tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72282729423927698182024-03-05T19:45:06.129-05:00Triangle Games MasterHe has been known by many names--Dungeon Master, Storyteller, Ghost Master, Narrator, Game Master, Kevin--all these speak to one being: the GM.
Never give the GM an idea. He will innevitably use it against you. Especially if it involves exciting new items!
These are the twisted tales of the T-GM,
Evan A. Williams.Triangle Games-Masterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993712998787317488noreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7228272942392769818.post-56524538872624938062020-11-03T21:21:00.000-05:002020-11-03T21:21:35.688-05:00Selected pieces from my current project<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span> </span>I am currently working on a book, tentatively titled <i>Tales Of Terratoise</i>. 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. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span> </span>I'm about halfway through the book, and I'd like to present one of the shorter works, <i>The Last Testimony Of Mordred Duqvacka</i>, and excerpts from two longer pieces. The first excerpt is <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">from </span><i style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Party Hard</i><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">. The second </span>is from <i>Bryn's Last Battle</i><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">. I hope you enjoy them.<br /></span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>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.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><p></p><div><span id="docs-internal-guid-a463a244-7fff-b9bd-6048-f9a5c6bd10f6"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Constantia, serif; font-size: 18pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Last Testimony Of</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Constantia, serif; font-size: 18pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mordred Duqvacka</span></p><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin: 0pt 72pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Constantia, serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p style="line-height: 1.2; margin: 0pt 72pt;"></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Constantia, serif; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></div><blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Constantia, serif; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“A</span>lways 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.”</div><div style="text-align: right;">— Selwyn Thasgood</div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"></div><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 36pt;"><br /></p><span> </span>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.<br /><span> </span>For all those things, I have <i>not</i> 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.<br /><span> </span>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 <i>my name</i> 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.<br /><span> </span>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 <i>true</i> necromancy, as the purpose of the rest could ultimately be served just as well by other schools of magic. <br /><span> </span>No, what matters to the law is not how <i>many</i> deaths I am responsible for, but <i>how</i> I enacted them, because, to all of you, life is cheap. Well, a <i>bit</i> expensive perhaps, but nothing more than this. It may be challenging for you to comprehend, but, to me, life is not so cheap.<br /><span> </span>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>I understand death</i>. That is why I sought immortality.<br /><span> </span>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 <i>be alive</i>, 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.<br /><span> </span>You <i>persecute</i> 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 <i>impression</i> 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.<br /><span> </span>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.<br /><span> </span>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 <i>know</i> why, but you refuse to account for it, because you do not <i>understand death</i> the way I do.<br /><span> </span>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 <i>living</i> to die for <i>my</i> 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 <i>worst kind</i>.<br /><span> </span>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.<br /><span> </span>You defend yourselves on the premise that "a soul must be <i>willing</i> 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.<br /><span> </span>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 <i>is</i> 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 <i>again!</i><br /><span> </span>The thing most people fail to understand about the dead is that they are <i>supposed</i> to be dead. Yes, I summon the <i>undead</i>, but I would never be so foolish, so cruel, or so <b>arrogant</b> as to bring the dead back to <i>life</i>. Judge me if you will. Your fate lies not with me, but beside you while you sleep.<br /><span> </span>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 <i>souls</i> of the dead more than the <i>bodies</i> 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 <i>entreat</i> 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.<div><span style="font-family: Constantia, serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span></div><div><span style="text-align: left;"><div style="font-size: 14.6667px; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-size: 14.6667px; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><b>Party Hard</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">(excerpt, pages 16<span id="docs-internal-guid-c00e70e1-7fff-158f-4d8b-fa3bb1151e9b"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">–</span></span>18)</span></div><div style="text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span> </span>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.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>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.<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>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.<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>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.<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>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.<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>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 <i>his own party</i>.<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>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.<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>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.<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>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.<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>Jasper rustles leaves and scratches at the ground while covering their tracks, an unfortunately loud </span><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">trade-off</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">. 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 </span></span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">curmudgeonly</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">.)</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>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.<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>The group’s collective footsteps sound like a discordant drumline.<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>It’s all Darrow can do to remind himself that yelling at them to be quiet would be self-defeating.<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>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.<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>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.<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>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.<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>Darrow leans close to Krista, whispering, “What sort of creature has eyes that glow that way. They seem to shift from orange to yellow.”<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>Krista whispers back as she thinks out loud, “I’m not sure. It’s quite strange. They almost seem to dance about or … <i>flicker</i>.”<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>Darrow and Krista have only a moment to share a single look, thought, and phrase, “They’re candles.”<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>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.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><b>Bryn's Last Battle</b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">(excerpt, page 3</span><span id="docs-internal-guid-c00e70e1-7fff-158f-4d8b-fa3bb1151e9b"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">–</span></span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">4)</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“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!</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“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.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span> </span>“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.
