heights and depths

A dragon sacrifices her only egg to the demon at the center of the world to stop a centuries old war.

A hole in the basement of a friend’s new home opens out above the clouds over a vast landscape.

layers

Working, I climb the stairs to the top floor of a tall office building downtown. It’s a fairly typical cubicle farm, although a bit more labyrinthine than most, and everything is a dark gray that seems to absorb all the light, except for the small red and green LEDs on phones and computers.

I look up to the sky, because it’s not really clear whether the top floor is actually the roof or not, and there is a biplane flying around rather lazily, looping in and out of the clouds. When it’s in clear portions of the sky, it seems to generate its own cloud around itself. It’s not clear if this is meant to be some kind of camouflage or just showoffy like smoke trails, or if the plane is malfunctioning somehow. It doesn’t stop looping around, even when the sky darkens and the clouds roll in, until the sky is the same grey as the cubicle farm.

And now it seems like the inside and the outside are fused together somehow. The plane is now dipping from the grey above into the grey below and then back up, over and over as it toodles about. The plane doesn’t stop being a plane, but somehow I am still imagining it as a whale, swooping between the layers of sky.

Later I have descended back to the street where a couple of guys ask me if this building houses the offices of SEGA. I seem to recall seeing a window sign to that effect, so I point it out, and then realize that is, in fact, where I have just been. Also I have left my clipboard there and need to go back to get it. When I return I realize all the LEDs I remember seeing are actually on various random electronic components laying all over the place. It is more mysterious but less exciting than I had hoped.

some drivel

The sky is
An inverted ocean of
Rose-tinted waves crowned with
Purple-grey foam.

The sky is
An anvil of fog on which
The chill of the morning will
Hammer my soul.

The sky is
An aquarium filled with
Schools of dark, winged fish that
Swim through the cold.

The sky is
A grey-cobbled road on which
The Sun in his chariot is
Traveling alone.

The sky is
An upended brazier with
The last glowing embers of
Yesterday’s coals.

The Dumpster Fairy

A huge mass of people have gathered in a public park for a mass zombie LARP. As it gradually gets dark, the game gets more and more serious. If you get caught by the zombies, you become one of them, and the more humans fall, the larger the horde grows. We really don’t want to get caught.

As we flee, we stumble across a camp under an overpass, populated by a dozen or so homeless people- they seem to be the homeless-by-choice sort rather than the down-and-out sort. I try to explain the danger- the zombies are not far behind! But they say I have to talk to their leader, a woman called the Dumpster Fairy, and she won’t grant me a hearing without a proper offering.

Hastily searching around, I find some boxes of old junk laying about somewhere and hurry back to upend them into the dumpster by the camp. The Fairy seems quite pleased and even rewards me with a kiss in the cheek. So now I gather all the campers together and start to explain about the horde, and that we all have to get the hell out of here- but it is already too late- moans are coming from all around! I abjure everyone to stay as still as they can- these zombies hunt by motion, like velociraptors. If you stay perfectly still, they won’t notice you.

We are all remaining motionless, our eyes flicking between one another and the zombies shambling through the camp, when the Dumpster Fairy says, through clenched teeth, “Ny nose itches… I… I hashta shneeze!” and before I can say “Hold it!” she has already succumbed to a fit of sneezes. The zombies all turn as one and stumble toward her. Swearing under my breath I lean down and pick up a bunch of stones and start pelting the mass of undead around her. “Hey! Over here, assholes!” I shout, waving my arms and dancing around. They turn toward me, confused for a moment, until I bean several of them in the forehead with stones. With a dull moan they start toward me.

“Wait until they follow me, then run the other way!” I call over my shoulder as I lead the zombies into the darkness.

trashing the matrix

Hired by a dead friend to investigate his former employer. Very tricky security door. Wall of a strange, kinetic energy absorbing material. Banks & banks of delicate looking machinery, like a server farm, each with digital displays. Encounter employee, try to grill him, but very reticent. I notice that whenever anyone speaks or gestures dramatically the numbers on the nearby machines flicker and change. I am immediately struck with profound existential dread. I leave the building calmly and sit at a picnic table near where my partner sits in the car. He is very agitated, but I am unresponsive. The employee and a security guard come out hot on my heels and the guard shoots my partner without preamble. I don’t even flinch. Employee explains that he can’t let me leave. I say I couldn’t possibly care what happens now, it’s all deterministic, and turn away from them. The shot passes through my neck. I reach up to touch the exit wound, then collapse to the ground. They get in my car and drive off, presumably to dispose of it. I realize I don’t appear to be quite dead, so I get up and go back inside- they have left the door unlocked in their haste. I start opening the server cabinets, yanking them out and flinging them across the room. Alarms start to go off, red lights flash. And then things start to appear. I pause, dumbfounded, as impossible creatures of every description begin pouring out of doors and hallways, as if I have hit the master switch that unlocks all the cages at a cosmic zoo.

