Blazing Spear: Rulaani Clayborn Interview

Wrote this up to illustrate one of the major cultural perspectives in Blazing Spear- that of the Rulaani Empire, which has rapidly expanded in the last century.

I have encountered Peltan upon the road to Strongbranch. She is employed as a traveling sorceror's guard, and was ordered to answer my questions in exchange for information on current political events to the south.

Peltan is a tall clayborn warrior-witch, with brown skin and black hair that is shaven along both sides. She seems well accustomed to the weight of her armor. Her left arm and spear bear marks of power, a strange kind of Rulaani rasayana which I am ill-equipped to study. We converse in fluent crow tongue.

"Who are you?"
My name is Peltan il-Orphan Daughter, ar-Butcher's Ward, ar-Infantry Sergeant, Sellspear. I am called Peltan the Cold-Eyed.

"You have many titles."
Peltan Sellspear is my name, not a title. A Rulaani is defined by her labors. If was to I trade my spear for a plow and join a harvest guild, then my name would become Peltan Farmer.

"Where are you from and what is that place like?"
I was raised in the dawnside markets of the great city of Rulaan. It stands amid seas of grain, in the Heartland where the Titans once ruled over our predecessors. It is a place of great bounty, which all Rulaani will lay down their lives to protect.

"In my travels, I've heard many say that your empire has armies of witches. Is this true?"
I'd never heard that word, before I left my homeland. A witch seems to be any woman who wields strange and dangerous magic, who can do terrible harm in unexpected ways. So I will say it is half true. All our soldiers have the warlocks' marks and know how to use them; but only half are women.

"So your armies are comprised of both sexes."
Yes, and also those like the Alseid, who grow from their Heratrees and bear no children. All provinces of our empire must contribute to our armies, and those born in conquered territories can join our ranks to earn full citizenship. All who dedicate their lives to Rulaan may earn the right to be Rulaani.

"What does it mean to be a woman in Rulaan?"
It is a difficult thing for a foreigner to understand. In Rulaan there is no longer a woman's place and a man's place, woman's work and men's work. There is a woman's strengths and a man's strengths, but we teach them to each other. Our men are tempered- they learn discipline and foresight. In battle they fight in formation and hold ranks as well as any woman. And in turn, we learn from their fire- it is the men who show us how to inspire the masses, to sing with passion, to love our children. We make each other strong.

"To whom do you pray?"
No one. I am a sworn to the flame, like all true Rulaani. It is our most powerful oath and cannot be undone.

"Tell me about this oath."
It is sworn in the light of a true flame, the fires in which the first Rulaani burned the gods who created them. It means I have forsaken providence; the gods will not answer my pleas, and my fate has been unwritten. If I had some grand destiny, the world has now forgotten it; perhaps I will die tomorrow. But today I am alive.

"Why would you swear such a thing?"
To be Rulaani. To be a part of something more. Words can only say so much. Whatever my life, I know that no master has chosen it for me.

"What will become of your soul after death?"
Our lives are as fuel for the flame; my existence will end with my death. All that remains is the mark I have left on the world. As for my soul, who can say? I am clayborn, the favored titanspawn, sculpted in my long-dead creator's image. Perhaps I never had such a thing to begin with.

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Blazing Spear: Cultural exchange

THE ADVENTURES OF BOB, RULAANI TOURIST
The man with no remarkable skills whatsoever!

"Bob" is a joke character I've used in our internal discussions. His purpose is to demonstrate how an "average joe" in Blazing Spear's central culture, the Rulaani Empire, can still be someone extraordinary in the eyes of other cultures. The following is the first anecdote he appeared in, from a chat last september; ideas have progressed since then, but the cultural differences remain in effect.

4:55 PM
me: Rulaani tourist in the mountain kingdoms hears about the legendary Swooping Hawk sword style, whose incredible secrets (the source of much speculation) are taught only at a secluded dojo on a nearby mountain.
4:57 PM
So he decides to go down there on tuesday, knocks on their door and says "Hey, this the place where they teach those 'Swooshing Hawk' moves? I want to see how work."
4:58 PM
Michel: Complete with bad grammar in his non native tongue. Alright, what happens next?
5:01 PM
me: Well, imagine if some guy walks into the most important building in Apple'sheadquarters and says with a bit of an accent "Hello, is this the place where they present the new prototypes to Steve Jobs? Ok, and which room? I am here to observe."
5:02 PM
Almost certainly alot of "Um, wait, who are you?" Because it would be ridiculous to think that someone would just walk in and want to see this super-secret mysterious stuff because of idle curiosity.

