Because the Heroes is mostly a serious game, die-hard fans always enjoy exploring the lighter side of the game. Heroes Revealed is an hommage to the series' players, whose imagination and creativity have no limit.
So, what does happen in the infernal boneyard on a certain night of December? Using my powers of diplomacy and two bottles of Rotting Cadaver Perfume, I decided to find out for myself.
First of all, they don't have have trees in the Necropolis. The zombies tend to sharpen their teeth on the lower branches, and it's hard to stop the leaves wilting. Instead they shove a pole into a Venom Spawn and drop a heavy metal star on his head.
Venom Spawn: Ow .
Is that as painful as it looks?
Yes. Yes it is. But that's okay, because it fills me with festive glee. I already feel warm and fuzzy inside.
That's because you're melting.
Really? I told them not to string up the candle ornaments! Somebody help me! Find an adhesive!
The story of Christmas in the Necropolis is a little different to the traditional version. I found an illustrated version of 'Christmas Stories For Boys, Girls And Ghouls' which I found to be very enlightening.
Apparently a devil known as Satan Claws travels from gravestone to gravestone on Christmas Eve, dropping flaming corpses into the stockings of lucky young imps. However, he knows if you've been bad or good - and if you've been good, he devours you into his infernal belly for a thousand years of unimaginable suffering.
It's really very touching.
Some like to think of the Preserve as a woodland grove where the creatures of Nature roam free and united, protected by the spirits and dryads of the forest. I like to think of it as a hippy commune.
All the same, Christmas is still celebrated in the depths of the forests. I wasn't exactly welcome inside the sacred ground, but I did get quite a good look at my surroundings while being carried around forcibly by two gigantic elves.
Elf: I can't believe you violated our sacred, holy soil, man. It's such a downer.
Sorry. I'm just trying to research Christmas in Axeoth.
Christmas has really positive karmic vibrations. It's, like, an eternal cycle of love and joy. See that unicorn?
The one with the immense, lethal horn on his head?
Yeah. We call him Rudolph the Red-Horned Unicorn.
But his horn isn't red.
It will be when he's finished with you, man.
I'm going to scream now.
This is what Christmas is all about. Doesn't it bring a tear to your eye?
I performed the rest of my investigations in a more covert style. Because cutting down trees is, like, a total bummer, they cut down a lumberjack and decorate him with colourful lights. Then they carefully arrange their stockings underneath, awaiting the arrival of Santa Claus himself.
The elves in the garrisons are given strict orders not to shoot at the sleigh, unless he appears to be bringing in a rich land-grabbing industrialist. For Christmas gifts, he gives out soy-bean products and meat-free sandwiches. For those who have been bad, he puts a free pamphlet on helping the environment into their stocking.
My research was cut short by a griffin who insisted on mauling me in his traditional Christmas manner. It's a good thing I can type this with just one hand.
There is only one person who can read in the Stronghold, and he's on a spike above the city gates. All the same, the barbarians welcome Christmas with open arms. They put aside time for a special Christmas celebration in the wrestling pits.
On Christmas Day, all the population gathers in the Pits to beat each other with sticks. This is very different to the celebration of St. Patrick's Day (where they beat each other with stones) or Halloween (where they beat each other with pumpkins) or even Valentine's Day (where they beat each other with flowers).
Cyclops: Merry Christmas ! *thwack*
Berserker: Merry Christmas ! *thwock*
Nomad: Merry Christmas ! *whack*
Behemoth: Merry Christmas ! *CRUNCH*
It's a good thing I order these Guardian Angel potions in packs of ten.
After putting on a heavy rubber orc costume (actually a Klingon costume that I stole from a Star Trek convention, but close enough), I passed through those wooden gates to see for myself.
It didn't take long before a shadowy figure leapt out of an alleyway and put a sharp object up my nose.
Bandit: Give me your money!
But you can't rob me. It's Christmas Eve.
Oh, come on. Do you think I'm heartless, huh? You hurt me with those cruel barbs. See how I cry. You've suggested that I'm a merciless thug who ignores the joys of Christmas to take advantage of unwitting travellers, is that it?
Well... are you?
Of course not. I'm robbing from the rich to give to the poor.
That's not Christmas. That's Robin Hood.
Oh. Right. Yeah. Okay, I'm going to take your gold and hide it in the garden so that children may enjoy searching for it.
