The group approached the edge of what had once been a lake, and paused for a moment to take in the sight before them. The water had been collected up into a magical sphere in the middle of the remaining hole in the earth, creating a thick barrier preventing entry to the villain's lair. The water was moving at rapid speeds, and had carried a large number of stones and boulders up with it - it was apparent that not only could you swim straight through it, if you tried you would be bashed to pieces. And that, of course, was assuming you could even reach it - the empty lakebed had severe drops in it only a few feet out, and the ground below was uneven, rocky, and covered in trash and the bodies of dead fish.
The mage stepped forward, and with a wave of his hand the larger stones lifted from the lakebed and lined up, one after another, creating a pathway for the group to traverse. The pathway was solid and even, magically held in place and as stable as though they were walking on earth itself. And yet, as they proceeded over it, the pathway fell away behind them, stopping anyone from either side from following them. This was to be a dangerous battle - it was best if they were the only ones involved. They were sure that there would be enough forces to fight just on the other side of the barrier, and it was best if they weren't taken from behind as well, or had anyone else injured by their actions.
It was the monk who stepped forward as they reached the barrier, simply clothed and wielding no weapons. He took a strong stance just in front of the rushing water, gathering his ki in his body before throwing an open palm against its surface. There was a moment of relative silence as the waters continued to swirl. Then they came to an abrupt halt, the cessation of movement spreading like a shockwave. For a moment they were still, and the placement of the rocks was apparent, and they could see faintly the fortress that was on the other side. And then the water shook and fell back into the lakebed, returning the lake to normal and revealing the newly constructed fortress in the center of the lake.
It didn't take long for forces to pile out of the openings in the fortress, moving towards the small group of invaders who had already eliminated the first line of defense. The numbers were impossible to withstand - but they were gods among men. And they were ready to set things right.
Tuesday, February 14, 2017
Free Write 19
As we get slowly closer to actually being able to play Dungeons and Dragons, I'm getting more and more excited - I have thoroughly enjoyed the character creation process, which I do not recall doing as much the one other time that I attempted to play. It's hard to say if that's because I'm older or because the system for it has changed, though I'm inclined to believe it has more to do with the second, seeing as I have been a writer for as long as I can remember. There are so many games that I've played that take it's form of stat distribution, and I have never enjoyed them. But this is more than just stat distribution - you are encouraged to create a history and a purpose for your character, and the more you play to those stylistic choices, the more you are rewarded. I wish that kind of system was used more often, though it would admittedly be hard to pull off most of the time.
I want to find a way to combine that with all of the woodworking I have been doing lately. I've actually considered making my own set of dice from wood, which would be very cool, though it presents a number of problems. First of all, the sheer number of dice I would have to create - I would like to have at least four six sided dice, and that would be the easiest starting point. It says nothing of the twenty sided dice I would have to make - and while I can find instructions on how to do so online, they are somewhat confusing and precise, and I only have so much skill. Then there is the fact that I don't know what kind of wood would be best suited for the work, or how big of a piece to start off with, along with a great many other things. I don't want to abandon the idea, but it will likely be a long while until I get there.
I am continuing to love Nioh as we make steady progress through it. The level design has yet to disappoint, and while the enemies aren't incredibly varied, I don't really mind because they're simply fun to fight, and there is enough variety to them to make each new enemy encounter intense and exciting. I have read some complaints, and while I can't disagree with them, I don't find anything in the game thus far to be a deal breaker. Granted, I'm not entirely sure how far into the game we are, as complete walkthroughs have yet to be created, but I am enjoying the steady and none too slow progress as we have managed to find nearly everything without any sort of a guide. I have read a number of hints online, mostly about good skills or weapon attacks, but occassionally about how to find hidden items. But it has definitely not been like some games where it was nearly impossible to progress without some kind of guide. And I certainly don't feel like we are playing inefficiently, considering how quickly we can plow through most enemies. It has yet to stop being fun - can't ask for much more.
