The Abbey

I found myself standing before a church of sorts. It was a beautiful, sunny day. There was a light breeze playing through the trees that dotted the landscape and the chirping of birds could be heard from all around.

Near the entrance to the church were a couple of vendor carts, with a few people trading in friendly voices. Between the abbey and me, however, stood a man in armor. He beckoned me towards him.

As I approached, I realized that not all was right. In the distance I could hear shouting and howling and the sounds of men and animals fighting. What was going on in that field to the northwest?

"Ah, good," the man addressed me. "Another volunteer. I hope you're prepared to work. And I don't mean farming." He told me to go into the abbey and talk to the Marshal.

I nodded my assent, and headed for the abbey. It was then that I noticed the oddest behavior on the part of some of the people around me. One of the people who had been haggling with the cart merchants suddenly began dancing while the other started jumping and laughing. A woman came running out of the abbey, followed by a small glowing demon of some sort. She took a flying leap upon exiting, and spun around to reverse direction. She ran around the corner of the building, moving in great leaps, her diminutive companion struggling to keep up. I heard the sound of cheering from inside the abbey.

I wondered if there was some sort of madness at work here.

I entered the abbey, and at the other end of the entryway encountered the Marshal. He looked at me sternly, and told me he was glad to have my help. He told me that I should go into the fields to the west and north, where I would find a great many vicious little creatures called kobolds who were threatening the people of the area, and that I should kill exactly ten of them - but of only the smallest and weakest of them.

I thought it rather odd that he should be so specific about the number and type, but I agreed to do his bidding. There must be some method to his madness.

I turned to leave the abbey, but was stopped dead when a large man in the gaudiest armor I could have imagined presented to me a document. It was a charter for some sort of organization, and he wished for me to join it. Not knowing the man, or the purpose of his organization, and being in a hurry to do my duty for the Marshal, I pushed the document out of my face, and headed on my way.

Once outside again, the armored man to whom I'd earlier spoken (apparently he was a Deputy to the Marshal) beckoned me to him once again. He then offered me a few coins to talk to another man, named Eagan, around the corner of the abbey. As I was already planning to head in that direction, I agreed.

As I turned around, I was once again stopped cold by the presentation of the same document from before. I pushed it away from me, telling the large man who held it that I wanted no part of his organization, and that I thought he was rather rude to continually push this document in my face.

As I came around the corner of the abbey, I was stunned by what I saw. There were a few more trees, but they opened into a small meadow in the distance, where I could see a hillside with a small cave entrance. Strewn about the meadow, however, were many small campsites inhabited by loathsome creatures with long snouts and whiskers. They stood upright, as a man would, but only about half the height. They carried various mining tools and implements. Many of them were engaged in combat with a number of other people - two of whom I recognized as being the jumping dancers from before the vendors' carts.

I assumed these creatures were the kobolds of which the Marshal had spoken. They certainly seemed weak, and were definitely getting the worst of the fight.

A little to the north and east, around the back of the abbey, I spied what appeared, at first, to be an enormous pack of wolves. However, upon further examination, they didn't seem to behave as a pack at all. Each of the wolves merely wandered about on its own. Occasionally one would attack a small rabbit, but mostly they just meandered.

Up against the abbey wall stood a man whose description seemed to match that given me by the Deputy. I walked over to talk to him. He handed me a few coins, and then asked me to bring him eight wolf pelts, and the meat from eight wolves ... but only if the meat is tough.

Now, I have no experience whatsoever in skinning or butchering an animal, but he told me it would be no problem. I shrugged in agreement, and headed off to get him what he wanted. I now had two jobs to do, and thought I'd best get to them.

Suddenly, there was an evil-looking gnome with black plate armor and eyes that looked like windows into the very coldest parts of hell standing before me. He pushed a document at my face and said, "Wanna join my guild? I'll pay you a gold piece!"

