3.11.20

Selected pieces from my current project

    I am currently working on a book, tentatively titled Tales Of Terratoise. While some pieces are more like poems or speeches, it is primarily meant to be a collection of loosely connected short stories centering around a tavern that is popular among mercenaries, gallants, and other miscellaneous adventurers. It is set in a world named Terratoise, which is essentially a medieval fantasy kind of world. Some of my friends may recognize it from D&D games I've run. 
    I'm about halfway through the book, and I'd like to present one of the shorter works, The Last Testimony Of Mordred Duqvacka, and excerpts from two longer pieces. The first excerpt is from Party Hard. The second is from Bryn's Last Battle. I hope you enjoy them.
    It may help to know, that a "gallant" is a thrill seeking adventurer (typically more benevolent than a mercenary), while a "Gallaunt" is more like a community benefactor and defacto noble. I'll leave the other odd references for you to puzzle out on your own, or await the rest of the book.


The Last Testimony Of

Mordred Duqvacka


“Always listen to what your enemies have to say, not only to anticipate their plans, but because, I hate to tell you, they may well be smarter than you. People don’t just become villains on a lark, after all. There is always a reason, a moment of truth or great loss that led to their malice, because they misinterpreted or reacted badly to it. Learn the lesson they missed, because you may come upon such a moment in your own life, and you’ll want to know how to avoid falling onto the same road they did.”
— Selwyn Thasgood


    I have slain seven people with my own hands, I once charged my undead minions with the assault of an entire township, they have brought death to dozens, if not more, in various other encounters, and my living disciples and followers have dispatched a great many lives.
    For all those things, I have not been indicted today, have never been in the past, and I expect I never would be, even if I were not expecting execution myself at the culmination of these proceedings.
    Rather, the protection of my manor and laboratory licensed me to eliminate intruders. Warfare is not a crime, so long as one declares it and does not violate the rules of combat. Adversarial conflict with rivals is an anticipated risk of subterrestrial salvage operations, which is to say adventures for lost artifacts. Even outright murders, where my name was invoked, are not counted against me as long as there was no specific will or expressed solicitation from me, which there truly never was.
    I shall also point out that the teaching of necromancy is not against the law, because it has other purposes than animating undead and it is required knowledge for any attempt to effect countermeasures. Personally, I consider undeath to be the primary function of true necromancy, as the purpose of the rest could ultimately be served just as well by other schools of magic.
    No, what matters to the law is not how many deaths I am responsible for, but how I enacted them, because, to all of you, life is cheap. Well, a bit expensive perhaps, but nothing more than this. It may be challenging for you to comprehend, but, to me, life is not so cheap.
    You do not wish to die, because you wish to live. The process of dying sounds a very unpleasant experience to you, so you avoid it. You enjoy living, and so you desire to go on living. I chose life over death because I hold a deeper apperception of the difference. I understand death. That is why I sought immortality.
    I stand on trial today for abuse of the necromantic arts in the establishment of undeath. It is true that I have dedicated my life to understanding the nature of death, life, and the magics that relate to them. It is also true that I have, and have attempted to, utilize those magics to create undead. So, shall I be judged by you? Shall you who have so little understanding of what it even means to be alive, let alone dead, sit in judgement over me, a scholar of death? You say that I’ve used these magics to perform unholy acts that violate the natural order, yet you neither know anything real about them, nor do you care to, except for the results that they produce.
    You persecute me, because I use incantations that summon the undead, that animate the dead. Yet, it is not against the law to animate a chair or a candelabra. It is not a criminal act to give life, or the impression of it, to a golem made of clay, wood, or iron. What is a corpse but nonliving matter, such as clay, conveniently pre-formed in the shape of a body? And most of all, it is not a crime to raise the dead back to life, as you so often love to do with adventurers or your families, those of you who can afford to. We’ll brush past the distinction that adds to the separation between the wealthy and the poor.
    In the end, you have put me on trial, because my goal was to make myself into that which can never die, for it is neither truly alive nor wholly dead, a lyche. In the pursuit of that goal I killed, I robbed ancient ruins, monasteries, and tombs, I experimented with forces you cannot fathom, and read books in languages you have never heard of.
    Why, in a world where raising the dead is so simple, even commonplace, would I bother? After all, it was one of the first things people sought to reestablish after the Time Without Magic finally came to a merciful end. So, why should I go to so much trouble trying to achieve immortality when death can be so easily overturned? You know why, but you refuse to account for it, because you do not understand death the way I do.
    You call me a criminal, a madman, a villain, evil, twisted, abominable—why?! Because I fear death? Because I summon the undead to be my soldiers? At least I don’t ask the living to die for my cause. Because I expect these walking corpses to do my bidding? What about the dead everyone else brings back? Why are they raised? Because there’s something people expect of them: to fight their enemies, to save their town, to be a gallant, a lover, a hero, a father, a daughter—you all bring them back to do your bidding! Is that not a violation of the natural order? I say it is the worst kind.
    It is a far worse thing, in my mind, to disturb a soul at rest and expect a living being with a mind of its own to fulfill your wishes and expectations than to control a simple mass of dormant flesh that has no will of its own.
    You defend yourselves on the premise that "a soul must be willing to be brought back.” Ha! A cheap shot. What mother, if offered the chance, would not return at the tears of her child? What son at the lamentation of his father? What Gallaunt at the call of their city? What criminal at the laughter of accomplices? The truth is that the dead are always willing to live again, even when they know they shouldn’t.
    Yet I am the villain, because I bring the dead back as so-called monsters. I have sad news for you, the only way to bring them back is as monsters. You raise your heroes back whenever you can afford the coin, as many times as you please. All seems well enough the first few times, a bit of amnesia here, an odd quirk in their personality perhaps, but mostly they seem alright. So you do it again, and again, and what happens in the end?! Their very souls, tortured beyond sanity, become so tainted that the result is a twisted, raise-worn, madman that their own loved ones, more often than not, are forced to kill again!
    The thing most people fail to understand about the dead is that they are supposed to be dead. Yes, I summon the undead, but I would never be so foolish, so cruel, or so arrogant as to bring the dead back to life. Judge me if you will. Your fate lies not with me, but beside you while you sleep.
    So, I will not deny the charges against me. I am guilty of undead necromancy. I am guilty of retaining a natural fear of mortal death. I am guilty of respecting the souls of the dead more than the bodies of the dead. So, put me to death if you feel you must, oh you who hold life so cheap, but I have one final request, I entreat you, and be sure that my disciples and followers hear of this: please ensure that no one is ever allowed to tempt me to come back.