<span> </span>“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…”
<span> </span>At the mention of Journey’s Dawn, Selwyn cries out, “It goes down at the Dawn!”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span> </span>A riotous chorus comes up in repetition, “It goes down at the Dawn!”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>This is followed by everyone polishing off their drinks, and yes, most of them are drinking alcohol with breakfast, well brunch. Y</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">ou 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?</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span> </span>Meanwhile, Selwyn and Rebecka exchange knowing smiles. She throws in a wink and starts readying a new round of drinks for everyone.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span> </span>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?”
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span> </span>She gives him a puzzled look, “Me? This was <i>their</i> idea.”</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span> </span>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.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-dd861e5e-7fff-28c5-09d0-33137ebfb99b"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“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 </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">all</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> just poured out of the treeline."</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">(excerpt, pages 7-8)</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span> </span>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.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span> </span>“Not long after, things <i>really</i> 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.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span> </span>“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!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span> </span>“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.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span> </span>“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.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span> </span>“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.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span> </span>“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.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span> </span>“Just like that, Bryn had the whole mess sorting themselves out and making progress, cutting a path for him to get at the Raiseworn."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><b>Thanks for reading!</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">I'll let you know when I've got the rest finished and ready to publish.</span></div><div><br /></div></span></span></span></div><div style="font-family: Constantia, serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></div></span><p style="font-family: Constantia, serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"></p></div><p></p>Triangle Games-Masterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993712998787317488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7228272942392769818.post-22997483772619662952014-01-09T13:06:00.001-05:002014-01-09T13:06:40.330-05:00The Life and Diary of Harris Dueller: Dissollusion<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:RelyOnVML/>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: small;"><s><span style="font-family: "Segoe Script","sans-serif";">24
DEC 91</span></s></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Segoe Script","sans-serif";">December
24, 1991</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Segoe Script","sans-serif";"> 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.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Segoe Script","sans-serif";"> 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 </span><i><span style="font-family: "Segoe Print";">x-employee</span></i><span style="font-family: "Segoe Script","sans-serif";">, but he didn’t seem to get it.
I can expect a call from a supervisor sometime </span><i><span style="font-family: "Segoe Print";">tomorrow</span></i><span style="font-family: "Segoe Script","sans-serif";">. Their human resources
department is every bit as efficient as Congress.</span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Segoe Script","sans-serif";">~ Harris Dueller</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Segoe Script","sans-serif";">_________________________________________</span></span></div>
<br />
“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.<br />
I guess that’s about all I can do for now; everything that <i>can</i> go somewhere is where it belongs. There won’t be any more renovations until I get paid.<br />
::RING! RING!::<br />
That better be my pension calling, “this is Harris Dueller.”<br />
“Hello Mr.Dueller,” oh no, it can’t be, <i>please</i> not him, “I understand you’re expecting some pension payments that haven’t come; how unfortunate.”<br />
Chyort voz'mi, “Hefling Balduque, it’s been a long time. Merry Christmas.”<br />
“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.”<br />
“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.”<br />
“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.”<br />
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.”<br />
“I <b><i>AM</i></b> the department head, and you will address me as <i>Commissioner Balduque</i>. You’re just as arrogant now as ever, aren’t you?”<br />
Wait a minute, “you’re doing this <i>on purpose</i>, aren’t you? Why? Oh, you can’t possibly still be blaming me for how things turned out. It’s been twenty years!”<br />
“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!”<br />
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.”<br />
“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!”<br />
“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 <i>inside the box</i> and they put you <i>in a cubicle</i>. You got exactly what you earned!” Oh, I shouldn’t have said that.<br />
“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.”<br />
“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::<br />
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.<br />
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. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">USSR OFFICIALLY DISOLVED</span></span><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> page 6</span></span></div>
<br />
“Yeah, you and me both. Merry Christmas to you too, ‘ol Gorby.” Triangle Games-Masterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993712998787317488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7228272942392769818.post-75024877283578429252014-01-09T12:33:00.000-05:002014-01-09T12:38:13.847-05:00A 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 <i>The Investigation of Prof. Elwood Gerrts</i>. 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, <i>9,000 Words</i>. Some of these are marked with titles I'm considering.<br />
<br />
<b>Modern</b> (20th century to present)<br />
Hopeless Horror: <i>Subjunct</i><br />
Weird Science: <i>The Planes Station</i><br />
Detective: <i>Dueller</i><br />
<br />
<b>Futuristic</b><br />
Space Opera: <i>Battle Cruiser Azusa</i><br />
Allegory (the more things change …)<br />
Sci-Fi Adventure<br />
<br />
<b>Medieval</b> <br />
Adventure-horror: <i>Mythostrosity</i> or <i>Mythstrosity</i><br />
(i.e. “Konan VS Cthulhu” where Konan wins)<br />
Fantasy (traditional swords and sorcerers): <i>Terratoise</i><br />
Period (realistic)Triangle Games-Masterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993712998787317488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7228272942392769818.post-30793968825214716082013-02-05T12:24:00.001-05:002013-02-05T12:27:14.909-05:00ParserLewis.Lose = false<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">{Parser.Action</span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> {EntersRoom}</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> {OpensMail</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> {Dialogue="<span style="font-size: small;">Ugh</span>, another letter from</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b> </b></span>TriangleGames."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> {ReadsLetter="Dear Mr.Parser, while we have</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> had our<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>differences in the past, it is my</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> sincere hope that<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>we can come to a meaningful</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> discourse regarding the<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>following request I</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> have entered for your approval:"}</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> {SkimsRemainder="Hmm...'wait for,' yadda,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> yadda, ...<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>'on ready, wait for,' what? ...</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> blah, blah, 'print to<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>screen,' trash ...</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> garbage ... nonsense! Okay, I think<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>I'm ready</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> to respond to this."}</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> }</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> }</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">}</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">{NewScene<span style="font-size: small;">=</span>TriangleGamesHome</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> {TriangleGames.Action</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> {OpensMail</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> {Dialogue="Oh, I got message back from</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> Parser."</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> {ReadsLetter="Error compiling: attribute not</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> found<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>'TriangleGames.Brain'"}</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> }</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> }</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> }</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">}</span></span></span></div>
Triangle Games-Masterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993712998787317488noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7228272942392769818.post-44395997620428870112012-08-28T16:32:00.000-04:002012-08-28T16:32:00.568-04:00Smashing the Kaleidoscope<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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.