"No, sir," I replied. "I have no wish to join any organization at the moment. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

As I neared the meadow, I felt a bit nervous. I'd never killed anything before. The wolves I could understand ... they were just animals, after all, and potentially dangerous ones at that. But the kobolds looked to be rather intelligent, if a bit disgusting.

I drew my belt knife and closed with one of the wolves. It paid me no mind whatsoever, and continued to wander back and forth between a couple of trees. I waved at it, but it still took no notice. I walked up and poked it, but it continued on its course. Unsure what to do, I walked back to Eagan.

"Are you sure about these wolves?" I asked. "They seem to be pretty docile."

He replied that he needed the pelts and the meat, and that I should simply kill them. I supposed this was some sort of wolf farm, though I wondered that there was not a more organized method for slaughtering the livestock than simply asking new arrivals to go and kill them.

I approached the wolf again ... I was fairly certain it was the same one as before. It was still walking between the two trees. Half closing my eyes, I stabbed it in the flank. It immediately turned on me and bit me. I jumped back, as it tried again. Now it was a fight! I took a swing, and a thrust, landing a solid blow, however it bit me once again.

By this time I was bleeding, and feeling quite poorly. Thankfully, none of the many other wolves in the area seemed to notice the fight. The wolf lunged at me again, and I sidestepped countering with a solid blow to its haunch. The wolf dropped dead, letting out a final yelp.

Releasing an exhausted sigh of relief, I set to work skinning the wolf. I managed to remove a fairly intact pelt and a big chunk of meat from it. Then I noticed something shiny between its jaws. As I investigated, I realized that in its mouth was a pair of chain-mail pants. I wondered to myself at how a wolf would have come by such a thing. Perhaps it had been trying to eat one of the guards?

I sat for a few minutes, until I had my energy back. I wasn't sure I'd be able to do this. I took the chain pants, the pelt, the meat and a loose copper coin I'd found in the grass under the carcass and put them all in my backpack. Then I stood up and looked about for my next target.

Another wolf was sauntering slowly towards me, but didn't seem to actually be paying me any notice. I shrugged my shoulders and pressed the attack ...

---------- ---------- ---------- ---------- ----------

Anyone who's played an MMORPG is familiar with the odd ways in which the games' creators deal with having to create NPCs and quests for the players to experience. This is always troublesome, due to the persistent nature of the world, and the fact that as many as millions of players will be wanting to experience the same content. This could be solved by having GameMasters play all the various parts … but that would be extremely cost-prohibitive as it would require nearly as many GMs as players. To solve this problem, there are scripted characters and events. When one stops to consider what such a world would really be like, if it were experienced first-hand … well, that's obviously what inspired this story.

Braaaaiiinnssss!!!

The stillness is palpable, or as the old cliché goes: It's Quiet. Too Quiet. My three comrades and I, armed with whatever weapons we could scavenge, venture forth into the strangely misty southern evening. Over the sound of crickets and frogs, a few dissonant notes can be heard from somewhere in the distance - plucked out on an old banjo. We cautiously make our way down the highway. There are abandoned vehicles everywhere - sports cars, tractor-trailers, SUVs, pick-up trucks ... our car would never make it through that mess, even if we found enough gas to fill it. Up ahead we can make out the silhouette of a low, flat building - it looks like an old motel. Maybe we can find a safe place to hole up there for the night.

Too late ... here comes one ... then three ... then an endless, mindless horde: it's like a town-hall meeting without walls.

We prepare to receive them ... guns loaded, axes in hand ... and their charge begins!

I shout my battle cry, "No one wants to kill your grandmother, and Obama was born in Hawaii!"

The mindless rage on the faces of our attackers is clear. They don't want to hear reason, they wish only to spread their fear.

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

As you can probably guess, I've been playing Valve's Political Allegory Game, Left 4 Dead 2. It's a lot of fun and chock full of timely commentary about the current state of the Republican party.

First, there are the survivors, who represent moderates, whether non-aligned voters or the "thinking" part of the Republican party. This is the part that holds reasoned conservative opinions.