I want to find a way to combine that with all of the woodworking I have been doing lately. I've actually considered making my own set of dice from wood, which would be very cool, though it presents a number of problems. First of all, the sheer number of dice I would have to create - I would like to have at least four six sided dice, and that would be the easiest starting point. It says nothing of the twenty sided dice I would have to make - and while I can find instructions on how to do so online, they are somewhat confusing and precise, and I only have so much skill. Then there is the fact that I don't know what kind of wood would be best suited for the work, or how big of a piece to start off with, along with a great many other things. I don't want to abandon the idea, but it will likely be a long while until I get there.
I am continuing to love Nioh as we make steady progress through it. The level design has yet to disappoint, and while the enemies aren't incredibly varied, I don't really mind because they're simply fun to fight, and there is enough variety to them to make each new enemy encounter intense and exciting. I have read some complaints, and while I can't disagree with them, I don't find anything in the game thus far to be a deal breaker. Granted, I'm not entirely sure how far into the game we are, as complete walkthroughs have yet to be created, but I am enjoying the steady and none too slow progress as we have managed to find nearly everything without any sort of a guide. I have read a number of hints online, mostly about good skills or weapon attacks, but occassionally about how to find hidden items. But it has definitely not been like some games where it was nearly impossible to progress without some kind of guide. And I certainly don't feel like we are playing inefficiently, considering how quickly we can plow through most enemies. It has yet to stop being fun - can't ask for much more.
Sunday, February 12, 2017
Wrong side
The doors burst open as the hero strode into the room, his companions at his back, making sure that they weren't followed into the hall. The mad king sat on his throne, a disinterested look on his face, watching as it happened - he had already been warned that the group was entering the castle, and he had no doubt that they would make it to his throne room. There had been much talk of this so called hero, and the deeds he had accomplished. The strength which he possessed. The ferocity with which he had stamped out the so called evil that was 'plaguing' the land.
"It's time we bring this to an end," the hero proclaimed, his chest puffed out and sword pointed strikingly in the king's direction. What a show off. He was following every stereotype in the book. The king wondered if he actually had accomplished anything that they had heard about - his companions seemed far more capable than he did, though that then begged the question of why they permitted him to be their leader. Was it money? Fame? Did he possess some excess of charisma? Or was the cliche appearance a front for something deeper beneath?
"Yes, I suppose it is," the king said, not budging from his chair. He rested his chin on his fist, looking the group over, knowing that they could not even approach him. The barrier that was placed around the throne was a more powerful magic than even he could penetrate - he had been trapped in the castle for some time now. And people wondered why he was 'mad.' "But before you come and strike me down, I do believe I get a final, evil monologue."
The hero didn't move, as though silently acknowledging the king's words. "This land wants nothing to do with itself," the king said, feeling somewhat bored and not being afraid to let it seep into his voice. "You may have noticed as you were stomping out the evil in the land that, truthfully, I had very little to do with it. I have imposed my rule, yes, but I have done so in order to try and stop the people from killing themselves. They are content to run themselves high and dry, and blame it on those around them. But I suppose you would not believe that. My words, after all, are only words. They mean precious little in the face of your mighty truth."
There was a long moment of silence as the hero glared at the king, hatred and contempt evident in his eyes. His group silently and slowly turned towards him, sufficiently confident that they had not been followed into the throne room. And then, unexpectedly, the hero lowered his sword.
"Yes," he said, almost too quietly to be heard. "I do suppose you are right."
"It's time we bring this to an end," the hero proclaimed, his chest puffed out and sword pointed strikingly in the king's direction. What a show off. He was following every stereotype in the book. The king wondered if he actually had accomplished anything that they had heard about - his companions seemed far more capable than he did, though that then begged the question of why they permitted him to be their leader. Was it money? Fame? Did he possess some excess of charisma? Or was the cliche appearance a front for something deeper beneath?
"Yes, I suppose it is," the king said, not budging from his chair. He rested his chin on his fist, looking the group over, knowing that they could not even approach him. The barrier that was placed around the throne was a more powerful magic than even he could penetrate - he had been trapped in the castle for some time now. And people wondered why he was 'mad.' "But before you come and strike me down, I do believe I get a final, evil monologue."
