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Grumbling

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 18:34:06 -0600

...... >.>

Ya know, I was planning on drawing up a new roleplay to occupy my time, but seeing as everyone is busy living life (what losers, right?), I can't. Now I'm sad.....and kinda angry. Darn it people, why'd you hafta go be productive members of society?!

So instead, this:

Also, I found this hilarious despite my hatred of spiders:

rants and raves

Mon, 17 Jun 2013 20:15:30 -0600

I just want to cuss right now, but I am not even sure I could do that right at the moment. I can not even rant on here about what I want to cuss about because I do not feel right even doing that. I know kind of pointless to even write this but at least I feel like I am doing something. Ok I feel better now.. I think..

What's up?

Sun, 16 Jun 2013 05:34:07 -0600

So an old member walks into a thread.

It's full of spiders. Icky, icky spiders with unicorn heads.

Anyways, I realise I havn't been around much lately. That's by no means going to change, I'm as scatterbrained as ever. But the last time I've poked my head in various doors and windows around here it's been a bit quiet so I thought I'd make some noise. Even though I'm actively avoiding people in my spare time these days. I work with children, so I'm allowed, though. Children are fun, but incredibly tiring.

Also, I've finally gotten around to reading Fifthwind. Sorry Fiffy, but you've been reduced to cell phone litterature. Well, actually, my kindle is kinda a little bit broken, so I got the kindle app instead. Seems to be working

Random Venting

Fri, 14 Jun 2013 13:51:08 -0600

I just need to vent about things. Nothing horrible, or deep, but serious nonetheless.

I HATE EVERY LAST SINGLE SONG ON THE RADIO RIGHT NOW! Not one of them is good, or catchy, or even guiltily pleasurable. I honestly don't listen to it that often, but I do tune in here and there when, say an ipod is left at home, accidentally. Or the stuff on said Ipod has played a little too often. I've listened to the same 6 stations since I was in Jr High, but maybe.. I'm growing out of them?? In any case, American music is pushing me more and more into Korean stuff. I'm not sure if I'm sad or happy?

Chick-fil-a: Curse you for being so popular that your dine-in lines AND drive thru lines are so astronomical that I can't even find the END of them. Two locations I visited, TWO, my hunger growing and my mood dipping, and I couldn't even find someone to pay so they could feed me

Wendys: You are inferior to Chick-fil-a in so many ways, but had no line. So I bought you instead, finding out almost immediately why you had no line: You fill your take out bags with whatever is ready and send your customers on their hungry-ass way. THIS IS NOT A FREAKING SALAD!!!!! News Flash: one piece of lettuce smashed between maybe-chicken and last nights dinner roll, does not a salad make. Failure.

And lastly I address this bit to Dean Koontz, murderer of the English language and Infamous Author of Odd Thomas. While I hate your books, I am pleased and up lifted to know that if a writer like you can get published, any monkey can. That gives me hope. ((Seriously people, "Odd grasps the doorknob - five pages of strange, random, pointless, tangents and enough flowery dialog to choke a ornamental garden - and enters the room." GAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!))

Sisters. I love them dearly, but they need to leave me alone for FIVE MINUTES!!!!!!!! No the doctor hasn't called with results since the last time you called, 3 seconds ago. And I'm fine, besides, if I weren't fine, what would you do?

I think that's all I've got. Later Taters.

'Effing PETA

Sat, 01 Jun 2013 05:37:53 -0600

http://features.peta.org/pokemon-black-a...te-parody/

The link above will take you to a Pokemon parody game found on the PETA website. This game sends a message that Pokemon is teaching kids that Pokemon (and consequently, other animals) are just beasts that are bred to fight against other Pokemon (animals) and that the only way to keep your pet in line is through physical abuse.

Now, here's where I start to lose my motherfucking shit:

I watched Pokemon as a kid; it was a favorite of mine. I was pretty big into Pokemon. However, not once did that show instill in me the notion that Pokemon (or my pets) are just tools bred for fighting. As a matter of fact, it went a long way to teach me the exact opposite, as the main character of the show, Ash Ketchum, was always telling those who treated their Pokemon in such a way that Pokemon were companions and friends, not just tools.

The show had clear and concise good guys, as well as clear and concise bad guys, with a mixture of the two in some characters. The good guys were always pushing the message that Pokemon were friends, while the bad guys sought them for personal gain.

Of course the show is going to gear you toward thinking correctly, that Pokemon (animals) should not be subject to cruelty, and should be treated as friends.

PETA, however, on their self-righteous soapbox, took this as an opportunity to spread their hate-riddled propaganda, and try to reach out to kids in order to convert them into their cultish, hateful organization.

