Remind yourself that overconfidence is a slow and insidious killer

Remind yourself that overconfidence is a slow and insidious killer

I don’t really have a favorite quote, they’re all great!

«REMIND YOURSELF THAT OVERCONFIDENCE IS A SLOW AND INSIDIOUS KILLER.»

. Right before I overextend my stay and get a Deathblow from 3 consecutive crits. Man he is never wrong.

«WATCH YOUR STEP»

I smirk or LOL, depending on the situation everytime. It’s so silly.

«WATCH YOUR STEP»

I smirk or LOL, depending on the situation. Everytime.

My eyes squint every single time he’s said that. ‘You smug little. ‘

«I banged your grandmother.»

Well, he doesn’t actually say that.

My favorites are one of the shambler victory quotes (“It could be dismissed as a fever dream. if not for the corpses”) and a death’s door quote (“as life ebbs, terrible vistas of emptiness reveal themselves”).

For whatever reason, these conjure some powerful imagery for me.

Remind yourself that overconfidence is a slow and insidious killer

There is a place, beneath those ancient ruins, in the moor, that calls out to the boldest among them.

«We are the Flame!», they cry, «And Darkness fears us!»

They descend, spurred on by fantasies of riches and redemption to lay bare whatever blasphemous abnormality may slumber restlessly in that unholy abyss.

But Darkness is insidious. Terror and Madness can find cracks in the sturdiest of honors, the most resolute of minds.

And below, in that limitless chasm of Chaos, they will realise the truth of it. «We are not the Flame!», they will cry out, «We are but moths and we are DOOMED!»

And their screams will echo amidst the pitiless cyclopean stones.

Of the Darkest Dungeon.

Ruin has come to our family.

You remember our venerable house, opulent and imperial, gazing proudly from its stoic perch above the moor?

I lived all my years in that ancient, rumor-shadowed manor, fattened by decadence and luxury, and yet I began to tire of conventional extravagance.

Singular, unsettling tales suggested the mansion itself was a gateway to some fabulous, unnamable power. With relic and ritual I meant every effort towards the excavation and recovery of those long buried secrets, exhausting what remained of our family fortune on swarthy workmen and sturdy shovels. At last, in the salt-soaked cracks beneath the lowest foundation, we unearthed that damnable portal of antediluvian evil.

Our every step unsettled the ancient earth. Hideous, rotten aggressors assailed us from the shadows. We drew what strength we could from our companionship, but we were in the realm of death and madness! In the end, I alone, fled, laughing and wailing, through those blackened arcades of antiquity, until consciousness failed me.

You remember our venerable house, opulent and imperial? It is a festering abomination! I beg you, return home, claim your birthright, and deliver our family from the ravenous, clutching shadows.

Of the Darkest Dungeon.

You will arrive along the Old Road.

It winds with a troubling, serpent-like, suggestion through the corrupted countryside, leading only, I fear, to evermore tenebrous places.

There is a sickness in the ancient, pitted cobbles of the Old Road, and on its writhing path, you will face viciousness, violence, and, perhaps, other damnably transcendent terrors.

So, steel yourself, and remember, there can be no bravery without madness.

The Old Road will take you to Hell, but in that gaping abyss, we will find our redemption.

Brigands have run of these lands. Keep to the side paths, the hamlet is just ahead.

Dispatch this thug in brutal fashion, that all may hear of your arrival!

Leave nothing unchecked. There is much to be found in forgotten places.

An ambush! Send these vermin a message: The rightful owner has returned, and their kind is no longer welcome!

Arriving at the Hamlet – Welcome home, such as it is. This squalid hamlet, these corrupted lands. They are yours now, and you are bound to them.

Graveyard – Most will end up here, covered in the poisoned earth, awaiting merciful Oblivion.

Women and men, soldiers and outlaws, fools and corpses. All will find their way to us now that the road is clear.

Word is travelling. Ambition is steering in other cities. We can use this.

More arrive foolishly seeking fortune and glory in this domain. Of the damned.

Great heroes can be found even here, in the mud and rain.

