Today we look at arguable the most important part of the Dark Lord board map for players to control: "the Eye." The game is very card-based and strategies almost always revolve around what cards to play and can counter your opponents' moves to destroy your campaign. However, it's undoubtedly important to have a strong presence on the board map to collect an ever increasing amount of resources from resource tiles at the beginning of your turn. And among all the different kinds of tiles to fight for control over, the tile that can instantly turn the tide of battle is the Eye.

The Eye is located at the center of the map, tempting players from all sides to come into its area and traverse ancient bridges to secure a strong position at its center tile. In the game's lore, an Angelic Keep was located at the center of the Land, sealing away the evil Hellrifts so that fewer Demons could enter the world, but as the last angels were destroyed during the Final War, the seals were broken and Hell burst free from below and set loose a massive amount of evil power and potential into the Land. It's here that a new Lord will travel during his/her campaign to call forth, absorb, and destroy with the power of Hell.

On the map, 4 Hellrifts surround the Eye, each granting the player who controls it 1 Demon on that tile at the beginning of his/her turn. But that's nothing compared to its tile: the Eye grants 2 Shadow Lords and 6 Mana, just for having 1 or more unit on the tile at the beginning of your turn. This can greatly empower a player struggling to stay in the game against opponents who have been more successful early game.

In addition to being the best place of power in the Land, a player may also send 3 Demons to the tile and sacrifice them to draw an Omen Card, once on their turn. Omens are very powerful, almost broken cards that rapidly give power and tempo to players who earn them (more on Omen Cards in an upcoming post).

During conceptualization and for several major map versions after, the Eye wasn't a tile at all, but just a decoration to tie together the different map areas and reinforce an above-center view of the map. As we play-tested countless new versions and started filtering out simply what worked and what didn't for this kind of game, we reevaluated the Eye and decided to make it be more than just something cool to look at.

At first, we made the Eye area a shortcut to the opposite area, as before there was no way to simply cross over and invade without cutting through one of the other areas. After that idea was tested and refined, we added resource tiles exclusive to the area, giving the Eye area further importance. And finally, after many more iterations and testing, we decided to add the mechanic of sacrificing Demon units on the Eye in exchange for drawing an Omen Card (a mechanic exclusive to the Eye). And many versions later, we now have a final map featuring the finished idea:

Do you have what it takes to properly harness the power of Hell and use it to become the next Dark Lord?


​Matt Alden Brown
Creative Director / Co-founder
Dystopic Entertainment

Razmis took a long time to figure out. I wasn't sure what to do with him when I started writing the lore. Eventually I settled on the idea of Hautus having an apprentice (also along the lines of the Sith Master/Apprentice relationship, like I mentioned last week).

Once I settled on Razmis as that apprentice it was relatively easy to tie together some plot points that I've wanted to splice for some time. The end product is the story you're about to read, one of my favorites.

Hope you enjoy,
Bobby Dillon
Co-Founder, Dystopic Entertainment

            “The shade is here for you.”
            Razmis looked up from his work, surprised.
            “Tell him to wait,” he hissed. He had not expected the shade. Now that he was here, it could only mean one thing: it was time to finish the sword. His former master had been ever-elusive as to what that entailed. Razmis steadied his breath, adopted a stone-like face and entered the great hall, seating himself in the throne.
            Razmis gestured to his servant and the doors to the hall opened slowly, revealing the hunched frame of his former mentor and master.
            “Hautus.”
            “Hello, boy.”
            “I go by ‘your grace,’ these days, Hautus.”
            “Not to me, boy.”
            “Did you come here to humiliate me in front of my subjects? If so, you may leave. We are finished here.”
            “You know why I have come, boy.”
            Razmis gestured and two guards approached the shade, halberds raised.
            “I go by ‘your grace,’ these days, shade. I will not tell you again.”
            “We can play these games after our task is finished – in the meantime I need your help to finish the sword.”
            Razmis gave a start – he wondered how much the shade was willing to reveal here in front of others, but he gave nothing away with the statement itself.
            “I… hesitate to help you with this. As you can see, things have gone well for me.”
            “They will continue to go well when we have finished our task and beyond, your grace,” Hautus replied, bowing low. ”What is important is finishing the task itself. I cannot do it without your help.” With this, Hautus gazed, with his bottomless eyes, directly at Razmis.
            Razmis felt as though his mind was pushing him forward, urging and compelling him to say yes. Razmis rubbed his eyes, struggling to keep a clear head. He felt light-headed, his vision fuzzy.
            “When do we begin?” Razmis heard his own voice ask.
            “Tomorrow at dusk. Alone.” Hautus turned on his heel and left the great hall. Razmis stumbled from his throne and rubbed his eyes again, confused.
 
