and shield were drawn and he stood ready to fight.

“Fucking Quick Draw.” Jin muttered, taking a fighting stance as he let loose a rapid succession of attacks – the Flurry of Blows, the Monk class’s specialty. Some did not connect. Others, however, did, as Jin heard the Warden grunt in pain from a few good hits. Good. They CAN be hurt. He had a glimmer of hope that he wasn’t about to lose this character.

Then the Warden retaliated.

Jin was always impressed at the pain-like sensation offered in combat from HeroPlane, yet another marvel of the technology presented. He did, however, find that it was a bit of a dick move that there was nothing pain-LIKE about fighting the Wardens. As he was learning now, the sensations from wounds the wardens would inflict felt JUST like real pain.

And that meant that the blade that had just run through his torso really, REALLY hurt.

He uttered a sputtering, hacking cough as the Warden kicked him free of his sword, the monk toppling over, writhing and gasping on the floor next to his sizzling compatriot, who’s breathing was slow and wheezy. Jin blinked, puzzled. Neil’s character was slightly faded, as if his character wasn’t quite there.

“Must’ve … taken off his AVI helmet …” Jin sputtered. “Not … a bad idea …” he mused, as he glanced back, morbidly curious to see how his compatriot was faring.

His eyes widened. The Warden was crumpled on the floor. Brock stood, panting, but relatively unharmed.

“He wasn’t looking at me.” Brock explained. “Made it easy to get a good hit on him from behind.”

Jin could only nod. He’d never heard of someone surviving an encounter with the Wardens. This was going to make for a great story back at the Capitol.

“Just hang tight, I’ll grab Neil’s healing crap, and … and ….”

Brock turned at the sound of more, heavy footsteps. He frowned.

Twelve more Wardens stood before the three, their weapons drawn and their shields ready. The first warden rose as well. Granted, he WAS injured. But his stance was tall, confident. Like he was ready to begin fighting in earnest.

Jin cursed as the Wardens fell upon them.


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