Software

Allison was in a room with green carpet. She found it hard to believe that any government office would ever put in lime green carpeting, but her brain wouldn’t process R values anymore. Everything else was fine, but no matter what she tried, she couldn’t get her vps to see red anymore. She’d been surviving on community patches for years, ever since the UI update in ‘29, which she hated. The legacy OS she ran had great user support though, and an awesome community, so she wasn’t worried. Still, nobody could figure out the R value problem, so it was probably time to upgrade. And so she sat, as far as she knew, on a black (or red) plastic chair, in a room with green (probably more brown) carpet, teal (off-white maybe?) walls, and a stars-and-stripes flag in corner, which to her eyes as black, white, and blue.

She contemplated her number, ‘85,’ as she looked around the waiting room. The people looked even weirder than the carpet. Filling the allegedly black chairs of the room, waiting for their own numbers to be called, sat about a dozen beings colored variably turquoise to almost forest green, like extras from a cheap science fiction show.

“Number 83, please report to room 2,” called a musical, synthesized voice over the intercom.

One of the bluish-green aliens around Allison stood up and walked back to the offices. She settled into her seat, checking her feeds. There was a lot of really nice words of encouragement from friends and family on her social media. Her son had mentioned her brain augment problems to a friend and word had gotten around. Her feed was also full to bursting with ads for upgrades and brains-transfer services though, so part of her wished Leon had kept his big mouth shut. Though her grandkids had already offered to help her crowdfund for a transfer if Medicare didn’t cover her particular issue, and it was nice to know little Sarah and Leon jr. cared enough to offer.

She googled her problem again. She’d done it a half a hundred times, but she wanted to be informed when she was talking to the social worker. She check a few forums again, looking for any quick fix or some user made patch. Still nothing. She could barely find anyone with her issue at all. The closest was one user who made a post five years ago. Same augment brand and model, and they got a few suggestions, responded saying none of them worked, then stopped posting, without leaving any post about the solution. Either they gave up and just transferred to a new brain, or never bothered to post the solution they found. Poor forum etiquette, as Allison understood it.

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Saghir de Oppara

This is a story I may or may not come back to. It’s a shameless fan-fiction if we’re being honest. I believe I’ve mentioned before that I play a lot of tabletop rpgs, and this is a bit of story featuring a character I played awhile back. If folks want to read more I might have to finish this, but for now it’s just a short one page excerpt of the character’s life. Saghir de Oppara (aka Samwise Turnbull Hunter; aka Alsaghir Mukrah) who believes himself to be more competent and a far bigger deal than he actually is. Still, he has gotten around a bit, and has friends (and enemies) in some very unusual places. Scenarios like the one below, are not all that uncommon for him.

The first thing that hit me was of course the floor. The second was that I had been thrown there from my cot, and anyone who throws a sleeping man to the floor is not waking you to have a pleasant chat. I fumbled for a knife at my belt, not remembering at the time that I had pawned the knife to by more shiver, and unleashed a torrent of scathing curses upon my attacker. I couldn’t see who they were or how many through the dim lit haze of the den, but I can curse in seven languages and almost everyone takes equal offense to a well placed barb about their mother. I yelled and flailed with a free hand whilst fumbling for the knife, until a young lady in heavy plate armor kicked me soundly in guts. I presume to prevent me from further embarrassing myself.

Gasping for breath, clutching my well bruised stomach, and still shaking off a night of shiver induced dreams, I politely declined to resist when she grabbed me by the arm and hauled me over to a chair.

“Saghir de Oppara?” she asked in a voice low and gruff.

I coughed once unintentionally, then thrice more in an attempt to stall for time. I had hoped the span of three coughs would be enough to spot an easy avenue of escape. No such luck. The windows of this particular travesty in Taldane architecture had been boarded up by the locals, and I don’t care what you’ve heard from whatever storyteller you’ve heard it from, it is not a simple thing to dive through a boarded window. That left the stairs, before which stood the hulking woman in front of me, and at least one person in similar garb. Black cloaks over dull, beaten armor. Instead, I just lied. “I have never heard that name. My name is Sam.”

She stepped on my foot.

She was wearing very heavy boots.

After an undignified shout of pain and the biting back of a few tears, I confessed. “I am Saghir. Sorry, I’m not quite awake yet. ”

“Good,” she knelt down, putting her eyes on a level with mine, “Is it true that you once spent a year in the court of the Queen of Lamasara?”

The fog around my mind cleared just a bit, replaced by a chill down my spine. I looked at these two I had taken for thugs a bit more closely. The cloaks were a cliche, to be sure, there was no hiding all that armor, but black cloaks still meant something. A black cloak in the night was the universal language for “I do not wish to be seen, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll go about your business.”