Michel: I can just imagine the monocles falling off.
5:04 PM
me: In fact, let's say he actually gets to the grandmaster, and that the real reason he does is because he acts like he has a reason to be there.
5:05 PM
(And does it well, because it's not an act.)
5:06 PM
Now, bear in mind that in my head Rulaan basically has spears as the classic weapon where western culture has swords. They refer to freelance warriors (mercenaries) as "sellspears" or "spears for hire".
5:08 PM
So let's say this guy has one of those on him.
5:09 PM
Michel: brb keep typing.

wanna read this.
9 minutes
5:18 PM
me: The master, with a nervous low-ranking student helping translate, basically is all "So. . .you are a Rulaani of common birth, who has spent four years as a member of your village militia." (Camera cuts to a muddy guy in rags shivering in the cold and using a rusty sword to try and hack dead limbs off some trees. A caption at the borrom reads MOUNTAIN KINGDOM EQUIVALENT. His comrade says "Maybe you should sharpen that thing." "Oh yeah. How do you do that?" "I think you need a rock?" Cut back to the dojo.) "Yep," says the Rulaani.
5:21 PM
Michel: lol
5:23 PM
me: "And word has reached you of our great and much-feared sword school, where the secret sword techniques of Master Li Peng have been passed onto a chosen few for four generations." "Some guys in the village down the hill were talking about it."

(Translator: ". . .He says yes.")
5:27 PM
Michel: keep going
5:32 PM
me: "And you have decided to make a day trip to our dojo, where you expect we will show you these secrets only because you asked." "Oh! No no no, I'm sorry, this must have seemed so impolite, I didn't mean it like that." "Ah, that is good." "Yes, I would never ask to learn your techniques without also sharing my own martial knowledge in return."

(Awkward silence)
6 minutes
5:39 PM
Michel: Well, don't stop there.
5:40 PM
me: The master massages his temple. "Very well, tell him we will accept." Translator does a double take. "M. . .master?" "I now foresee a need to gut the Rulaani in large numbers at some point in the future. It is prudent to observe how they fight."
5:44 PM
So they go to the 2nd-years dojo room and he tells the teacher to indulge this guy by serving as his mock opponent. Guy acts out some basic spear strikes in slow motion, functional but utterly crude in their eyes (spear masters are no sword masters, but they at least have some poetry).
6 minutes
5:51 PM
me: Then his opponent asks if they can try the scenario in a brief actual spar. They face off, and the teacher contempously slaps the spear aside with his wooden sword at the right point in the attack pattern to throw his enemy off balance. The Rulaani barely dodges the follow-up sword swing, but the teacher simply continues his rotation and launches a roundhouse kick to the gut.
5:53 PM
Michel: And?

me: Rulaani is bent double, gasping, dropped his spear. The audience is cackling appreciatively. The master smiles, but his eyes frown for a second. ("Damn, that was pretty good," says the Rulaani between gasps.")
5:54 PM
"Wait, do that one more time," says the master. A similar repeat perfomance ensues.
5:56 PM
The audience is quiet now, still grinning exultantly. But the master is now completely focused. "Do that thing again, with your feet." The Rulaani got his ass handed to him, but it shouldn't have taken three moves. Not with this guy's utter lack of real skill.
6:00 PM
Over the next two hours the master grills the visitor extensively on the training drills he's recieved regarding stance, footwork and movement. Once satisfied, he nods and spends the afternoon patiently coaching the Rulaani on a few useful basic techniques that should be viable for a spear wielder.
6:02 PM
Michel: Continue?
6:03 PM
me: Over the next several years the master implements the most radical series of changes to the Swooping Hawk style since it was created by Master Li Peng almost a century ago.
6:05 PM
Master Li Peng was an absolute master prodigy of a warrior. He invented some amazing things. But he was one man working in isolation, with only very basic practices as a shared starting point- ones he did his best to unlearn, since they tended to be very flawed.

Michel: I get what you're getting at.
7 minutes
6:13 PM
me: The Rulaani was an utterly unremarkable warrior, who had baredly grasped the fundamentals of the martial techniques he was trained in- techniques and lessons based on the work of half a dozen different genius master warriors, each with decent access to their predecessor's ruminations.
6:14 PM
Michel: By extension, this principle makes Rulaan a natural source of PCs

since the kind of knowledge that is useful for making heroes

(alchemical lore, combat techniques, espionage savvy, technological expertise)
6:15 PM
would be more widely shared than in other cultures.

me: Master Li Peng never really thought much about footwork- his stances were ideal for ensuring a strong and versatile attack made from a standing position.
6:18 PM
The school had traditionally assumed that someone who is forced to move backwards in a duel has essentially lost the fight. But if this Rulaani had even a few years worth of real combat experience (and had been in better shape), he would have been able to wipe the floor with his sparring opponent.
6:21 PM
The master could see the potential of the moves enough to realize there was a whole branch of techniques that the school had previously thought to be infeasible.

Michel: Cool
6:24 PM
me: If someone had suggested to a swooping hawk student that this would come to pass, it would mean a duel to the death- someone daring to suggest that their master's knowledge would be lacking? No loyal member of the school would let such disrespect stand.
6:25 PM
Not unlike how every kid thinks their mom and dad truly know everything.
6:26 PM
Michel: ahhh

(until they're thirteen, in which case the exact opposite effect is the case)
6:27 PM
me: (Which is what the majority of masters are like- they clearly know everything. This one was a little wiser than the norm.)
6:28 PM
But to the Rulaani, this guy doesn't represent the absolute pinnacle of knowledge- just a guy who knows a bunch of stuff.
6:29 PM
Michel: I see
6:30 PM
It sounds like our setting is one where travel and exposure count for a lot

And going places and seeing things makes for powerful adventurers

because they'll grasp insights unavailable to the guy who stays in his place.