Party Hard

(excerpt, pages 1618)
    There is a semi-official entrance to The Wylds. At a point where forest begins to turn to jungle, there is a stable where they must leave their horses, as The Wylds are too thick and unpredictable for riding.
    The Wylds were abandoned by all civilized races long ago. Once, they were home to the Wyld Wizards, purveyors of a surprisingly effective, if volatile, form of chaos magic. At some point, letting magic enact its own will affected the whole environment, badly. It is not known what exactly became of the Wyld Wizards, or everything that may now dwell in their corrupted lands.
    The trees are dense and overrun with vines and hanging foliage. The trunks and branches are gnarled and contorted, in places twisting into one another so that several trees form a kind of wall together. The canopy is insolently low and oppressive, in some places so thick it lets through no direct light at all.
    The air is hot, heavy, and difficult to breath. The thick haze carries a musty smell of decay. Between the low light and the fog, line of sight is extremely limited, less than the breadth of a torch in a dark cave. With Krista’s senses, she has no trouble navigating, even in these conditions, but the passage of time is difficult to measure.
    The ground is motley and erratic. At one moment it may offer solid dirt or thick mud, threatening to leave tracks that Jasper must quickly work to cover; the next, it becomes a swampy wetland the party must trudge through slowly to minimize the sounds of sloshing, splashing and clinging glorps. Hills and valleys rise and fall suddenly, many too steep to traverse on foot, forcing occasional detours.
    Despite the density of the trees and heavy air, sound seems to carry rebelliously, bouncing and echoing so that every noise seems to simply be rather than come from any particular place. A few of the group are unsettled by unidentifiable forest babble. As they travel, Darrow becomes more and more agitated at the sound of his own party.
    Not wanting the delay of donning armor, should a battle erupt, Gynt walks in his heavy full-plate armor, which clinks and clanks with his every move. Being mithral does make it a bit quieter, but not as much so as he’d like to think.
    The strings of Leanna’s miniaturized viola catch and pluck on branches, and Leanna is having a terrible time stopping herself from humming and whistling travelling songs.
    Somewhere along the way, Rinn attempted to cozy up to Alyce by asking how Mahojin magic differs from wizard spells. Despite the fact that she is not herself a Mahojin, she prattles on somewhat aggressively about the entire history of magic, from the god Mahokami revealing it to the Mahojin people, to their great civil war (the Mage War), to their secrets being made public and “corrupted” into the “crude imitation” performed by wizards and priests today.
    Jasper rustles leaves and scratches at the ground while covering their tracks, an unfortunately loud trade-off. Mr. Grahame, Jasper’s mudge companion, grumbles and whines, occasionally trying to climb on Jasper’s back only to be shooed off. (A mudge is something like a honey badger or a wolverine, only lazier and more curmudgeonly.)
    Rinn brought his familiar, a mink named Lockyer, who occasionally teases Mr. Grahame with barks and chirps from his perch on Rinn’s shoulder. Mr. Grahame tries to ignore it, but eventually it ends the same way every time: Mr. Grahame suddenly gives Lockyer a stern grimace and Lockyer runs about Rinn into his cloak, tickling him.
    The group’s collective footsteps sound like a discordant drumline.
    It’s all Darrow can do to remind himself that yelling at them to be quiet would be self-defeating.
    Aside from Krista and Darrow himself, Fiesal is the only one who seems capable of going truly unnoticed, which makes Darrow nervous for other reasons.
    More than once, they spot the vague shapes of wild animals, and less natural predators, watching them, hoping some fool will separate from the group.
    Some time in the afternoon, they notice a pair of glowing dots that seems to be watching and following them at the edge of their vision. A few moments later, a second pair appears alongside and starts to move off to get ahead of the group. Everyone stops. They slowly reach for their weapons, watching to see what the creatures will do.
    Darrow leans close to Krista, whispering, “What sort of creature has eyes that glow that way. They seem to shift from orange to yellow.”
    Krista whispers back as she thinks out loud, “I’m not sure. It’s quite strange. They almost seem to dance about or … flicker.”
    Darrow and Krista have only a moment to share a single look, thought, and phrase, “They’re candles.”
    Before they have time to warn the others, the air is filled with the sound of guttural screeching and bodies crashing down through the canopy. In an instant, it is raining gobblings, which are much more aggressive, and much hungrier, than their goblin cousins.