The Quiet Year: Epsilon Colony

The Quiet Year
The Fate of Epsilon Colony
EnWorld Game Day XXX @ Games Plus in Mt. Prospect.

In the year 3318AD, the Terran Federated Colony Ship Epsilon experienced a thruster malfunction during atmospheric entry to their target, Planet F247, and the ship made an emergency landing in a convenient body of water. All hands survived the landing and the colony proceeded as planned, but their reactor was damaged, leaving them without enough power to set up their quantum matter transmitter, leaving them stranded. Reports came that they had found a suitable energy source, a crystal easily obtainable by class-II mining robots. The smartshelter was set up, the water filtration plant running, and it seemed all would be well. Then, abruptly, communications with Epsilon were lost.

Resources:
* Smart Shelter – AI functional, but interface aphasic
* Clean Water – Filtration plant power couplings failing
* Labor Robots – Unstable, intermittently hostile
* Fuel Crystals – Abundant and easily accessible

Factions:
* Anti-Robot Agrarian Veterans Society;
Ludwich Olaff, Kyle Penderson, Samuel Chow
* E.D.F.;
Tory Dexrin, Akbar Thorgrim, Rene Villanueva
* The Phoenix Group;
Dr. Jensen, Governor Pyle, Maxx Action
* Vox Populi;
Bianca Delacroix, Timothy Sandoval, Cadence Tam

Spring
1. A New Leader Arrives (Ah)
An ambassador arises from the ranks of the labor robots, dubbing itself Hans Sprocket, and is taken in by the EDF.
Meanwhile, survey drones discover what seem to be abandoned dwellings in the mountains northeast of the colony. Readings suggest a relatively advanced level of technology.
A party is sent to investigate, led by Akbar Thorgrim of the EDF. [1 tick]

2. A Setback (10h)
Communications with the exploration party are lost. [+1 tick]
The smartshelter AI slips further into dementia, and no longer recognizes humans as inhabitants. Pest Expurgation Countermeasures Systems are engaged, and will continue to escalate. [4 ticks to lethal response]
The Phoenix Group decides not to wait to hear from the EDF party and begins packing to emigrate to the mountain settlement. [2 ticks]
The ARAVS launches a preemptive strike against the malfunctioning labor robots, clashing with the EDF. During the skirmish, Ludwich is wounded and it is revealed, to everyone’s surprise, that he is actually a class-IV android. Stunned by this, Ludwich is unable to reconcile his anti-robot sentiments with his own true nature. He stumbles to the smartshelter data core and uploads himself into it, giving up his human form, and rendering the habitat no longer inimical to its residents.
The robots, having discovered how to remove their AI-limiting restraining bolts, retreat to a settlement of their own to the southeast.
The EDF scouting party returns to the Epsilon settlement and reports that the mountain caves are mysteriously abandoned, as if the residents were teleported away without warning.
A colony wide council is called, what to do about fresh water? Some suggest trying to salvage new power couplings from the ship, others recommend searching for a new source of fresh water.

3. A Temporary Reprieve (8h)
Ludwich, now the operating system for the smartshelter, figures out a way to reprogram the oxygen synthesizers to be more efficient, delaying the breakdown of the water filtration plant [+2 ticks]
The Phoenix migration party reaches the mountain cave settlement and begins moving in.
The EDF begin peace negotiations with the rebel robot colony, dubbed Robotopia. [3 ticks]
Strange purple spores float into Epsilon from the south, investigation reveals a field of waving purple stalks with curled fronds sprouting from the ground that seems to grow closer every day.

4. Sabotage (5h)
Ludwich has had to curb Cadence’s power and water consumption repeatedly, she finally becomes fed up and sabotages the mainframe.
ARAVS send out a party to analyze the source of the purple spores.
Negotiations with Robotopia are going well. [-1 tick]

5. Spring is Fleeting (Kh)
Spring gives way to Summer.
ARAVS discover the purple plant is not only edible, but a good source of hydration, alleviating the water purification problem to some degree.
The negotiations with Robotopia end on a good note, a mutual nonaggression pact is formed, and the EDF faction becomes the Human Robot Coalition.
Cadence’s sabotage leaves Ludwich no longer self-aware. The smartshelter’s AI still functions properly, but it no longer has a personality.
A transmission is received from colony ship Omega, recently arrived in orbit around F247, offering assistance. Spirits rise dramatically.
The remaining AIs in Epsilon colony agitate for en-masse robotic defection to Robotopia [6 ticks]