That armor under the black was something too. No gold, so not Eagles. No spikes, so not Hell Knights. Just cold, grey steel. And well used too. Not the sort you send to deliver a message. These two were the sort you send to kill a man.

I started looking at those boarded windows a bit more carefully. The building had only been abandoned recently but the boards on the third window facing the street must have been when they ran out of good wood. They look at least a little bit weaker than the rest.

“Answer my question,” The gruff woman insisted.

“Well, you see-,” and I bolted for the window. And though I shall never know for certain, I maintain that I would have been able to break through. The one who hadn’t done any talking yet got me. They tackled me to the floor, and were kneeling on my back pressing my face into the splinters before I was even halfway to the window. The woman who’d been talking stood up slowly, walked casually over to her companion who was pressing a metal clad knee into my back, and crouched down to my level again.

“I will ask again: did you serve in the court of Lamasara?”

Cooperation was, at long last, my only real option. “I may have spent some time there, many years ago.”

“Good,” the woman nodded, “We have questions.”

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In 48 hours, America will…

And from there I don’t know.

I can not see the future. Part of me wishes I could, and part of me knows that is a terrible idea.

I don’t like telling people who to vote for, for several reasons. For one: who the hell am I? I’m just a guy, and as I said, I cannot see the future. More over, I’m a white cis male and I’ll probably be ok no matter what happens (for a number of bullshit reasons), but many if not most of my close friends are not, and in a civil society, that means I have a responsibility to think about them as well.

This is what Rousseau called the Social Contract. We are all part of a thing together, and we have to acknowledge that when we utilize our political power.

So, if you live in America and you haven’t already: vote.

Vote thoughtfully, and vote with your conscience. Vote with the intent to make this world a place both free and beautiful, for all humanity to thrive in. Vote as a member of the human race, and think carefully about what that means to you.

And now, here is one of my favorite speeches of all time. I hope you’ll forgive me for borrowing some of the sentiment in those last few lines.
The great Charlie Chaplin everyone:

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Lamplight

We shouldn’t have stayed out this late.

When we get to the bit of the street between Warren and Harris, stay close to me, and stay in the light of the lamps. Only stop when you’re right under a lamp post. Catch your breath and then go. Just go. Don’t wait, don’t slow down, and whatever you do: don’t look anywhere but the next lamp post. Not even for an instant. The blackness will seem absolute. Keep your eyes on the light and say to yourself that it’s not. The street is still there, so are the buildings, and people inside them. Tell yourself that, even if you don’t believe it.

When you’re running, between the lights, you may hear things. I won’t tell you what sorts of things, it’s different for everyone. If you do, and we do get through, I don’t want to know anything about what you heard. Understand? Say nothing. I won’t either. It’s better that way.

I won’t tell you not to breath between the posts, but I don’t. There’s a smell. Like sweat and burning sugar, with strange notes that you won’t be able to place. Try not to think about it. The longer you think about it…the worse it gets. You’ll start to lose your way. The way forward will seem to twist away from the lamplight. Don’t let that happen. Remember this: always towards the lamplight.

Your skin. Are you ticklish? If you are, it will be harder. More sensitive skin means you’re more likely to feel it before you get back into the light. Don’t expect it to hurt, because it won’t. It will be soft. Tender even. Like a lover’s fingers brushing lightly over your flesh. Shy, but needy, full of desire. Full of hunger.

The air…will have a taste. Like the smell, I say to ignore it, but you may not be able to. I can’t give you a food to compare the taste too. I’m not sure there is a single food in all the world that tastes like the air between the lamp posts on that road. It tastes like a thunderstorm; like the warmth of a human body; like the confession of a dark secret. It tastes wonderful. But you have to ignore it. You have to.

When you’re past Harris, and only then, you can stop. Once you’re past there, you are…I can’t say you are safe, but…

If you do not see me on the other side, do not come looking for me. People make it, or they don’t, and that’s it. And if you don’t…well…just remember the lamps. Always towards the lamplight.

We should never have been out this late.

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The Firepit

I killed Jeremy, but not the others.

No, I’m…I’m not pleading guilty or anything, ok?

Self-defense then.

Well look at me!? Look what it-he did to my leg!

And Susan!

She’s ok right?

But she’s gonna be…

… Ok.

When can I go home?

But I already told the other cop everything.

This is bullshit!

… Yes.

… Yes.

Yes.

Fine. What do you want to know?

The beginning of the fight or the party?

Yeah I guess.

Ok.

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Sketch Practice

Every now and again, I try my hand at sketching.

I’m not very good at it.

But for the last month, I’ve been trying to sketch every day I can, in an effort to get better. So here are some of the less awful bits.

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Ashtray

Hando looked across the wide conference table, eyes locked on an ashtray sitting there.

He didn’t know why it was there.