Bryn's Last Battle

(excerpt, page 34)
    “At any rate, the battle! I remember it too well, it was as glorious as it was tragic. Since Bryn put me off from helping, Merian and I’d climbed up roof-wise for the view. It started as just a large goblin raid. There must have been a hundred of the breeders, and then some. They were flung-open that day too! They’d targeted healing herbs over grain, so it had to be a bite against the adventurers over some recent toss. They ripped through that field like a toiman through dirt, pulling and bagging at a gallop!
    “Having a quality Gallaunt as their patron, the farmers knew a bit of how to fight, of course, but not to take on that kind of invasion alone. Fortunately, it wasn’t too long before the warning bells brought help.
    “The Alwyn hirelings showed up in a flash, and the city guard was close behind them. A few scattered mercs and other adventurers followed along, as well.     “Bryn took a couple of minutes getting armed and all, retirees not having a habit of sitting about in gear, you know. About the time Bryn shows, everybody that had been at Journey’s Dawn got there from across the way…”     At the mention of Journey’s Dawn, Selwyn cries out, “It goes down at the Dawn!”
    A riotous chorus comes up in repetition, “It goes down at the Dawn!”
    This is followed by everyone polishing off their drinks, and yes, most of them are drinking alcohol with breakfast, well brunch. You must understand, though, it’s not quite the same as plain old alcohol on earth, like you may be accustomed to. It’s a special brew with hearty additives that help keep them in shape for—alright, they’re adventurers, and they like their drinks. What do you want me to say?
    Meanwhile, Selwyn and Rebecka exchange knowing smiles. She throws in a wink and starts readying a new round of drinks for everyone.
    Darrow, presently at the bar next to her, shakes his head at them, “I can’t believe you’ve installed a permanent drinking game in this place just to sell more ale. How exactly did you manage that, anyway?”     She gives him a puzzled look, “Me? This was their idea.”

    Meanwhile, Cyrus’s tail goes on, “... and that’s when the left flank came around and boxed the gobbers in! They were all mixed in and stuck for a fight now. So, they resigned to it, and the brawl went on. It should have gone quick with so many mercs, guards, gallants, and fighty-farmers all on the task, but like I said, those gobbers were on for it that day and stubborn.
    “As if that wasn’t enough, it seemed the goblins had been followed by a whole feast of gobblings looking to make a banquet of the goblins and their spoils. Well, some of the gobblings got impatient, as they do when hungry, which is always, and revealed themselves early. Once the jig was up, they all just poured out of the treeline."