Er, I knew that, sure. Sure. What I meant to say, is that I'm going to take your gold, sew it into the belly of a rabid pig, dangle him from a piano and send him swinging through a burning window frame.
I don't even want to know what that is. But I'm pretty sure it's not Christmas.
Just give me the damn money.
Christmas is very popular in the Asylum. They tend to skip over the bit about presents and religion and rich old men and decorations to get right to the part about the fireplace. In fact, they're so taken with the fireplace idea that on Christmas it's traditional to set fire to absolutely everything and run around screaming.
I had my feet burned completely away by a merry efreeti wearing a red and white turban, and a jolly black dragon utterly incinerated my left arm. This is considered to be a very lucky omen on Christmas Eve, as it means that Ol' Flamin' Nick will give me a lump of charcoal for Christmas.
Until then I will have to use wooden prosthetic limbs.
The golems were busy stringing up tinsel and elves when I entered the nearest Academy, and the dwarves were industriously shovelling snow into gigantic snowmen which the halflings would then decorate from afar with their slingshots. The damage a flying carrot can do to the human body is really a lot worse than you'd think, but I brought plenty of bandages this time.
The mages appeared to be enjoying Christmas the most of all. I encountered one carefully writing a letter to sent to Father Christmas himself.
Mage: ... and I've been a very good boy this year. Love, Theodorus. There, that should do it.
What did you ask for?
Oh, nothing extravagant. I asked him for a leather-bound copy of Dezyck's Grimoire on the Ponderous Thaumic Creation of Essences, for a start.
And I've always wanted an original tome on the Essential Theoretical Decisions of the Complex Matrix Based Inanimate Mind. With illustrations, of course.
Not to forget a genuine Merlin(tm) Wand of Instant Skin Dissolving, RRP 7834 gold pieces, left hand slot.
I also wrote to him for an original scroll of Thunderbrick's Equations for Magical Formulae in the Production of Anti-Physical Ethereal Beings.
And then for a potion of Genuine Construction Fluid, to keep the golems well-oiled, and a limited edition copy of The Dissimenation of Magickal Dimensions in the Limited Quadratic Folds of Space...
... must... escape...
... and then there's the Negational Relative Physics of Unrelated Gravitational Conjuring...
... brain... going... numb...
... and the fifth page of the Ancient Book of Irriational Productive Thought Negational Topics...
... world... so... dark...
It's hard to have mystical stories about angels when real, live angels are standing right next to you and trying to read the newspaper over your shoulder. Nevertheless, the Haven population do their best to uphold traditional Christmas celebrations.
Hoping not to be mugged, impaled, burned, crushed, bored into a coma or mauled, I walked into the very centre of the city where a crowd of peasants were gathered around a single large Christmas tree.
Peasant: Christmas is so commercial these days, don't you think?
Well, I guess.
I mean, take a look at me. I'm a serf who earns on average about 6.37 gold coins a month in return for the farming and tilling of about 87 acres of land, and the division of taxes creates a rather uneven ratio with effort and reward, don't you think?
Yes. I agree. I think.
You've got to put things into perspective. If I want to celebrate Christmas, I'll do it with a turnip. You see, peasants are the burden of the economic system when it comes to financial matters. I'm always being pressured to provide for the taxational relief of other less productive citizens, which infringes my rights as an individual.
Er... so, who's up for singing a Christmas carol?
Sorry. I can't. Union rules forbid the overusage of oxygen without any financial bonuses or rewards for the usage thereof. It's in the fine print, if you look closely.
Okay. Okay. Can't we just admire the tree, then? Have some Christmas Spirit!
You obviously have no idea how much Christmas Spirit costs to rent these days. As for the tree, do you realise how much gold each of those decorations costs the entire peasant population averaged by our economic income? Do you? Tell me, tell me this, if I was to provide the government with about twelve percent of their potential financial bracket for the productive distribution of complex internal gains, and if the marketsystem wasn't crowded by the perptual cycling of the revolutionary funding system, would YOU dare to admire this tree?
You monster! Capitalist pig! Oppressor of the people! LYNCH MOB!
It's amazing how painful pitchforks and burning torches are. A single group of angry peasants can do more damage than being run over by a hydra, but the local Church resurrected me for free and even gave me a complimentary 'I Went to The Afterlife And All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt' souveneir.
(Gothrak is currently recovering from severe multiple injuries caused to him by fictitious strategy game characters. His New Year's Resolution is to be killed less often.) Back to top
[Somewhere off the coast of
Camera moves in on Crag Hack, relaxing in a gently bobbing boat with a fishing rod in his hands. He is smoking a leprechaun while he attaches some bait to his hook.