The cobwebs have been dusted, the pews set straight. The abbey calls to the faithful.

A little hope, however desperate, is never without worth.

Gilded icons and dogmatic rituals… For some, a tonic against the bloodshed.

A man in a robe, claiming communion with the Divine? Madness.

Fresh kegs, cards and curtained rooms promise solace to the weary and broken alike.

With enough ale, maybe they can be inured against the horrors below.

Strong drink, a game of chance, and companionship… the rush of life.

All-manner of diversion and dalliance await those who cross the threshold with coin in hand.

Make no mistake; we will face ever greater threat – our soldiers must be ready.

Some may fall… but their knowledge lives on.

Every creature has a weakness – the wise hero trains for what he will face.

A strict regimen is paramount if one is to master the brutal arithmetic of combat.

The bellows blasts once again, the forge stands ready to make weapons of war.

A sharper sword, a stronger shield – anything to prolong a soldier’s life.

In the end every plan relies upon a strong arm and tempered steel.

Fan the flames, mould the metal; we are raising an army.

Curious methodologies and apparatus… It calms even the most tormented souls.

Experimental techniques and tonics can overcome things a sharpened sword cannot.

The frontline of this war is not in the dungeon, but rather inside the mind.

Trinkets and charms, gathered from all-the-forgotten-corners of the earth.

Rarity and curios… Sold at a profit, of course.

Idol, amulet or a lucky charm. The simplest object can be the talisman against evil.

An increasing stockpile of curios trinkets… Gathered from forbidden places.

At home in wild places, she is a stalwart survivor and a strict instructor.

Success depends on survival.

They must learn more than brutal blood-letting – they must learn to survive.

Alone in the woods or tunnels, survival is the same. Prepare, persist, and overcome.

My obsession caused this great foulness, and it is shameful, that I must rely upon you to set it right.

The poor caretaker. I fear his long-standing duties here have affected him.

Once our estate was an envy of this land.

I was lord of this place, before the crows and rats made it their domain.

I remember days, when the sun shone, and laughter could be heard from the tavern.

In truth I cannot tell how much time has passed since I’ve sent that letter.

Our family name, once so well-regarded, is now barely whispered aloud by decent folk.

I can still see their angry faces, as they stormed the manor. But I was dead before they found me, and the letter was on it’s way.

I see something long absent in the sunken faces of passers by, the glimmer of hope.

We dug for months, years, eternity. And we were rewarded with madness.

There is a great horror beneath the manor. A crawling chaos, that must be destroyed!

You answered the letter! Now, like me, you are a part of this place.

Curiosity, interest, obsession. Mile markers on my road to damnation.

Let me share with you terrible wonders I’ve come to know.

All my life I could feel an insisted gnawing at the back of my mind. It was a yearning, a thirst for discovery, which could be neither numbed, nor sated.

All the decadent horrors I’ve seen pale in comparison to that final crowning thing. I could not look, nor could I look away.

The plume and the pistol. A pitting end to my folly and a curse upon us all!

Another soul battered and broken, cast aside like a spent torch.

Those without stomach for this place must move on.

Send this one to journey elsewhere, for we have need of sterner stock.

The task ahead is terrible, and weakness cannot be tolerated.

It is done, turn yourself now to the condition of those poor devils, who remain.

Suffer not the lame horse, nor the broken man.

Silence in the Crypts

Sunshine in the Thicket

Pallid light filters its way through the rotting boughs. let us press on!

Fresh Air in the Tunnels

The twisting tunnels no longer exhale the toxic stench of degeneracy.

The frothing waters subside; the advantage is ours!

Tonight, the fools make merry. Tomorrow, they die laughing.

The shadows hide the guilty and guilt-ridden alike.

To the resourceful thief, burials are merely. Ephemeral affairs.

Competition fosters skill and confidence.

The man is slave to the beast, and the beast is slave to the moon.

Call of the Crusade

They meet in secret, that none may know the horrifying depths of their inquiries.

Cast out from the ‘civilized’ world, these men may yet be of use to us.

