Wednesday, August 3. 2005Howell Clarke
Fair_Weather's really outdone himself this time. This is an amazing environment. He's an arrogant, obnoxious little idiot, but he's good. I remember the first environments, the ones I tried to render. They made Miss Pacman look sophisticated. This is just unbelievable. I just wish I could get the AI stuff to really work well. It would be awesome to fight some huge battles in here. Well, it would be awesome as long as I didn't get gut-shot in the opening minute, like I did last time. That really---check out this subway! Electrified rails, grafitti on the walls, working trains, this is so cool. That's weird. I wonder if that vibration's caused by the train. It seems to be getting stronger in this direction. A lot stronger. And now there's wind, too. I wonder if he put a tornado in this level or something. I'll have to tell him that it didn't quite work right--I shouldn't be able to feel a tornado when I'm underground, exploring the subway system. It's more than a vibration now. It's like--that hurts. I'm going to get out of here. I need to tell Fair_Weather that something's wrong with this environment. Whoa! That's weird. It's like the ground's crawling. If I stand still, I still keep moving in that direction. It's moving faster now. I should be able to outrun it, though.
I can't keep up. I just can't do it. I'm going to collapse here pretty soon. The pain's getting worse, and I've got a cramp and it's a good thing that this isn't real life. I'd never be able to run like this in real life. But I'm not getting anywhere. This thing, whatever it is, it's going to get me. I'm gonna die. What will happen to me? Will it be like the Matrix? Will I die in real life? I've died before. But that was part of the program. It knew how to handle that. It knew that I would be placed in observer mode as soon as I received a fatal wound. Does it know how to handle this? Get up. You have to get up. I can't. The pain. It's just too much. It's like, like, like I'm being torn apart and stabbed, and lit on fire and -- I can't see myself. I can't see anything. I'm blind. All there is, all I am is pain. Wednesday, August 3. 2005Macon Craig
I had no idea how much time had passed. Her fire had burned itself out, but there was no other sign that any time had passed. Yet another thing that we have to fix in these environments. Why did Night_Watcher have to be so stubborn about things? I rolled over, and felt something buzz underneath me. I jumped to my feet, thinking that I had rolled over onto a bug or something, but the buzzing continued. I had to laugh when I realized what it was. My cell phone hung on my belt, right next to my short sword. It was buzzing madly.
I picked it up. "Hello" "Where have you been? I've been trying to get a hold of you for the last four hours and twenty-four minutes." "Sorry. I ran into . . ." He cut me off. "Look. We've got a problem. Night_Watcher found a flaw in the newest environment that you uploaded." "So, that's hardly an emergency. I'll post a new rendering after school today." "No, he was inside when he found it. Besides, you're already late for school" "I am? What time is it? How did he find it? What did it look like?" "It's 9:55 your time. And I don't know. He's stuck inside. He can't get out." Continue reading "Macon Craig" Wednesday, August 3. 2005
*blinking furiously* Posted by Ancient of Days
in Gathering Darkness at
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Comment (1) Trackbacks (0) *blinking furiously*Tuesday, August 2. 2005
Bigfoot or Bison? Posted by Ancient of Days
in Gathering Darkness at
23:58
Comment (1) Trackbacks (0) Bigfoot or Bison?Tuesday, August 2. 2005Rath: Icthin and Ulek
Veya told us an interesting tale tonight, as we gathered around the campfire and ate a delcious confection that Maxwell prepared known as "brownies". (Perhaps the fairie-like beings are a primary ingredient? It would certainly explain the delicious taste!)
I shall attempt to record as accurately as I can the story Veya related, as something tells me this information may be vital to our party's survival.
An interesting tale, but I do hope she and her master are wrong. The last thing we need at this point is planar troubles. Tuesday, August 2. 2005Culpability
This from J. K. Rowling's interview on Mugglenet:
"Has Snape ever been loved by anyone?" JKR: "Yes, he has, which in some ways makes him more culpable even than Voldemort, who never has." I posit that if the author sees Snape as "culpable," she does not see him as obedient to Dumbledore, but rather sees him as guilty of murdering him. Tuesday, August 2. 2005Nalathisor: A Quest Begins
The night at the residence gave my brother and I some time to catch up. Afterall we hadn't seen each other since he was in Hillydale 25 or so years previous. If it weren't for that visit back then, this trip may not have been needed. The more things change, the more they stay the same apparently. He hasn't changed all that much, his mission in life still seems to be that he doesn't really have a mission in life. He still just prefers to wander the land, and spread his love around to any willing and able bar wench. But he's still my brother and it's good to see him again.