            The following day, at dusk, Razmis arrived at the Keep's graveyard alone. Rubbing his hands at the chill, he glanced around, noting the names on the tombstones - the final resting places of his predecessors, the kings of the Frost Keep. One grave lay empty, the earth perpetually frozen in its upturned, disheveled state. The one they'd called "mad," was not bound by death.
            Perhaps madness brings its own rewards, Razmis thought, pensively.
            Suddenly eyes upon him, traveling his form - he knew it, he could feel them. He looked around and found their source.
            "Shade, you're late," Razmis grumbled.
            "You once called me 'master,' your grace. No longer?"
            "So, suddenly you do respect appropriate titles? No matter, shade, let us finish this and begone from my kingdom."
            "Agreed," Hautus whispered, whipping a sword from a sheathe at his side. Razmis had scarecely seen a more beautiful blade - a shining, steel longsword fit for a god. Razmis had been there at its forging yet had forgotten the enchanting qualities of the sword, had forgotten how it drew the eye, almost begging to be brandished.
            "What happens when this is over? I want no part of your schemes, shade. My station is high - higher than a poor boy from the desert could have ever dreamed. I don't know that I would risk what I've gained," Razmis looked into the shade's bottomless eyes, refusing to break his gaze.
            "Your choices are your own. But know that you made a pact with me, binding you to the completion of this sword."
            "I know my part, Hautus, else I'd not be here."
            "Good. After we are finished here tonight you will have completed your training - any relationship binding us will be severed upon completion of this ritual. Consider it a... thank you, of sorts, for your help."
            "Fine. Fine, let's begin."
            "Take the sword - hold it aloft just so," Hautus began, demonstrating the precise angle and height from the ground. "That will be all I need until the end. To complete the ritual will require feeding the blade - do you understand? This is why it must be you."
            "Yes."
            "You will know when the time comes."
            "Yes."
           "Then let's begin." Hautus removed a dagger from his belt, slicing his hand. The blood dripped freely from his palm. The shade moved in a circle, his hand aloft, tracing the diameter. The blood, hot and fresh, melted the snow, seeping into the frost, the red clear and vibrant against the white coating the ground. Hautus, looking to his former pupil, indicated the circle and Razmis held the blade aloft, as shown, above it.
            Razmis felt the sword grow warm in his hands when it entered the diameter of the circle. Despite the discomfort he resolved to hold the sword still no matter what. Suddenly, across the circle of blood, Hautus ripped his robe at the chest, tearing it open with his bare hands, revealing a livid blue crystal, inset at the solar plexus.
            "This, Razmis, is our one chance to kill the Dark Lord," Hautus said, breathlessly, forming his hands in a circle like a tunnel in front of the inset crystal.
            Razmis, unable to place where, had seen such a color only once before.
            "I draw you out, spirit," Hautus said clearly, forcefully. Suddenly, the crystal went dark, and in between the shade's hands floated the spirit, livid in color and far more forceful, willful, and angry than any soul Razmis had ever seen the shade handle.
            Suddenly, Razmis noted the shade's face change and contort. A snarl crossed the likeness he had seen angry so few times before.
            "This is is my one chance to have her as mine - I cannot imbue this sword," Hautus growled.
            "Master, we must finish the ritual," Razmis shouted, firmly and loudly.
            "This is my one chance to kill the Dark Lord," Hautus stated, as though trying to settle himself.
            "This is my one chance to have her as mine," Hautus hissed.
            "This is my one chance to kill the Dark Lord,” he hissed again.
            "THIS IS MY ONE CHANCE TO HAVE HER AS MINE.
            "THIS IS MY ONE CHANCE TO KILL THE DARK LORD.
            "THIS IS MY ONE CHANCE TO HAVE HER AS MINE.
            "THIS IS MY ONE CHANCE TO KILL THE DARK LORD.
            "THIS IS MY ONE CHANCE TO HAVE HER AS MINE.
            "THIS...IS...MY...ONE CHANCE TO.... KILL THE DARK LORD."
Razmis looked on in horror at this display of madness, his former master's mind warring with itself - its conflicting desires made manifest in this moment of indecision.
            The livid blue soul drifted down, flattening over the blade, surrounding it.
            "I imbue this sword with the power of this demonic spirit, the most powerful demon I've ever encountered," Hautus stated, breathlessly. He reached up and placed his uninjured palm on the blade. Razmis did the same, nodding to his mentor. Simultaneously, they ran their palms along the length of the blade, feeding the sword its inaugural blood.
            As though blowing out a candle, the two necromancers fell to their knees, their hands still bleeding. The sword fell to the snow, its blade now the color of livid blue. Razmis looked from the blade to his former master questioningly, astonished at the power they had just harnessed.
            "Leave this place." Razmis gasped, attempting to catch his breath.
            "Yes... your grace." Hautus sheathed the sword and shuffled from the cemetery.        
           