<br>- <i>Mark Twain, a Biography</i></blockquote>
<br>      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." <br>      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.
<br>      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.
<br>      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.
<br>      The film currently regarded as the highest grossing theater release of all time is <i>Avatar</i>, or as I call it, "<i>Pocahontas In Space.</i>"
<br>      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.
<br>      So how are we to define innovation in a world devoid of any truly "new" ideas? <br>
<br><blockquote>
INNOVATION (from Merriam-Webster online)
<br>1: the introduction of something new
<br>2: a new idea, method, or device : novelty </blockquote>
<br>      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.<br>
<br><blockquote>The man with a new idea is a Crank until the idea succeeds.
<br>- <i>Following the Equator</i>
</blockquote>
<br>      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.
<br>      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 <i>one device</i>. I won't lie, it's quite handy, but it also makes me sick.
<br>      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.
<br>      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 <i>artistic</i> 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.
<br>      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.
<br>      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 <i>Legend of Zelda: A Link To the Past, Secret of Mana, Final Fantasy, Super BomberMan,</i> and <i>MegaMan</i> 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?
<br>      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...<br>
<br><blockquote>I don't want to live on this planet anymore.
<br>- Prof.Farnsworth, <i>Futurama</i></blockquote>Triangle Games-Masterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993712998787317488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7228272942392769818.post-4872375259222333472010-02-21T21:04:00.001-05:002010-02-21T21:08:31.620-05:00Unusual Password SystemsA 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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?<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Triangle Games-Masterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993712998787317488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7228272942392769818.post-77861262870609708592009-11-14T04:08:00.003-05:002009-11-14T04:18:32.477-05:00I 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.<br /><br />Alien3 (and therefore...)<br />Alien: Resurrection (though it tried it's best with what it had to work with.)<br />Star Wars: Episodes 1, 2, and 3<br />The Hitcher 2<br />The <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Exorcist</span> 2<br />Fright Night 2<br />Mortal <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Kombat</span>: Annihilation<br /><br />I feel like <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">something's</span> missing...<br />There may be a sequel to this post.Triangle Games-Masterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993712998787317488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7228272942392769818.post-58213040061665075802009-08-01T03:04:00.001-04:002009-08-01T03:05:41.617-04:00The Investigation of Prof. Elwood Gerrits: Part IX<div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">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.<br />There’re new guards, but no time for subtlety. This is it.<br />::BLAM! BLAM!::<br />No mercy for the wicked. Have to move in fast now.<br />“Mathews! It’s over. Get rid of that thing and shut down the device!” Great beyond, it’s worse than I remembered it.<br />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!<br />I was right, Mathews is surprised, “Dueller! Why?! No matter; Ichsrloj, erase him!”<br />Go time. Sling the M203 under my arm, aim for that hellish bulb, and launch a grenade!<br />::THUP! hooooo-POW!::<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />Okay, new scene, old idea, “COME ON, FREAK!”<br />::BLAM! BLAM!::<br />“SHOW ME WHAT YOU’VE GOT!” Have to maneuver carefully, and pray to god it only strikes me instead of grabbing.<br />“Z’GREEEEEX!”<br />::THWAP!::<br />“UGH!” Yes! It threw me the right way. Land into a slide, hands steady. Fire! ::BLAM!::<br />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.<br />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.<br />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?<br />“Agent Dueller, I’m sorry.” Oh, Karson.<br />::BLAM! BLAM!::</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Well, can’t say I blame him. What a beautiful light.</span></div>Triangle Games-Masterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993712998787317488noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7228272942392769818.post-47782612728005590582009-07-28T10:53:00.002-04:002009-07-28T10:58:31.548-04:00Doublemint!That's right, it's Two Times Tuesday!<br /><br />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?<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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)Triangle Games-Masterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993712998787317488noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7228272942392769818.post-86151790516817529282009-07-28T10:52:00.002-04:002009-07-28T11:05:47.508-04:00The Investigation of Prof. Elwood Gerrits: Part VIII<div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">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.