The mindless Infected, are, of course, the Fundamentalist Fringe: religious zealots, Birthers, Tea-baggers, unreasoned assholes who think that anyone who uses their brain rather than just mindlessly parrots the dictates of anointed conservative leaders, is un-American. These are the people who don't believe in science, and freak out at the slightest mention of birth control.

Some of the places in the game clearly represent facets of American society. For example, Liberty Mall represents Capitalism and the Theme Park represents the Mainstream Mass Media (i.e. Bread & Circuses, Reality Shows) that act as a distraction from cohesive political thought.

The Special Infected are opinion leaders within the conservative movement:

The Smoker is Dick Cheney, hiding in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike. He tries to strangle political debate and leaves an evil cloud of noxious smoke behind him wherever he goes.

The Witch is Michelle Bachmann, who whines and cries all the time, but if you get her attention she becomes vicious and focused, and will attempt to tear apart anyone whose opinions with which she disagrees. (Also, she's genuinely fucking crazy.)

The Tank Represents FOX News*, the Juggernaut of Sanctioned Conservative Opinion , mindlessly destroying anyone in its path, whether a Democrat, Independent, or just the Wrong Kind of Conservative. -Oh! And the Clowns are obviously FOX News personalities such as Bill O'Reilly and Glenn Beck - entertaining the masses, while destroying their ability to function as thinking, reasoning beings.

Rush Limbaugh is the Boomer. Now, I'm not picking on Rush because of his weight - I'm a rather portly fellow myself. Rush is the Boomer because of the bile he spews all over everyone and everything around him. Also, when he takes damage, the mindless "Ditto-head" hordes are sure to be there, ready to attack anyone who dares question him.

Not all of the correlations are necessarily so obvious. Is Sarah Palin represented by the Jockey, riding the regular voter off into dangerous territory? Or is she better represented by the Spitter, because she spreads dangerous venom, leaving it in pools for the unwary traveler? Perhaps Joe Lieberman is the Jockey - riding whatever bandwagon he can for his own political and financial gain.

The Hunter & Charger are probably John Boehner and Joe Wilson, with their tendencies to charge in or jump on any insane justification they can find for their radical stances on important issues.

Regardless of who, specifically, is represented by what element within Left 4 Dead 2, the point is clear: there are a lot of zombies out there, spreading a lot of strange fears about what they believe to be the Liberal Agenda**, and if we don't watch out, they'll take first the whole Republican Party, and then possibly our whole nation, down the road to crazy-town with them.

Finally, is it just me, or does running around in New Orleans killing Zombies with a guitar fill anyone else with the urge to sing "Johnny B. Goode" at the top of their lungs? Should I seek help?

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

*They report only what they think you need to hear, so you don't need (or have any independent ability) to decide.

** Near as I can tell, these people believe the Liberal Agenda is something like: Force every American student to serve on government-appointed death panels with atheist homosexuals married to animals whose mission is to kill Medicare recipients during a pagan ceremony while illegal Muslim Mexican immigrants laugh and eat falafel tacos.

Futures of Days Passed

What the hall happened to the Future, anyway?

I know this is fairly well-worn territory here - at least for people of my generation - but every so often I look back at some old piece of science fiction or remember childhood trips to COSI or the National Air & Space Museum, and wonder about this. Where are the rocket backpacks or domestic robots that can do more than sweep the floor?

The other day it was a list on Topless Robot: The 10 Greatest EPCOT Attractions That No Longer Exist.

It wasn't just the vanished exhibits that got to me, though. (I already went through that a few years ago when we took the kids to Disney World and discovered that EPCOT, while still a lot of fun, just wasn't as cool as it was back when I was a kid.) More than that, it got me thinking about the loss of a sense of optimistic wonder I remember from my childhood. And it's even worse now, as I'm approaching 40, and my kids are growing up. I feel like my generation has failed theirs in some indefinable way.

