Recently posted a review of Witcher 3 on the Codex. Hoped for a lot more anger from the natives, but apparently it's too accurate or something, I don't even know. Even the pre-agreed-upon troll-baiting with my fellow moderator Scrooge failed to deliver any extra shouts of anger.
I just don't know what I'm doing wrong here, people. Looks like I've lost my edge and mellowed out.
Review: http://www.rpgcodex.net/content.php?id=9961
Sunday, June 28, 2015
Autumn Night, repost
She felt that the autumn came faster than an eye could blink. The days
flew by, dressed in colours of agonizing nature, each morning colder and
duller than the one before it. But what's more, there was the
never-ending smell of decay in the air; decay and the overwhelming
feeling of loneliness. The nights were better, but not by far - dark,
damp and grey, they covered the swamp like a giant blanket, drowning it
in nearly unreal silence. Which could be a bad thing, except to her, it
wasn't. This way, she was left to dream undisturbed.
She was quite sure that if the citizens of the rest of town would ever learn of her thoughts - or ways to spend a cold autumn night - they would at least call her strange. At worst, some could see witchcraft in her harmless evening chants. Witchcraft it was not, of course, just a book that used to belong to her mother, something that lie resting in a large pile of useless things in the attic. All it did was help her see the dreams she wanted to. And it was arguable whether the book did it, in any case, but the more she had been using it, the less she felt inclined to try. For the dreams the book seemed to give her were not the sort she would readily part with again.
It was nothing complex, really. No dreams of riches, power or fame; in fact, she'd never even dare to dream of such things, never quite knowing what those would feel to possess. So, she dreamed of simpler things. Like the summer that was now gone, and the man that was to be her husband that was gone with it. Gone just like that, the Baron off to fight over some dispute with a neighbor. Of course, he wouldn't settle for fighting by himself, instead, it was dragging every man along. And now it was almost three months. Nothing has changed, only a slow stream of wounded that were unable to continue the fight. None of them ever brought news of him, though. It was as if he didn't exist, or as if he died... Though all those thoughts aside, each night she dreamed of him beside her, summer surrounding them; a new, bright, joyful dream every night, never repeating itself, and always continuing where it left - as if her real life was a dream that would pass at dawn as she fell asleep.
Of course, all that was said was true for other nights. This night, however, was different. There was no fog over the swamp, the silence, too, lifting itself from the surroundings. A strong wind blew across the landscape, dragging storm clouds through a dark and empty sky, occasionally ripping the shroud for the light of the moon to shine through. The wind howled in the chimney, knocked on the doors and the shutters, the wind was everywhere, wailing in the trees, throwing leaves across the yard and, occasionally, causing a few ripe droplets of rain drop from the skies.
She could feel it, the night was different. She never opened the book tonight, in fact, the thought had not even crossed her mind. All she did was gaze out of the window in sheer fascination. Watching the clouds, the raging treetops and the fleeing leaves. Suddenly, the storm subdued, the wind dying down, the silence once again enveloping the land. She slowly got up and walked to the door, opening it, hesitantly and carefully, then made a few still hesitant steps, with each step growing more assured - and made her way to the entrance to her yard, opening the gate and waiting by it.
She wasn't sure how long she had to wait, but suddenly - though not to her - there was movement just out of the reach of her eye. As she turned to better see what came towards her, a great lightning split the sky for the briefest of moments, followed by a deafening thunder - and once again, there was silence and darkness, faintly illuminated by the moon that peered out from behind the torn clouds. Faintly illuminating a man in worn, dirty clothes and dented and rusty armor. He looked pale, tired and ill, but it was him. He just stood there, looking at her silently, smiling.
Slowly, she walked up to him, quiet and careful, as though not to scare him away, or to break an illusion, then hesitantly reached for his hand. It was dreadfully cold, though whose hands wouldn't be on such a night? She beamed at the realization a moment later - his hand was real, and this wasn't a dream, for she knew it couldn't be. She tugged on his hand, urging him to step inside the house before the storm, and he slowly followed, clanking his armor and smelling faintly of autumn.
Commentary: A remake of my earliest work - this version has a lot of different things, though, and if I find the original, I will put it up for comparing. This version's main difference, however, is the lack of a clear end that I had in the original, only a hint at it. If one reads attentively enough.
She was quite sure that if the citizens of the rest of town would ever learn of her thoughts - or ways to spend a cold autumn night - they would at least call her strange. At worst, some could see witchcraft in her harmless evening chants. Witchcraft it was not, of course, just a book that used to belong to her mother, something that lie resting in a large pile of useless things in the attic. All it did was help her see the dreams she wanted to. And it was arguable whether the book did it, in any case, but the more she had been using it, the less she felt inclined to try. For the dreams the book seemed to give her were not the sort she would readily part with again.
