The Belmonts are the only family able to make a whip-wielding bloke seem badass.

I’ve got a confession to make: While I’m an ardent fan of the Castlevania series, I never actually owned any of the NES games when I was younger, and didn’t really get into the series at all until being coerced into trying Symphony of the Night many years later. My dabblings in the realm of the original classic series — which is to say, the trio of offerings available on the NES — had been limited at best, and I’d taken special care to avoid Simon’s Quest, the much-hated second game in the series. This game was the worst by far, according to many, an atrocity that scarce deserved to bear the Castlevania name. If everyone hated it so much, it must be pretty terrible, so who was I to doubt the wisdom of the masses?

Cut forward to yesterday. With a few minutes to kill while waiting for a projector to be set up in the other room, I decided to fire up some old NES games on an emulator, knowing I’d have little patience to last long on them. Among others, I tried Simon’s Quest more for humour value than anything, though I’ve long been a fan of the game’s tinny soundtrack. Through part morbid curiosity and part determination to prove to myself that I still had the skills to play 8-bit classics, I forged ahead and in spite of myself ended up getting quite hooked on this odd little game. It helped immensely that I had knowledge of its more esoteric parts, largely from videos and other mentions of the game citing its obscure puzzles and confusing layout, but it mattered not — I was hooked, and while it took me until the last few hours of today (and a walkthrough to help with the more confusing parts) to muster the patience, I’ve managed to beat the game and lay Dracula to rest once again.

The crazy part is, I kinda liked it.

Okay, so some of the puzzles are frankly absurd — the Blue Crystal’s use to reveal hidden passages in the lakes is a stretch and the Red Crystal’s cyclone-summoning is nigh-incomprehensible — and the world layout can be confusing at the best of times with many areas looking extremely similar save for minor adjustments or palette swaps. Beyond that (and let’s face it, there are many NES games guilty of confusing layouts and esoteric puzzles) I’m really not sure why gamers seem to have such a deep-seated loathing of the game, as if it somehow exists on the same level as the Atari 2600′s infamous E.T.

The graphics are charming and as varied as one could expect from an 8-bit title, the soundtrack is one of the best of the series with some truly memorable tunes, the back-and-forth gameplay involving the acquisition of various optional and essential equipment closely mirrors more modern and far more highly-acclaimed games such as the above-mentioned Symphony of the Night and its descendants on the Gameboy Advance and Nintendo DS, and overall the game feels far more like a prototype — albeit one that showcases a number of poor design decisions — of the later brethren in the franchise. Okay, so the currency-farming was a little tedious at times, the boatman’s dual destinations confused the hell out of me, and I managed to skip Death’s mansion entirely by mistake until finally realizing that I was missing something — but was any of the above truly game-breaking? No, not really.

So tell me, gamers: why the hate? Is Simon’s Quest truly such a bad game, or is it simply vilified for trying something a little different?

While an overview of the Tau Commander’s gear (including achievement-locked gear) is known, I’m working on levelling him up in order to get the appropriate icons and full, detailed stats for each piece of equipment. In the meantime, placeholder graphics and descriptions taken from elsewhere should hopefully prove at least somewhat useful. :)

What sounds simple is, in fact, possibly the single most absurdly complex game in existence today. The survival of your dwarven band must be managed at every level, from building a militia to defend from goblins and hostile beasts of the wild, to managing farms, kitchens and breweries to keep the workers fed and happy. Thankfully, the load is somewhat eased by the dwarves’ ability to think for themselves and take care of their needs provided adequate provisions are made — rather than telling Athel Rursibrek to dig a tunnel or craft a table, you simply assign the job to be done and the most appropriately-skilled member of your team will take up the task when not doing anything more important.

While this may not seem overly-complex, the sheer depth and intricacy of every aspect of the game is frankly staggering. Dwarves injured in combat can suffer internal bleeding from broken bones, furniture or trade goods can be crafted from literally dozens of different materials with engravings of things, people or places the craftsmen enjoy or have seen, fluid mechanics simulate the movement of water or lava through pits, lakes or channels, and the personalities of each dwarf are radically different — my expedition’s leader, Sodel Etostcerol (“Sodel Containedlens”), likes galena nickel, crystal opal, yak hoof, crosses, thrones, and mules for their stubbornness. She is impervious to the effects of stress, but rarely happy or enthusiastic and occasionally given to procrastination. That’s about a twentieth of the information provided on the page detailing her appearance, personality, thoughts and feelings.