6. Harbinger (9d)
Omega’s orbital scans reveal an approaching and probably hostile alien presence on the southern horizon [6 ticks]
The purple vegetation has taken root in Epsilon, and is growing around the power conduits, threatening stability.
Those of Phoenix still remaining in Epsilon begin construction of an autonomous perimeter defense system. [5 ticks]

7. 20% Power Remaining (3d)
Lack of robotic labor for mining and increasing power demands due to building projects has severely taxed the supply of fuel crystals. Only a little over a month’s worth remain, with careful husbanding. [3 ticks]
The HRC begins planning a human embassy in Robotopia. [4 ticks]
A garbled transmission arrives from the Phoenix enclave at the mountain settlement- mostly screams.

8. Summer is Fleeting! (Kd)
The ARAVS start programming the smartshelter to contain the purple growths.
The HRC launches a rescue mission to the mountain settlement. [5 ticks to rescue the survivors]

9. MIA (4d)
Cadence goes missing during a picnic with a boyfriend- the boy was discovered in the purple field, alive but comatose, and riddled with purple growths.
Maxx Action, at the mountain settlement, has been feeding an odd little creature, which is growing larger at an alarming rate. It’s only a matter of time before it requires more sustenance than Maxx can provide and turns on the colonists. [6 ticks]
A transmission from Omega informs Epsilon that the previously mentioned alien threat seems to be attracted to the colony’s waste gas emissions.

10. Changing Sides (5d)
Cadence resurfaces at the mountain settlement, severing her ties with Vox Populi and joining the Phoenix Group there.
The supply of fuel crystals finally runs dry, leaving only emergency power. The perimeter defense, growth containment, embassy, and rescue mission projects all have to be abandoned in the scramble for basic necessities.
Most of the Vox Populi make plans to retreat to the partially-submerged Epsilon craft, ostensibly to scavenge parts for repairs. [3 ticks]
The remaining members of the Phoenix Group at Epsilon cast their lot with those evacuating to the ship, with their help, the timeline is moved up. [-1 tick]

11. Plague (Qc)
The purple growths found in Cadence’s boyfriend have surreptitiously spread to other members of the colony. Soon nobody will be able to hide the signs of infection. [2 ticks]
The infected find that the purple stalks are the only form of sustenance that satisfies them.
Robotopia sets up a quarantine/sanitation facility outside their borders and irradiates any incoming robots to keep the infection out. The process would be fatal to humans, but the HRC begins trying to retool the process to make it safe for colonists.
The Epsilon evacuation party gets aboard the ship and manages to power up the life support systems.

12. A New Hope? (6c)
The Robotopian nano-sanitization protocol, still experimental, delays the spread of the purple plague by injecting volunteers with nanites that effectively purge the spores, at the cost of rendering those who undergo the procedure technically cyborgs.
Hans and Ackbar defect from HRC to join Robotopia, as their android bodies can survive the irradiation process.
Samuel, the boy who was subject zero for the infection, wakes from his comatose state and exhibits the ability to feed directly off the smartshelter energy conduits. He convinces the surviving AVARS members to join him, they would rather become plants than machines. [2 ticks]
The nanite protocol is perfected by the HRC, who undergo mass nano-infusion.

13. Early Frost (Kc)
The aliens strike at the outskirts of the colony, Samuel and Kyle, communing in the purple field, are incinerated along with all the vegetation.
The Epsilon evacuation party have managed to prep the ship for launch. Governor Pyle goes on a suicide mission to trigger the smartshelter’s self-destruct mechanism.
Despite the loss of Samuel and Kyle, the remaining members of AVARS make their peace with the purple plague and become vegesymbionts. The “disease” is no longer a threat, now it is their salvation.

14. The Frost Shepherds Arrive (Ks)
In the burning fields outside the colony, the vegemorphs and cyborgs prepare for a final showdown, as the strange, angelic indigenes arrive.
As the three factions stare each other down, each waiting for another to make the first move, the self-destruct detonates, turning the entire colony into a huge fireball. Above it all, the Epsilon limps into the sky on sputtering rockets.
Somewhere, off in the mountains, a hulking creature with floppy puppy ears licks blood off its muzzle and wonders at the strange star rising.

wish I could remember what any of that means

mining operation on
plant-alien made
of orange mineral
undetectable
save by radiation
as plant stuff
ninjas around
watching targets
of opportunity
injured & alone
orange crystal/
glass
cuts
crew one
by one

clumsy explorers

we are clumsy explorers
searching for the tree of life
although it is clearly marked on our maps
we walk in circles, narrowly missing it each time
finally we stumble into it
by sheer stupid chance
it is hung with ornaments
made from rice krispy treats
they are dry and difficult to chew
but if you eat the entire thing
you get a wish

MMOs with Class – How do we get the hell away from the elf/dwarf/human//wizard/fighter/thief paradigm?