We started with exploring the Revenant class two weeks ago, then the Blood Mage class last week. And now finally, we reveal the third and final class of the base game: the Liche Class. Several of our internal alpha and beta testers are die-hard Liche fans and often hesitate when considering playing other classes for the sake of thorough game testing. This class is for those out there who love summoning loads of puppet creatures and swarming enemies. Here we go.

The Liche Class is for players who always find themselves playing summoner classes in video games such as Necromancers, Druids, and Witch Doctors. Summon a load of creatures, send them to do your bidding, and chill back while they do all the work, buffing them or debuffing enemies every once in a while. Liches have more class cards that either summon many weak creatures, summon one strange creature, and the occasional damage/buff/debuff spell. But while summoning a large army can be a main strategy when playing a Liche, you have to utilize your spell cards and summon units in the right areas at the right time, or else enemies will trample your many minions.

In my opinion, this is the most flexible class of the three, as it enables the player to play half summoner and half something else (such as melee like Blood Mages, or spells and taking over enemy creatures like Revenants).  The ability to summon many creatures through cards allows Liches to focus more on controlling Mana Pools and Eye tiles over Villages (unless you want to lead your horde into battle yourself with plenty of Blood).

Liches are portrayed in many fantasy-themed games as skeletal necromancers or undead, unholy priests of incredible power. When conceptualizing Dark Lord, we knew it was important to include a summoner class, as it's a very common play-style in RPG games. In my mind, a Liche is a powerful necromancer who, through using increasingly dark and forbidden magic, sheds away what it left of his/her humanity, dies, and is reborn at that moment as a ridiculously powerful undead master of the non-living. Much like Blood Mages and Revenants, I've always thought that Liches were underrated creatures, and so making them the third class seemed like a no-brainer.

People have grown to love the Liche class, with 4 unique Liche Lord characters for you to play as while you gather an army of mindless ghouls and powerful, unique creatures. 

Will you command the undead and overwhelm your enemies with swarms of minions?


​Matt Alden Brown
Creative Director / Co-founder
Dystopic Entertainment

Hautus is a character that has gone through several iterations over the course of Dark Lord's development and has taken quite some time for me to flesh out into something I'd consider satisfactory. Like Sharra last week, I consider Hautus to be a centerpiece of Dark Lord's lore. He is, essentially, the old Dark Lord's right hand until the moment depicted in this story. I'd always imagined Hautus's story to be similar to that of a Sith - the right hand of the Dark Lord who trains up an apprentice in secret with the end goal being the betrayal and deposition of his overlord.

Further, Hautus used to be named (amongst the team and those who test the game with us) as "Hautus, Eater of Souls." With that as my starting point, I liked to imagine Hautus as having a severe addiction - constantly needing to absorb the souls of innocents in order to get his fix because of the extreme euphoria it brings him.

With this in mind, I had to try and find a way to tell his story in such a way that doesn't mimic those tropes, which I think I've managed to accomplish. The end result is a piece I'm content with, even if I'm not perfectly happy with it - I got across the ideas and plot points I wanted to and I hope you enjoy the read.

Cheers,
Bobby Dillon
Co-Founder, Dystopic Entertainment

The worm wriggles at his feet. Plaything. A muffled groan and a hollow cry. A spell woven to amplify the worm’s emotions. Worth the effort, such was the taste, the sweetness. Too weak to thrash, too awake to lie still. A perfect balance. A symmetry of awareness.

Just right.

He begins the ritual. No easy feat to consume a soul – not exactly child’s play. The necromantic arts came naturally to him. Even still, a great feat to accomplish – and all the sweeter the reward.

Anticipation brings its own euphoria, an eager waiting as he walks through the steps he knows by heart. Oh so worth it in the end. Too long since his last. An anxious shaking, a fretful, restless shaking, had taken him over. Sweat, headaches, nervous twitches and shattered concentration – symptoms of the lust.