Unfortunately, all this complexity comes at a cost — not only is the game’s learning curve so steep it practically bends backwards, but the actual configuration or inclusion of graphics packs — the game is ASCII text by default, much like the classic roguelike games of yore — is a serious headache. This kind of barrier to entry both discourages casual gamers, and fortifies the game’s often-elitist fanbase — I myself have been trying to play the game for some time now, but the lack of up-to-date tutorials and frustratingly archaic configuration were too discouraging, not to mention the sheer confusion of being given control of a colony and not being properly told where to begin. Fortunately, a solution has arisen to solve these problems.

The aptly-named Lazy Newb Pack is exactly what every uncertain newcomer to the game would desire; a simple front-end GUI provides configuration options and easy installation of graphics packs, as well as a number of add-on tools to make playing the game easier, and an associated series of video tutorials runs a beginner through the basics, from configuring and starting the game, to creating a new world and making a well-constructed fortress, explaining the process in great detail along the way to ease the passage through the initially daunting learning curve. The process has become easy enough that any gamers could likely get a grip on the basics and slowly expand into the more advanced aspects of the game, though it’s still an experience I’d recommend only to those willing to put serious concentration, focus, and dedication into what amounts to an incredibly deep gaming experience.

If you’ve been put off by the game’s difficulty, lack of decent up-to-date tutorials, outdated methods of configuration, or simply find the concept appealing and feel like giving it a go, I strongly recommend trying the Lazy Newb Pack and watching the video tutorial series. Just remember: losing is fun!

I’ve also recently updated the other wargear lists crediting the other people who have given information to help complete them; I used to do that right away at first, but after a while forgot to keep it updated. Apologies for that, but as they say, it’s better late than never!

(This was originally posted in June 2009 over on my old LiveJournal, but I’ve decided to resurrect it for a re-post here on Gravec.at. I also recommend checking out the original LJ comments thread for a similar homeless Sims misadventure with MycroftB’s Minnie Stickyfingers: “And

Meet Hobo McHoberson, the latest unwelcome and generally unliked resident in an otherwise fairly pleasant town. His personality traits include Inappropriate, Slob, Clumsy, Loser and Mooch, and his life wish is Gold Digger, which I think involves marrying someone rich and then offing them to inherit the money. Silly Hobo, rich people would never marry someone as ugly and smelly as you.

Day one was fairly productive. After moving in and immediately starting a fight with Xander, the neighbor, Hobo decides to get into the swing of things and beg for food, with resounding success. Not merely content to insult a stranger and eat his sandwich, Mr. McHoberson invited himself in and started making inappropriate advances towards Xander’s girlfriend, begging her for money, then finally just giving up and raiding the fridge. Look how happy he is with those stolen beans! And after a long day’s harrassment, it’s time to take a nap in someone else’s bed.

After a pleasant sleep, more lewd advances, followed by assault and further begging, and to top it off, Hobo’s depravity knows no bounds as he tries to get it on with someone twice his age before the residents finally get tired of his stench and eject our hero from the premeses, with stolen book clutched firmly in grubby hand.

It was a pretty good first day, with several free meals and a whopping §6 mooched from the unfortunate neighbors. Sometimes, I wish my life was as awesome as Hobo McHoberson’s. Don’t you?

I don’t think any of us wanted it to end like this, saying goodbye to the Horde cities one last time before we faction-transfer over to join our other friends on the Alliance side, but it honestly feels like there’s no real choice anymore. The faction balance on European World of Warcraft realms — the PVE ones, at least — is absurdly biased towards the Alliance, with most being outnumbered by three or even four times, world PVP objectives such as Wintergrasp and the older Outland areas such as Halaa are what I bitterly refer to as perma-blue, a state where the Alliance simply swarm in with superior numbers every time the Horde make any attempt to capture, and time and time again, Blizzard have shown no particular willingness to even lift a finger to change the status quo.