<br />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?<br />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?<br />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?<br />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.<br />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.<br /><br />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.<br />::COUGH! COUGH!:: Ech, I’ve never seen dust like this.<br />Okay, I gotta remember this: Set the radio to AM 1066 … reverse the window blinds … and pull on this hanging lamp …<br />::K-TUNG! Cree-eek::<br />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.</span></div>Triangle Games-Masterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993712998787317488noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7228272942392769818.post-53884732946185438112009-07-28T02:28:00.001-04:002009-07-28T02:34:02.947-04:00The investigation of Pro. Elwood Gerrits: Part VII<div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Options: museum, university.<br />If I’m right about the body-morph, then Mathews may still be living at ‘Professor Gerrits’s’ home, which should be in the university’s records.<br />If that … entity is still around, then it might use the museum as a base, if it even thinks that way. Mathews might be with it. Although, if I can avoid confronting the planar wraith, I’d prefer—whoa, where did I get ‘planar wraith?’<br />“Planar wraith: a conglomerate of displaced spirits merged through anmitosis in limbo, taking uncertain abstract physical form or possessing a mortal, and adept with reverse perception in the prior,” UGH, my head! Why do I know all this? I’m not sure what’s worse: what the thing is or the fact that I know. What is ‘reverse perception?’<br />“…” oh, sure, now I can’t have random information.<br />I think I’ll start at the university, after dark.<br /><br />I couldn’t find any real burgling tools while waiting for nightfall. I’ll have to go in the old fashioned way, which will probably set off an alarm. Fortunately, I noticed where the records are when I was in Dean Crowley’s office. Let’s see them explain that with me in an asylum.<br />This looks like a good spot; it’s well obscured and near the office. Alright, time to … notice an open window? That’s … disturbingly helpful, but I’ll take it. I’m in. The office should be this way.<br />What? Come on, Crowley! What do you need with a network linked electric door lock? I’ll have to log into his secretary’s PC. Let’s try the WarGames method. Not the cabinet … or under the desk … ah! Her password post-it is inside the drawer. I love human flaws.<br />Log in … security admin … entries … office …<br />::click::<br />Files on left, employee records: A, B, C, D, E, F, H, I—eeexcuse me? Somebody took the whole G section. They were either in a hurry, or extremely cavalier. It’s probably pointless, but I’ll check the computer. Yup, someone actually deleted the entire file tree.<br />I wonder if Google knows about “reverse perception” or “anmitosis”… nope. As long as I’m here, I’ll see if their infamous occult library can help. I can unlock it from here.<br />Even the hallways are creepy. Here. There’s occult science. These ought to be covered in Tobin’s edition of the necronomicon … this random knowledge is starting to bother me.<br />There it is, “Anmitosis: an involuntary process by which multiple objects are forced by the absence of relative spacial dimensions to combine into a singular form; common amongst spirits trapped between planes.”<br />That’s disturbing. How about, “Reverse perception: possessed by humans at such a low degree as to be generally uncredited; the altering of physical laws through forcefully re-interpretive observation; sends information out to reality as opposed to receiving it; a defining characteristic of planar wraiths.”<br />Whoa, there’s a ritual to form a “summoning beacon” which brings all planar-wraiths to an open plane-gate … which is torn out.</span></div>Triangle Games-Masterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993712998787317488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7228272942392769818.post-19100349592341184282009-07-22T02:24:00.000-04:002009-07-22T02:26:24.977-04:00The Investigation of Prof. Elwood Gerrits: Part VI<div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It’s 02:57 hours. The night check should be coming soon. I can’t wait any longer. I have to make my move now. I wish I understood more about what’s going on though.<br /> The more I talk with Karson and my doctor, the less sense either version of my past makes. Now they’re telling me the museum hasn’t received new inventory in over a decade. So why was Professor Gerrits even there? If I’ve been committed and incoherent all this time, how did I manage to track down a professor who specializes in Derrick Mathews’ same interests then plan and execute his murder all in one day? Even their story is falling apart. OH! Here he comes, time to play crazy.<br /> “AHHH! IT’S HERE! IT’S COME BACK FOR ME! HELP! IT’S A MONSTER!” Add in some shadow boxing with the ‘thing,’ and we have a complete hallucination scene.<br /> “Gary! Bring a sedative! This guy’s losing it!” This is the wrong line of work for him. He’s in panic, which is going to make overtaking them much easier.<br /> “Okay, Dueller, hold still!” Fat chance, pal. First the needle needs to go. Dislocate the shoulder.<br /> <strong>::CRACK-POP!::</strong> “GAH!”<br /> Your turn, I can’t have you picking it up. Hard strike at the base of the skull.<br /> <strong>::THWAK!::</strong> “AH—…”<br /> Now finish Gary, before he regains composure and calls back-up.