I managed to get him to accompany me on my quest. He thought it would be good to be together again, just like old times when we travelled together, before I settled down. He never knew why I chose to settle down at that point. He wouldn't understand. Continue reading "Nalathisor: A Quest Begins" Tuesday, August 2. 2005Poetry in Dune
One of the elements that I've enjoyed the most in Frank Herbert's book, Dune, is the poetic style of writing that this author has. Not only are his quotations and poetry beautiful, but I have to have respect for a guy who can come up with so many fascinating names, titles, etc. It takes a rare talent to be able to come up with a really nice title, in my opinion. For example, the name St.-Alia-of-the-Knife. It's an intriguing name. This is an author with a true talent for manipulating language.
I'm writing a unit plan about the Hero's Journey for my 8th graders; one of the steps in the Journey is, obviously, the return. The interesting thing about this step is that it can be written so many different ways: with joy, with sorrow, and sometimes, sometimes, with a mixture of the two. If done artfully, this creates a feeling of haunting melancholy. J. R. R. Tolkien accomplished this feeling at the end of the Lord of the Rings, when the hobbits return to Hobbiton. He mitigates it, however, with the scouring of the Shire - one last battle, one last cause to rejoice. Peter Jackson stripped this element from the story in his film rendition, which I originally found unbearably, achingly sad. Jackson's ending is that classic, melancholy ending, which doesn't allow for true rejoicing, because so much sorrow has been passed through. After reflection, I don't dislike Jackson's ending, though it always makes me want to weep. It is hauntingly poignant because the hobbits in the Shire don't even realize they've been saved from destruction. Though the Shire is beautiful, the crops are in, the people are happy, Frodo (and his companions) can't appreciate it in the innocence that they once knew. Maybe this means so much to me because I've been depressed before. I don't mean to make light of it - I'm speaking in earnest. There's a feeling, when you're truly depressed, that the beauty in the world around you should mean something more than it does, but it can't. Beauty haunts you, in fact, because it can't make you happy, or whole. How does this relate to Dune? The feeling I'm trying to describe, the feeling at the end of Jackson's LOTR, is captured in a poem in Dune. Orchards and vineyards, And full-breasted houris, And a cup overflowing before me. Why do I babble of battles, And mountains reduced to dust? Why do I feel these tears? Heavens stand open And scatter their riches; My hands need but to gather their wealth. Why do I think of an ambush, And poison in molten cup? Why do I feel my years? Love's arms beckon With their naked delights, And Eden's promise of ecstasies. Why do I remember the scars, Dream of old transgressions... And why do I sleep with fears? Tuesday, August 2. 2005Pride and Humility
ESPN.com's Page 2 is currently running a week long battle for the soul of sports. Today is Sports Pride vs. Sports Humility.
Patrick Hruby makes a solid case for pride winning out. That is until he gives his examples. I'm not going to go in too in depth, but I wanted to point something out about his group of examples. Continue reading "Pride and Humility" Tuesday, August 2. 2005Tommy Xiang
Tommy stared at the screen blankly, listening as the watch on his alarm rang. After nearly a minute he stood, and walked mechanically toward the door of his apartment, dialing his cell phone as he did so. It rang, and rang, and rang. Finally, the impersonal tone of the voice mail reached his ears.
"Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice message system." The soft, feminine voice was interrupted by a rather high-pitched, nervous sounding male voice. "Make Craig." After a momentary pause the feminine voice continued. "To send a numeric page, press five. To leave a voice message, please record after the tone." Tommy heard the low beeping tone, and slumped in defeat. He pressed the end button just as the elevator doors opened, depositing him in the well-kept lobby of his apartment building. Outside, rain poured down, just like the weatherman had predicted. Tommy looked down at his umbrella, hanging from the crook of his left arm. He looked at his phone. Its screen dimmed automatically, the call finished. He heaved a deep sigh. Why wasn't Fair_Weather_Friend answering? He had to answer his phone. They had promised each other that they would. It was the only insurance that they had. They had even made it so that people could get calls when they were inside of the environments. Why wasn't he answering? Continue reading "Tommy Xiang" Tuesday, August 2. 2005Keb Jones
I waited for a response. Howell began to thrash more violently; between gasps for breath, he started to moan. Suddenly, he stopped moving completely. He stiffened, straightening out like a plank so that only his shoulders touched the chair. I reached past him and began typing.