(excerpt, pages 7-8)
    Cyrus continues, “...were clearly offended something awful. Well, after that they weren’t gonna offer any more help. So, they took wing and flew off. Meanwhile, everyone is looking at Harlow with daggers in their eyes. The poor fellow really did mean to help, but he clearly knew nothing about negotiating with hippogriffs.
    “Not long after, things really came to froth when it turned out the gobblings weren’t the worst threat either! Out of the shadows rode a dark figure, a Raiseworn, driven mad, paranoid, and bitter as a gent.
    “Oh, he’s looking the part of villain, no accident: spiked black full-plate armor, wielding a bastard in one hand and a magic rod in the other, with his personal sigil on a blood red banner over one shoulder, all set atop a wyvern he could barely keep control of. The pomp!
    “Either he was waiting and watching for his moment a lot longer than I’d expect a Raiseworn to have the patience for, or he arranged the whole thing as a trap to pull in as many town guards, mercs, and gallants as possible. Either way, he made his plans clear quick with that rod; he lifted it overhead, spoke a word, and a ring of fire sprang up around the whole mess and started spreading inward.
    “Panic broke out! Goblins, guards, gobblings, mercs, farmers, and gallants were all trampling each other before the fire even reached them! He was all set to wreak mindless vengeance on the lot of them and leave the city nearly defenseless.
    “The Guard Commander, Tykus Longborn it was, tried to rally everyone and take down the real threat, but the crowd was just a mess. No one what was paying attention could get to him, and he was alone when he reached near the Raiseworn. Tykus managed to wound the wyvern and ground its rider, but the Raiseworn jumped down from his mount and landed sword first on poor Tykus, gods rest him.
    “It was then old Bryn came up. It seemed a bit of a struggle with his age, but the old Færin took wing and lifted up over the crowd just long enough to address the chaos. The crowd turned to look, and he started giving orders like it’s his own army, and didn’t every ear listen! He says, ‘Casters, douse that fire! Sneaks, duck the farmers out of the mix! All else, feed those goblins to the gobblings, then tie up the bags while they’re fat! And leave the Raiseworn to me!’ Of course the healers didn’t  need to be told to keep everyone on their feet.
    “Just like that, Bryn had the whole mess sorting themselves out and making progress, cutting a path for him to get at the Raiseworn."

Thanks for reading!
I'll let you know when I've got the rest finished and ready to publish.


9.1.14

The Life and Diary of Harris Dueller: Dissollusion


24 DEC 91
December 24, 1991
        I’ve decided to keep a diary now that my life is “open.” It’s been two months since I arrived in New England to start over as a private eye. Things are rather quiet here, but it’s the kind of quiet that has skeletons waiting to fall out of closets or jump out of shadows. I’m not hunting cases yet, but once I’m settled in, I expect it won’t be long before action starts walking through the door.
        It would be easier to put everything in order if I had my money. I should’ve received my first pension check by now; I put in a call this morning to check on it. Whatever nameless paper pusher answered told me he couldn’t find any reference to Harris Dueller in the system. I tried to explain that I was an x-employee, but he didn’t seem to get it. I can expect a call from a supervisor sometime tomorrow. Their human resources department is every bit as efficient as Congress.
~ Harris Dueller
_________________________________________