<br /> “I’m using a sleeper hold on you instead of a quick knock-out because I need you to listen but not scream. I’m not crazy, but I am former CIA. I haven’t killed anyone, but I will if I have to. Tell doctor Petrov everyone will be better off if you all forget I was ever here. Goodnight.”<br /> A little struggle was expected, so the rest of the noises will be written off by anyone who heard. Time is short to take advantage of that. Get the keys and the sedative … head to the end of the hall … and use a service entrance. This is too easy. I’m out.<br /> Go to the back streets. Find a bum, “Hey, I’ll give you what’s in this syringe for your pants and coat.”<br /> “What is it?” He looks pathetic, but there’s no time for pity.<br /> “Does it matter?” I’m glad he’s accepted that. A little extra sleep won’t hurt him anyway.<br /> I’ve got some time to think while I find a hideout and re-organize. I figure either I am crazy <em>now</em> and I’ve been perceiving things wrong since the museum, or there’s a conspiracy against me that involves my own partner. That’s an unfortunate pair to have to distinguish, since any good CIA cover-up will have hidden the evidence to tell them apart. I can assume that if I ever was a private investigator, I’m not now. There’s only one thing that can solve all my problems now. I have to find Derrick Mathews, and he has to be alive. But if he finally got what he wanted, then where do I start looking?</span></div>Triangle Games-Masterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993712998787317488noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7228272942392769818.post-66905514285396128542009-07-17T01:27:00.001-04:002009-07-17T01:29:21.447-04:00The Investigation of Prof. Elwood Gerrits: Part V<div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Karson is coming again today. It’s been almost daily for three weeks. He’s been researching leads for me, and he helped convince the staff to let me read my file. All I’ve found are more questions and a gnawing in my mind that I’m really not crazy, despite evidence to the contrary. That’s what they all say around here, though.<br /> “Good morning, Dueller.” There he is.<br /> I wonder how long he’ll endure me, “Hi, Karson. I’m sorry to do this, but I gotta take it from the top again. Something’s missing. I know it.”<br /> ::sigh:: “Alright, Dueller. We tracked an occultist named Derrick Mathews to Kom Ombo, Egypt. We split up and I found you convulsing and babbling in the temple. Even after you stabilized, you didn’t make any sense, and you were committed here at Arkham. Mathews hasn’t been seen since. That was eighteen years ago.”<br /> If only I could remember what really happened then, “And I stayed that way until three weeks ago?”<br /> “Yes,” I can see he’s getting bored and maybe a little sad too, “You escaped, brutally murdered a Professor from Miskatonic University who was doing research at the Pickman Memorial Museum along with a guard. You were found unconscious and blood soaked in the back ally of the museum and returned here. The next morning you started talking coherently for the first time since Kom Ombo.”<br /> I couldn’t have done that. I shot him and he didn’t bleed, “So the last eighteen years of being a private investigator is all what, a fabrication of my mind?”<br /> “Doctor Petrov believes you concocted it subconsciously the night of the murders as a coping mechanism. I checked with the business bureau. You’ve never held a P.I. license. No one at Miskatonic or the museum remembers ever meeting you, and Professor Gerrits was never missing. There were some odd coincidences with the other cases you mentioned working, but none of the clients you named know who you are,” That doesn’t leave me much to work with, Karson.<br /> “Okay, now let me think …” What’s missing? “Wait a minute! How do they know who I killed?”<br /> “There was enough carrion for two bodies, and Gerrits and the guard are missing.”<br /> That’s it! “There were two guards, Karson! I didn’t kill Gerrits at all!”<br /> He’s not impressed, “Then why hasn’t anyone heard from him?”<br /> “There never was an Elwood Gerrits! It was Mathews! That day at the temple he summoned something into himself and it changed him; that’s how he disappeared!” I’m losing his interest, but I’m figuring it all out, “He finally freed it from himself at the museum, and now he’s changed back, making ‘Gerrits’ disappear!”<br /> “That’s great, Dueller,” he doesn’t believe me, “Unfortunately it’s not a theory that will get you out of here, and now that you’re cognizant they’ll prosecute you for the murders properly.”<br /> It doesn’t matter now. I know who I’m looking for. It’s time for a real escape!</span></div>Triangle Games-Masterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993712998787317488noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7228272942392769818.post-16779371288645598872009-07-14T20:00:00.002-04:002009-07-17T01:30:37.036-04:00The Investigation of Prof. Elwood Gerrits: Part IV<div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">As I groggily awaken, my throbbing head pounds out the question, ‘what happened last night?’ I’m home in bed. That hasn’t happened in awhile. Wait, why is there sound-proofing on my walls? This isn’t my room.<br />Ohhh, my head! I’m so bleary. Well, it’s certainly spartan in here. There’s just the bed, padded walls, a barred window, and a steel door … locked from outside. No. “No, NO! HELLO?! I’m not a crazy person! You can release me! How did I get here!? Somebody!? Let me out of here, immediately! I am NOT insane!”<br />“Dueller?” Finally, a guard!