CRAG: Hello, viewers. Today we're going after the biggest catch this side of Enroth - the Sea Monster. Now, as you loyal fans know, I'm an expert on all things Might related. In fact, the Sea Monster is actually a Might creature, but we couldn't build an aquarium large enough to breed them in.
Crag stubs out his leprechaun and tosses it overboard, then reaches into his trusty Backpack.
CRAG: We have a real treat today. I've got the one bait that no Sea Monster can resist. It's the perfect lure. That's right - it's a Grandmaster Combat Hero. And this appears to be a Grade A, top class Sir Mullich.
Crag carefully attachs the Sir Mullich lure to his fishing rod, making it sag alarmingly.
CRAG: All we have to do is cast and wait. Maybe, if we're lucky, we'll catch a glimpse of the Sea Monster... or if we're really lucky, we'll haul her aboard. And if that happens, I'll be happier than a Conflux with a Grail, let me tell you.
Two hours of boring fishing footage cut and replaced with the bikini section of Miss Sprite 2002.
CRAG: What's this? I can feel something tugging at the lure! Something - something huge!
Sure enough, a dark shape is rippling through the water, growing in size as it nears the surface. The water explodes into a shower of droplets as Crag hauls back his rod.
FERRET: Hi there, folks! Golly!
CRAG: What are you doing here? I fired you.
FERRET: Come on, Crag. You don't really want to fire ol' Ferret.
CRAG: Yes. Yes I do. Didn't you get the letter from my agent? I don't require a 'wacky sidekick.'
FERRET: Sure you do. Shucks! What are you doing, Crag? Can I help, huh? Can I? Can I?
CRAG: Shouldn't you be out delivering Thunderbirds somewhere?
The fishing rod moves in Crag's hands as something takes the bait!
CRAG: Stand back, Ferret - I think this is it!
FERRET: Thar she blows! The great white whale!
CRAG: Shut up!
A mighty leviathan of the deep arches into the air and crushes down heavily onto Crag's boat, splintering it and the occupants into several thousand pieces.
Camera moves to Crag as he recovers in the hospital ward. The remnants of Ferret are recovering in a jaron the bedside table.
CRAG: Well, fans, wasn't that something. Not only did I catch a Sea Monster, I also broke every single bone in my body.
FERRET'S REMAINS: Give it to me straight, doc... can I
still play the violin?
CRAG: Shut up. Now join me in watching this previously filmed footage of my expedition into the darkest regions of the swamp tiles just on the edge of the map, in search of the mighty Hydra.
[Somewhere in a generic swamp]
The camera follows Crag unsteadily as he makes his way around bubbling pools and frothing tendrils of slime. Crag crouches onto his knees and beckons the camera-man closer.
CRAG: See this? Hydra spoor. It means we're close.
FERRET: Ha ha! Crag's playing with poopies!
CRAG: I hate you so much, Ferret.
Crag points out some suspicious looking marks in the mud, and the search continues through the overhanging fronds of the swamp canopy. Crag raises his hand warningly.
CRAG: Now, fans, remember that I am a trained professional.
FERRET: What about me?
CRAG: You're just an idiot. What I'm trying to say is that you should never, ever try to hunt down a Hydra. Call for the professionals, like me. Because these things are nasty when they're trapped in a corner.
Crag now carefully lifts aside a puply mass of foliage to reveal a heavy, leathery creature shuffling in a small pit of filthy green ooze.
CRAG: He hasn't seen us yet. That's a good sign. It means we can sneak up on him, quiet and slow. We don't want him to know we're here.
FERRET: Hey, look! I can use his neck as a slide! Wheeee!
[Ferret Mauling Censored]
Camera bounces wildly as it follows the rapidly fleeing Crag. The sounds of heavy pursuit can be heard admist the frantic breathing of the camera-man.
CRAG: This... *puff* is why you shouldn't try to hunt a Hydra without the proper equipment. Like a ballista, or a twenty-two thousand tonne black dragon.
CRAG: Behind us we can hear the haunting cry of a Hydra as he hunts his prey. This menacing call is also used to attract potential mates.
HYDRA: Moo, sailor!
CAMERA-MAN: He sounds like a cow.
CRAG: That's what they want you to think. Nobody is mauled by a cow, are they?