The hero didn't move, as though silently acknowledging the king's words. "This land wants nothing to do with itself," the king said, feeling somewhat bored and not being afraid to let it seep into his voice. "You may have noticed as you were stomping out the evil in the land that, truthfully, I had very little to do with it. I have imposed my rule, yes, but I have done so in order to try and stop the people from killing themselves. They are content to run themselves high and dry, and blame it on those around them. But I suppose you would not believe that. My words, after all, are only words. They mean precious little in the face of your mighty truth."
There was a long moment of silence as the hero glared at the king, hatred and contempt evident in his eyes. His group silently and slowly turned towards him, sufficiently confident that they had not been followed into the throne room. And then, unexpectedly, the hero lowered his sword.
"Yes," he said, almost too quietly to be heard. "I do suppose you are right."
Elric
The cool air of the night was refreshing as Elric approached the bar, smelling the alcohol and meat coming from within. Almost against his will, he could feel the saliva building in his mouth - how many years had it been since he had eaten anything other than the basic grime of the monastery? He had stood idly by as travelers and guests spoke of the food and drink of the outside world, which he had never had the chance to partake of. He only hoped that the few pieces of gold he had brought with him would be enough to pay.
His parents would be ashamed of him, he was sure. They had given him willingly to the monastery so that he might train as a monk, and give himself to the gods whom they had believed had given them purpose and meaning in life. He had appreciated, truly, many of the lessons which he had learned in the monastery, but after several hundred years, he had begun to doubt some of the more vague and holy of their teachings. He agreed that one should strive for physical and mental perfection, to purify one's self of impurities in all things and to constantly work to improve. He did not agree that one should do so to satisfy some almighty being that didn't deign to reveal itself to him, much less speak or reward his work.
It was these disagreements that had led him to be banished from the monastery, though by the time that decision had been made, he was well ready to leave. He didn't have much to take with him, but by then, there wasn't much that he needed. One of his few concerns was food - both because he needed it, but because he felt that if he was to truly act in his own interest as he wished to do, he should treat himself with these earthly pleasures, rather than restrain them as he had done for so long.
He had never tasted something so delicious in his life as the food that was placed in front of him in the tavern. It didn't take much mead to make his head dizzy, to make the room dance around him and the lights blur. In the back of his mind, he couldn't decide if he enjoyed this or not - but in the present, he couldn't deny the flavor of the liquid pouring down his throat.
To hell with the gods who had tried to dictate his life without purpose or reward. His mind and his body were his own, and he would do with them as he pleased. Without doubt, that was the true power of being alive - to control one's own destiny and carve their own path. And his fists were all the tools he needed to do that.
His parents would be ashamed of him, he was sure. They had given him willingly to the monastery so that he might train as a monk, and give himself to the gods whom they had believed had given them purpose and meaning in life. He had appreciated, truly, many of the lessons which he had learned in the monastery, but after several hundred years, he had begun to doubt some of the more vague and holy of their teachings. He agreed that one should strive for physical and mental perfection, to purify one's self of impurities in all things and to constantly work to improve. He did not agree that one should do so to satisfy some almighty being that didn't deign to reveal itself to him, much less speak or reward his work.
It was these disagreements that had led him to be banished from the monastery, though by the time that decision had been made, he was well ready to leave. He didn't have much to take with him, but by then, there wasn't much that he needed. One of his few concerns was food - both because he needed it, but because he felt that if he was to truly act in his own interest as he wished to do, he should treat himself with these earthly pleasures, rather than restrain them as he had done for so long.
He had never tasted something so delicious in his life as the food that was placed in front of him in the tavern. It didn't take much mead to make his head dizzy, to make the room dance around him and the lights blur. In the back of his mind, he couldn't decide if he enjoyed this or not - but in the present, he couldn't deny the flavor of the liquid pouring down his throat.
To hell with the gods who had tried to dictate his life without purpose or reward. His mind and his body were his own, and he would do with them as he pleased. Without doubt, that was the true power of being alive - to control one's own destiny and carve their own path. And his fists were all the tools he needed to do that.
Saturday, February 11, 2017
Background
Originally I was going to actually write a fiction piece for this today, but it required more research than I had time for. But it's still in my head, so I want to talk about it, and I'll probably end up writing the fiction tomorrow.