Again the worm wriggled and moaned, steadily regaining consciousness. Perfect. The taste – sweeter when the worm is aware, knows what’s happening as it happens.

Twitch. Eyes. Dozens of eyes upon him. He glances here – nothing. He checks there – nothing. But he knows.

He knows the feeling of eyes upon him.

Perhaps not. He knows the solitude of his holdings. None could learn of this place. Only the dark one himself could know.

But the eyes bore into him when he isn’t looking and he can feel them like daggers piercing him from all directions, watching him, seeing him. He remembers this feeling. Meredith and her children – it feels the same when they are around.

Disgusting.

But they are not here now. He knows this. They couldn’t be.

So long since his last taste. The hunger. Nothing more than the hunger.

The ritual continues. The hand movements rapid and precise, the words whispered in a long forgotten tongue. The worm wriggles as her eyes slowly open.

He gazes into them and sees the familiar sights.

Fear. Confusion. Let it be a nightmare. Surely not real, wake up. What is this place? Can’t move. Can’t sit up. Can’t run. Get out. Get up. Why is this happening? Struggle. Fight. Thrash.

But the bonds can’t be broken. Not by any mortal.

The transfer begins, slowly at first – a drip feed of a soul from one host to another. The first drop – ecstatic. The second drop – euphoric.

The familiar feeling, the familiar sound of a worm losing itself, not knowing how to stop it from happening and slowly resigning, giving in to the inevitable fate that awaits it, not knowing what lies beyond though knowing that nothing in this world or any other could keep it from happening, the struggle has led nowhere and the struggle cannot continue and so the struggle ends and the worm yields to eternity.

The supreme rapture!

Suddenly a life flashes before his eyes. Not his own, though he has taken it as such: long days in a frigid mountainous land, traps set, game skinned, day by day a life lived solely to survive, the highest calling a worm could fathom – and such simplicity in its weight! – while the world goes on and she toils amongst the snowy cliffs not knowing discontentment, not knowing sadness; for this is the true goal of the worm – to survive – but it is not all hard work and quotidian routine, for there is joy as well; there is joy in a late night rendezvous behind a shed and beyond earshot – a different sort of ritual, one far less precise though no less demanding and no less euphoric – there is joy in forbidden fruit and new love, just as there is joy in familiar love, a calm, settled contentment as day to day life is no longer lived alone, is no longer lived solely for the worm itself, but also for those around it; no longer is the worm required to strive on its own, no longer is she in danger of a lonely death in solitude and far from anyone who means anything to her (thus she believes, for she cannot see the inevitable future that awaits her) – and the joy and the happiness and the day to day contentment of a life lived to the full floods into his heart and his being and his brain and becomes as though it were his, as though he had experienced this joy himself, as if he had experienced this contentment himself and he forgets the pain and he forgets the hunger and he forgets the fear under which he has lived for so long – he forgets who he serves, he forgets to whom he answers and he forgets those who made him this way and at last he knows….

Peace.

A shriveled husk of a body lays before him now – they look like worms afterward. Dried and shrunken as a worm on a stone on a hot summer day.

Light-headed and dizzy, he stumbles toward his bed, still reeling from the sudden rush of another’s life and another’s soul becoming his own. He had never known joy himself except at the expense of others.
 
The boy’s face was taut, emotionless. He betrayed no sign of his thoughts. He always was a good pupil.

“I know it isn’t ideal, young one, but it is the command of our Lord. He has high aspirations for you, else he’d not have made you my pupil. Between us, I believe he is suspicious of our foul play. He suspects foul play everywhere because he is smart, but we cannot give the impression that we are bothered by this rending of our Master-Apprentice relationship.”

Razmis looked into the shade’s bottomless eyes, his face blank. “Yes, master,” he intoned.

“I can do the rest on my own, but will come to you when it is time to finish the sword and when it is time to strike. It may be several years, do you understand?”

“Yes, master.”

“Do not forget what I have taught you.”

“No, master.”

“Good. Now, help me move this body to the furnace.”

“Yes, master.”
 
Suddenly the eyes are upon him again – itching, clarwing, scratching at his skin. He can feel the eyes, can feel the gaze as knives slicing through his back.

A twitch and he sits up in his bed rapidly. He knows they are there, watching him, seeing him. He looks behind – nothing.

He looks around, a full scan of the room and finds nothing when suddenly a blinding flash and a dull ache fill his mind, followed by a sharp, stabbing pain through his skull. He is jostled, shoved, dragged, kicked and beaten, by a force unseen.

The eyes are upon him.