<br />“There’s been a mistake. I need to speak to a doctor about getting out of here.” That was polite. Guards like polite. This should be quick.<br />“You picked a weird time to start talking. I’ll get doctor Petrov.”<br />How did this happen? I was looking for Professor Gerrits. I found him working in secret on some ritual. Then … ohhhh … what was that thing that came out of his body? Then he changed into … Derrick Mathews, the man I hunted through Egypt back with the CIA! It must have been him the whole time, but that other creature was … unfathomable!<br />I hear footsteps. Please be a reasonable minded doctor, “Hello, Dueller. How are you feeling?”<br />“Like I’ve been kidnapped, no offense. I don’t know how I got here, but I know I’m not insane. Could you explain why I’m here, while filing my release papers…” or we could just skip to the last part, really.<br />“Hmm. I’m afraid I won’t be allowed to speak with you until Agent Karson arrives. I’ll send for him immediately. Please, try to relax until then.” What? No!<br />“Whoa, wait! I’m sorry, but that shouldn’t be necessary. Actually, that doesn’t even make sense. In fact, who is this ‘Agent Karson’ of which you speak?” Oh, right, I really ought to deny knowing anything about agents until I know what he knows. It’s been awhile.<br />“You needn’t be coy, Agent Dueller. The CIA’s involvement in your case has been quite heavy-handed. I’m not permitted to treat you or discuss your case without your partner in the room. He’s been relocated here, so he’ll arrive shortly. I can explain everything then.” He’s acting cool, but he’s clearly afraid of something. Well, looks like more waiting. Huzzah.<br /><br />“Dueller?” FINALLY! He’s here!<br />“Karson! Tell them I’m not crazy, so we can get out of here, would ya?”<br />That’s not a happy face, “It’s not that simple Dueller. You can’t just wake up one day and not be crazy, especially now.”<br />“What are you talking about? I saw something bizarre last night and I fainted. Now I’m crazy all of a sudden?! Why is the Agency handling my case, anyway? I haven’t had government insurance since I became a P.I.”</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">He looks very disappointed, “Listen to me. You’ve been here at Arkham for the last eighteen years, and you’ve never been a private investigator.”</span></div>Triangle Games-Masterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993712998787317488noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7228272942392769818.post-40035542721753114612009-07-09T11:50:00.004-04:002009-07-17T01:30:14.197-04:00The Investigation of Prof. Elwood Gerrits: Part III<div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So, Professor Gerrits wasn't kidnapped. He's just a cult priest using ancient artifacts in a secret ritual, and he has lackeys that’ll wake up in about five minutes. Things could be worse.<br />From what I know of cults, I'd best find out what his goal is before shutting him down. It’s easier to stop others from following behind him that way. What’s he working with?<br />A lot of this stuff seemed familiar when I poked around earlier. Almost like I've read about them but not actually seen them. The only time I would've done that was when tracking Derrick Mathews in Kom Ombo. But why would I have read about ALL of this? And what would Gerrits need with such an eclectic set? He's got Marsh's Marceline (labeled 'DO NOT UNVEIL!'), diagrams of planar wraiths, Zahn's violin, an emerald bird-cage, a dozen grotesque statuettes, the Spire of Sobek, the silver key—hold on, Sobek?<br />The temple in Kom Ombo was dedicated to Sobek. He had a ... crocodile's head! Mathews was there for the Spire and something else. It was a … large disk with a hole, like an oversized Yen coin. I don’t see it, but I’ll bet Gerrits has it on him.<br />Thinking about the fact that eighteen years of droll existence has lead me back to this leaves me with an uncomfortable feeling. It’s almost as though I never stopped working that case. Like I’ve been hiding out, laying in wait for some certain moment. And this is it, he’s taking out the disk!<br />Weapon ready, “STOP! Put the disk down, and back away slowly, Gerrits, or I <em>will</em> fire,” he doesn’t look a bit surprised or angry. I don’t like that.<br />“Agent Dueller, how nice of you to join us. We’ve waited a long time for this reunion,” Agent? Reunion? I’m liking this less and less.<br />“I’m a bit embarrassed, Professor. I don’t recall meeting you before.”<br />“The appearance has changed a bit since we’ve been together, but you’ll soon recognize it. We are about to part at last.” What on earth is he babbling about? Where is this ‘we?’<br />Enough chit-chat, “Put the disk down, now, or I’m going to open fire!”<br />“Master! Are you alright?” oh great, the guards are awake already.<br />“Yes. Take care of our guest, please,” sorry Prof., bullets are faster than legs.<br />::BANG! BANG!::<br />What?! He’s not even flinching, and the guards are on me, “NO! LET GO!” He’s placing the disk on the spire. I’m too late!<br />“You interrupted us before, forcing me to co-inhabit this frail flesh. Now, you will see!” He’s changing! His face … it’s Mathews! There’s something … coming out of him?<br />Dear lord, that’s not possible. I don’t even understand what I’m seeing. How could such a thing exist? It’s terrifying, and just looking at it is so confusing it hurts! I feel like my mind may just—<br />::snap::</span></div>Triangle Games-Masterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993712998787317488noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7228272942392769818.post-17626279014695987012009-07-07T23:22:00.003-04:002009-07-07T23:41:55.210-04:00The Investigation of Prof. Elwood Gerrits: Part IIAfter leaving Miskatonic University, I go to the Pickman Memorial Museum with nothing but a photo of Professor Gerrits and a vague discomfort. I’m greeted by another wonder of pointlessly cryptic structures. I haven’t seen anything this bizarre since my time in Egypt.