The thing was glass, or some glass-like synthetic, he couldn’t really tell. Translucent and dark, ‘smoky’ was the best word Hando could think of to describe the coloration, which he supposed was fitting. He reached over and picked it up. It was small enough to fit in the palm of one hand, but heavy enough to be authentic glass he supposed. Turning it over in his hands, he noticed a small maker’s mark etched into the underside. A few cyrillic letters that Hando didn’t know.

It looked old.

It wasn’t in bad condition, and it seemed quite beautifully made, but it was chipped a bit here and there, and the bottom of the tray was soiled with the black residue of snuffed ashes.

Hando wasn’t sure why it was here. Almost nobody smoked tobacco anymore. Most people couldn’t afford it, and even among those who could only one person in a hundred, maybe. Everybody was using ecigs. It was cheaper, didn’t require an extra dose of anti-cancer meds, and you could get a THC pack for less than five dollars American.

You were lucky to find a pack of cigarettes for less than fifty these days.

Hando glared at it, enthralled, puzzling over its presence here. He’d never seen anyone in the company smoking ever, much less in the conference room. He’d seen plenty of people pull out an electronic; so many brands and flavors that the table had become a soft rainbow of different LEDs. Never any real tobacco though.

And yet; here was a hand made, and probably very expensive, antique ashtray in the middle of the table.

Was it just for show?

That seemed to Hando like the stupidest waste of money he could think of. But even as his nose wrinkled at the thought somebody specifically buying an antique ashtray with the full knowledge that it would never see actual use, he tried to imagine the long conference table without it. It seemed…empty. He tried filling the space occupied by the ashtray with something else in his mind. In his AugR application, he cut and paste a floral arrangement, an amusing knick-knack, or a projector into the space that the ashtray had occupied. Nothing seemed to fill the space the way the ashtray did. He wondered if that was an actual ability inherent to the ashtray, or if he had just become accustomed to it being there. Or maybe he was just conditioned by culture to think cigars and ashtrays when thinking of corporate boardrooms and high powered executives.

The Nineteen-eighties had never really died in the corporate world. It had just been rebranded.

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A Game of Thorns

Thorns, not thrones.

I know, I know but stick with me here.

Way back in early 2013, my game group started playing Pathfinder in a home-brew setting I had made in my free time. I was pretty underemployed at the time, and had a ton of free time to spend in making the world whole and complete, with tons of little details and a sprawling history and lore.

I didn’t expect it to last long, it was a text-only game over Skype, and up to that point every D&D or Pathfinder game I’d played over the internet had ended fairly quickly. Interest dwindled, schedules had changed, or life just got in the way, and the game ended up scrapped after about a month. This one didn’t end though, in spite of several schedule changes, new jobs, and moving to new cities. It lasted for about a year and a half! There was a player who started at the beginning who had to leave within a week, and another who joined only to leave due to school obligations, but the game kept going with the three players who’d stayed.

Over the course of a year, the game transformed from a fight between nobles over a simple patch of highlands, to a sprawling epic that saw the players treat with gods, old and new, to fight an evil so old that even elves knew only vague details.

Gai’al’tung, the King of Thorns.

I put my players through the wringer too. The bard lost his father and his favorite uncle went mad due to the machinations of the King of Thorns. The rogue lost her father, and was forced to give up her own first born child in order to bring peace to the land.

The barbarian highlander took on a curse of immortality that left him a stranger to his own people, and even to mankind as a whole, leaving him nothing but to walk the earth and watch it crumble.

But in the end, they triumphed, and I have never been as proud of myself as a DM, or of my friends as Players when they did.

One of my friends, T, is an artist. You may have seen their work before as I’ve been retweeting all their orc related artwork for the last year. They usually make at least some artwork for every game they play in, but the amount of art they made for Game of Thorns was probably the most for any game I’ve played with them. I thought I’d share some of it with you here today.

You can check out more of their stuff by following them on twitter @Uncouth_Peasant

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Aden, Bard by profession, Spymaster by inclination

Starting alphabetically with Aden Caderyn, a bookish fellow, too far down the line of succession of house Caderyn to consider a play for power, dedicated himself to studying under his father, an brilliant diplomat, and his uncle, the family spymaster. Over the course of the campaign, he acquired the attention of several dark gods (he wasn’t particular about the shrines he prayed at) which eventually got him a talking cat summoner companion. He also established quite the network of spies across the land. He ended the campaign blessed by the God of Games and could never lose a game of chance. In the epilogue he settled down in a cottage in the highlands, but not before destabilizing a rival nation on a whim.


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Tora, Roguish middle child of House Caderyn

Next is Tora Caderyn (T’s character), middle child of the Lord of the Highlands, very much a wild child who wanted to do more than be a pawn for a political marriage. She ended up defending a city under siege, commanding a battalion of knights, and defeating a green dragon before finally confronting the King of Thorns. Ironically, she did end up marrying the man her father wanted for her, the Prince Henry of the Reislanders, after she saved him from political assassination and saved his city from a cursed army. In order to get the final blessing the party needed to defeat the King of Thorns, she was forced to give up her first born child to the God of the Seas (not to be killed, it was a plot thread we left dangling in case we ever ran a sequel game). She ended the game as Queen of the Ladwrack and the heroine of her people.