CAMERA-MAN: I had an uncle once who--
There is a heavy crunching noise, a wet slurping and static replaces the television image. There are five minutes of rasping silence.
The camera returns to Crag in his hospital bed.
CRAG: Ah, memories. I can feel the intense back pain like it was only yesterday. When it was, in fact, only a week ago. How's the leg, Charlie?
CAMERA-MAN: Sometimes I can feel movement in my toes.
CRAG: Great. That's just great. Well, fans, thanks for watching today's episode of Hunting and Fishing with Crag. See you next week!
FERRET'S REMAINS: Don't forget to tune into Hunting and Fishing with Ferret next week! With a guest appearance from Crag Hack! Hahahaha!
CRAG: If my arm wasn't in this sling I'd hurt you now, Ferret. Back to top
[Crag Hack's Luxury Hut, somewhere in Axeoth]
The camera moves through the door of Crag's luxury hut, a weird hybrid of abandoned fishing cottage and five-star hotel. The camera moves underneath the sagging skeleton of a great fish, through the stuffed thorax of an elephant and into the comfortable lounge room.
CRAG: Welcome! This is a special episode of Hunting and Fishing with Crag. We're welcoming three very special guests onto the show, for a big hunting expedition!
Crag gestures at the gigantic One-Way Portal in the corner of the room.
CRAG: Come on in, Sandro!
SANDRO: Good evening, filthy mortal. Bow upon your knees and show me reverence - I have entered your filthy domain.
Sandro drags his decaying feet over to a giant red inflatable beanbag and clatters onto it. Some embalming fluid begins trickling out of his eye socket, and Crag tries hard not to notice.
CRAG: What do you think of my hut, Sandro? Nothing like a hut
to come back to and talk about your hunting and fishing
SANDRO: I think the hut is nice, but it would be better - if it was filled with flaming endless doom!
CRAG: Really? I was thinking more along the lines of a jukebox.
SANDRO: The impaled skulls of my enemies! Blood weeping from their gaping jaws and pooling thickly around the gore-coated stakes! The power, I tell you, the power is all mine!
CRAG: Uh... Please welcome our second guest, Theodorus!
Theodorus staggers through the portal, wiping clouds of thick mist off his shoulders. He wheezes and staggers into a banana-yellow armchair.
P-pleased to b-b-be here, Crag.
THEO: Say, C-crag. Would you lend me five th-th-thousand g-gold coins?
THEO: Are you sh-sh-sure?
CRAG: Pretty sure.
Theodorus waves his hands mystically.
THEO: What about n-now?
THEO: D-damn. W-what about now? Feeling s-s-sleepy, aren't you?
CRAG: No, not really.
THEO: I h-hate GM Magic R-r-resistance.
SANDRO: And I hate you.
Without warning, the portal explodes into a cascading firework of sparks and light, dizzying colours spiralling into the air as Jeddite cartwheels into the hut and dazzles an impressive array of meteors into the air.
Jed-Man's in the house!
THEO: Hahaha! J-J-Jeddite's bald!
JEDDITE: Shut up!
SANDRO: What'll you do if we don't? Polish our scalps?
CRAG: Look! Look! It's like a mirror!
Sandro's beanbag bursts into flame.
JEDDITE: I said shut up!
THEO: Anyone want to go b-b-bowling? We could use his h-h-h-head!
Sandro's glass of champagne melts and sizzles a hole in the carpet.
JEDDITE: Shut up! Shut up!
SANDRO: You burned right through my shoe!
CRAG: Let's hope that Heroes V has a new artifact class - the toupee!
JEDDITE: You work with Black Dragons and see how long your hair lasts, you stinky barbarian! Now stop joking, or I'll punish you by making the roof fall on Sandro's head!
CRAG: Calm down, now. We were only having a little fun. Nobody really thinks your hair loss is funny. In fact, we weep for you. It's tragic.
FERRET: I liked the joke about the bowling ball!
CRAG: Shut up, Ferret.
[In another unspecified part of Axeoth, which all looks the same anyway]
JEDDITE: Do we really have to do this?
CRAG: It's a Hunting and Fishing show, isn't it? This isn't the Alamar Winfrey Show. We're not going to sit down and talk about your childhood.
THEO: H-h-hunting is all v-very well, but why are we h-h-hunting something so d-d-d-dangerous?
CRAG: Because all our medical fees are payed by the sponsors.
SANDRO: Listen to you wimps. I die once every sequel, and do you hear me complaining? No!