Growing up in the late 1970s/early 1980s, when we heard the phrase "the Year 2000" it sparked something magical. I remember believing that by that time we would be living in a Jetsons-esque technological wonderland featuring robotic housemaids, flying cars, instant communication via wrist-watch and vacations on the Moon.

What do we have, instead? The ability to post 140-character messages to mostly strangers in real time, and to publicly compare one another to Nazis because of our opinions regarding TV shows we've watched on our computers - often featuring dancing people who are barely famous for something other than dancing.

What a ginormous let-down!

Now, don't get me wrong - the internet and smart phones and, pausing/storing live television programming is cool. I mean, after only a few weeks with it, I quickly realized I could never go back to life without my DVR. Same with my iPhone. But we're far from where I thought we'd be by the time we got to the year 2010!

Now, here we are knocking on the door of the year 2010 and there are still no humans on Mars, and we haven't even sent anyone back to the bloody Moon in 38 friggin' years. Worse than even the fact our adolescent visions of the future never came true, though is the fact that any hope for it seems to have disappeared.

The other morning I asked one of my kids if he thought that in 20 to 30 years he'd have a robot at home that would clean up, cook, do laundry ... that sort of thing. Or if he thought he'd be able to take a vacation on the moon by the time he was my age.

He actually laughed at me. He was shocked to discover that I had ever thought such things would be real by the time I was 40!

So ... what the hell happened? Well, that's a topic for a whole other article - one that probably requires some research, and is thus beyond the scope of this blog.

I don't think that the vision I had for the future when I was 12 is going to come true any time soon, but dammit, I want that feeling of hope back. I want to believe that even if I can't have a jet-pack in 10 years, at least my kids will be able to vacation on the moon. I want them to believe that, as Dan Quayle once said, "The Future will be better tomorrow." (I'm not saying I want my kids to be retarded - just that I want them to have hope.)

All I can say now is that I want my future back!

Sick

Been sick for a few days so I haven't posted for a bit. Haven't been reading much either. I might have something posted to-night, but not a real story or anything. Just thoughts on nostalgia for the future that never was.

11 • 11

While honoring our Veterans here in the States, let's not forget that much of the rest of the world observes this day, too.

The 20th Century was so full of war and conflict that we sometimes forget the world-shattering events of 1914-1918. Those events literally shaped the rest of the century, and we're still seeing their effects to-day.

For those of us under the age of about 50 or so, the idea of a truly national struggle, in which everyone is expected to and does sacrifice in order to aid their country is almost alien. We in the U.S. have been attacked, on occasion, but in terms of sheer scale, an event like Pearl Harbor or 9/11 pales in comparison to the massive destruction Europe saw during the World Wars.

We civilians in the U.S. and Canada have been lucky, partly through an accident of geography, but also in large measure due to the heroism and sacrifice of the members of our armed forces.

It is they and their families who've had to suffer the ultimate loss. And it is to them we owe our undying gratitude.

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,


That mark our place; and in the sky


The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago


We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,


Loved, and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

- Lt-Col John McCrae, C.E.F.

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Epic Barbarian Chieftain

(Non-Player Character Concept - Drok Hjanor)

Drok Hjanor was born to lead men in battle. His father had been a Chieftain, and so had his father before him. A long line of brave Hjanor warriors stretched back - as far back as any skald could remember, and their tales were told around fires all across the Frozen Lands.

The day Drok himself was raised to Chieftain - over the body of the former Chieftain - came as no surprise to anyone. Drok had fought by the side of the old Chieftain, Kolo "the Bear" Krasduur in many a battle, but it was expected that Drok would challenge him one day. Leadership was gained through mastery of fear and proof of strength. Some day Drok would be challenged himself, and on the day he failed, he would follow the Bear to the Great Hall. The gods would have it no other way.