<br />“Hello, I’m Professor Dueller, a colleague of Gerrits. May I speak to the curator?” Or can you tear yourself away from texting. It’s a wonder they don’t lose all sorts of things with such expert security cheerleaders.<br />“Uhhh, yeah, sorry. You lost a collie?”<br />I’ve never BEEN so sorry to see pretty girl; my face hurts, “Yes, the curator is holding it for me. Where is he?”<br />“Did you try his office?”<br />I have neither the time nor patience, “Can I see this a second? ‘Paging the curator to reception. Curator needed at reception.’ Thanks.” She’s already back to her phone.<br />“What’s going on here?” He must have been close by. That’s a little creepy … and annoying.<br />“Curator? Dueller, from Miskatonic. Let’s talk about Gerrits.”<br />“Oh, good. Come with me.” He’s taking me into the back, finally someone intelligent, “This is it. Open it up, please.”<br />What? “I don’t understand. Why would <strong>I</strong> open it?”<br />He looks unhappy, “You got the key from Professor Gerrits, right?”<br />What does he think is going on? “I was hired to <em>find</em> Gerrits. Crowley didn’t tell you, did he?”<br />“No. I believed the professor had simply abandoned his duties here, but he had the key to the warehouse. We only keep one, for security.”<br />High-school girls are guards, but an extra key is too much? “Well, if he’s been kidnapped then that’s why, but what would anyone want?”<br />“Professor Gerrits was researching some purely historical items, never meant for display. A few would be of extreme interest to certain off-color religious groups.”<br />You’re kidding me, “You mean <em>cult</em> groups?”<br />“Well, yes.”<br />“Well, you’re in luck. I happen to have a new key.” I love this. I must thank Agent Karson for his under-the-table provisions. Insert stem, pop capsule…<br />::hissss::<br />…foam expansion and solidification, “Voila. Don’t ask. Has anyone tried sneaking in lately?”<br />He’s in shock, “I placed an extra man on the door. There’s been nothing.”<br />Here comes the boredom, “I’d like to stay overnight and look around, see if anything exciting strikes me. They’ll be back eventually. Don’t tell anyone.”<br />“Ah… certainly,” perfect! He’s too impressed to say no. Now we wait…<br />*<br />I hate waiting. It’s almost 23:00. I’ll just—WAIT! Hello, black-hooded crazy-man. The guards will distract him while I … oh, crap.<br />“Good evening, gentlemen.”<br />“Ia, ia, vak tahl.”<br />That’s bad. Plan B: charge!<br />“HEY! WHO AR—“ ::KNOCK! Thud, thud::<br />“See what happens when you put your heads together? Sleep tight.” Now, let’s see who’s home. He must’ve been here all week. He’s got a whole stage set up back here, complete with alter and unholy book-stand. If I can sneak around maybe I can see what he’s … oh no. He is professor Gerrits.Triangle Games-Masterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993712998787317488noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7228272942392769818.post-50208386985633498692009-07-02T22:28:00.004-04:002009-07-04T22:21:11.282-04:00The Investigation of Prof. Elwood Gerrits: Part I<div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">As I groggily awaken, slumped over my desk after another night of paperwork and Jameson, my throbbing head reminds me I need an assistant. With a little hair of the dog I can begin my long wait for another case. Maybe I’ll spend some of the bountiful pittance Mrs. Shaftsbury bequeathed me for returning her poodle on an office cot.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I’ve been relegated to “dog-catcher!” I use to DO things. Between the Cold War ending and those “sanctions,” I thought I’d get back into the action in private investigations, but apparently I watched too much <em>Rockford Files</em> in college.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It’s been eighteen nightmarish years now, almost as long as I was an agent, and for what?! I spy on adulterers and hunt pets. The most excitement I’ve had was busting a teen drug cartel distributing powdered Altoids. I could have been retiring soon. Now most of my meals come in frozen plastic trays. I’ll just head home for today. That phone’s not likely to ring for at least a week, anyhow.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>::RING! RING!::</strong></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">“What?!” Okay, I can be wrong.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">“Harris Dueller, PI. How can I help you?”</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">“This is Marta Jenkins from Miskatonic University. We’d like to discuss a possible case with you. Could you come to our office?”<br />She sounds scared. I’m interested already. Plus, universities have money, “I’ll be over this afternoon,” right after a nap and a cold shower.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Arriving at Miskatonic, I immediately notice the careful preservation of antiquated, vaguely unnatural looking architecture throughout. It’s over a century old, so I’m sure it’s had renovations. They must take great pride in it not to modernize.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">There’s no time for tours, though. I’m heading straight to Crowley and starting on things. There’s reception, “Hello, I’m Detec—“<br />“<em>Mr.