Am I on target?
6 minutes
6:37 PM
me: Could be, could be. Making a character who's been exposed to a variety of cultures might be how you make a more "multiclass" character- at least in terms of overcoming hurdles in pursuit of an optimal rounded-out build.
6:39 PM
Reeling things way on back to the original point, I expect I was also thinking of things like minimizing raw number increases for high-level characters.
6:40 PM
A level 12 character (well, his equivalent in this system) shouldn't feel "safe" when facing a group of 10 level 1s.
6:43 PM
Not until he does a display of fighting skill that scares the remaining 7 into backing down. Or navigates the fight into a narrow alley where they can't come at him with more than 2 at a time. Or otherwise avoids a "fair fight" in favor of a situation where he has the advantage.

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The Stalker games are doing something right. (Part 1)

The first thing Stalker does is teach you to be a coward.

There's no deliberate instruction involved- it's a lesson you learn naturally, which makes it ten times as effective. The tutorials are the pack of wild dogs who maul you because you tried to shoot them, the anomalies that reward your curiosity with poison and radiation, the handful of men that kill you five times over despite the quicksave which puts you in a perfect ambush position.

With uncharacteristic speed, your subconscious gets the message: this is not a world that was tailor-made for your pleasure. The gun in your hand was not placed there by God, so that you could accomplish a mission He has laid out for you. The dangers you see are not elements of a meticulously arranged shooting gallery- they are dangers pure and simple, under no kind of obligation to compensate you for the hardships they incur.

Ten minutes into Call of Pripyat, I found my first camp. A young man squatting by the campfire referred me to the boss, who I found on the other side of a nearby cargo container. My gamer instincts relaxed as I entered familiar territory: An NPC I interacted with via a conversation tree, ready to dispense basic exposition at the press of a button.

As I asked him about the availabled missions in the area, our conversation was cut short by the sound of a shotgun blast- the dialogue box literally closed while I was still reading his answer. While I blinked in confusion, the man turned away and took cover up against the wall. Drawing his gun, he started moving back towards the campfire. I saved the game and followed him. The bandits who had just killed the guy at the campfire shot us both dead in seconds.

I loaded the game. He advanced towards the campfire. I backed away and watched as the bandits shot him dead again. When I moved closer, they saw me and muttered warnings; I holstered my gun, and they went on their way.

The two corpses at my feet were a sad thing, but I didn't really feel guilty. After all, I didn't know these guys; we were just talking. I was just relieved those bandits hadn't cared about me.

I didn't want any trouble.

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Brainstorming: One Hell of a love story