I just can’t tell you how bored I am with the above choices in games. Really? We can’t do better than this? Admittedly, a few games have tried to mix it up a bit, and there are probably plenty I don’t know about, but the big ones always seem to fall back on tried and true tropes. Adding Clerical classes does not count as branching out, by the way. I just can’t understand why ANY new game would use these ideas. They have been done absolutely to death.

So, what ARE classes and races in games? They are basically templates, narrowing down what your character can do from a wide spectrum to something manageable. Think of them like opaque cards with holes punched in them. Line up the cards with the light, and what shines through is what’s available to you.

That’s the mechanical function of races and classes, ideally they also have narrative functions, but those are generally only given lip service in MMOs, if they are addressed at all. This right here is an issue, as far as I’m concerned.

Do we even need races and classes? I think they are optional. But if you’re going to have them, how about making them interesting? Tailor them to the setting, for starters. Or come up with some cool ideas and build the setting around them.

Now, in the years I’ve been gaming, I’ve come up with a few handfuls of “classes”, usually by extrapolating around a single unique character with a shtick that I feel has more depth than can be explored in one character’s story. Some are similar to or drawn from existing ideas, both in gaming and in media generally; I’m not claiming my ideas are spun whole cloth out of the aether. And I’m not saying any of these in particular would work well in any given MMO, but I feel they are at least more interesting than the old standby Red Box D&D set. And if I can come up with stuff like this, certainly people who design MMOs can.

And let’s come up with some more interesting magic systems, please, while we’re at it.

ForgeWorld

I have started a wiki for things created using The Forge, with the idea that everything posted there is part of the shared setting of ForgeWorld. So it’s sort of like an encyclopedia of things you might find in ForgeWorld, if that makes sense. That way entries can refer to one another if they want. Or not. It’s all in fun.

Here are some new entries from me.

Tanglewhisper - The Tanglewhisper is a thoroughly impassable riot of leaves, vines, roots, boughs, and murk that stretches from the foothills of the Murder Hulk Mountains to the Serrated Coast. The river Mythglass flows down from the Murder Hulks and spreads into the lowlands to create a wet, hyperverdant environment with very little actual dry land. Mats of vegetation or root systems can be walked on for short distances, but offer treacherous footing at best. The lapping of the stagnant water, the rubbing of branch against branch, the sussuration of vegetation in the wind, all combine to create a constant low white noise, giving the region its name.

Argent Water - Deep within the Tanglewhisper, a traveler might encounter a strange shimmering on the surface of the waters. This is due to an oily residue imparted by submerged white metal, a strange substance that has the feel and properties of porcelain, but can be worked and forged like metal. This is one of the reasons a few brave souls do try to penetrate the Tanglewhisper, as this substance is quite valuable. The Argent Water itself will coat the flesh of anything that is dipped into it, the longer submerged, the more thickly the residue. Those who dig for white metal are easily spotted by the pale crust covering their legs and arms.

Murk Fire - A common name for the wil o’ wisps that sometimes float above the surface of the waters in the Tanglewhisper.

Some ideas about character death and curbing PVP in MMOs

What if character death is “permanent”, in the sense that you don’t respawn. Instead, when you die, you’re actually dead- a ghost or spirit. As a spirit, you have some options. First, you get to view the last several minutes before you died from a 3rd person perspective. You can probably watch this as many times as you like before deciding.

1. You can pass into the Beyond, the next life, and continue your adventures there. Is the Beyond a spiritual world or a physical one? Is there a way back from Beyond? Is there something else beyond the Beyond?

2. You can be reincarnated into a new body, with some kind of bonuses based on your level* at the time of death. (*assuming the game has levels, which is not a given). This is not a respawn of your old character, it’s a completely new and different character. How does the time frame work? Maybe PCs are all specially Chosen, and accept an Adventurer’s Spirit at the age of majority? Is that basically what the fiction of RIFT is? If so, it was boring and poorly handled.

3. You can haunt the area where you died as an invisible, intangible spirit. Maybe you and other spirits or spiritual entities there can interact, maybe not. Maybe PCs & NPCs with some kind of Sight or whatever can interact with spirits too. As a spirit, you can go anywhere within the area, pass through solid objects and creatures. You can maybe taunt or whisper in anyone’s ear once every ten minutes or something. Maybe what you can do as a spirit depends on what “level” you were, or maybe not. (Levels are a whole ‘nother discussion). Maybe you can possess monsters/NPCs. Maybe you can throw objects around like a poltergeist. Maybe you can curse an object. Or haunt/possess an object, and then be carried outside the area by anyone who takes it.