     “Ugh!” Well, that’s the last of what’s going in the attic. Who knew I had so many boxes of junk? I hate these flimsy collapsing stairs. For all the money I put into that bookcase in the living room, I should’ve thought to have some real stairs built up here.
     I guess that’s about all I can do for now; everything that can go somewhere is where it belongs. There won’t be any more renovations until I get paid.
::RING! RING!::
     That better be my pension calling, “this is Harris Dueller.”
     “Hello Mr.Dueller,” oh no, it can’t be, please not him, “I understand you’re expecting some pension payments that haven’t come; how unfortunate.”
     Chyort voz'mi, “Hefling Balduque, it’s been a long time. Merry Christmas.”
     “You have me at a disadvantage, sir. I don’t believe I know a ‘Harris Dueller.’ In fact, I can’t seem to find a record of anyone by that name ever working here. Are you sure this is the right place? Perhaps you should try the Ace Tomato Company.”
     “Ha ha, very funny. You know my company nom de guerre. Now, quit messing around, I’ve got bills to pay and more on the way.”
     “I’m afraid I haven’t the foggiest idea what you mean, Mr.Dueller. There simply is no payment scheduled for you in our system.”
     I don’t have time for this, “Hefling, if you’re not going to take this seriously than at least have the decency to put me through to the department head.”
     “I AM the department head, and you will address me as Commissioner Balduque. You’re just as arrogant now as ever, aren’t you?”
     Wait a minute, “you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? Why? Oh, you can’t possibly still be blaming me for how things turned out. It’s been twenty years!”
     “WHY NOT‽ It’s your fault! If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be sitting here sorting through other people’s careers all day; I’d HAVE one!”
     He’s a nut! “They were competitive placement exams. It’s not my fault I scored higher than you. I wasn’t grading them! I was just trying to do my best; same as anybody.”
     “NO! You CHEATED! You cheated me in the exams, you cheated me out of field duty, and you cheated me out the career I should’ve had. You stole my life, Karson!”
     “I think you’re confusing me with someone else. My name is Dueller, and I didn’t cheat. I thought outside the box. That’s probably why they chose me! You were always a rules lawyer. Well guess what, you think inside the box and they put you in a cubicle. You got exactly what you earned!” Oh, I shouldn’t have said that.
     “There it is. You do think you’re better than me. Well guess what, now you’re gonna get what you deserve: nothing. Go think your way outta that box.”
     “Fine, I do think I’m better than you, because it’s true. If you think you’re gonna get away with this, just wait ‘till I—“ ::click::
     Yeah, I definitely shouldn’t have said that. Well that’s just great. Now what do I do? I’ve got bills going past due, no work lined up, and no pension coming any time soon. I’m gonna have to go looking for trouble, and I’ll need somewhere to bring it. Maybe I should turn that back room into an office, just for the time being.
     It’s coffee time. I need to relax. I need to think. I wonder how the local police feel about sharing. Maybe there’re some missing persons or something in the paper. May as well sit down, enjoy some hot black caffeine and mosey through the late edition.

USSR OFFICIALLY DISOLVED page 6

“Yeah, you and me both. Merry Christmas to you too, ‘ol Gorby.”

A New Step Backward, er forward ...

    I've decided to write a series of flash-fiction stories to get myself going on writing again. This way I can get used to the feeling and habit writing regularly AND finishing writing things regularly. I want to do a set of nine from different genres, but this first one is to kick off an on-going series I'd like to keep flowing for a while. It's kind of a prequel to The Investigation of Prof. Elwood Gerrts. It doesn't deal directly with that story line, but it's about detective Dueller. The first insallment will mostly be set-up, establishing his place in the world. As it moves forward, I'm hoping to make it a series of "gritty detective stories." I'm a little nervous to fulfill that concept, but I want to try it. Here's my complete list of "The Nine" flash-fictions I want to write, aka, 9,000 Words. Some of these are marked with titles I'm considering.

    Modern (20th century to present)
Hopeless Horror: Subjunct
Weird Science: The Planes Station
Detective: Dueller

     Futuristic
Space Opera: Battle Cruiser Azusa
Allegory (the more things change …)
Sci-Fi Adventure

     Medieval
Adventure-horror: Mythostrosity or Mythstrosity
(i.e. “Konan VS Cthulhu” where Konan wins)
Fantasy (traditional swords and sorcerers): Terratoise
Period (realistic)

5.2.13

ParserLewis.Lose = false

{Parser.Action
  {EntersRoom}
  {OpensMail
    {Dialogue="Ugh, another letter from
    TriangleGames."

      {ReadsLetter="Dear Mr.Parser, while we have
      had our differences in the past, it is my
      sincere hope that we can come to a meaningful
      discourse regarding the following request I
      have entered for your approval:"}

      {SkimsRemainder="Hmm...'wait for,' yadda,
      yadda, ... 'on ready, wait for,' what? ...
      blah, blah, 'print to screen,' trash ...
      garbage ... nonsense! Okay, I think I'm ready
      to respond to this."}

    }
  }
}

{NewScene=TriangleGamesHome
  {TriangleGames.Action
    {OpensMail
      {Dialogue="Oh, I got message back from
      Parser."