The undergrowth crackles warningly. Crag gestures for everyone to duck for cover, which in Sandro's case is more of a slow sideways lurch, and then points at something moving in the distance.
CRAG: Sssh. What we're hearing now is the migrational
rustlings of the rare but harmless Woodland Vampire.
CRAG: If we're quiet, we will see him flapping from tree to tree, returning to his nest where he will feed his little vampire hatchlings. We don't want to disturb him now, so stay quiet.
SANDRO: Is your little friend meant to be doing that?
CRAG: You mean Ferret, who seems to be running around with a gigantic lobster clamped to his head?
CRAG: It's okay. He's insured.
VAMPIRE (distantly): Blah!
Crag rises to his feet and scrapes mud off his knees. Without a word he leads the small troupe through the forest, ducking underneath branches and stepping over gaping chasms filled with lava, an unfortunate geographical obstacle in maps designed by people who take far too much pleasure in using the Inferno brushes.
CRAG: Now, if you look closely, you'll see that the imprints
in this mud are formed into oddly concentric circles.
JEDDITE: What does it mean?
CRAG: It means that a dwarf has passed by recently. As everyone knows, dwarves are fond of concentric circles.
THEO: You m-made that up.
CRAG: Er, let's continue tracking our prey. Judging by the direction the wind is blowing and the light I can see reflecting off the pool seventeen metres through the foliage to my left, I believe we are precisly sixteen seconds away from encoutering our quarry.
FERRET: Golly. You sure are smart, Crag – for a stupid dumb-head!
SANDRO: If I get to use Necromancy on Ferret at the end of this, I may consider the day to have been a success.
With a whirring of giant wings, a huge Mantis clicks through the air and slashes its mandibles into the ground. Little chitinous rasps vibrate down its side as the carapace settles.
CRAG: Actually, that should have been fourteen seconds. Okay!
Ferret! Hand me the Mantis Catching Net!
FERRET: You mean the one that I tore into small pieces and planted in the ground, hoping they'd grow into beautiful apple trees?
CRAG: At times like this I'm glad that I book my doctor's appointments in advance.
JEDDITE: Just step back and let me take care of it with my awesome plethora of magical powers.
Jeddite creates a Meteor Shower and deftly aims it at the mantis. The flaming chunks of rock that should have obliterated everything in a mile radius somehow passes through the mantis without visible effect.
JEDDITE: Damn... they took out Meteor Shower in Heroes IV!
[Jeddite Mauling Censored]
JEDDITE'S REMAINS: Well, that was annoying.
SANDRO: Amateur. Let the necromancer show you how it's done.
Sandro conjures a dark hand that waves across the Mantis' soul, attempting to banish it to dark eternity in Oblivion. The mantis doesn't seem particularly impressed.
SANDRO: That was supposed to kill eight units. What went
With lightning speed the Mantis strikes, but Sandro is too quick -- well, he decomposed slightly on his left side and the attack missed, but assuming that he dodged it is so much simpler.
SANDRO: I'll get you now! I'm going to use Jeddite's corpse to
summon an army of skeletons!
JEDDITE'S REMAINS: Hey! You need a permit for that!
SANDRO: I don't get it! No matter what spells I use, they just keep failing! It should be suffering anguish unknown to any living being!
FERRET: Hey, Crag. We're all out of this Mantis Spray because I just sprayed it all over that gigantic killer mantis.
CRAG: That's not Mantis Spray. That's Death Ward Spray.
FERRET: Oh. Hey, look! Sandro just got eaten!
SANDRO'S REMAINS: Not again! Do you know how much I pay in funeral fees?
THEO: O-okay, it's m-my turn! Look deeply into my eyes, mantis. Come closer and s-see the h-h-hypnotic powers of my terrible g-g-gaze...
CRAG: I don't think it's working.
THEO: It w-w-ill. I just have to k-k-keep concentrating.
CRAG: Is this going to work?
THEO: J-just be patient. I have to f-f-focus.
CRAG: Are you sure you know what you're doing?
THEO: S-s-s-sh! Don't disrupt my c-c-c-concetration!
FERRET: Hey, Theodorus! Can I put this spider in your ear?
THEO: Huh? W-w-waaaargh!
[Theodorus Mauling Censored]
FERRET: Don't worry, Crag! I'll save the day! Mighty Super
Ferret Transformation - Go!! My power level is rising! Can you feel
my true power level now, Crag?