It was three years ago to-day that Drok had led his people to the Valley of Greening, an almost mystical place that had only been spoken of in Legend. But he had found it and brought his people to live here. Life would be easier for the women - for them all. This was both a blessing of the gods and a curse of men. Food would grow here, and there was plenty of game to be found. And so Drok had ordered all the men and slaves to work on re-building the fortifications that had stood here during the Age of Giants. If the people were to find rest and peace and comfort in this place, it would have to be defended.

It was at the end of the first summer that the ogres' camp had been found. The ogres were strong. The ogres had known no fear ... until Drok led his men against them. On that day many men died in glorious battle, but Drok led them to victory nevertheless. It was a pity that the strongest and bravest among the ogres had had to be put to the axe, but those were too dangerous. The rest were put in dwarf-forged chains and made to help in the building. With their assistance, the project was nearly finished.

And so it was on this day that Drok Hjanor, Chief of Chieftains was surveying the defenses - the walls of stone that would allow his people to hold what they had found. This was the dawn of a New Age for his tribe. An era of prosperity and plenty. His people would thrive here.

It would be far too easy to become weak in such a land. If that happened, then his people would lose everything, for the gods would be displeased. It was his duty to ensure that they never forgot the Old Ways - the Way of Battle. He would do his duty until the day he himself died in battle or challenge. Either way, he would train up his successor.

Drok had picked a half-dozen of the bravest and strongest of the young men. He made them his honour-guard. He brought them to survey their lands. He would make them live outside the valley for a time, to discover their strength and their cunning. He would do this once every year until his last.

They stood on the tallest tower on the western wall. The sound of wood-chopping echoed from the nearby pass. From here they could see anything that approached through the narrow defile between the dual peaks of Malnos. (Nothing short of a dragon or a god would be able to approach over the mountain itself.) The trees in that direction were in the process of being pushed back. Already, it was half a mile from the wall to the tree-line, and Drok had ordered that it be pushed back further still. He wanted plenty of warning, should an enemy arrive.

As Drok and his young guard examined the stonework, an ogre-slave and his handler stood by. The master mason was pointing out some tricky bit of engineering that would enable the wall to withstand even the heaviest attack. This was all beyond the ken of Drok. He had brought Dwarf masons to help oversee the building. No expense could be spared in protecting this valley, their new home, their gift from the gods.

It was after several minutes of this explanation, that his patience began to wear.

"Is it not time for meat?" He asked. "The wall is good, but warriors need strength more than talk - especially this night. For it will be our last within the walls for a moon-cycle."

He led his men down the wide stone stair that ran behind the wall and led to the gatehouse. He entered the hall, and ordered serving girls to bring him and his men meat and mead. The half-dozen youth that made up his guard took to their meal like it was their last.

As it turned out, it was.

The Party of Adventurers burst into the hall twenty minutes later. A huge man in full-plate armor and a huge metal shield came crashing through the front door, his sword swinging freely despite the enormous pack on his back. An elf leaped through the window and started yelling something about avenging the honor of some nymph or something and loosing arrows with abandon. A tall, dark-haired woman followed the warrior. She was wearing what appeared to be a bright red bikini made of crushed velvet and gold. It offered no protection at all, either from battle or from the elements. Colored lights springing forth from her fingers. Through the kitchen, came a dwarf in a gem-studded golden breastplate so gaudy it made Drok's eyes water. The dwarf immediately set about him with a huge hammer, calling on some foreign god to aid him in his quest.

And in the midst of all this, came a halfling, all in black and with a hood covering his features. he, too had a pack on his back that was nearly as large as he was, but it impeded his movement not at all. First, swinging down from second-floor deck on the chandelier, he dropped to the floor. Next he was stabbing people in the back and picking their pockets! The insanity! The utter gall!

What in the name of the gods is wrong with these people? It wasn't until after he'd taken a fireball to the face, an axe to the knee and a knife in his back that Drok Hjanor Chief of Chieftains, thought to himself, "Gods dammit! Bloody Player Characters!"

Grand Romantic Delusions Chapter 01: The Decision

"I just don't know, Nita."