Worse, the people we know who play the game are split across factions, some of them clinging vehemently to the Horde side with the Fluff guild, others occupying the Alliance as Steel Vanguard, both sides too staunch to change their position until now. With raiding possibilities looking bleak due to dwindling numbers and PVP being little more than a joke as the larger-sized Alliance faction facerolls everything with glutinous fury, it’s harder and harder to find reasons to keep playing Horde. I’ll miss being a Tauren and I’ll miss Thunder Bluff, Orgrimmar and the Undercity — never did like Silvermoon much — but I won’t miss being the underdog time and time again, and having the odds stacked so heavily against me.

That’s what got me thinking about gaming as a whole, and the bizarre system of effort and reward that we as gamers seem to impose upon ourselves. Of course achievements in games like World of Warcraft or on systems such as the Xbox 360 and Steam — or a rose by any other name, such as “trophies” on the PlayStation 3 — are the perfect example of this mentality in action, I feel it’s only a relatively new coat of paint on the surface of something much older. Remember when you were a kid hanging out in the video-game arcades of the 80′s and 90′s, marvelling at the high-score tables populated and dominated by those elite few with the seemingly unattainable skills needed to occupy such a throne? Or as a more domestic example, something every gamer should be familiar with: The urge to beat the level, defeat the boss, to press onward and explore new territory, or simply to beat a score and achieve some measure of satisfaction from the knowledge that your skill and dedication could be quantified by digits glowing on a phosphor screen.

This, I feel, is something endemic and intrinsic to the gamer mindset, and yet the intangible appeal fails to make any logical sense in my mind. We push ourselves to incredible lengths for the sake of achievement and improvement in an artificial system which exists solely for the sake of providing challenge where there would otherwise be none. An extreme case of this would be the Korean gamer who quite literally killed himself by playing too much StarCraft; more common examples can be seen all around us. Who out there wearing the moniker of “gamer” can honestly say they haven’t spent a weekend or more shut away in a darkened room, hunched over a screen, thoroughly absorbed in one of these faux-simulacra?

Is it simply human nature to constantly push ourselves further, so desperate for self-improvement and so eager for accolade that we are inherently drawn to such a medium? The overwhelming popularity of gaming as a whole on a worldwide scale would seem to imply a certain truth in this logic, though I can’t help but feel as though something is missing. Can it really be that simple? In the end, are we still just a bunch of apes who’ll push a button all day long if it means we’ll get a bunch of bananas and a pat on the head?

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#5: Flying Battery Zone (Sonic & Knuckles)

I’m going to get flak for this, but hear me out. What do you get if you combine Wing Fortress Zone with Metropolis Zone, and add a few smatterings of Scrap Brain Zone? That sounds like the recipe for one of the best zones in Sonic history, and while Flying Battery Zone has a great theme and possibly one of my favourite musical scores of the entire series (the Sonic series has great music, but this one truly stands head and shoulders above the rest), it all falls flat on its face for one big reason: It’s far, far too cruel.

Between switches that spew fire, spike-lined tunnels with screw-like elevators which can easily crush an unfortunate hedgehog, rotating tunnels which must be exited with precision lest you fall off the bottom of the screen and die, spikes, electricity, and many, many things which can crush and kill you instantly, Flying Battery Zone is an excercise in controller-snapping frustration. There’s simply no relenting moment in the constant stream of stressful assaults — it even employs tricks as dirty as containment pods that spew out enemies, and run-or-die hedgehog-crushing action as the level collapses at the end. This is truly an experiment in sadism, and if that’s the case, it was a roaring success.

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#4: Aquatic Ruin Zone (Sonic 2)

This was actually quite a difficult choice to make — while I adore the visual style and theme of the Aquatic Ruin Zone and it has a fantastic soundtrack and even a great boss battle at the end, it’s all let down by one fatal flaw: It’s fucking annoying to play. Between the arrow-chucking pillars, hidden enemies that burst out of walls, collapsing floors, falling pillars, precision jumps, and frequent underwater segments complete with drowning, this zone is just a massive pain in the ass.

It’s mostly a shame due to wasted potential; this could easily have been the successor and redeemer of the Labyrinth Zone, but instead Sega went down the route of making a “challenging” (which usually translates to “irritating”) experience, and the choice of being chased by arrows or forced underwater is hardly a pleasant one to make. It’s certainly not the worst zone of the series and I will concede that the boss fight at the end with the totem poles is actually a hell of a lot of fun (if too easy), but I’m afraid that’s not enough to redeem the rest of this miserable experience.