Night_Watcher[5:27]: Where are you? Aren't you going to do anything? Again I waited. Finally, the reply. Brain_Stem[5:31]: I'm a doctor. I'll take care of this. It may take some time, though. If you feel uncomfortable watching your roommate, you may want to leave. He'll be fine soon. This was the last straw. I stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind me. I barely tasted my scrambled eggs and blueberry yogurt. Not that there was much to taste--food at the dorm's cafeteria is hardly five-star fare. By the time I had finished my breakfast, I had made a decision. Howell had to go. The detective looked at me over the top of his clasped hands. "Yes, we know about your friend, Howell. He's been causing some ripples in the online communities, making ridiculous claims about the ability to create alternate realities." "You mean virtual reality?" Continue reading "Keb Jones" Monday, August 1. 2005Urfengar: Treasure Hunt
While I've spent most of our time here in Brindenford puttering around my room, working on Kitya's club, some of the others had a little adventure out in the druid's new forest. Apparently one of the villains from Ossington (a bard named Cuckoo) made an appearance. My companions made quick work of him. While I would have liked to participate in the fight, the fact that he won't be bothering us in the future makes up for it. It might even send a message to his boss.
Earl Blackthorne sent a messenger requesting our presence shortly after the incident with the Cuckoo. The king of this land has died, leaving no heirs, and the earl needs to be at the conference of nobles which will decide the successor. Blackthorne feels that the man best suited for the job is going to need a little oil to get the wheels of politics rolling in his favor, so he asked if we wouldn't be willing to run after a dragon hoard for him. I don't particularly enjoy human politics, but the thought of what kind of wealth might lie at the end of this quest was enough to perk my interest. The others seemed to believe that the land would benefit from being ruled by men like the earl, so we agreed to search for the treasure. The earl warned us that rival factions would try to impede us, and sure enough, on our way to meet the fellow with the treasure map, a bunch of roughs with black armbands decided to try their luck with us. After making quick work of that encounter, we tracked down the man holding the key to this little errand. He seems a nice enough sort, but our man in red somehow beat us to him. The earl's friend re-drew the map from his memory as best he could, and we're to set out in search of the treasure and Thelonious' murderer in the morning. One other thing of interest happened today. We met a junior Planeswalker in the common room of the Inn where we met the Earl's friend. Her master had been slain by the Man in Red, and she was stranded here. We told her to tag along, since any spells I have that might return her to Toril weren't a sure thing. Monday, August 1. 2005Rath: Outside Looking In
For 3 nights, I watched as my new dwarven friend alternately stared into the fire and fumbled with quill and parchment, his face flickering from sorrow, to guilt, to rage. On the fourth night, I could watch silently no longer.