CRAG: He's going to eat you, Ferret. I think I'll start running.
FERRET: Go on, run away, I'm going to fight the– aaargh!
[Ferret Mauling replaced by a picture of a small kitten]
CRAG: Okay, viewers. As you may be able to see, we're
currently filming footage of a man being chased by a mantis. Take
note of how the mantis uses its powerful forelegs to propel itself,
and how it can glide gently with its wings. Watch as it nears its
prey and begans to slide open its mandibles in anticipation of the
meal. See closely as its eyes home in on its meal, and watch
carefully as it begans to lift the food into its mouth and–
*static* Back to top
(starring DR as Sir Mullich's remains)
To: "Hunting and Fishing with Crag"
Dear Mr. Producer
After the recent events and disclosures about the "Hunting and Fishing with Crag" show, I believe you are looking for a new character. I guess you are not very happy at the fact that your so-called superstar doesn't have the courage to face danger himself. What could you expect from a barbarian after all? They have never even heard of anything like nobility. I can offer you that, and much more... I'm sure you will find my application most suitable for this responsible position.
Sir Mullich's remains
To: Sir Mullich (deceased)
Dear Sir Mullich,
We understand that Crag Hack cannot attend a civilised social gathering without beheading the waiter and trying to loot and pillage the dessert. We also realise that in each of the last 98 episodes of 'Hunting and Fishing with Crag', he has broken 763 bones, 17 vital organs, and 674,546 cameras.
However, Mr. Hack has a very solid fan base. We get many mails daily from those who wish to inform us that Mr. Hack is both a dude and utterly grouse to the max. We also believe that he is extremely rad. Some would go so far as to claim that he is a hip daddy.
In addition, Mr. Hack is currently holding a very large axe to my neck and threatening me with decapitation. We believe quite firmly that under the circumstances we must deny your application.
Mr. Sebastian Solmyr
Producer of 'Hunting and Fishing With Crag'
To: Mr. Sebastian Solmyr, Producer of "Fishing and Hunting with Crag"
I should have known that a producer who keeps this barbarian bastard
for that long would never understand. Is there anyone left in this
world who respects the values of honesty, bravery, loyalty? Is
everybody going to betray his own principles simply because a freak
is holding an axe next to his head? Is everybody going to let those
hedious giants do their evil deeds just because others think they are
Sir Mullich (still existing somewhere)
To: The Afterlife
Dear Sir Mullich,
We are fortunate enough to have discovered a vacancy for one with your acting talents. We currently need a prop in Scene 67, where Crag attempts to tame a rabid Nightmare with nothing but a spoon. We believe your cadaver has the exact contours required for the scenic background.
Mr. Sebastion Solmyr, 'Hunting and Fishing With Crag' Back to top
Using these horrible, horrible tricks in a
hotseat game will land you in the front page story of your local
newspaper. Expect another four pages of your friends saying 'He/she
was such a nice person... and the two were great friends. I can't
believe he/she would force them into a paper shredder and press the
However, anyone who is two tectonic plates away from you is fair game for these insidious tips. They are guaranteed to make your online opponent really, really hate you. I mean 'stalking you down and eating you' hate, not just 'constant abuse over the game chat' hate, although you'll get plenty of that too.
Don't you hate it when a minotaur reflects all your attacks? Doesn't it fill you with insane rage, causing you to attack your keyboard or monitor?
Of course it does. That's why you make an army composed entirely of eight minotaur stacks.
Continually attack them with minotaur armies, who will take half
an hour to kill because of their constant reflection. By the end of
the sixth minotaur wave your enemy's brain will have dissolved. Kill
them while they babble and chew on their mousepad.
You Are Feeling Very Sleepy
When facing an opponent with only a single creature stack, Hypnotize that creature. Walk it back to the enemy's side of the combat field. Wait three turns, hypnotize the creature, walk it back again.
Keep doing this for roughly seven hours.
Get a hero with Grandmaster Stealth and sneak into your friend (soon to be enemy)'s lands. Run up to one of his mines and flag it. Then type the following message:
!!!! SURPRISE !!!!!
Run away giggling. When he moves a hero over to reflag the mine, flag another one. Once again, type !!!! SURPRISE !!!!
Repeat this until you begin to feel bad and guilty.Or until he reaches through the monitor and strangles you.
By the way, you can also use this to steal all the artifacts, resources and chests still on the game map. Have fun. Enjoy the final few days you have left until they find out where you live.