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#3: Hydrocity Zone (Sonic 3)

I think it’s an unwritten law of video games that every platformer must feature at least one water-based level, and with but a few exceptions, these levels tend to be universally-hated. Hydrocity Zone is no exception to that rule, and as well as the typical annoyances of water-based levels — drowning being the prime offender here — a number of other obnoxious features are added to make the experience all the more annoying. Piranha Badniks that latch on and prevent Sonic from jumping, spikes that appear out of nowhere, fans and water currents that force the poor hedgehog around, all while accompanied by a jazzy and meh soundtrack that sounds like upbeat elevator music.

The bosses are hit-and-miss in this zone — the act 1 miniboss is frankly nothing short of annoying, though the act 2 boss is actually quite unique and interesting, offering multiple ways to provide his demise. Nontheless, it can’t change the fact that Hydrocity Zone is a pain to play, and one of those zones that I dread having to trawl through at all.

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#2: Marble Garden Zone (Sonic 3)

The best way to describe this sprawling tedium of a zone is “boring”. The zone is frankly obscene in its size — likely one of the largest in the series — though much of it consists of running up and down slopes, being propelled along by gyroscopes at top speed, and impaling your skull on a dozen razor-sharp steel spikes that you swear weren’t there a second ago. Or at least you would, if you weren’t so busy bleeding like a burst soda can.

Marble Garden Zone isn’t even so much hard as it is a mind-numbing slog, spattered with the occasional flecks of bullshit, and including both immensely annoying boss battles and one of those all-so-fun sections where you’re fleeing through a collapsing level, trying to avoid being crushed into paste at every turn while racing against the clock and dodging falling debris. There are simply no redeeming qualities about this train-wreck of a zone — even the music is decidedly meh — though it can only be beaten in terms of terribleness by…

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#1: Labyrinth Zone (Sonic 1)

Nothing says “I wish I was dead” like the Labyrinth Zone. Waterfalls, precision jumping, drowning, crushing, spikes, hidden switches, hidden enemies, obnoxious boss battles, and all manner of other nasties combine to make this the single most abhorrent zone of the series. What were they thinking? Worse, still, is that the final Scrap Brain Zone act is an albino clone of Labyrinth Zone, bringing us back once more to the nightmare.

This is not only one of the hardest zones in the first Sonic game — if not the hardest — but it’s also the one that’s most likely to have you throwing your controller at the screen in frustration, after dying in a thoroughly humiliating and unfair fashion for the twentieth time. Whatever masterful skill went into crafting most of the Sonic zones has seemingly been lost with this disgrace of a zone, not helped much by its thoroughly mediocre soundtrack and weak graphic design. Sega, you have shamed yourselves.

With that said, here’s my take on the top 5 zones from the classic Sonic series on the Megadrive/Genesis. I’m curious to hear other peoples’ thoughts on the matter, so you’re more than welcome to list your own favourites in the comments! (Of course, you’re not just limited to the 16-bit era; that’s just my personal bias.) Keep your eyes peeled, because soon I’ll be making another post about the worst five zones in the Sonic series. But until then, here’s the cream of the crop:

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#5: Green Hill Zone (Sonic 1)

While perhaps not the most technically accomplished zone in the Sonic series, this list would be a shambles without at least a mention of the iconic Green Hill Zone, the charming and vibrant first level of the Sonic series which has been recreated time and time again in various incarnations throughout the games (Emerald Hill, Angel Island, Mushroom Hill, and so on). It’s frankly impossible for any retrogamer worth his salt to not be enthralled by the gorgeous scenery and simple-yet-enjoyable gameplay as our blue friend makes his way across rolling hills, beneath waterfalls, and over yawning chasms, all to the energetic and upbeat theme music.

The boss at the end of act 3 is similarly iconic, Robotnik making his first attempt to slay the azure devil by attaching a huge, swinging wrecking ball to the base of his flying Egg-o-Matic, aiming to pummel our hero into cerulean paste. Green Hill Zone also introduces many familiar tropes of the Sonic series, such as collapsing platforms, speedy sections with looping trails, and even möbius strips in the iconic checkerboard pattern. If ever there was a perfect introduction to the world of Sonic the Hedgehog, it’d be the Green Hill Zone.