(10:27:25 PM) Dagda: You know that massive image collection I've got?
(10:28:29 PM) Dagda: 7k character portraits, and just as much other stuff?
(10:28:53 PM) Dr Nurse: Yes?
(10:29:43 PM) Dagda: Basically, I have it all on the ipod, with the slideshow set to shuffle. So I open up the "Portraits" gallery, and declare that the next pic that comes up will be the protagonist.
(10:39:08 PM) Dr Nurse: Holy shit, no dude, I could play that game forever
(10:39:18 PM) Dagda: Same
(10:40:14 PM) Dagda: Here, let's do it now! You declare the character's role, I'll grab the result & give you the web gallery link.
(10:40:25 PM) Dr Nurse: :-D YES!
(10:41:02 PM) Dagda: (Or you can declare something like "this is his weapon of choice" and I'll go raid the Equipment gallery instead, for example.)
(10:41:15 PM) Dr Nurse: Right!
(10:41:19 PM) Dr Nurse: Okay, then... setting.
(10:41:39 PM) Dagda: http://picasaweb.google.com/brooks.dagdamor/Scenes3#5143661690248142114
(10:42:35 PM) Dagda: HELL ITSELF
(10:42:43 PM) Dr Nurse: Damn, I was hoping for more scenery but YES. THE WAR IN HELL.
(10:42:46 PM) Dagda: We appear to be off to an excellent start
(10:42:51 PM) Dr Nurse: WONDERFUL.
(10:42:52 PM) Dr Nurse: Hero?
(10:43:11 PM) Dagda: http://picasaweb.google.com/brooks.dagdamon/Portraits702#5283513631152882466
(10:43:14 PM) Dagda: Huh!
(10:43:36 PM) Dagda: Some kinda elric/samurai guy? This one gives us alot of flexibilty.
(10:43:56 PM) Dr Nurse: ...Wow we are off to a great start. A lost soul in the middle of a war in hell itself.
(10:44:14 PM) Dagda: How about love interest?
(10:44:24 PM) Dr Nurse: Oh! Yes! This could be interesting.
(10:44:27 PM) Dagda: Take advantage of the androgynous protagonist
(10:44:35 PM) Dr Nurse: Totally!
(10:44:44 PM) Dagda: http://picasaweb.google.com/brooks.dagdamon/Portraits702#5283537642721245634
(10:44:51 PM) Dagda: Hmm
(10:45:11 PM) Dagda: Well, she's got the right attitude for a war in hell
(10:45:36 PM) Dagda: (right attitude being yelling angrily while hitting something)
(10:45:54 PM) Dr Nurse: Well, this is easy. Apparently this war in hell is asian themed or some shit. Maybe it's a Dante's Inferno (the shitty game i mean) situation. He went into the depths of hell itself to fetch a lost love...
(10:45:59 PM) Dr Nurse: and she's a little busy kicking ass in a war.
(10:46:34 PM) Dagda: Less "I have come for you my darling" and more "Honey maybe it's time you took a break, dinner's almost ready"
(10:46:58 PM) Dagda: Hmm
(10:47:50 PM) Dagda: Maybe you've got the Doom-esque "gate to hell opens" scenario, and an order of monks sends people in to desperately try & find a way to close it.
(10:49:14 PM) Dagda: And this lost soul- who happens to be a badass swordsman, hence him not being devoured decades ago- is immediately drawn to her (which is a good thing, since she really needs help. Not many visitor aids in hell)
(10:52:10 PM) Dagda: I find myself envisioning a blend of action-movie and "my love interest is damned" dark romance.
(10:52:31 PM) Dr Nurse: I LIKE IT.
(10:52:37 PM) Dr Nurse: So hey, Villain time. Make it happen.
(10:52:47 PM) Dagda: Hmm
(10:53:26 PM) Dagda: Do I go to Portraits (i.e. people) or creatures (i.e. inhumanoid monsters)?
(10:53:44 PM) Dr Nurse: Hey, do both and see what we can come up with
(10:53:49 PM) Dr Nurse: this IS hell after all
(10:54:03 PM) Dagda: http://picasaweb.google.com/brooks.dagdamor/Creatures2#5239703957979077474
(10:54:31 PM) Dagda: First reaction is :/
(10:54:51 PM) Dagda: Second reaction: SHIT YES INFERNAL WARGOLEM ON WHEELS
(10:55:01 PM) Dr Nurse: I WAS ABOUT TO SAY THE SAME THING.
(10:55:05 PM) Dr Nurse: IT'S A MECH. IN HELL. AWESOME.
(10:55:06 PM) Dagda: A little generous interpetation voila!
(10:55:41 PM) Dagda: . . .Oooh!
(10:55:49 PM) Dagda: Person result: http://picasaweb.google.com/brooks.dagdamon/Portraits10#5283564672277980530
(10:56:18 PM) Dagda: Whaddaya say we have our reason for the hellgate opening in the first place?
(10:56:49 PM) Dr Nurse: I think so. A vengeful warrior dude trying to claw his way out of hell and, barring that, bringing everyone else into hell with him?
(10:58:13 PM) Dagda: HELL ITSELF CANNOT HOLD ME BACK
(10:58:35 PM) Dr Nurse: THE GATES ARE OPENED AND IT WILL SPILL INTO THE MORTAL WORLD
(10:58:37 PM) Dagda: Oooh! Oooh!
(11:00:07 PM) Dagda: So I'm thinking, maybe mortals- those badass enough to actually hold onto their souls while in hell- can actually use the metaphysical advantage their soul gives them to start bringing demons under their will?
(11:00:21 PM) Dagda: A sort of charisma that comes from them having free will?
(11:00:34 PM) Dr Nurse: OH YES! So we get the MegaTen element of monster recruitment?
(11:01:45 PM) Dagda: I was thinking this as an explanation for the warrior guy being a villain- but then I realized this could mean our love interest has to learn to do the same over the course of the story!
(11:02:36 PM) Dagda: i.e. stare down the mob of fiends and say "No, YOU get on your knees and beg for mercy"
(11:02:56 PM) Dagda: And then crack heads until they get the idea
(11:03:09 PM) Dr Nurse: YES! This mortal girl has to learn how to be a lord of hell to fight a lord of hell.
(11:04:27 PM) Dagda: And her love interest guy has to rebuild his sense of self, through her, enough to give her the crash course.
(11:04:48 PM) Dagda: OH! Just thought of a viable ending!
(11:05:18 PM) Dr Nurse: Oh?
(11:06:18 PM) Dagda: The whole "dark" part of the romance setup comes from the giant This Will Not End Well factor, right?
(11:06:42 PM) Dr Nurse: Right!
(11:08:36 PM) Dagda: She's on a suicide mission, even if she beats this guy there's very little chance of her being able to escape afterwards. And he's a lost soul, fighting alongside her guarantees that he's attracting too much attention to measure his lifespan in more than hours.
(11:10:37 PM) Dagda: And even if they weren't up against such staggering odds amounts of ass, the best could hope for would be to win her a way out and wave a sad goodbye. Heck, maybe he repeatedly tries to persuade her to cut & run with that very goal in mind.
(11:12:43 PM) Dagda: Then comes the climactic battle against this villain (and his wargolem!). Let's say that there's this big soul-devouring sacrificial altar thingy, maybe with big barbed spikes to impale your victims on.
(11:13:08 PM) Dagda: Or some similar device.
(11:13:12 PM) Dr Nurse: Right!
(11:14:43 PM) Dagda: And say that our final battle ends with this lost soul attempting a Taking You With Me sacrifice, expending his essence enough to physically tackle the villain into the devour-your-soul-o-matic.
(11:16:11 PM) Dagda: Villain soul is devoured! Bloodied, lifeless body crashes to the floor, whites of his eyes showing.
(11:18:06 PM) Dagda: Same soul-devouring forces rip at our lost soul. . .only for it to become clear that they're pawing ineffectively at him. WIth this last act, he's officially become to pure for hell to have any power over him.
(11:19:37 PM) Dr Nurse: OHHHHH
(11:20:09 PM) Dagda: but he's still spent to much of himself, his spiritual form's integrity is comrpomised. He's drifting away, presumably to heaven. She's watching him with this tearful smile, in such rough shape that she can't even stand, demons and/or a still-functional wargolem battering down a nearby door & seconds a way from crushing her to a pulp.
(11:20:36 PM) Dr Nurse: So we still get a badend?!
(11:22:10 PM) Dagda: He's completely not okay with this ending, she's completely okay with it. This way one of them gets out of hell, and it's the one who never had any hope in the first place.
(11:23:30 PM) Dagda: We hear screaming no & struggling to force himself to stay in more and more heartfelt fashions, but after one final, determined, fading cry he's gone.
(11:24:26 PM) Dr Nurse: D:
(11:24:37 PM) Dagda: She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, turns to watch the berserk war golem break free of the door/whatever they trapped it in mid-fight and barrel down towards her.
(11:25:59 PM) Dagda: AND THEN HE SLICES OFF ITS ARM. "HE" MEANING THE LOST SOUL, IN THE BODY OF THE VILLAIN
(11:27:07 PM) Dagda: An intact mortal body, with a freshly empty place where its soul used to be.
(11:27:27 PM) Dagda: TWIST GOOD END
(11:27:39 PM) Dr Nurse: THE BEST END.
(11:27:46 PM) Dr Nurse: I LOVE TWIST GOOD ENDS.
(11:27:50 PM) Dr Nurse: YOU NEVER SEE THOSE ENOUGH.
(11:27:55 PM) Dr Nurse: "OH SHIT THINGS LOOK BLEAK"
(11:28:00 PM) Dr Nurse: "SURPRISE NIGGA NO THEY AIN'T
(11:29:56 PM) Dagda: So.
(11:30:12 PM) Dagda: We need to do this on a regular basis, methinks.
(11:30:19 PM) Dr Nurse: This is the best game.