"I'm making a record of our travels." came the gruff reply to my query. Something in his face or in his voice told me the story his words could not: he was trying to find some way to deal with the death of his young charge, and friend, the monk Thelonious. The more I've looked around the camp, the more I've begun to realize how deeply some members of this party have felt the pain of our recent losses. Of course I feel badly about what happened to young Llan, who was so obviously the moral center of this extended "family". And watching what happened to the monk. . .well, to have done that to Thelonious from what must have been a great distance indicates that our foes have a level of power at their command that, frankly, terrifies me. Personally, I have a hard time feeling that close of a bond with anyone...whether that is a result of my odd parentage, or just a trait of my personality, I cannot be sure, but my friends have always been few. I follow the path of the Wolf, and few share my interests. My perviously solitary journeys were made alone because I couldn't find anyone like-minded enough, and it's better to go alone than with people one wearies of soon. However, of later, I have begun to find myself fascinated by Kitya's dedication to the Way of the Forest. I've always done things alone because I never found people who cared about the things I've cared for enough to suffer the attendant hardships, but now I find that my passion for the natural ways is outstripped by the wild-eyed fanaticism of a druid. Pondering these thoughts, I turned to the newest member of our little band, the half-elven wizardess named Veya. She named herself a planeswalker, or rather, one-time apprentice to such. I had never before heard of anyone of less power than my grandfather travelling the planes, and the idea intruiges me. Now we're told that there is a good possibility that the Dragon Horde our leige-lord has sent us in search of lies on a plane other than our own. I find myself excited and perhaps a little worried at the prospect of leaping into a magical gate that when I have little to no idea what our destination is. The gates that we have already seen open before our eyes are mysterious enough for my liking. It is true that I can be happy alone, and I've often preferred solitude to the constant bickering of human civilization. But I look forward to the end of our journey because I take with me people with whom I feel a rare bond of friendship, and a real friend is never an intrusion. Monday, August 1. 2005Nalathisor: Prophetic Poetry
We didn't get long to rest, as Llan soo woke Jackle and I to let us know that the etting had been periodically sticking his head out of the ruings. Sure enough after watching for a few moments the ettin stuck his head out of the ruins. He also motioned for us to approach, and then motioned for us to do it quietly. Apprehensive, yet intrigued we approached the ruins. The ettin asked us to come in, but told us to be quiet as his other head, Muck, was sleeping.
He then went on to tell us that his name was Krym. He was a cleric of Heironeous, and was one of the three adventurers who sought out the evil sorceror, Stonydyalus. During the battle they had managed to defeat the wizard, but not before the other adventurers were slain and he had been turned into an ettin. Unfortunately the other head was the one who had the most control, and was the one responsible for the atrocities wrought on the town. The only clues that Krym had for resolving his situation was a poem. Two heads have we, but born with one. Suddenly we could hear the townspeople approaching. Llan went to look and see what was going on while Jackle and I tried to solve the riddle. We were able to come to the following conclusions. The six-armed king was referring to Hextor, the brother of Heironeous. We were also able to find out from Krym that as a cleric for Heironeous he tended to be overzealous, and would assault other priests who would disagree with him. This fit nicely with the poem. We knew, however, that this information would do nothing to appease the mob growing outside, that Llan was dealing with. Jackle decided to search the upper level of the ruins and was able to find a scroll. After some nifty jumping and leaping about he was able to grab the scroll and passed it down to me. I quickly opened the scroll and noticed it was a polymorph spell. I recited the incantation on the scroll and watched as Krym was restored to human form. The three of us then joined Llan outside and explained the situation. With everything resolved we headed back to town. I figured I'd stay at the same residence as Jackle that night. This would give us a chance to catch up. Besides it felt good to be back in action together. I could also try and find out exactly how much he knew about Llan, and their relationship to one another. In the morning I would see if I could get Jackle and Llan to accompany as I searched for her body, and for those responsible. However, I figured I'd wait to let them know the full details of who we were searching for. Monday, August 1. 2005Macon Craig
Yes, that's right. My name's Macon. Yes, I do hate my parents. I mean, what kind of parents name their son Macon? It's like condemning your child to eternal torture especially if that child is, well, not fat, but a little bit overweight. And that's just kindergarten. But you're not here to listen to me whine about my past, are you? So, let me get back to where we were.
How did this all start? Well, it all started the day that I decided to cut class. It wasn't the first time. In fact, it was supposed to be the last time, because if I got caught cutting class one more time, I wouldn't be able to graduate. So there I was, sitting in the media room with a friend of mine. We were both working on special effects for a movie that we'd been making after school, even though both of us were supposed to be in Geometry class. I heard his instant messenger chime. He stopped work to read the message. "Hey Make." "Yeah?" "You still playing with those 3D rendering programs?" "Yeah, you should see some of the stuff I'm coming up with. Finished one last night that makes Lauren look bad." "Nice. You gonna bring it in?" His IM chimed again, interrupting my thoughts about Lauren, and the um, enhanced version of her that I had finished the night before. "You should come talk to this guy. He's looking for someone who's looking for a good time, and who's good with 3D rendering." "Cool." Continue reading "Macon Craig" |
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