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#4: Icecap Zone (Sonic 3)

While perhaps not my favourite soundtrack in the Sonic series, Icecap Zone more than makes up for this loss with a beautiful and excellently-designed series of levels, starting with Sonic snowboarding down the side of a snow-covered mountain before having to face off against legions of dastardly foes, sliding platforms, destructible scenery, and even freeze rays! Perhaps one of the more experimental zones in the series, Icecap Zone is a little hit-and-miss in parts but largely delivers thanks to its unique mechanics and interesting — if often cruel — flow.

Icecap Zone is the level you love to hate, and it’ll have the player pulling out his (or her) hair in frustration after one too many times crushed, frozen, impaled, or one of many other fates that await Sonic. However, despite often being frustrating and outright unfair, I think this zone perhaps defines Sonic 3 for me personally, summing up its improved and changed gameplay (which Sonic & Knuckles perfected beautifully) while providing a worthy challenge to even hardened Sonic veterans.

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#3: Sandopolis Zone (Sonic & Knuckles)

The spiritual successor to the oft-loathed Oil Ocean Zone, Sandopolis replaces the lakes of oil and industrial constructions with a desert of quicksand and a predictably Egyptian theme, providing both some of my favourite Badniks in the series (the scorpion robot and the sand-dwelling cousin of Caterkiller) and some fitting background music, as well as formidable agility puzzles, block-pushing, and some of the most unique and interesting level design you’ll see in S&K.

Sandopolis really comes into its own in act 2, however, when Sonic makes his way through an ancient temple and must contend with not only sand-flows and timed doors, but also keep pulling switches to keep the place illuminated — not only does this help you to find your way and not run face-first into a wall full of spikes, but it also drives away the resident population of ghosts, who would like nothing more than to destroy this unwelcome intruder. Combine that with some great boss fights, and you’ve got a clear winner on your hands.

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#2: Lava Reef Zone (Sonic & Knuckles)

In my opinion the most visually stunning of the Genesis Sonic series, Lava Reef Zone is not only an experience that thoroughly blew me away when the game was new, but a masterpiece of level design coupled with a superb and catchy soundtrack. Spanning three acts rather than the usual two (though the latter is little more than a glorified boss battle), I simply can’t say enough good things about the experience from start to finish, one that is both punishing and challenging in many ways, but also deeply rewarding as you pursue your mustachioed nemesis through the molten innards of Mobius.

Admittedly, much of the appeal is purely in the visual element — the artwork is probably the best seen in any Genesis Sonic game (purely my opinion, of course) and the experience of adventuring through such a vibrant, dynamic locale is truly a thing to behold, especially back in the 16-bit era where graphics such as this were some of the best you’d ever see. However, the classic Sonic gameplay shines through in the form of deadly agility puzzles, speedy action sequences, and avoidable yet cruel traps first and foremost involving balls of fire and huge lakes of molten lava.

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#1: Chemical Plant Zone (Sonic 2)

If there was anything that could be defined as the perfect Sonic zone, the quintessential example of what made the Sonic series such an avalanche of success in the 90s, I think Chemical Plant Zone sums it up in spades. Almost every Sonic trope is present here, from the water hazards — represented by the lingering doom of the Mega Mack pools — to the classic moving staircases that first made their debut in Sonic 1′s Starlight Zone, from fast-paced action over helix-shaped walkways and around the classic loops, to floating platforms and hazardous terrain.

It’s a clear remake of Scrap Brain Zone, but it’s done in such a fantastic way — and with arguably the best soundtrack in Sonic history — that all is forgiven. My only complaint would be the Badnik foes on this level, which were both surprisingly sparse and not terribly memorable, but that just speaks all the more loudly about the quality of construction that went into the level design itself. I challenge you to find a Sonic zone with more fantastic design, fast-paced gameplay, memorable music, and a great mechanic like the pressure tubes. I think you’d be hard-pressed to top this one, and that’s why Chemical Plant Zone is my number one all-time favourite of the series.

"My son, the day you were born, the very forests of Lordaeron whispered the name, 'Arthas'."