        {ReadsLetter="Error compiling: attribute not
        found 'TriangleGames.Brain'"}
      }
    }
  }
}

28.8.12

Smashing the Kaleidoscope

There is no such thing as a new idea. It is impossible. We simply take a lot of old ideas and put them into a sort of mental kaleidoscope. We give them a turn and they make new and curious combinations. We keep on turning and making new combinations indefinitely; but they are the same old pieces of colored glass that have been in use through all the ages.
- Mark Twain, a Biography

      This is one of my favorite quotes, although today is the first time I've had the pleasure of seeing it sans paraphrase. I completed a survey for Nintendo's 3DS, and part of my answer reminded me of this again. I said, "Modern video games are like modern cars: they're all starting to look the same."
      My greater point was that I appreciate how Nintendo continues to innovate without losing the traditional "feel" that so intangibly makes video games what they are. Then I started thinking about all the naysayers who insist Nintendo is not the innovation machine its fans make of it, and that lead me back to Mr.Twain. There are no new ideas, only new combinations of ideas. The statement seems to be true in so many facets of our world.
      Are smartphones innovative? They're basically cellphones with computer programs on them. Cellphones are just portable-phones with more range, and those are just regular phones with no cord.
      All the newest car styles are mixed-up parts of existing vehicles. It's right in the name of some of them; SUV simply stands for Sport/Utility Vehicle. There's really nothing new about powering a machine with electricity either.
      The film currently regarded as the highest grossing theater release of all time is Avatar, or as I call it, "Pocahontas In Space."
      One of the big selling points for Microsoft's xBox360 is its network service that lets you play with/against numerous other users, much like home computer games have been doing since at least the early 90's.
      So how are we to define innovation in a world devoid of any truly "new" ideas?

INNOVATION (from Merriam-Webster online)
1: the introduction of something new
2: a new idea, method, or device : novelty

      If a new "method" counts, then surely a new application does, and that should suffice to allow Nintendo to keep its fan-awarded innovation merit badge as well as anyone else. I'd like to add one more Twainism in support of Nintendo's reputation.

The man with a new idea is a Crank until the idea succeeds.
- Following the Equator

      Putting aside my defensive Nintendo fan-boy mentality, there's a greater reason I decided to write all this today, and it goes back to the statement that started this thought-train on the long winding track I thank you for following. They're all starting to look the same.
      Not just video games but everything, especially in technology. Even as a kid, I was very put off by the sight of a TV with a built in VCR. In recent times they've made game consoles act more like full computers, computers act like phones, phones act like cameras, the internet is a place where people can buy groceries, cars, and books or attend college courses and go to work. Now, I can call a friend, post to a blog, play games, take photos/videos, listen to music, read a book, watch movies, run a variety of computer applications, and surf the net all on one device. I won't lie, it's quite handy, but it also makes me sick.
      It seems to me that the electronics industry, and basically everyone, is looking to break open Mr.Twain's kaleidoscope of creativity and frankenstein ALL the pieces together into one large pane of stained-glass that presents no meaningful primary image or artistic design.
      The paranoia this gives me (at least I HOPE it's only paranoia) is that the convenience of this single Master Device will become such a focus to those responsible for pushing technology forward that progress in separate single function items like phones, TV's, computers, and video games will be noticeably slowed or even halted. A leftovers casserole can be perfectly good when cooked up by the right person, but it lacks the uniqueness, artistry, and flavor of any individual dish. As an artistic techno-junky, I enjoy seeing each artist express themselves through the specific aesthetics of their own craft. It saddens me to think that there's even a possibility of so many people losing the opportunity to do so.
      Video games are the easiest way for me to describe it. With the ability to make fully 3 dimensional play environments for games, that seems to be what everyone wants to do for every genre of game. As graphic capabilities improve, more and more developers seem convinced that every game should look as much like reality as possible. In my opinion, that hampers designers' ability to express their own unique art style in the game's animation as well as the general design and feel of each game. We've already hit a point where it's considered passe to make an actual RPG simulator, as they used to be called. It was a kind of game designed to emulate the experience of playing a table-top RPG. Now, video game RPG's are as much action games as any first-person shooter.
      The art and game-play styles of many well remembered games was a big part of what made them so memorable. What if the characters and backgrounds in games like Legend of Zelda: A Link To the Past, Secret of Mana, Final Fantasy, Super BomberMan, and MegaMan all simply looked like real people and places with an over-the-shoulder view of a 3D setting? Would so many people remember them so fondly? Would they be able to maintain their individual charms? Or would we get them mixed-up with each other in our minds?
      Compare those questions to technology and the world in general. I feel the same way about the features and sleek casing of a camera, the cover and binding of a book, the operating system of a computer, the actual physical buttons of a phone, or the controller of a game console. Are we moving toward a time when none of that will exist anymore, because all of our pieces of ideas have been lumped together in one item which looks and functions almost identically from every manufacturer? If we ever truly reach that point...