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Field Report

Just a quick sci-fi piece I did a few weeks back, for a discussion on alien perspectives of humanity.

Most worthy and honorable [saints] of the council, it is my solemn wish that this annual report shall prove to be free from arrogance. For the duration of the past [16.52 years], I have endeavored to perform suitably as a replacement for my former master. It is with fearful humility that I find myself forced to challenge his conclusions with regards to the sentience-supporting planet [Earth]'s primary species of interest.

As the superior members of the council are surely aware, [humans] are classified as an inferior non-[murderous] gatherer species. My predecessor initially declared that humanity was composed of numerous sub-species, which dwell together in groups; he believed this was why they had been able to form a [false] civilization which allows them to advance without the aid of [blessed extraterrestrial enslavers] in a similar fashion to [untranslatable name 1] and the [untranslatable name 2]. However, our fact-auditor invalidated this conclusion after translating the human's records regarding their own genetic information. Upon his retirement, my former master's final report thus theorized that humans are instead obeying the will of hive minds which communicate to them via a medium our outpost's sensors were incapable of monitoring. He believed that human brains themselves had the secondary function of receiving and generating these signals, which explains the abnormal levels of energy they require to operate- [20 watts] for adults, a full 20% of their daily energy consumption. I hereby pronounce this theory to be without merit. My dutiful observations, aided by the continued maturation of our translation programs, have forced me to adopt a new hypothesis using data we previously assumed to be erroneous.

It is with reluctant confidence that I declare humans to be individually capable of adopting multiple [identities]. For example, it is considered normal for a single individual to be capable of simultaneously fulfilling all [parental] roles while also serving as a resource-gatherer and a resource manager. They have no need for [mental purging] rituals, and can even spontaneously develop new [selves] when placed in new situations. This results in an incredible resistance to [paradox breakdowns], as reflected by the strength of a typical human's [sense of humor]; the range of stimuli types their minds can derive [amusement] from is extraordinarily broad. Nor is this the limit of this species' adaptibility.

Recent translations of humanity's records regarding their own species conclusively indicate that they are capable of naturally developing [unnatural] selves in a conscious response to paradigm shifts created by their own advances in technology. Despite their nature as inferior gatherers, upon developing primitive [weapons] humanity immediately began to utilize them to simulate the nature of a [murderous] species, becoming predators of superior organisms. This artificial role developed despite a complete absence of [divine intervention], and we have identified hundreds more that have appeared since. Our [role enforcer] has already declared that this includes multiple [warrior] roles, and that the majority of them do not conform to any known classifications; [he] expects similar results in other areas. It may hypothetically be possible to declare that every human's identities are in fact unique, similar to that of other humans but lacking anything inherently identical.