"Come on, Lewis, I know you can handle this. And I'm here for you. But that's all I can be: here for you. You'll have to make this decision for yourself."

Lewis looked up at Nita from across the table. Her dark chocolate-brown eyes seemed to penetrate his very soul.

"But," he asked, "why? Why do I have to do it by myself?"

"You know why," she replied.

He turned away from her, looking through the window, at the desert beyond. In the distance, about halfway between where they were and the foothills to the west, a pair of buzzards was circling lazily in the sky.

"No, I don't," he said. He was being stubborn and childish. What's more, he knew it. "Why can't you just decide for me? I trust you to make the right choice. You know how hard this is for me."

"Lewis, you're being stubborn and childish. What's more, you know it."

He turned back to her again. "I suppose you're right."

Her face softened a bit. She was finally making some progress. She really wanted to be out of here before the real trouble started.

"You know I am," she said, patting Lewis on the arm. "So what's it gonna be?"

He looked away again. A third bird had joined the other two ... circling slowly in the sky over some unfortunate scene in the desert. Lewis was almost mesmerized by their motion.

"But what if I make the wrong choice?"

"Look, Lewis, honey ..." She was reaching for the right words. The words of encouragement. The words that wouldn't send him skittering off into the depths of indecision.

"Whatever choice you make, it will be OK. You're over-thinking it. And no matter what, I'll still be here for you. So just make up your mind and We'll live with the consequences, no matter what they are. OK?"

She took his hand and gave it a friendly squeeze.

She hated when he got like this. Sometimes she wondered why she put up with him. Despite her words, Nita had thought about leaving him behind on more than one occasion ... on this journey alone. But something about him ... his hopelessness or his devotion to her, or something - she couldn't quite say - kept her at his side. Was it love? Or was he just feeding some sort of maternal instinct in her? God, she hoped not! How pathetic would that be?

"You know I couldn't live without you," he said. He seemed to have an uncanny knack for knowing what she was thinking.

"Of course you could," Nita replied. "But you'll never have to. So stop stalling and make up your mind. I don't want to be here all day, and neither do you."

She patted his arm again, reassuringly.

"All right," he said. "I'll decide. But first, you tell me what you think I should do. After all, your opinions carry great weight with-"

"No!"

His face fell at her outburst. He pulled away from her again ... staring out at the desert. There now appeared to be five buzzards out there ... waiting for their moment.

It wasn't fair. He looked at the birds making slow, diving arcs in the sky. They didn't have to make any decisions. They relied on instinct. They didn't have to think about whether they wanted whatever meat was lying out there on the desert floor. Something died out there, and they went for it. Simple. Why couldn't his life be like that? Just do what comes natural, and damn the consequences.

But there were always consequences. Sometimes large, other times small. But in the human world, they were always there, waiting in the realm of possibility - not real, but possible. And once a decision was made, some of them just vanished, while others rushed into being, smacking him in the face with all the force of reality.

He sighed.

Nita screamed inside her head. And then she counted to ten, also inside her head.

She took Lewis' hands in hers.

"Listen to me," she began. "If I give you an opinion, then you will make your decision based on what I think. And then the decision will not have been yours. And if, in the end, you decide it was the wrong decision, you'll blame me. And I'm not going to go through that again."

"You know what? You're right." Inexplicably, he brightened up a bit. "You're right, and I'm sorry to have put you through this."

She felt the tension in his arms ease. Her own tension began to ease, slowly, warily. He was so close to making a decision that she didn't want to spoil the moment by saying anything, so instead, she gave him a reassuring look. With a small smile.

"Scrambled," he said, turning to the waitress who had been standing by their table the whole time. "I'll take my eggs scrambled."

The waitress made a quick note on her order pad. "And what do you want to drink?"

"Hmm … I dunno." He looked back at Nita. "What do you think, honey?

Oh God, thought Nita ...

"Coffee," she said. "He wants coffee!"