</em> Dueller, we’ve been waiting. Go right in to Dean Crowley’s office there.” So, ix-nay on the tective-Day; it must be serious. That better translate in billing.<br />“Dean Crowley? I’m <em>Mr.</em> Dueller. Fill me in; discretion is assumed, so tell me everything.” He won’t.<br />“Well, there’s not much to it,” uh-huh, “We haven’t heard from Professor Elwood Gerrits, our head of Ancient Studies, in over a week. We’d like you to find him and see that he’s alright.” He’s awfully fidgety for such a refined looking older gentleman.<br />I’ll dig around the side, “What have you told his students?”<br />“He has none, presently. He’s studying new inventory at Pickman Memorial Museum and helping catalog,” He twitched, “They haven’t seen him either, which is why I’m concerned. It’s probably nothing, but they’re displeased.”<br />‘Probably nothing?’ He’s down-playing it now, either for money or fear I’ll be scared off. “You call the police?”<br />Crowley’s composure strained, “No, for worry of media attention. Professor Gerrits has a … reserved personality.” You mean secretive. It’s not money.<br />This just went from interesting to exciting. “I’ll call you when I find him.” And whatever you’re hiding.<br />“You’ve no other questions?” He <em>almost</em> seems genuinely disappointed.<br />“None I expect you’d answer openly.” I’ll answer them myself.</span></div>Triangle Games-Masterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993712998787317488noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7228272942392769818.post-9592242058001757182009-07-01T10:06:00.003-04:002009-07-01T10:29:55.723-04:00<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353493258990759218" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 180px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 121px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJojkhMoy4CNNAsjpF15rg9RRTJrzEKwRQXbD9SQ7Ea2LeFQLtYjmtaXXb9SfYIbPl7FZhUxMY7CXjJT7oWkGKWMTi9EOwXkU6GmG9GpSq1SALwe8ev80nopU8LIbqQhfKxPSgpUR0txB7/s320/badges_2009_180x120b.png" border="0" />I have received my acceptance letter to the S4C; let the games begin! <div></div><div>I plan to post my installments on Tuesdays and Thursdays beginning <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">tomorrow</span>.</div><div>Here's the intro and a link to the S4C event on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">wordpress</span>.</div><div> </div><div></div><div align="center"><strong>The Investigation of Prof. Elwood <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Gerrits</span></strong><br />Former CIA agent Harris Dueller now works as a private investigator.</div><div align="center">When hired to find a missing Professor of Ancient Studies,</div><div align="center">Harris discovers far more than he could ever have expected.</div><div align="center">Suddenly finding himself in a kaleidoscopic journey through madness,</div><div align="center">he must prove himself both sane and innocent of murder.</div><div align="center"> </div><div></div><div>For more about the S4C, go to...</div><div><a href="http://declarationediting.wordpress.com/">http://declarationediting.wordpress.com/</a></div>Triangle Games-Masterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993712998787317488noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7228272942392769818.post-18030742104067236222009-07-01T00:44:00.005-04:002009-07-01T00:51:45.183-04:00S4C? We'll see...Tonight I signed up for the S4C on Declarations Editing. It was the last day, and it was around 21:00. It said I would receive further instructions through e-mail, but as of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">apx</span>. 4 hours later, not so much. This makes me wonder if entries are reviewed before responses are sent rather than an auto-mailer sending said instructions. It also makes me wonder if I was too late to enter, but since it let me do it, I would be quite vexed were that the case. I guess I'll find out <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">tomorrow</span>...<br /><br />DUN-DUN-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">DUHHHHN</span>!!!!<br /><br />PS: When I say, "<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">tomorrow</span>," you should realise that I qualify the date change as being based on when I sleep, not what time it is.Triangle Games-Masterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993712998787317488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7228272942392769818.post-73587446778452459512009-06-30T23:15:00.000-04:002009-06-30T23:35:09.136-04:00Welcome to my brainThis will be the first time since my long forsaken <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">LiveJournal</span> account (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Sakura</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Ronin</span>) that I've had a blog where I genuinely intend to post both my personal thoughts and my fiction writing. I am expecting there may also be a lot of random grey matters addressed. Ia. Ia.<br />I may make frequent complaints regarding text formatting (re: I do not HT in ML), or I may learn how to make the blog listen to my orders. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">LINEBREAK</span>: THIS, I COMMAND!!<br /><br />(We'll see how that goes)<br /><br />In my writing, I like macabre horror stories of the H.P.Lovecraft <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">milieu</span>, fantasy adventures, and sitting back with my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Wii</span>-mote. N-joy!Triangle Games-Masterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17993712998787317488noreply@blogger.com1