最後のカーテンコール：Kingdom Come：Deliverance Starsはさようならを言う
王国のサガが来る：救出の声の演技は、感動的な章の終わりに達しました。称賛されたRPGへの長年の献身の後、Tom McKayとLuke DaleはWarhorse Studiosで彼らの仕事を終えました。彼らの出発はほろ苦い機会であり、感謝、思い出、閉鎖感に満ちたものでした。
しかし、彼らが別れを告げたとしても、移行はすでに進行中でした。俳優が最終ラインを録音する同時に、Warhorse Studiosはヘンリーとハンスの役割を引き受けるために新しい俳優のオーディションを開催しました。皮肉 - 別の世代の到着と一致する世代の別れ - は気付かれませんでした。
ヘンリーの描写で有名なマッケイは、プロジェクト中に育まれたユニークな仲間意識を雄弁に説明しました。
「クリエイティブ業界では、「家族」はチームを説明するためによく使用されますが、それが真に現実を反映することはめったにありません。しかし、このプロジェクトは異なっていました。この旅の間に形成された絆は、私のキャリアの中で最も強く、最も永続的なものです。」
家族のこのテーマは、個人的な経験だけでなく、ゲーム自体の中心的な要素としても共鳴しました。ヘンリーの両親の壊滅的な喪失は、彼の物語を推進し、マッケイの父親を失うという個人的な経験を反映していました。彼にとって、ゲームは単なるプロジェクトを超越しました。それは深く個人的で意味のある仕事になりました。
最新記事
Two Embers – Part 1
By [Your Name]
The wind howled across the shattered plains of Eldryth, carrying with it the scent of ash and forgotten prayers. Once, this land had bloomed beneath twin suns—golden and silver—cradled in the arms of the sky. Now, only two embers remained: one buried deep in the heart of the Obsidian Spire, the other flickering faintly in the chest of a girl who did not know her name.
She awoke beneath a sky split in two.
One half burned crimson, the other wept silver mist. The earth cracked like old parchment, and from the fissures rose whispers—voices not of men, nor beasts, but of memory itself. Her fingers curled around a shard of obsidian, warm to the touch, humming with a rhythm that matched her pulse.
She didn’t remember how she got here. She remembered nothing—not her mother’s lullaby, not the sound of her first breath, not even the shape of her face in the still pools of long-dead lakes.
Only the ember.
And the dream.
“When the twins fall, the world will wake,” the dream whispered. “But not as it was. Not as it should be.”
She sat up. The shard pulsed. Her reflection shimmered within it—not a face, but a storm: a woman with hair like flame and eyes like dying stars.
“You’re not real,” she said, voice cracked from disuse.
But the reflection smiled.
And spoke.
“I am you. I am what was lost. I am what was never meant to be found.”
She stumbled to her feet, wind tearing at her tattered cloak—the color of dust and midnight. Around her, ruins of a cathedral rose from the earth, its spires fused with bone and blackened iron. The name carved into its fallen arch read: Aetherion.
Her hand trembled as she touched the stone. A vision tore through her:
A war not of swords, but of light.
Two beings—twin stars forged in fire—clashing in the sky. One wore the face of a god, the other… a child.
She gasped.
And the ember screamed.
From the east, a sound like a thousand bells made of glass. A procession of shadows moved across the horizon—hooded figures with eyes of ash, marching in silence. Their chants were not in any tongue, but in absence. In silence.
She turned to flee—then stopped.
Because behind her, in the west, a new light rose.
Not silver. Not gold.
Blue.
And from it stepped a man—tall, scarred, wearing armor of woven wind and memory. In his hand, a sword without a blade. Its hilt bore the same mark as the shard in her palm.
“Eira,” he said, voice like wind over graves. “You’ve come at last.”
She stepped back. “Who are you?”
He looked at her, and for the first time, his face cracked—just slightly.
“I was your father,” he said. “And I thought I’d buried you with the world.”
The ground trembled. The sky split again.
And from the ember in her hand, a voice rose—not hers, not his.
“The first ember dies. The second awakens. The war begins.”
To Be Continued in Part 2: "The Blood of the Twin Suns"
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