I've never particularly put a lot of thought into the background of my characters - at least not until I've been with them for a while. Trying to decide where a character came from and how they got where they are isn't something that I really try to figure out before the story starts. Occasionally I'll delve into the background of a character and really flesh out how they got to where they are, but it honestly isn't something that I do a lot. The story takes place in itself, and they prove who they are through their actions - more often than not, their past is irrelevant to the present.
Which is pretty counter-intuitive to the way a lot of people think. I imagine this isn't the way people expect a writer to work, and I would be surprised if there were a ton of other writers who designed their characters this way. But it's just kind of how my brain works. The past is written to bolster or explain the present, rather than to be an actual starting point. Trying to do it the other way is very strange for me, because I'm trying to make a basis for a character who doesn't exist yet.
But I want to try and challenge myself to do that. To know more about my characters before I actually start writing the story. To have a place to base their actions and behaviors on, so that they can consistently be a certain way. And when so much of what I love about a character is their growth, it only makes sense to give them a place to grow from.
It doesn't help that I'm not particularly good at coming up with names. A character doesn't really have solidity in my mind until they're named. They're more of just ideas floating around in the same general area - the name is the glue that holds them together. And in my mind, the background starts with their name. "Such and such was..." or "Such and such did..." And maybe that's not a good way of going about it, but it's what comes naturally in my brain. And you can't get better without starting somewhere.
I've never particularly put a lot of thought into the background of my characters - at least not until I've been with them for a while. Trying to decide where a character came from and how they got where they are isn't something that I really try to figure out before the story starts. Occasionally I'll delve into the background of a character and really flesh out how they got to where they are, but it honestly isn't something that I do a lot. The story takes place in itself, and they prove who they are through their actions - more often than not, their past is irrelevant to the present.
Which is pretty counter-intuitive to the way a lot of people think. I imagine this isn't the way people expect a writer to work, and I would be surprised if there were a ton of other writers who designed their characters this way. But it's just kind of how my brain works. The past is written to bolster or explain the present, rather than to be an actual starting point. Trying to do it the other way is very strange for me, because I'm trying to make a basis for a character who doesn't exist yet.
But I want to try and challenge myself to do that. To know more about my characters before I actually start writing the story. To have a place to base their actions and behaviors on, so that they can consistently be a certain way. And when so much of what I love about a character is their growth, it only makes sense to give them a place to grow from.
It doesn't help that I'm not particularly good at coming up with names. A character doesn't really have solidity in my mind until they're named. They're more of just ideas floating around in the same general area - the name is the glue that holds them together. And in my mind, the background starts with their name. "Such and such was..." or "Such and such did..." And maybe that's not a good way of going about it, but it's what comes naturally in my brain. And you can't get better without starting somewhere.
Friday, February 10, 2017
Scars
Ian sat in the doctor's office, leaning forward in his chair to keep his back from making contact with it. He knew what was causing the pain in his back, and he wasn't even overly concerned with how to care for it. He was mostly just concerned with whether or not there would be any complications with the injuries.
The doctor smiled at him as he came into the room, striding quickly to the computer in the corner and sitting down, signing into his account and grabbing the necessary information. "So your back is bothering you?" he asked calmly as he typed away.
"Well, yes," he said, "but it's not so much the bothering that... bothers me."
The doctor chuckled. "Why don't you explain what exactly your here for, then?" he asked.
"My back is scarred to hell and back," Ian explained. "My wife is just very... excitable. And I don't mind it in the slightest. But I just want to make sure that there's no permanent damage or infestations or anything like that."
The doctor turned his attention away from his computer to eye Ian, taking in his words. Ian had always been very straightforward, and he wasn't particularly shy about his life, though he did try to be careful about his words when he was around people he didn't know as well. Especially talking to a doctor, he had no reason to lie or hide the truth about how he had been injured. After all, that would merely lead to a less accurate evaluation. "Very well," the doctor said, pushing away from the computer. "Take your shirt off and let's take a look."
Ian stood up and turned around, gingerly pulling the shirt over his head and away from his back to reveal the scars. There were some marks that were still fairly fresh, and that he had already cleaned and covered.
"Jesus. You're ok with this?"
"I mean, it hurts, sure. But I think it's kinda hot."
The doctor smiled at him as he came into the room, striding quickly to the computer in the corner and sitting down, signing into his account and grabbing the necessary information. "So your back is bothering you?" he asked calmly as he typed away.