4. You can haunt your killer (if you didn’t die from some environmental effect or poison or something). You become tethered to that character and follow them everywhere. You can whisper in their ear, and all that same stuff from above. You can annoy nearby monsters and provoke them to attack the character, or even possess them and make them act outside their natures. Try to trigger traps or obscure clues/switches, distract them, basically anything to make them regret killing you. This is the first thing I thought of, basically a deterrent to PVP nonsense- if you kill someone, they are free to make your life difficult or annoying. If you kill a bunch of people, you are going to be pretty miserable. You’re still free to do it. There are just consequences.

I don’t play MMOs a lot because I find them annoying and badly designed. My ideas may not be any better, but nobody is offering me money for them, so it’s kind of a moot point.

Fantasy Forgeries.

Here is a cool thing for creative and/or gamer types. Go to this thing, and forge up a set of names, and tell us about them. It will give you 4 names at a time, and there are tools for fiddling with them if you are so inclined, but at the simplest, just click one of the 4 forges (names, monsters, spells, lands) and make something up about the 4 names it spits out. I’ll go first.

Falcon Baths – This is a unique geological formation, a series of pools welling up from the deeps at the foot of a thousand foot crag. The falcons that make their aeries in the crags can often be seen preening themselves in the pools. Their droppings render the waters unfit to drink, but if boiled properly they can be used in tinctures that relieve ague.

Silent Coin – A curious artifact of unknown origin, the Silent Coin appears to be a relic from some kingdom lost to the mists of time. Slightly larger than a copper piece of current mint, and of a strange, slightly purplish metal. The Coin bears the face of a stern, proud faced woman on one side, her hair done up in an elaborate bun, with a circlet on her brow. The obverse side features what appears to be a flower of some sort not familiar to any traveler who has been asked. The Coin would undoubtedly be valuable to a collector of rare things, except for the fact that whomsoever owns the Silent Coin is unable to dream. This seems a small price to pay, but surprisingly, no one is ever willing to pay it for long.

Tyrant Hare – A creature so rare that most believe it a myth, the Tyrant Hare is said to be a somewhat larger than average jackrabbit bearing antlers similar to those of an antelope, although obviously not as large, or the animal could scarcely hold its head up. The Tyrant Hare is known by many other local monikers, each region having its own particular flavor, adding wings or fangs or other appurtenances to the beast, or granting it ever odder abilities or reagent properties to its parts. The truth of the matter is this- the Tyrant Hare exists. It has bone-like nodules protruding from its head, from one to six inches long. It is highly intelligent, and highly aggressive. If it draws blood from any creature, that creature becomes its slave. It begins slowly, the victim will start to grow painful and unsightly nodules in random spots on its body. As the nodules grow more and larger, the voice of the Tyrant Hare will wax in the creature’s mind, becoming harder to ignore, harder to resist. Most nonsentient beings succumb almost immediately, but strong willed sentients have been known to resist for days, even weeks, taking great pains to hide the deformations spreading across their bodies.

Stellavierre’s Guardian Blade – A common sort of spell among wizards who cannot afford or do not prefer hiring personal guards, ensorcelling wild beasts, or binding unwholesome spirits to protect them while they work or travel. Stellavierre’s answer was to carefully layer enchantments on a specially prepared weapon she had forged at great expense. The smith’s entire family died of witherwort disease the next season, some say she caused it to protect the secret of the spell. At the very least she did nothing to aid them. At any rate, the Guardian Blade is a plainly wrought dagger, straight bladed, tapered to a point, about a foot long including the leather wrapped handle. Stellavierre wears it tied to her belt at all times, the blade unsheathed. On several occasions, the blade has been seen to leap from its ties to defend her, even when she was not aware she was in danger. It is uncertain what activates the spell, whether it can sense the thoughts of those around its mistress, or merely reacts to overt aggression, but people tend to think happy thoughts when they must be in her presence, and then leave it as quickly as possible.

bad fences

hiding in the closet with dad and younger brother. there is something special about him and there is a… something, outside, trying to get to him. dad is holding the door shut as I try to hide little bro under the clothes and boxes. there is, for some reason, a small sliver of a window at the back of the closet, the kind that opens on an old fashioned hand crank. the thing outside has managed to wedge it open just a half inch, and, thinking quickly, I start stuffing blankets and old laundry into the gap. it pulls them through almost as fast as I can stuff, but it seems to be delaying it some. then, abruptly, it stops.