He is bound, hands and feet, to his summoning circle. He knows the danger this poses and thrashes fruitlessly to break free. He gazes upon his captor: beauty incarnate – the shape of a man, angelic and fierce, otherworldly and alien, yet beauteous and formidable.

The angel holds a dagger to the shade’s throat.

“You are in our custody now, shade. You will do as we ask or you will be banished to the realm of demons.”

Hautus’ eyes open wide and a jolt echoes through his stomach.

“I see you comprehend how terrible a fate this would be. Tell me what we need to know and you will live, if that’s what you call this dreadful existence,” the angel says, waving his hand at the shade’s hovel.

“What would you have from me, angel?”

“The Dark Lord.”

“No, I cannot. Please,” the shade begs, his eyes widening further, his head shaking. “He will kill me.”

“And that is worse than what I plan should you not cooperate?”

“By far. He could shred my soul at a whim, trap me in an ethereal plane of pure agony for eternity, and erase me from the world’s memory as easy as you clean your holy blade, angel.”

“Why hide in this hole if you want to be remembered, shade? Is that your goal? Renown? Fame? Then help me slay the dark one himself and live in infamy for eternity.”

“I care not for fame or renown, angel. I simply want what we all want – power.”

“Well, you’re doing quite poorly at the moment, then.”

“Regardless, you have no chance against him, you are nothing next to the Dark Lord. If I betray him now, he lives, he returns for me. Do your worst, angel.”

The angel seethes with fury. As he does, Hautus feels his bindings flare, sees them turn agonizingly, painfully white-hot. He stares defiantly into the angel’s eyes, his only courageous act this day.

“I cannot, angel,” he says, his agonized voice cracking the veneer of bravery and defiance.

“You can!” The angel screams and a glowing, holy fire surrounds the pair, searing Hautus’ skin. Hautus feels the blisters forming on his face, his arms, his chest. Hautus understands, in this moment, the angel’s power.

The shade seizes his opportunity.

“I CAN,” Hautus screams out. At once the flames dissipate and all that remains is the stench of his own burning, blistered, cracked skin. “I… will… tell… you,” Hautus chokes between breaths.

“Now!” the angel shouts.

Hautus points to the display above his bed – a shabby wooden rack, upon which sits the light-blue sword he has spent ages perfecting.

“The blade?”

“It… will… destroy… him…” Hautus manages before the pain overtakes him.

Last week, we introduced the Revenant class as one of the three playable classes. I talked about the general design philosophy of the class and what exactly we were going for when developing the class's cards and play-styles. This week, we are formally introducing the Blood Mage class, the second of three classes. The Blood Mage class is very different from the Revenant class, and it appeals to players who are less interested in spell-caster classes and more interested in melee and brute force play-styles. With that said, let's dive into it.

The Blood Mage class was designed for players who typically find themselves playing melee classes in video games, such as Barbarians or Warriors. Blood Mages have many class cards that directly "buff" your Lord unit on the map so that you can take things into your own hands and slaughter enemies with your Lord unit, instead of relying on your less powerful units. But while Blood Mages can have a brute-force play-style, it has several other equally satisfying strategies for those who prefer a melee/caster balance. Their class cards also summon many demons, augment combat, and grant resources similarly to other classes, but in a way that feels unique to Blood Mages.

The biggest thing that makes the Blood Mage class stick out from the other two is that most Blood Mage class cards cost Blood instead of Mana to use them. Most players will find themselves hoarding Mana Pools and Graveyards on the board map, letting their lesser units swarm enemies; Blood Mages have a natural need for controlling an increasing amount of Villages for extra Blood gain each turn, to use that Blood to fuel powerful cards.

Blood Mages are found in various games, often portrayed as shady characters who have gone mad by embracing the power to use their own life force to cast forbidden spells. They are almost always evil, or on the brink of becoming a evil, powerful enemy to players by summoning demons and bringing chaos anywhere they go. However, Blood Magic often plays a background or secondary role in games it's featured in, in that only a few characters ever have to ability to use it, and players can only sometimes gain Blood Magic powers as a sub-class option to mess around with. In my opinion, Blood Magic's potentially has yet to be fully realized in a  game.

We made the Blood Mage a center-stage class in Dark Lord, with 4 unique Blood Mage characters to choose from, each with their own special Blood Skills to differentiate their play-style.

Will you sacrifice your blood and sanity to destroy your enemies with forbidden spells and strength?


Matt Alden Brown
Creative Director / Co-founder
Dystopic Entertainment