I don't want to live on this planet anymore.
- Prof.Farnsworth, Futurama

21.2.10

Unusual Password Systems

A note to the young at age: Some of you may only think of passwords as a mildly annoying security function to be dealt with by auto-fill, but back in the old days passwords were used to record progress in video games, sometimes to humorous results.

A lot of passwords in the old console era were only about 16 characters long. Some were as short as 4, and a few were much longer. Legend of the Mystical Ninja (SNES) for instance had a 60 character password using both upper and lower case letters, numbers, AND special characters! Ugh, what a chore.

I was recently playing an NES title named Faxandu, a side-scrolling RPG/adventure game that I'd heard of many times but never seen in action before. I was amazed by the ingenuity and flaws in the passwords. In Faxandu, you must go to a town sage to receive a password. The passwords record which town you are in, what items you have, and your Title. “What’s a title,” you ask?

As you gain experience and levels you reach certain benchmarks where the same sages in each town will bestow you with a title. Rather than recording your exact experience points or even your level the passwords you take record your current title. Each title is set to a specific amount of experience and gold that you start with when enter your current password. So for instance let’s say your current title provides you with 5,000 experience and 3,000 gold. If you have anything more than those amounts when you stop playing, you lose anything ‘extra’ when you return. However, because these amounts are set, if you have LESS than 3,000 gold when you take a password (say because you just spent it all on healing items), then you can stop, reset, re-enter the password, and magically be back up to 3,000 gold.

At first I thought this was just some crazy idea to be innovative, but then I thought about what a password does. Faxandu’s passwords are already 32 characters long. If they had to record exact numeric values for experience and gold through cryptic lettering then the passwords would be huge. Instead, the password only needs to use enough characters to know your title which the program can use to reference static numbers for your progress. So, while it is EXTREMELY easy to exploit, this was actual a very clever solution for such an early RPG(-ish) game.

I have to assume that these kinds of password issues are a big part of why traditional RPG simulation titles never became big until the battery powered save files were introduced. Thank god for save files, but these kinds of bizarre quirks are one of the things I miss most about older games.

14.11.09

I simply refuse to accept that.

As far as I am concerned, the following films do not exist until a sequel admits that they were simply dream sequences, as that is the only context in which I can accept them.

Alien3 (and therefore...)
Alien: Resurrection (though it tried it's best with what it had to work with.)
Star Wars: Episodes 1, 2, and 3
The Hitcher 2
The Exorcist 2
Fright Night 2
Mortal Kombat: Annihilation

I feel like something's missing...
There may be a sequel to this post.

1.8.09

The Investigation of Prof. Elwood Gerrits: Part IX

Here I am back at the museum. Karson told me that key-gel capsules never existed. I’ll have to use a lock-pick gun. Hopefully, Mathews assumes I’m in Arkham. I should surprise him. If not, there’s the M203. And they said it was pointless to keep one around the house.
There’re new guards, but no time for subtlety. This is it.
::BLAM! BLAM!::
No mercy for the wicked. Have to move in fast now.
“Mathews! It’s over. Get rid of that thing and shut down the device!” Great beyond, it’s worse than I remembered it.
It’s like some mammoth carnivorous jar-plant overflowing with tendrils, yet it has a reptilian quality. But that bulb on top is the worst part, pulsating with that sickening violet light!
I was right, Mathews is surprised, “Dueller! Why?! No matter; Ichsrloj, erase him!”
Go time. Sling the M203 under my arm, aim for that hellish bulb, and launch a grenade!
::THUP! hooooo-POW!::
It’s amazing how immediately I regret that. Instead of its flesh exploding, it has exploded with more flesh. The bulb expanded chaotically like a malignant tumor seen in time-lapse, then burst forth with countless more tendrils, each baring a bulb. What have I done? I understand now what it is I hate so much about that… those bulbs. They’re what let it rewrite reality, and now it’s going haywire.
It’s freaking out too, I think. The walls are convulsing with mutations of form to break Euclidean’s heart as reality seems to vomit new laws continuously. New spacial dimensions warp the battlefield incomprehensibly.
I would take advantage of it to get across the room to the Spire of Sobek and remove the coin, but everything’s changing so rapidly I can’t. The thing has found its balance. It seems to move by spinning like a leaning top, making it reel towards me.
Okay, new scene, old idea, “COME ON, FREAK!”
::BLAM! BLAM!::
“SHOW ME WHAT YOU’VE GOT!” Have to maneuver carefully, and pray to god it only strikes me instead of grabbing.
“Z’GREEEEEX!”
::THWAP!::
“UGH!” Yes! It threw me the right way. Land into a slide, hands steady. Fire! ::BLAM!::
I wind up at the Spire and shoot the coin, hoping some good will come of it. It pays off. As I watch the coin slide up and off into the air, flipping over and over, Mathews screams madly and the thing strobe’s with sound. The coin goes straight back down on the Spire, but it’s reversed. No chance that’s luck or skill.
The gate immediately begins drawing the creature in like a vortex. I have to get away fast, before it gets me too. No time to watch and double-check anything.
Outside, I can see the whole building folding in, then all stops. The gate must have stopped when the Spire got pulled through. It’s over. The thing is gone. Mathews is gone. What Am I forgetting?
“Agent Dueller, I’m sorry.” Oh, Karson.
::BLAM! BLAM!::
Well, can’t say I blame him. What a beautiful light.