Because of this capability, human [society] appears to be several orders of magnitude more complex than anything previously encountered. They seem to be capable of communicating [viewpoints] in an incredibly efficient manner through the use of complex linguistic techniques and the simultaneous conscious use of multiple mediums; I theorize that a human who achieved comprehension of the contents of this report could relate the entirety of it to another member of his species in under [5.28 hours]. While their [false] technology is primitive, human society appears to be advancing it at an exponential rate.

This report shall be accompanied by all acquired data, as is my duty. I await renewed enlightenment through the all-comprehending council's forthcoming conclusions.

----

Inferior observer,

"The council of saints declares that humans may potentially be capable of independently achieving interstellar travel and influencing the development of other species, which means they may be [infant gods] whose society possesses [perfect purity of truth]. All preparations for humanity's enlightening enslavement are [heretical] and must cease immediately. [Religious authorities] are committing suicide to [serve penance] in your place, so that you might study human society to the absolute fullness of your potential.

You may well be recording our new [gospel]. Do not falter, and do not interfere with the development of humanity at any cost. A delegation of [high priests] shall arrive to assume leadership of your project and augment its capabilities in [168.7 years]."

This is the council's word.

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Elysium Nebula: A brief anecdote.

If he hadn't noticed the cut power lines from the other side of the engine room, Keller would probably have strolled right into the assassin's blade. As is, the human mechanic had stopped in the doorway and thus had an instant for several thoughts to cross his mind as the black-clad figure stepped out from behind the generator and moved to close the distance between them.

The first thought caused feelings of frustration. After the last mysterious sabotage attempt, he'd spent a full day customizing and augmenting the ship's security systems, and assured his crewmates that no one would be able to hack this vessel like they had before. But he hadn't accounted for someone hacking the systems in a more literal fashion.

The second thought was more practical, and led to a surge of fear. Keller was no anthropologist, but his trading days had given him enough experience with elven culture to identify the oncoming figure's robes as the traditional garb of an adept. Which meant this mysterious enemy his group faced was in all likelihood a very dangerous one- and more to the point, so was the individual charging at him now. No one was more dangerous at close range than one of those martial mystics.

The third thought ran through his mind almost casually: Keller wondered if the attacker knew that he wasn't the only one in the have studied the eldritch arts.

As the figure rushed towards him, the human turned and bolted towards the toolkit he'd left open on the shelf yesterday, chanting under his breath. After all the hours spent juggling metal spheres without letting them touch his hands, it took only a moment for him to tap into the waiting current of power and send the arc welder hurtling across the room into his outstretched hand. He spun around and dropped into a crouch as the blade slashed through the air where his neck had been, thumbing the activation on the welder as he brought it down against the floor.

Even with his free arm held over his tightly shut eyes, the light given off by the welder as it scored along the metal floor was enough to blind him for several moments. But as his vision cleared, Keller was treated to the sight of his assailant staggering back and clutching at his face. And that's why you always wear a welding mask, kids. Never one to waste an opportunity, Keller lunged forwards.

The elf sliced the arc welder in half with a one-armed swing of his sword, eyes still closed. There were times when Keller really hated magic.

The tech backpedaled as the assassin stabbed at him, but by going for the welder he'd trapped himself in a dead end. Desperately he began to intone the ritual chants once more, this time focusing on the blade in the attacker's hands- as stupid a gamble as he'd ever had to make. His opponent probably had a lifetime of experience with using and countering tactics like these; an attempt to disarm him with telekenesis was doomed to fail.

Keller inhaled and made a forceful gesture, tugging the blade to the left. The adept reacted by tightening his grip on the sword, maintaining his hold even as Keller dropped the feint and pulled the blade in the opposite direction with all his strength. And because of this the elf was still in full contact with the blade as its tip plunged into the adjacent generator.

The human watched in amazement as his assailant was thrown bodily against the wall, the sword still wedged into the sparking generator. The smell of ozone and burned flesh rose in the air as the elf slumped over. Keller breathed a sigh of relief as he rose. "Well, I guess that tells us a little more about- OH, COME ON." The assassin was staggering to his feet. Keller took the sight in for a moment, then decided to retreat while he had the chance. Let's let the people on the crew with *guns* handle this.

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Warhammer 40,000: Are You My Warboss?

A ork waaagh lands on a desolate necron tombworld, and the soulless automatons quickly arise to eradicate the infestation. Every single one of the boyz is vaporized, and sterilization fields are activated that kill off even the spores. But through mutation and sheer luck, one spore grows so quickly that it escapes the sterilizing fields. A single ork is born.

He acquires a choppa and pistol from the ruins of the orc's encampment, but there aren't any boyz to be found. The ork looks about uncertainly, then smiles and with a tentative "waagh!" runs off in a random direction- the boyz left without him, so he'll just have to track them down.

He wanders the dusty wastes for weeks. Once he sees smoke, but it turns out to be the remnants of some spilt fuel containers. He plays with the fire for a while, but moves on- after all, the real fun will be when he catches up with the boyz.