It was nothing complex, really. No dreams of riches, power or fame; in fact, she'd never even dare to dream of such things, never quite knowing what those would feel to possess. So, she dreamed of simpler things. Like the summer that was now gone, and the man that was to be her husband that was gone with it. Gone just like that, the Baron off to fight over some dispute with a neighbor. Of course, he wouldn't settle for fighting by himself, instead, it was dragging every man along. And now it was almost three months. Nothing has changed, only a slow stream of wounded that were unable to continue the fight. None of them ever brought news of him, though. It was as if he didn't exist, or as if he died... Though all those thoughts aside, each night she dreamed of him beside her, summer surrounding them; a new, bright, joyful dream every night, never repeating itself, and always continuing where it left - as if her real life was a dream that would pass at dawn as she fell asleep.
Of course, all that was said was true for other nights. This night, however, was different. There was no fog over the swamp, the silence, too, lifting itself from the surroundings. A strong wind blew across the landscape, dragging storm clouds through a dark and empty sky, occasionally ripping the shroud for the light of the moon to shine through. The wind howled in the chimney, knocked on the doors and the shutters, the wind was everywhere, wailing in the trees, throwing leaves across the yard and, occasionally, causing a few ripe droplets of rain drop from the skies.
She could feel it, the night was different. She never opened the book tonight, in fact, the thought had not even crossed her mind. All she did was gaze out of the window in sheer fascination. Watching the clouds, the raging treetops and the fleeing leaves. Suddenly, the storm subdued, the wind dying down, the silence once again enveloping the land. She slowly got up and walked to the door, opening it, hesitantly and carefully, then made a few still hesitant steps, with each step growing more assured - and made her way to the entrance to her yard, opening the gate and waiting by it.
She wasn't sure how long she had to wait, but suddenly - though not to her - there was movement just out of the reach of her eye. As she turned to better see what came towards her, a great lightning split the sky for the briefest of moments, followed by a deafening thunder - and once again, there was silence and darkness, faintly illuminated by the moon that peered out from behind the torn clouds. Faintly illuminating a man in worn, dirty clothes and dented and rusty armor. He looked pale, tired and ill, but it was him. He just stood there, looking at her silently, smiling.
Slowly, she walked up to him, quiet and careful, as though not to scare him away, or to break an illusion, then hesitantly reached for his hand. It was dreadfully cold, though whose hands wouldn't be on such a night? She beamed at the realization a moment later - his hand was real, and this wasn't a dream, for she knew it couldn't be. She tugged on his hand, urging him to step inside the house before the storm, and he slowly followed, clanking his armor and smelling faintly of autumn.
Commentary: A remake of my earliest work - this version has a lot of different things, though, and if I find the original, I will put it up for comparing. This version's main difference, however, is the lack of a clear end that I had in the original, only a hint at it. If one reads attentively enough.
Short story repost 1
Commentary: Since I'm not very happy with the spoiler nature of the name I originally posted this by, here's a repost of the old story. It's one of the few I can look at twice without wanting to completely rewrite it immediately.
Small provincial towns. The sort that have a pair of traffic lights in the center - and even those turn a blind yellow eye to the happenings on the dark streets after the bells of the local church ring nine. The kind of towns that band crowds of youth together. Not for festivities, though, and not even for any particular purpose at all - merely out of nothing better to do. And because of a strange, inexplicable fear. Fear of the dark. And of the things that dwell in its darkest corners.
It's all too easy to feel the touch of death in such a town in the middle of a July night. All you need is but think of it, and, sure enough, it will be there, running a chilled bony finger down your spine, whispering sweet and terrible words in your ears, chuckling at your fears, closing the circle around you.
It was on one of these nights that I met her. Standing beneath a tilted street lamp, looking lost and beautiful. Her pale face was painted yellow by the dim light and framed sharply by dark glossy hair - hair so long that I was not sure where it ended and the night began. As I walked closer, she lifted her eyes at me - eyes dark as the night around us and deep as the abyss. A small, shy smile greeted me, a smile I felt I could kill for - or die for. The world began to fade away, drowning in the deepening darkness. There was but her now, her standing in a puddle of light under the crooked lamp, the crickets singing us a serenade, and myself, feeling dumb-struck by sudden and instant love and paralyzed by a terrifying power of dread and foreboding. Silently, she made a step towards me and offered me her hand. I took it carefully, holding it as if she was made of glass or paper.
Together we walked through the silent, empty streets of the dead town, wading through the still air of the summer night. We wandered in the dark without saying a word, passing through the empty streets, parks and fields. Dogs barked in the distance, disturbed by something in the air - something alive, magnificent and horrendous, a giant entity hanging like a cloud over the small sleeping town.
I turned to look at my silent companion, meeting once more her calm, slightly sad smile. When I turned back to glance on the path before me, I saw that we were at a bridge. I didn't know what bridge this was - or that it was here at all, but it would not surprise me. We slowly walked to the middle and stopped, leaning against the railing and gazing down at the lazily moving river. She glanced at me and chuckled, a brief, sad laughter - more of an utterance of sorrow than joy, I thought. Then, with one brief, graceful movement she was atop the railing, looking down at me with her strange smile, waiting for something. So we stood for an eternity. Then, she turned away, leaning forward on her tip-toes and swooped down off the bridge like a great bird as I stood watching, and as I stood there, I felt the presence gone.