28.7.09

Doublemint!

That's right, it's Two Times Tuesday!

My apologies to anyone whose looking for having missed last Thursday's installment. I've been wearing myself too thin to keep up with the kids and etc etc blah blah yadda yadda you know what I mean, right?

Anyway, I've got to have at least nine prts to this thing, right? So, Witrh a little extra coffee and determination I pounded out one late last night and the other this morning. So I guess the last one will be ... Let's call it Friday just to be safe, but hope that it come "early" on Thursday.

Also, I haven't been commenting on anyone else's stories because I just haven't been at the computer long enough to read them, but I'll catch up on that too. I'm dying to know what's going on in some of these! Best of luck to all (and myself), see you on the other side! (Of the project)

The Investigation of Prof. Elwood Gerrits: Part VIII

Mathews isn’t done yet. He’s gonna call every one of those damnable abominations to the gate he opened using the Spire of Sobek. There’s no knowing how many there are, but if they can alter physics just be looking at it then it wouldn’t take many to completely warp our reality to their blasphemous whim. Why would anyone want to worship these things? I’ll never understand cultists.
I’m banking he’s still got everything set up at the museum. I better head there immediately. They told me Gerrits never worked there, and they haven’t received any new inventory in years, but they’re all liars. Somehow Mathews has got everyone lying to me to cover this up. My old partner, Karson, was one of the truest and most loyal people I’ve ever known, but even he’s full of sh—wait, is he?
Oh god. The planar wraiths can alter reality. Maybe it’s all been changed. I’m not crazy, and there’s no cover up or conspiracy. All my memories are real, but none of them ever happened to me. Mathews and that creature have made it all true so that I look crazy. Or, if my memories are all based on a reality that no longer exists, then am I crazy?
That would mean Karson’s not a traitor. He’s the same as he’s always been, and he’s going to come after me. He’s going to go for blood, because I really am a murderous lunatic. Do I even have any right to stop him?
Stop it! That’s nonsense! Even if all that’s true, I’m still justified, because I know the truth. Hmm, I know …. If that thing used its mind to alter my reality, then maybe it left some extra stuff in my mind. That would explain all the strange things that have been popping into my head.
Hey! If I really am still CIA, then maybe my old house is still there! It was in my brother’s name, so there’d be no reason to sell it when I “went crazy.” He never used it either, it'd be just the way I left it! I’m making a stop before the museum. This could be very helpful.

Ah, home sweet home. Now let’s see, a spare key should be … taped inside the door above the mail slot … YES! Wow, I had a lot of cheesy 80’s stuff. No time for nostalgia. The equipment room should still have all my old gear.
::COUGH! COUGH!:: Ech, I’ve never seen dust like this.
Okay, I gotta remember this: Set the radio to AM 1066 … reverse the window blinds … and pull on this hanging lamp …
::K-TUNG! Cree-eek::
Hidden room revealed! What have I got in here? 9mm, flak vest, radio jammer … alright, I’m as ready as I’m gonna be now. It’s time to high-tail it to the museum and stop an apocalypse … I do sound crazy. But then if I wasn’t, I might give up.