Then, to his joy, he finds one of the entrances to the tombs. Down in the vaults, he gazes across row after row of inert necron warrior. He runs through the halls for a while, roaring and firing his bolter, trying to liven the place up a little. Eventually he walks over and punches one of the warriors in the shoulder; it simply tips over. The tomb remains inert.

Since he's the biggest, the orc figures it's his job to whip these funny-lookin boyz into shape. He gathers a bunch of them together in a pile, then stacks a few more to form a nearby podium. Standing on it, the ork gives a rousing speech about how this is a sorry lot but he'll get them shipshape soon enough. He tries all sort of things to get a waagh going- insults, violence, praise and flattery. . .He tries hobbling around on folded knees, thinking that if he's smaller someone else might go and do a better job of starting a waaagh.

Eventually he goes up on the surface again. He heads off and after much searching manages to find the camp. Nothing there has changed. He grabs up as much dakka and choppa as he can carry and hauls it with him as he spends several weeks looking until he finds the tomb entrance again. Staggering over to where all his boyz are, he dumps the huge assortment of weaponry down and looks up hopefully. The moment stretches out as he stands there, looking on with a tentative smile. Eventually he starts picking up choice bits of weaponry and offering them to the necron warriors. None show any signs of interest.

He tries fitting in for a little while, by standing in the same posture and not moving. He pretends to leave and then sneaks back and peeks around the corner to see if any of the necrons move.

He wants to fight with somebody, just once. He wants to get shot up, to ride shotgun, hooting and hollering. He wants to meet a weirdboy or a nob or a dok. He wants to chant and pound the ground in unison with a massive crowd, to sail through the stars to a new world, to play catch with another ork using gretchins.

Just once, he wants to hear somebody call him something. Just one time; then he'd have a name.

He wishes he knew why the boyz left him behind.

He knows he'll find them. Some day...

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Just felt like sharing this. . .

Okay. 4chan, for the half of the readers who didn't come from that site in the first place (You guys can just hit the link and skip this next part), is terrible place. Terrible! Half their humor is oriented around being as offensive as possible. Abandon hope all ye who enter there, for you witness the anonymous online community in its concentrated form and the truth may be too terrible for you to bear.

That having been said, I myself am a part of said community- specifically, I spend my time on /tg/, the sub-board dedicated to traditional games. One of the purposes behind this blog is to let me post a link to a post I've made here rather than writing it all up again every time someone asks for campaign ideas or advice on zombie games. In the past I've likened /tg/ to a cool, breezy section of hell with lots of interesting people to talk to. Because it is a very creative place, with all sorts of interesting often-humorous ideas being bounced around. It just all happens to be very warped. For example, in one case the discussion topic was this charming fellow:

D&D veterans will recognize this as an Atropal, one of D&D's most inspired and macabre monsters; the undead fetus of a stillborn god. The /tg/ thread began as an exploration of some sort of horror story, with an atropal wailing across the cosmos for its mother. Then, as is to be expected for the board, the discussion took an unexpected turn.

"Atropals need a placenta attack"
"A placenta lasso and a little cowboy hat? Requesting shop of this plz."
"Done."

At which point I just had to write the following:

"Evenin', Frank."
"Evenin', Doc."
"Heard you got yourself a new hired hand."
"Yup. Jake's boy been helpin me with the cattle for a week now."
"Well, ain't that something. Seems like just yesterday Jake's missus found the poor child out in the cold. Been what, fifteen years?"
"Real curly wolf, that lady. You know she always wanted a child of her own."
"Jake's plenty game himself, standing by her like that even though everyone knows they was split on it in private."
"Well, the boy seems to have turned out right enough. Here he comes now."

The two men fell silent as the rider came up to the front porch.

"The cATtle'RE ALl penNED UP, Mr. ThompSOn."
"How many times I have to tell you boy, call me Frank."
"yESsIr. HoWDy, Doc."
"Howdy, son. Give my regards to your mother."
"I'LL do thAT."
"The cattle give you any trouble today?"
"nO SIr, tHEy was wELl behaVED as alwAys."
"Yep, you never do have trouble keepin'em in line. Well, I reckon that's enough for today. You can go on home."
"ThANk you, sIR."

Together they watched the figure retreat into the distance. Doc Worthington scratched his head.
"That's, ah, that's quite a steed he's got there."
"Eeyup."
"Strange how it seems to radiate a pure darkness deeper than any shadow."
"Eeyup."
"Still, nice gait to it though."
"He likes to feed it apples."
"Don't surprise me. He's a good kid."
"Eeyup."

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If I had to write a Warhammer 40k novel. . .

Just another random challenge to myself. I like the concept I managed to come up with; hit the jump to see it for yourself.