ominous silence.

then the neighbor lady’s voice comes through the door, asking if we’re alright. she and dad have slowly been developing a relationship over the years after our mom died and her husband left her. i know it’s a trick, but he’s already opened the door, she’s already inside. the thing that looks like the neighbor lady sees my brother’s foot sticking out from where I’ve tried to hide him and grins. dad hesitates, doesn’t want to attack, in case it is using her body somehow, doesn’t want to risk hurting her. i have no such compunctions, and I charge her, swinging my fists as hard as I can in the confined space. i rain blows upon her face and body, putting all my strength and desperation behind each punch, but she doesn’t react- doesn’t even blink. she throws me to the back of the closet with a casual backhand and my body leaves a hole in the drywall as I collapse to the floor in a heap of boxes and dusty linens. she shoves dad to the floor contemptuously and steps toward my brother.

three warnings

walking through a cheerful, sunlit neighborhood, when a robin leaves its branch and lands on my right arm. it immediately lays its body along my arm, the better to clamp its beak lengthwise on a fold of my skin. it is quite painful, but I understand that the bird is merely trying to warn me away from danger. shortly, a blue bird I do not recognize joins the robin on my arm and does the same, indicating I am traveling toward rather than away from the danger. then a grackle adds itself to my living sleeve of feathers. I am walking down the sidewalk with three birds laying flat on my arm and grasping it with their beaks like vise grips. they do not move or squirm, merely remain painfully gripping my flesh. then the bluebird lets go and flies off over the rooftops. by this time I understand that the source of the danger is aware of me and it is too late for me to flee (but not for them). I see some kids getting let out of school and I turn away from them, I do not want them caught up in whatever happens. the grackle chooses this time to make its escape, leaving a second long welt down my forearm.

as I come upon a narrow river running through the park, the bravest of my small friends, the robin, suddenly releases my arm and launches itself for a nearby tree. the danger is here! as I am watching the robin, something grabs my ankle, and I look down to see a drowned man pulling himself from the river. he has been murdered and will have revenge upon the living, even if he is too far gone to understand that I am not the one who killed him.

although actually it would turn out that I had killed him, many years before.

depths

working on a science team with my mom and dad. they are divorced, but still working together. we are very cautiously exploring an anomaly- a cave or pit that has appeared in a place where there had been none, and no record of seismic or other geological activity. in fact, satellite scans revealed no tunnels or voids below the surface- this despite the fact that we had explored miles and miles of tunnels with no end in sight. further adding to the anomalous nature of this cryptic aperture was the fact that from time to time it disgorged monsters. huge, misshapen toads are the most recognizable of the horrors we have encountered. after we had dispatched the monsters found roaming the countryside, we had sealed up the entrance to the anomaly, and it was now accessible only by a specially designed combination elevator and airlock, hermetically and electromagnetically sealed. when we made excursions (incursions?) into the anomaly, we donned specialized suits outfitted with a variety of telemetry and life support functions, as well as ceramic armoring and muscle-assist servomotors, able to magnify the strength of the wearer by about one half.

at this point we have mapped well over twenty-five miles of tunnels, all by hand, as none of our sophisticated sensory equipment can be coaxed to function within the anomaly. we have moved our whole family onsite, as the oldest, I worked with my parents, while the younger siblings watched each other and occupied themselves out of the way.

over the last several weeks, my father has become increasingly erratic. several times, against all protocols, he has made trips into the anomaly alone. i have heard him muttering in his sleep, he shares a bunk with me since mom kicked him out of their quarters. i can’t access his data logs, they’ve been encrypted. i asked mom about it, but she doesn’t want to talk about him. they’ve taken to working opposite shifts and barely speak even when they do see each other, which isn’t often.

then one night i wake abruptly, and some hunch propels me from my bed to the main lab. there I see my father, suited up, punching the access code for the elevator- and he’s carrying my little sister on his hip, still in her pink onesie pajamas. the door to the lab is locked, and banging on the window earns me a wave from my baby sister, but dad ignores me as the airlock irises open and he carries her through. i slap the fire alarm, waking everyone, and yell for mom to open the lab door so we can go after them. as the two of us suit up, she fixes me with a hard stare. “we may have to kill him.” she says, matter of factly. i just nod, waiting for the elevator to come back up.

I don’t want a pickle.

Bicycle. Pronounced “bye-sickle”. A person why rides a bicycle is a cyclist, pronounced “sy-klist”. The activity they do is called cycling, pronounced “sy-kling”, or just biking, because an abbreviation for bicycle is “bike”. A cyclist is rarely referred to as a biker.