Every July since that night I wander the empty streets of provincial towns. Seeking her. Sometimes, I feel her whispering to me again, tickling my spine with her long, beautiful fingers. But as I turn around, she is gone, and I wander on alone.
Small provincial towns. The sort that have a pair of traffic lights in the center - and even those turn a blind yellow eye to the happenings on the dark streets after the bells of the local church ring nine. The kind of towns that band crowds of youth together. Not for festivities, though, and not even for any particular purpose at all - merely out of nothing better to do. And because of a strange, inexplicable fear. Fear of the dark. And of the things that dwell in its darkest corners.
It's all too easy to feel the touch of death in such a town in the middle of a July night. All you need is but think of it, and, sure enough, it will be there, running a chilled bony finger down your spine, whispering sweet and terrible words in your ears, chuckling at your fears, closing the circle around you.
It was on one of these nights that I met her. Standing beneath a tilted street lamp, looking lost and beautiful. Her pale face was painted yellow by the dim light and framed sharply by dark glossy hair - hair so long that I was not sure where it ended and the night began. As I walked closer, she lifted her eyes at me - eyes dark as the night around us and deep as the abyss. A small, shy smile greeted me, a smile I felt I could kill for - or die for. The world began to fade away, drowning in the deepening darkness. There was but her now, her standing in a puddle of light under the crooked lamp, the crickets singing us a serenade, and myself, feeling dumb-struck by sudden and instant love and paralyzed by a terrifying power of dread and foreboding. Silently, she made a step towards me and offered me her hand. I took it carefully, holding it as if she was made of glass or paper.
Together we walked through the silent, empty streets of the dead town, wading through the still air of the summer night. We wandered in the dark without saying a word, passing through the empty streets, parks and fields. Dogs barked in the distance, disturbed by something in the air - something alive, magnificent and horrendous, a giant entity hanging like a cloud over the small sleeping town.
I turned to look at my silent companion, meeting once more her calm, slightly sad smile. When I turned back to glance on the path before me, I saw that we were at a bridge. I didn't know what bridge this was - or that it was here at all, but it would not surprise me. We slowly walked to the middle and stopped, leaning against the railing and gazing down at the lazily moving river. She glanced at me and chuckled, a brief, sad laughter - more of an utterance of sorrow than joy, I thought. Then, with one brief, graceful movement she was atop the railing, looking down at me with her strange smile, waiting for something. So we stood for an eternity. Then, she turned away, leaning forward on her tip-toes and swooped down off the bridge like a great bird as I stood watching, and as I stood there, I felt the presence gone.
Every July since that night I wander the empty streets of provincial towns. Seeking her. Sometimes, I feel her whispering to me again, tickling my spine with her long, beautiful fingers. But as I turn around, she is gone, and I wander on alone.
Annual update
Going to clear out a bunch of stuff from the blog and repost another bunch of stuff. Possibly revive this whole thing again. Been long enough.
Right, let's see, where'd we leave off last? Ah yes, the military. Well, to hold people in suspense no longer, yes, I was indeed made a Corporal. On top of that, I actually received a reward, an honorable discharge and a mental/capability evaluation of 5/5 for everything except handling stressful situations (4/5). I guess it's a success of sorts, considering my actual mental state at the time, though it's intensely ironic as well. Best evaluation of the entire unit and possibly the whole battalion, go figure. Anyway, that's done.
What next? Getting back to work. Didn't take long to get a promotion (plus HR experience - my candidate got picked). Four months later, three more offices in our company are in love with my methods and I get called an IT guru in front of the customer. Me. The guy that can't code to save his life. Ah irony, all I wanted was to be a writer. Speaking of which, applied to Larian again, had a prolonged communication with samples with the company owner, got his Skype, but never called him to get hired. My people need me! Besides, that'd probably mean moving to Belgium, and if I'd have done that my life would probably still be normal.
Oh yeah, and I'm now staff writer/staff/moderator on RPG Codex. Time to die happy, I guess.
Overall, I can't really say it's been a particularly action-packed year until some time this spring.
Right, let's see, where'd we leave off last? Ah yes, the military. Well, to hold people in suspense no longer, yes, I was indeed made a Corporal. On top of that, I actually received a reward, an honorable discharge and a mental/capability evaluation of 5/5 for everything except handling stressful situations (4/5). I guess it's a success of sorts, considering my actual mental state at the time, though it's intensely ironic as well. Best evaluation of the entire unit and possibly the whole battalion, go figure. Anyway, that's done.
What next? Getting back to work. Didn't take long to get a promotion (plus HR experience - my candidate got picked). Four months later, three more offices in our company are in love with my methods and I get called an IT guru in front of the customer. Me. The guy that can't code to save his life. Ah irony, all I wanted was to be a writer. Speaking of which, applied to Larian again, had a prolonged communication with samples with the company owner, got his Skype, but never called him to get hired. My people need me! Besides, that'd probably mean moving to Belgium, and if I'd have done that my life would probably still be normal.
Oh yeah, and I'm now staff writer/staff/moderator on RPG Codex. Time to die happy, I guess.
Overall, I can't really say it's been a particularly action-packed year until some time this spring.
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