The Siege Never Ends
Your enemy is trapped inside his fortress, with only the pitiful rabble he's scrapped out of his garrison to meet your armada of elite and deadly troops.
By now he's probably moving his peasants around, waiting for your black dragons to fly over the walls. Don't fall for it. The key is to wait.
Keep waiting. He could be planning something. You'll never know unless you hit the Wait button.
By the time he takes out his troops through that drawbridge in a suicidal attack to end this stupid, stupid siege, you will probably have grown a metre-long beard. Even if you're female.
Wild Harpy Chase
He hasn't got any ranged attackers? How about magic casters? Really? Good.
Try to find out how long it takes an army to catch a single harpy that's flying madly around the screen. Be sure to have your food and water being fed in through an intravenous drip. Your enemy won't have that advantage, and so the victory will be all yours.
They Can't Count the Counts
Play as Death Magic and use Grandmaster Necromancy.
When you crush your enemy's army except for one final stack of units, cast Confusion on it until you run out of mana.
This is best done after visiting a Mana Vortex and with the Supreme Crown of the Magi.
Hire two months worth of level One units, and then send them into enemy territory one at a time. Try to break the game by having the most armies you possibly can, all consisting of One Squire! Attack your enemy's castle over and over with a force of One Wolf! Squeal with delight as you continually harass Solymr, the Level 48 Archmage, with an armada of One Imps!
Lost at Sea
Gather up as much gold and wood as you can, find a shipyard, and build boats. Don't stop. Just make boats. Fill the shores with boats. Cover every inch of the continent's edge with boats. You mustn't stop. The voices want you to build boats.
Now hide in one and watch as your enemy painstakingly examines each of them for a little waving flag.
When you take over a minor city belonging to your opponent, make a Caravan list as long as you possibly can consisting of single level One units, much like The Queue.
Then let them take the city back. They'll be having to kill level one troops outside their city for months. This is your opportunity to harass them with the Queue and make their frontal lobe implode.
Whenever you get an artifact, be sure to tell your opponent all about it. And mention how great it is. And how pleased you are that you got the artifact. Remind them what slot it goes in, and what stats it does, and how pretty the icon is. Tell them all about how you looted it from behind that stack of crusaders. Let them know how nice it looks around your hero's neck.
Discover the true name of your opponent (unless it really is crazyLoveMachine67) and give that name to all your heroes. See their reaction when they're forced to beat themselves to win the game. Enjoy the psychological trauma you've inflicted.
And then, once you've lost, point out that they were actually defeated, captured and locked away in an enemy prison. Several times.
The trick is to never buy your units. Sit and wait, watching that tiny pixel on the Thieves' Guild which is your Kingdom Army Strength. Wait for the gloating enemy to move towards your castle, towing along his little friends.
Then, on the turn that he's about to attack, suddenly buy five months worth of creatures.
Isn't it great how imps drain mana? Be sure to build entire imp armies and attack a caster hero with the sole intent of draining out his mana before the fight begins. Then attack with your real forces, and laugh each time he tries to cast Fireball.
I Hate To Say It, But...
KNIGhtMARE: d00d I k1ck3d yur butt
KNIGhtMARE: what is wrong with u i had 43 angels and u only had 6 titans
KNIGhtMARE: u must really suck i mean my hero was like 20 levels higher and i did not even lose a single squire in our
KNIGhtMARE: rofl i can't believe how much u suck
YOU: I hate to say it, but
YOU: I let you win
KNIGhtMARE: like hell u did
YOU: No, really
YOU: My Buddhist guru told me to reward somebody today and to help them feel special
YOU: That person was you, KNIGhtMARE
YOU: I did it for my faith
YOU: I really hope it boosted your self esteem
KNIGhtMARE: i hate u
(--KNIGhtMARE has disconnected---)
Mythology is a wonderful thing. It gives us an ancient primal knowledge of something we'd never understand otherwise, and it also allows us to make quality fantasy-based strategy games. Many of the creatures in Heroes of Might and Magic come from a rich and diverse background, legendary beasts of different cultures throughout the wide span of Time.
The question is, what about those odd exceptions? Well, I, the Scholarly Gothrak, have delved deep into various dusty tomes and grimoires in the search for the Past. It was the imploring pleas of the creatures that sent me on this odyssey, my quest inspired by the little tears that rolled down their un-fabled cheeks.
Let us begin with that most venerable, beloved of creatures; the Venom Spawn.