The word bike is also an abbreviation for motorbike, also called a motorcycle, pronounced “motorsykl”, and a person who rides a motorcycle is a “biker”, but never a cyclist.

What the hell, English? This is all completely nonsensical. We need to pick one pronunciation and stick with it across the whole range of related words.

Therefore, henceforth; a bicycle, which is made up of “bi” (2), and “cycle” (around), shall be pronounced “bye-sykl”, to more properly reflect its origins. Proper adjusted terms and pronunciations for the other forms follows.

Bicycle = bye-sykl
Cyclist/Cycling = sy-klist/sy-kling (unchanged)
Bike -> Bice = b-ice
Motorcycle = motor-sy-kl (unchanged)
Motorbike -> Motorbice = motorb-ice

Thank you.

wonderland

It’s the 9th birthday of a the daughter of a friend of my mom’s. She is wearing an Alice dress and hairband, and since I am already going there, I offer to take her with me to the local Wonderland theme park that has just opened nearby.

We’re having a fine time, wandering through an outdoor labyrinth that combines a hedge maze and a house of mirrors, laughing as we chase each other down the recursive pathways. She finds her way out before I do, and strikes up a chat with a White Rabbit mascot. Every time I turn a corner I can see them, through a glass wall, or reflected in a mirror, but somehow I can’t find my way out. I start to get a sinister feeling, and bang helplessly on the glass as the White Rabbit takes her hand and they skip off together across a sunlit field and through a tall, wrought iron gate. I am powerless to reach them, and although I scream myself hoarse, she cannot hear.

Somehow, the second they are out of sight, the maze opens before me and I am free. I run to the gate, but it is locked and far too tall to climb. Panicked, I flee the park and rush home to my mom’s house. I breathlessly try to explain what happened as I rush around the house, trying to find something useful with which to mount a rescue. All I can come up with are a hammer and a grill lighter. Grimly, I vow to burn the place down if I have to. Mom admonishes me, saying I can’t do that sort of thing. “Why not?” I ask, flicking the lighter.

Just then someone bangs on the door and mom answers it. It is her friend, and she is furious. She is angrily declaiming me to my mother as I sheepishly peer from behind her. She is pushing a stroller, and a five year old boy stands boredly by. She scowls at me. “They took her hair, damn you.” she cries. “And her teeth!” As she says this the little girl peeks shyly around her mother’s skirts. Her long locks have been shorn down to ragged clumps. Horrified, I shove through the doorway and collapse to my knees, taking her in my arms and apologizing repeatedly. She barely responds.

I go to the barn and rummage until I find an old, heavy, stainless steel oar. It is somewhat rusted, but still sturdy. It feels good in my hands as I start carving the air, slipping into barely remembered sword and spear forms as imaginary enemies appear before me. The mission has changed from rescue to revenge. Later when I am practicing in the back yard, my brother Chris comes out and offers to help, so I have him throw things at me and practice blocking and cutting them out of the air.

The next day, I return to Wonderland, to the tall black gate. Using the oar as a prybar, I wrench the lock open and slip through. I have gone maybe a dozen or so steps forward on a lush green lawn, when I spring some kind of trap- a fifteen foot hemispherical dome rotates up out of the ground in front of me. As it closes over my head, I lunge backward with my makeshift weapon, just managing to get it under the edge of the dome as it meets the ground on the opposite side. All is dark but for the sliver of green-tinged light from that crescent where the dome is held open by the oar. I am laying flat on my stomach, one hand on the handle, when I feel something pluck at my pant leg and giggle. Careful to keep my grip on the oar, I scramble around so my back is against the dome and I can try to lever it upward by lifting with my legs. As the crescent of light waxes a few inches, I catch glimpses of pale, slender figures dancing in the darkness beneath the dome. Giggles and titters reach my ears, but no discernable words, and none of the figures come close enough to make out. Straining, I manage to claim a few more inches. It’s almost to the point where I can grip the edge of the dome with my hands and try to escape, when suddenly the oar jerks in my hand. Looking down, I see shadows cast by several sets of legs outside the dome, and there is another violent tug on the oar. I struggle to keep my grip in this unexpected tug of war, the light wavering as the edge of the dome rises and falls with our efforts. Bracing myself, I shove hard with my legs, hoping the added leverage of the other person’s grip will help me raise the dome enough to just duck out of it.

As the light brightens, one of the dancing figures capers forward- and I see the darkness was a blessing. The body is that of a man, but the limbs are arranged like a quadruped’s, and it moves on all fours- all fours being four hands on the ends of four pale, muscled arms. The head extends toward me on an overlong neck as it bounds up to me, bringing the parody of a human face right up to mine- skin the color of a dead fish’s belly, expressionless, with dull eyes and a too-long, tapered nose. All of this would have been bad enough, but it was also, monstrously, upside down on the creature’s head.