There is, indeed, no better place for those in search of rarities and forgotten lore.

A ray of sunlight. A beacon of golden hope.

Windows and doors will be bolted. Tonight, something haunts the dark.

A troubling shortage of ale. and a notable absence of good humour.

Any evidence of excessive exertions must be made scarce. After all, apearances must be maintained.

Ancient and crumbling, the Abbey’s masonry fares no better than the faith of its congregation.

Woe to the sheep, for does the absence of the shepherd not invite the wolves?

No amount of scrubbing can remove the stains of such fearsome piety.

A modest offering from those few surrounding farms yet untouched by the spreading calamity.

What little there is must suffice, for the time being.

Their customs are curious, and their generosity is notoriously short-lived.

Finally the serum is working, and the side-effects are. manageable.

The preponderance of rare and exotic injuries make this place perfect for the study of suffering.

The town is alive with wild merriment and desperate jubilation!

A fever of wilfull determination sweeps through the barracks!

Let each help the other, and in so doing, help themselves.

An exquisite example of craftsmanship. and futility.

Perhaps things are not as bad as they seem. Muhahahahahahaha

The Dark is Rising

Life. The greatest treasure of all.

No rest, no peace for this wretched soul.

You will endure this loss and learn from it.

A setback, but not the end of things!

Regroup! Reassemble! Evil is… Timeless, after all.

Wounds to be tended, lessons to be learned.

Failure tests the mettle of heart, brain and body.

You cannot learn a thing you think, you know.

We fall so that we may learn to pick ourselves up once again.

Where there is no peril in the task, there can be no glory in its accomplishment.

Ignorance of your enemy and of yourself will invariably lead to defeat.

Cruel machinations spring to life, with a singular purpose.

Ancient traps lie in wait, unsprung and thirsting for blood.

Ambushed by foul invention!

Mind, that such misteps are an exception, and not the rule.

Carelessness will find no clemency in this place.

Watch your step.

The light is at 100:

The light, the promise of safety!

A match is struck, a blazing star is born!

As the light gains purchase, spirits are lifted and purposes made clear.

In radiance may we find victory!

The way is lit, the path is clear. We require only the strength to follow it.

And now, the darkness holds dominion. Black as Death!

The darkness holds much worst than mere trickery… and boogiemen

Darkness closes in, haunting the hearts of men.

Secrets and wonders can be found in the most tenebrous corners of this place.

Terrors may indeed stalk these shadows, but yonder, a glint of gold.

A spark without kindling is a goal without hope.

A moment of respite, a chance to steel oneself against upcoming horrors.

Huddled together, furtive and vulnerable, rats in a maze.

Circle in the dark, the battle may yet be won.

Gathered close in tenuous firelight, an uneasy companionship.

Gnawing hunger sets in, turning the body against itself, weakening the mind…

To fall for such a little thing – a bite of bread.

Packs of steel and war, but nary of thought given to the plough.

No force of will can overcome a failing body.

The requirements of survival cannot be met on an empty stomach.

Finding the stuff is only the first test. Now it must be carried home.

Glittering gold, trinkets and baubles. Paid for in blood.

Wealth beyond measure. Awarded to the brave and the foolhardy alike.

If only treasure could staunch the flow of otherworldy corruption.

A handsome reward, for a task well performed.

Forture, waiting to be spent.

Hero deals a Critical Hit:

A powerful blow!

A singular strike!

A devastating blow!

Precision and power!

A decisive pummeling!

The ground quakes!

Hero receives a Critical Hit:

Grievous injury, palpable fear.

Death waits for the slightest lapse in concentration.

Dazed, reeling, about to break.

How quickly the tide turns!

Mortality clarified in a single strike!

Such a terrible assault cannot be left unanswered.

Exposed to a killing blow!

A dizzying blow to body and brain!

Ringing ears, blurred vision. The end approaches.

Confidence surges as the enemy crumbles!

Continue the onslaught! Destroy! Them! ALL!

Their formation is broken! Maintain the offensive!

Press this advantage. Give them no quarter!