Like the gryphon and the water buffalo, the Venom Spawn harkens back to the time of the Egyptians. The ancient pharaohs revered it is a holy beast, the one they called 'Jelly-Ra', the carrier of souls between the Afterlife and the Land of Lime.
Often found growing beneath the bellies of the royal crocodiles, the Venom Spawns were usually harvested from the banks of the Nile and smeared on primitive Egyptian bread. However, the Spawn was reluctant to be consumed, and was feared for its incredible ability to spit 16-24 damage.
My delvings into the history of this exotic creature proved fruitful after I discovered a missing paragraph of the Dead Sea Scrolls, just after the missing legal advice that claimed any copies of the original documented would be punished by having the copier's soul devoured by the holy beast serving Set, much like the publisher's warnings of today.
It went as thus: The wise men often speak of the fabled creatures that hold the key to immortality, such as the jackal and the flying wildebeest. Yet none inspires such fervour in the high priests as the one known as Jelly-Ra, greatest of slimy composites. We began searching for them an entire moon ago and our search has given no rewards, but it is near their breeding season and we must get fortunate soon. Must stop writing now; the cook has found some delicious gelatin and we're going to eat it. Will write again in the morning
Tragically, the note ended with a strange smear of blood and slime. A mystery to baffle all scholars for eons to come.
Yet another creature approached me imploring me to find it a past it could be proud of. The Ice Demon pointed out that, in theory, it couldn't have come from the Burning Flames of Hell because of its unhappy tendancy to melt when exposed to heat.
This was truly a puzzle. Where could an infernal creature develop without being scorched by the never-resting tongues of the Abyss of Flame? It was many long days of research before I discovered that they were the foul spawn of Satan Claus, who lived in an arctic wasteland known as the North Pole.
The ice demons are today named 'elves', and due to a severe case of dyslexia their evil creator is known as Santa Claus or, in extreme cases, Father Christmas. They serve their dark masters by creating toys to amuse small children, knowing all the while that the little plastic bit that holds it together is going to break, and none of Daddy's super adhesive glue will put it back together again, bringing pure misery to the hearts of all across the globe.
They also create the instructions for putting together model airplanes and bicycles, their fiendish ingenuity truly an example to all demonkind. Every time a child screams 'Mummy, my new twuck wheels came off!', an ice demon is listening and gloating.
Next to come begging for my wisdom was the Waspwort, devastated by its lack of mythological background. Inspired by pure chance, I slowly discovered that the waspwort evolved from an intelligent breed of plastic sunglasses, such as those worn by trendy Sumarians and Mesopotamians.
It took many years of demented evolution for them to reach their current state, but they are thought to have once reached the form of a terrible weed, a poisonous scourge to mankind, a vicious, monstrous, vile beast to taint the throats and boil the tongue of any that came near.
Yes, the waspwort was once a brussel sprout. Filled with insane glee by their horrible, monstrous background, I could only smile as the joyous waspwort slowly dragged itself into the dawn of a new day.
My final visitor was a surprise, for it was none other than a devil. I tried to explain that the mythological background of devils were solid indeed, but it would not hear my protests, explaining its woes with a single sentence:
"But why do I have a toasting fork for a hand?"
This was a good question. Where did the devil suddenly sprout a fork as a hand, and what were the mythological precedents? Where did this black transformation occur? I set to work.
It didn't take long for me to recover a story lost to history, the Reign of the Wrathful Marshmallow. This marshmallow had long endured roasting at the end of a sharp stick, slowly building up spite and even hatred for its human oppressors. One day, forced to the limits of its patience, the Marshmallow snapped. It called upon the dark forces of the world to rise, to come to its aid, and to impale then lightly roast its human captors over a jolly campfire preferably while telling hilarious woodland stories.
Many a man was tormented to his death in this cruel fashion, all the time hearing the story about the bear and the little boy who had to leave the tent to go to the toilet. Worst of all were those men who died to the chorus of 'Kumbaya', and even now I wince at the retelling. Those were tragic times, and it was only after a succesful rebellion that the shackles of Marshmallow were thrown aside and the toasting-fork demons sent back to the Hells, waiting for their chance to appear in the Heroes III sequel.
Unfortunately, the devil didn't believe me and proceeded to flay me slowly to death over a cauldron of burning magma. Which means that I'll have to stop writing this now, as my hand is going numb, and I'm not sure I can still feel my lungs.Go to page 2