In that second of abject horror, my grip on the oar handle slackens, and my unseen opponent pulls it out of my hands almost casually, as if I had offered it to them and there were merely accepting it.

And then the dome slides shut, merging with the grass without a sound.

Something plucks at my sleeve.

Fairy Tale Logic (with porn stars)

“Fairy-tale logic” is something I think about a lot, both in regards to my tastes in magical fiction, as well as game rules. This post on PD&Dw/PS makes some good points. There’s a big difference between codified magical systems popularized by (perhaps invented by?) D&D, and the simpler, more evocative understanding that Fair Folk can’t lie, or that you never eat food when visiting Underhill.

Also, while I understand how it works in the context of a game, the idea of a Warhammer (+2 vs. Undead) is kind of ridiculous and not at all epic. “How many plusses does Excalibur have?” is an inherently fuckwitted question (and yet I and thousands of other young nerdlings have discussed it in earnest at some point in our lives). Excalibur doesn’t have any goddamn plusses, because it’s sui generis, there is no weapon to compare it to that requires numerical distinction. The White Hammer of Aarda simply obliterates the undead in one strike, how’s that grab ya? You can still get eaten by a grue or have your skull split by the skelly you didn’t see, but a weapon that is merely “slightly more useful vs the undead” is just silly on the face of it when you’re meant to be the heroes of your story.

In other, unrelated news, making a city map with tarot cards is fucking brilliant.

TRON

I realized today that the visuals of the Grid in the original TRON movie were just Flynn’s mind using familiar metaphors to make sense of the flow of purely digital information by translating it into sensory input he could interact with. He was a hacker, a gamer, and a rebel, so the concepts presented to him fit those ideas. Another person would experience it in their own idiom- if they could adapt at all.

more family matters

In some kind of art class or something where we to pair up and do a drawing with another student. There is animosity towards me because I would rather work alone, so I cave in and we are projecting our ideas onto some kind of screen.

I had originally intended to draw an armored warrior woman with a strange shield that my mind calls a “pregnant shield”, it has a large belly-like bulge in the lower part, with a demented face crudely drawn on it; being menaced by a demon vaguely like an undead anthropomorphic ibex. But since I have to work with someone we are simplifying it. The woman I have been partnered with wants to draw the warrior, and I decide to draw another woman with a bow taking aim at her figure. She says they should be cooperating, not antagonistic, so we settle on a scene in which she is fleeing/leading some enemy into my character’s line of fire, so it appears she is the target, when in reality the target is off-panel. I agree to this and we sit down at my family’s dining room table to begin.

I notice a largeish spider darting from between the pages of my sketchpad across the table, and chuckle that we should pin it to the page to be the monster our characters are fighting. It crawls between the leaves of the table, which are for some reason glass, and seem to magnify it as it finds a beetle at the base of the table and snaps it up in its claw- due to the magnification, both have taken on crustacean-like qualities, the beetle seems lobsterlike, and the spider is akin to a monstrous crab. It grips the helpless beetle in one claw and snips off its antennae with the other. Then it jabs its claw into the poor thing’s back and viciously and noisily scissors it in half lengthwise. As the halves hit the floor, they mindlessly continue to trundle forward on their respective legs in a horrible fashion. The spider-crab-thing picks one half up in both claws and chomps it loudly and messily, with an uncharacteristically horizontal mouth for an arachnid.

Then my attention is distracted by an iridescent viridian flash, and I turn to see a hummingbird hovering noiselessly in the air near the table. I am amazed and move my chair closer to it. I call out to my younger siblings to come see, and put out my hand beneath it to see if it will land. I can see that it has green feathers with glittering black flecks all throughout, and strange markings under its eyes in a color that seems simultaneously blue, red, and gold, but not any combination thereof. Actually I think it is secreting some kind of substance from its tear ducts, but I have no idea what purpose it serves. It dips toward my hand, but instead of landing smoothly it kind of bounces off, and I desperately try to catch it as it tumbles, fearful that my onrushing siblings will maul it if it lands on the floor. Each time it rebounds from my hands, the black flecks splash from its body, like pixie-dust. As my sister finally catches it, I am calling to my mother, who is in the kitchen, to come see. The bird lays pitifully in her hands, clearly unable to fly, and I begin to realize I have probably doomed the poor thing with my thoughtless interference. Kneeling, I lay my head on the chair and hide under my arms, starting to sob “It’s my fault, I ruined it” over and over as my family goes to look up a way to save it.