The first of the main characters we're introduced to is a female acolyte (apprentice inquisitor) who's been dispatched to this city on what is actually meant to be a suicide mission- her master has judged her weak and believes that she will never have what it takes to defeat the enemies of the imperium. She does a little investigation, determines that there really is a chaos cult/whatever, and decides to get some backup; unfortunately, she has no real authority and no money. Instead she sells one of the only pieces of equipment that is hers to sell, and then goes after a certain hired muscle known for being eccentric about the jobs he takes. This guy is main character #2, and sure enough he agrees to the job despite it being a charity case (and an extremely dangerous one at that). Though our initial impressions of him are that he's bitter and cynical, we eventually find that he also considers himself a faithful and loyal servant of the god-emperor who takes grave offense if someone implies otherwise. The man is actually the son of the planetary governor, and would have been a Commissar in the IG if his father hadn't used his influence to remove his son from active service in order to protect him. Needless to say, the man didn't take this well- with his dreams of glorious service denied to him, his best option for avoiding cowardice was taking dangerous jobs in the underhive while his faith stagnated.

The key here is that you've got two people whose faith in the emperor has been challenged, and who could easily lose faith or become skeptics like Ciaphas Cain, but instead choose to still believe in the God-Emperor. Over the course of the story, the female acolyte evolves into a more competent/assertive leader (think Integra Hellsing), and in doing so helps the would-be commissar by providing him with the opportunity to serve the emperor like he always wanted. Put differently, she's growing into a full-fledged inquisitor (at least in spirit) and he becomes the first member of her retinue.

To try another tack: Look at it as a noir story- she's the dame, he's the hardboiled private eye whose cynical analysis of human nature is dead-on, and everyone else is corrupt to one degree or another. He helps her by providing muscle and pessimistic-but-accurate advice, while she overcomes his defenses and fascinates him in a way he can't overcome. It's just that the weak spot in question isn't lust, but something far stronger- his faith and ideals, which have been nothing but a flickering light in the grim darkness for years. Now she fans the flames, and doing so leads to them both rejecting the cynicism that seems inevitable given the tropes of both Warhammer 40k and the Noir genre.

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It is I, Mario.

Oh dear, what to say. . .there was this discussion in a roleplaying game forum, you see. Someone was wondering about how to do Mario as a serious RPG. Grim and dark Mario, no way that's been done before, right? Well, the discussion had gone on for a while by the time I came across the thread- people had posted links to all the relevant flash animations/comics, and were working off of two basic concepts: Make it all more violent (blood spraying everywhere with each Goomba stomped), and have the game be set in the ruined, abandoned wasteland of a world where Mario failed and all that is bright and cheery has gone.

I had a different idea- in my mind there was an opportunity to do more than just make everything dark/ - , even while retaining the basic plotline of the games. I started to try and describe this concept, but then realized an example would be more effective. So I wrote the dialogue for a few would-be cutscenes instead. It's probably best if I let you form your own conclusions.

Scene 1
B: So it is true. You intend to seek him out.
(Bowser Jr. continues to don pieces of armor for several moments before replying.)
J: You speak as though there can be any other option.
B: Do not do this, my child. You know how many have fallen at his hand-
J: Precisely why I must now meet him on the field of battle. My allows no less.
B: Would that I could hear such proud words in times less cruel! You bring such pride to us all, boy, but think of the cost. Would you deny your art? Truly it is your murals that give our castles their soul-
J: I have painted of grand deeds enough, I think. I do not go alone, father. Wario will stand beside me-
B: He is a human, boy, and a brigand among brigands at that.
J: His selfish nature serves my purposes. I can handle him.
B: Again I beg you. Think of the future of our people-
J: What comes first, father? To rule the Koopas, or to be one worthy of that title? Do you really expect me to believe that your actions in my place would be any different?
B (quietly): I would know that I go to my .
(Bowser Jr. silently meets his father's gaze).
B: Oh, my child. In my desperation I deny the truth even as it lies plain before my face. Forgive my insult; you are no boy, but a man. And you are everything I could ever hope for in a son.
(The two embrace tightly.)
J: And I in a father. Farewell.

Scene 2
(At the front of the hall, the doors slam open. An undead skeleton topples down the steps, splaying out at the bottom to clearly reveal the crushed skull. The massive figure seated at the dining table looks up to the entrance.)
B: So. You've come.
M: You thought your paltry defenses would stop me, monster?
B: Monster? I who have kept my honor, who stood by and watched as those under my charge were slaughtered without mercy?
M: You will pay for abducting the princess. Your reign ends here.
(Bowser sweeps the table aside with one crashing swipe of his arm.)
B: And who are you to challenge my sovereignty, human? What has that princess offered you, an outsider, that you might fall to her will as readily as those servile Toads?
M: What has become of her?
B: My subjects brought word of your deeds to me again and again. My most loyal of subjects, the best of Koopas- crushed. Even as you struck down my child did I stay my hand, for I had given my word that she would come to no harm, and I have kept it.
M: Say what you will, fiend. You have brought this fate upon yourself.
B: Enough! The gods have made me as I am to lead the Koopas to glory, not so that I might simper at the will of some fair-haired maiden. It is you who shall meet your fate this day!

This was written a couple months back; since then, the concept has been gradually developing; even though I've yet to deliberately dedicate any further conscious effort to the task, at this point I've the full outline for a two-"volume" story bouncing around in my head. And to tell the truth I'm not sure what to do with it. I could write it up for the blog, but at this point it's a story that would work much better for a video game than a tabletop one. I could do it as a fanfiction, but that's a whole new online community and I'm a little hesitant to just dive into it.

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