As the fiend falls, a faint hope blossoms.

Executed with impunity!

Another one falls!

Back to the Pit!

Enemy dies out of Blight or Bleed:

Great is the weapon, that cuts on its own!

A slow death, unforseen, unforgiving.

Death by inches.

Slowly, gently, this is how life is taken.

The bigger the beast, the greater the glory.

Their cursed champion falls!

Prodigious size alone does not dissuade the sharpened blade.

Monster’s size has no intrinsic merit. Unless, inordinate exsanguination be considered a virtue.

Hero is at the Death’s Door:

A hand’s breadth from becoming unwound.

And now the true test: hold fast or expire.

As life ebbs, terrible vistas of emptiness reveal themselves.

Perched at the very precipice of oblivion.

This is no place for the weak or foolhardy.

More blood soaks the soil, feeding the evil therein.

Another life wasted in the pursuit of glory and gold.

More dust, more ashes. more disappointment.

Survival is a tenuous proposition in this sprawling tomb.

These nightmarish creatures can be felled, they can be beaten!

Remind yourself that overconfidence is a slow and insidious killer.

Success, so clearly in view. Or, is it merely a trick of the light?

A trifling victory, but a victory nonetheless.

This expedition, at least, promises success.

As victories mount, so too will resistance.

A victory, perhaps a turning point.

Seize this momentum! Push on, to the task’s end!

Be wary, triumphant pride precipitates a dizzying fall.

Foolish horrors! Brought low and driven into the mud!

The sin is not in being outmatched, but in failing to recognize it.

The wise general cuts losses and regroups.

This skirmish may be lost, but the battle may yet be won.

Cornered, trapped and forced to fight on!

True desperation is known only when escape is impossible.

No chance for egress! Will this be a massacre?

Once again, the stars are right, and the Manor sits at the very epicenter of cosmic unrest. Cultists rally to their twisted idols, and great gongs sound in anticipation of the coming sacrifices. Far below, life-laden shadows pulse to the unrelenting rhythm of a beating heart.

You have merely glimpsed the edge of the abyss, but it is enough to trigger the cycle of revelation. Now, like me, you will begin to see things as they truly are.

The thing has no name, for it needs no language. Nevertheless, those who would submit to its wordless will thing are rewarded, in a fashion. The creature’s blessings are as repulsive as they
are robust. Twisted, half-human monstrosities stalk the flesh-ridden halls, protecting their gestating god.

Madness made flesh! It crawls steadily upward from the pit, supported by the lattice of cyclopean pillars.

The maniacal cultists are quelled for a time, but there can be no celebration. Your progress is measured only in progressive realization, and dawning horror. You are in the shadow of the end.

The interminable stone halls are but an antechamber! The creature is vast beyond measure, and must be battled from within. Step over the threshold and let the terrible truth worm its way into your mind.

The Gateless Gate. A maddening aperture to realms beyond human understanding.

At last, the twisted heart of the world is laid bare – for sword, or supplication.

In all my terrible researches, what I sought was a glimpse behind the veil – a crumb of cosmic truth. I found it here, and in that moment of brain-blasting realization, I ceased to be a man, and became a Herald, an Avatar of the crawling chaos.

We are chained here forever, you and I, at the end of the world. Free yourself, rouse the Thing, and embrace the ineffable cosmic hideousness that lives within us all.

You still foolishly consider yourself an entity separate from the whole. I know better, and I. Will. Show you.

The flesh is fluid – it can be changed, reshaped, remade!

The flesh is immortal, it is undying! Pray it does not take too hideous a form.

A hollow and ridiculous notion. We are born of this thing, made from it, and we will be returned to it
in time.

The great family of man. A profusion of errant flesh. Multiplying, swarming, living, dying.

Until the stars align in their inexorable formation and what sleeps is aroused once more. To hatch from this fragile shell of earth and rock, and bring our inescapable end.

So, seek solace in a manner befitting your lineage, and take up your nugatory vigil, haunted forever by that sickening prose, echoing through the infinite blackness of space and time.

Ruin has come to our family.