It’s no secret that I usually find myself rooting for the bad guys in movies and games, and there’s nothing I like better than a well-defined and likable villain — even if it’s one you simply love to hate. In lieu of decent content lately, I’ve decided to start a new section highlighting some of my favourite villains from TV, movies and video games, starting with one I’m sure many of you will recognize: Arthas Menethil, better known as the Lich King, whose exploits spanned no less than three games — starting in Warcraft III: Reign of Chaos, stealing the show in The Frozen Throne expansion, and finally the rise and fall of his master plan in Wrath of the Lich King, the second expansion to World of Warcraft. I think what makes Arthas such a great villain is that he’s both devious and cruel, tormenting and evading the players time and time again in Wrath, while at the same time being a truly tragic figure, manipulated and coerced into becoming a tool of evil while his intentions were originally pure — albeit misguided.

Arthas was the son of King Terenas Menethil and heir to the throne of Lordaeron, a paladin in training under Uther the Lightbringer, and an all-round pretty nice guy. There’s not a great deal to tell about this part of the story, but unfortunately for him — and fortunately, perhaps, for us — things weren’t always to be that way. Hot on the heels of the necromancer Kel’Thuzad and his demon-master Mal’Ganis, whose twisted plans included tainting shipments of grain with a deadly plague of undeath which would turn unfortunate citizens into grotesque ghouls, Arthas was faced with the ultimate dilemma: After arriving just a little too late to the city of Stratholme, where the infected plague had already been distributed to the peasants, he felt the only course of action was to purge the city before the citizens were turned, to spare them a fate worse than death and cull the undead threat before it got out of hand. Uther was understandably horrified by this, determined to instead seek a way to help the afflicted people, but nothing could sway the young prince from his mission.

"This kingdom shall fall, and from the ashes shall arise a new order that will shake the very foundations of the world."

Things went from bad to worse, and rather than regale you with the full story — which you can find more details on over here, if you so choose — I’ll wrap it up in a digest: Arthas pursued the demon Mal’Ganis with reckless fervour to the frozen shores of Northrend, stranded his loyal troops by burning their ships and then blaming the act on local mercenaries, inadvertently slew his friend and mentor, Muradin Bronzebeard while claiming the cursed blade Frostmourne, which then drove the prince to madness and the soul of the former Lich King, Ner’zhul — which was entombed within the sword — fused with that of the fallen paladin, creating not the first, but certainly the most well-known incarnation of the Lich King. He then found his way back home to Lordaeron, slew his father, and brought the kingdom crumbling down.

I feel that Arthas is one of the most memorable and influential villains in video gaming, partly because of how his story and actions can evoke such a variety of feelings from the player — he begins misguided but well-meaning, descends into the ranks of villainhood and builds up a great deal of animosity especially throughout the events of Wrath, tormenting and taunting the would-be heroes at every turn, a looming figure of doom whose machinations have wrought countless horrors and innumerable sorrows. It seems like it’s hard to go anywhere or do anything in Wrath without running into the Lich King himself, and while he has plenty of opportunities to simply end your attempts outright, he seems content to merely toy with the heroes, much like a cat playing with its prey.

"You speak of justice, of cowardice? I will show you the justice of the grave, and the true meaning of fear."

The greatest culmination of this is during the battle of the Wrathgate, a great siege at the very gates of his infernal citadel by the combined forces of the Alliance and the Horde, in an attempt to bring the villain to justice. Again, the Lich King displays his typical villainous arrogance, standing tall in the face of an army and mocking their challenge before being abruptly interrupted by a threat that none present could have expected (and perhaps the focus for a future Villain Spotlight). Still, he shrugs off the attack and retreats into his fortress, to fight another day.

However, in the words of the late Terenas Menethil, “No king rules forever.” The culmination of the Wrath expansion leads to a siege upon the lair of the Lich King and, after battling many of his unholy minions, the great villain himself is finally put to rest. For those who play the game and have not yet seen the outcome, I shall remain fairly coy with the details, though the events can be seen over here, for the curious. While wrapping up Arthas’ storyline, it also brings us full circle with regards to how we — the players, and observers of the story — feel about the villain. In his dying moments, he is finally freed from his curse and is portrayed once more as a tragic character who never intended to fall so far.

I can’t speak for everyone, but I personally felt a great deal of pity for the fallen prince, the one who I had grown to despise through my Warcraft adventures, but here at the end, realized that he was merely a pawn all along, being used by forces much greater. And this, I think, is what makes Arthas such a memorable and unique villain — how many others can you name, which manage such an extensive full-circle spanning many years, and after all of the relentless villainy and vexation, finally turns out to be a poor, misguided soul who deserves not hatred, but pity?

Other than Darth Vader, I suppose.