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Kiril, Highlander Barbarian of the Ladwrack

Kiril was a simple man, starting the game as a bodyguard to Tora, he ended the game a champion of his people’s most ancient gods, immortal and nigh unbeatable in combat. His story arc was mostly based around divided loyalties. As part of the lore, the region the campaign was set in (the Ladwrack river basin) was dominated by the Reislanders, who had conquered the region three hundred years prior. While the other two players were Reislander’s themselves, Kiril was a Ladwrack native. He was often confronted by his own people on why he would fight for the House Caderyn, often against his own people. He ended the game as a part of neither culture, cursed to be alone forever. In the epilogue, he simply walked into the highlands, and was never seen again, save in vague rumored sightings.


Extras!

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Sand (part 2)

“I still do not understand,” Taril said, holding onto the horse as if it would buck at any moment, “Where does it come from?”

Lod thought for a moment. He had considered this question before, when he had been a child, but he had put it out of his mind for many years.

“I suppose I don’t know,” he admitted, “Who can claim to know anything about the power of a goddess?”

“You don’t know where it comes from…and you still drink it?” Taril was incredulous.

“You do too,” Lod retorted, “We pay Zar’us with water from the oasis all the time.”

“That’s different,” Taril said proudly, sitting up straight in the saddle before deciding the danger of being thrown was too great and renewing the iron grip on saddle and reigns, “Zar’us are strong.”

“Strong?” Lod smiled as he watched Taril holding fearfully to the saddle.

“Stop smiling. I simply do not wish to be thrown from this animal.”

“I can see the Zar’us strength,” Lod chuckled.

“Strength is not the absence of fear; that is stupidity,” Taril snapped stubbornly from rote.

Lod laughed, and Taril glared.

“But truly,” Lod said, “How is it different?”

“Zar’us can drink anything. Humans are fragile.”

“Fragile?” Lod was confused.

“Yes. My father says that a single small cut can kill you, and you cannot drink the water of the sea,” Lod’s ears perked up at this word ‘sea’, “even the sunlight kills you.”

“Of course it does. The sun is toxic.”

“Zar’us do not fear the sun.”

“Well if you don’t fear the sun, why do you care about the water.”

“It just confuses me,” Taril said with a shrug.

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Voice Acting

So last week I auditioned for a voice acting gig.

No, seriously.

I should explain. For years I’ve been running table top RPGs for my circle of friends. As a compulsive world-builder and aspiring writer that I am, I’m usually the one volunteered for GM-duty, which means I end up making a ton of NPCs and such. To add a bit of immersion (and to have a bit of fun myself) I try to give unique voices to lots of them. It might be silly but folks are already rolling dice and storming castles, so it never really seemed that much sillier to me, and people seemed to like it. Quite a few of my players have commented on it, and many others have joined in on the fun and add their own voices for their own characters. A few of my players have mentioned that they thought I should look into voice work because of my voices, and one of them sent me a link to some open auditions for a project last month, and so…well here we are.

It’s not a very big project, just a fan-dub for a Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess movie. I’ll go on record as saying that I’m not usually a huge fan (ha-ha) of fan-dub projects like this, but I am a huge fan of Legend of Zelda, so I figured I’d give it a shot.

It’s not exactly professional work at Disney, but you gotta start somewhere.

So, today, I thought I’d share a few takes for a few characters I auditioned for.

Unmasked_zantZant, a villain, but like most villains in Legend of Zelda, playing second banana to the real big bad.

Audio glitch recording left this one very quiet, so you may need to turn up your volume, but only on this one. Apologies. 

YetaYetoYeto, the big yeti in the background, is a very large and boisterous fellow, who deeply loves his wife Yeta.

Spirit1Hero’s Spirit is possibly Link from Ocarina of Time. Depending on theories about how Zelda timelines work. I will confess, it makes less sense the longer you think about it.

011King Bulblin, is fat, sadistic, and decides to switch sides the moment you beat him. Like a ill tempered Snorlax I guess.

maxresdefaultSages, the guys and gals who consistently fail to follow through on the whole lock evil away forever thing. Seriously, we’ve done this how many times already? Maybe these guys aren’t so sagely after all.

I auditioned for a few other rolls, but these are the ones I felt were the strongest. Honestly I don’t expect to get a part, there are a lot of very talented people applying it seems, but I’m glad I threw my hat in anyway. Maybe I’ll keep an eye open for other auditions in the future.

What do you think? Any good? Don’t quit my day job? Seriously, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🙂

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