"Well, yes," he said, "but it's not so much the bothering that... bothers me."
The doctor chuckled. "Why don't you explain what exactly your here for, then?" he asked.
"My back is scarred to hell and back," Ian explained. "My wife is just very... excitable. And I don't mind it in the slightest. But I just want to make sure that there's no permanent damage or infestations or anything like that."
The doctor turned his attention away from his computer to eye Ian, taking in his words. Ian had always been very straightforward, and he wasn't particularly shy about his life, though he did try to be careful about his words when he was around people he didn't know as well. Especially talking to a doctor, he had no reason to lie or hide the truth about how he had been injured. After all, that would merely lead to a less accurate evaluation. "Very well," the doctor said, pushing away from the computer. "Take your shirt off and let's take a look."
Ian stood up and turned around, gingerly pulling the shirt over his head and away from his back to reveal the scars. There were some marks that were still fairly fresh, and that he had already cleaned and covered.
"Jesus. You're ok with this?"
"I mean, it hurts, sure. But I think it's kinda hot."
Wednesday, February 8, 2017
Editting
The second time I participated in Nano, I finished a story for quite possibly the first time in my life. I was extremely excited about it - I had always loved to write, but I'd always ran out of steam before the end of the story. Sure, there were a few small pieces that finished in twenty to thirty pages, but those were always smaller than I wanted, and intended to be parts of something bigger, which of course was never finished. So when I finished From the Sleeping Valley, I couldn't have been happier. Especially because I knew that I would be getting free proof copies as part of the deal of winning Nano.
My original plan was to get my five free copies one at a time, and use each one to continuously refine the story, editing as I went. As it turned out you had to get all five at once, so that plan went out the window, but I still designated one of them as being my editing copy, labeling the inside cover as such. Of course, in my infinite wisdom, I managed to misspell "Editing" as "Editting" which was very much not intentional and wasn't pointed out to me until much later, at which I laughed because it only seemed appropriate.
I have never been very good at editing, which is something I have written about before. It's not quite something that clicks in my brain, and worse yet, I find it painfully dull. I have been trying, ever so slowly, to edit my novel from Nano 2015, and while I like my story and recognize that it desperately needs editing, it's just so painfully difficult to get myself to actually do it. Not to mention I hardly know what to do. I understand fixing typos and correcting grammar and things like that, but taking a sentence that sounds awkward and making it sound better? Or even taking a sentence that sounds alright and making it sound great? That just doesn't really work with my brain. I still try, but I'm not entirely convinced that I'm not making things worse in my attempts to do so.
And I'm still doing the first sweep. By the time I finish, I will have forgotten ever single edit I have made. And I may very well go through a second sweep and unintentionally put things back to the way they were in the first place - that is not something I would put past myself. I'm not exactly sure how to get any better at it, either, other than to keep doing it.
But it's so boring.
My original plan was to get my five free copies one at a time, and use each one to continuously refine the story, editing as I went. As it turned out you had to get all five at once, so that plan went out the window, but I still designated one of them as being my editing copy, labeling the inside cover as such. Of course, in my infinite wisdom, I managed to misspell "Editing" as "Editting" which was very much not intentional and wasn't pointed out to me until much later, at which I laughed because it only seemed appropriate.
I have never been very good at editing, which is something I have written about before. It's not quite something that clicks in my brain, and worse yet, I find it painfully dull. I have been trying, ever so slowly, to edit my novel from Nano 2015, and while I like my story and recognize that it desperately needs editing, it's just so painfully difficult to get myself to actually do it. Not to mention I hardly know what to do. I understand fixing typos and correcting grammar and things like that, but taking a sentence that sounds awkward and making it sound better? Or even taking a sentence that sounds alright and making it sound great? That just doesn't really work with my brain. I still try, but I'm not entirely convinced that I'm not making things worse in my attempts to do so.
And I'm still doing the first sweep. By the time I finish, I will have forgotten ever single edit I have made. And I may very well go through a second sweep and unintentionally put things back to the way they were in the first place - that is not something I would put past myself. I'm not exactly sure how to get any better at it, either, other than to keep doing it.
But it's so boring.
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