I honestly have no respect for an organization that says everyone should love animals, when they themselves solve things through aggression. It also pisses me off that these are the same people who euthanize animals in THEIR shelters because no one can take them, and they want to push their hate agenda onto others. Get the fuck outta here!

*Sigh* It's just so.....it's mind-numbing to say the least. PETA has never been an organization I agreed with, nor one I could tolerate. But this is a new low: targeting kids in order to convert them into being as clueless, brain dead, and anti-coexistent as them?

Fucking. Negative. Ghost Rider.

I'm all for people not being assholes to animals, but PETA takes the whole "Ethical" part out of the equation when doing their dirty dealings.

Rant over.

This Is Gonna Be Weird

Sat, 01 Jun 2013 04:37:02 -0600

I'm usually not all about things that are cute and adorable, but most baby animals, and even grown penguins, get to me. Anyway, here's a video of a kitten:

Alteration and Adaptation; Changing the Past to the Future and Vice Versa

Fri, 31 May 2013 10:44:27 -0600

One of the most interesting things I find about the human imagination is its ability to adapt a concept to fit a setting. One of my favorite examples is an old time Sci-Fi favorite.

Robots.

We all know what a robot is; that solid metal machine that serves so many purposes from daily chores to full scale battles with lasers and beams swords and BOOM! Eh-heh... Moving on. At first robots were something that could only be present in Sci-Fi settings... Until some unknown genius created one of the coolest fictional concepts of all time.

The Clockwork Man

For those of you who are unfamiliar with what a Clockwork Man is it is essentially a robot but instead of being powered by circuits and electricity it is typically powered by gears and steam, sometimes magic, which allows it to fit in perfectly with fantasy settings! Before something like that it would be completely ridiculous for a robot to appear in your fantasy story fighting alongside warriors only armed with swords and bows (sometimes flintlocks depending on the time period)!

Another great example is the sword. Swords are typically only used in fantasy settings, right? So wouldn't it be flat out silly to have one in a sci-fi setting against robots and people armed with ZAPPY GUNS!! PEW! PEW! PEW! Ahem, moving on.. so it was a little silly to use a broadsword against a robot until the creation of an old favorite; the light saber (or beam saber depending on who's making the story). Now while your fighting yo' death robots and alien forces you can hack and slash without worry!

The list goes on and on but I digress. It's just amazing that such conflicting concepts can be altered and adapted to the desired setting.

Now I pose a question to you all; what kinds of things have you altered and adapted to fit the settings of your stories?

Spammer

Thu, 30 May 2013 19:05:12 -0600

Hey staffers, just an FYI, I caught a spammer in the midst of our forum this evening, might want to keep an eye out <.<

You Can't Hide Your Lyin' Eyes (but you can describe them completely unhelpfully)

Sat, 25 May 2013 08:03:02 -0600

The eyes are the windows to the soul, they say. Well, I clearly need to start carrying around some Windex, because I can't see squat in people's eyes. Which makes it rather puzzling when I read a description in which a character's eyes gives insight to their mood. And when I try to write such a thing, I find myself relying on cliches I've heard often before, without any real sense of what they mean.

From my reading, I have learned that eyes can sparkle with excitement, glisten with tears, gleam menacingly, glitter in anger (which usually means they've "hardened" as well), shine with love... and of course, there's the ever-popular mischievous glint. Call me crazy, but I can't mentally envision six different emotion-specific variations on "tiny bits of light reflected off his/her eyes." So what gives? Are we using metaphors, relying on the connotations of words like "glitter" (cold, hard things do it) and "shine" (light pouring out from within) to evoke mood, without any regard for literal accuracy? Or are there tiny variations in, say, pupil size or eyelid placement that account for the difference between "sparkle" and "glint?" I am genuinely confused by this.

True Grave's fanfiction "Z-Academy First Year"

Mon, 20 May 2013 01:23:04 -0600

If you have anything to say about this fanfic, do not post it here. You will ruin the flow of the story. Private message me if you have any feedback. Some of these characters were based on other people's creations, but have been sufficiently changed so that they are not the same characters and are not being used without permission.

Z-Academy Day Zero (August 18)

Ryukyu Taizan (1)

Japan is the most technologically advanced nation on the Planet Earth. This is thanks to the Capsule Corporation, a trillion dollar a month company that made the Briefs family and all of their shareholders into billionaires. The secret of their riches was the ability to pack any item into a capsule that could be deployed at any time. Everything from a car to a toy could be released, and in the centuries since the company was founded, almost everything can fit into one little capsule. While originally based in West City, it had moved to Hercule City and made it a booming metropolis. Hercule City, Japan was the new capital of the world.

Just outside this city stood a small wooden hut. It was a crude structure, and held no running water, indoor plumbing, or electricity. It only held one lone occupant, a young warrior named Ryukyu Taizan. The 13-year-old boy opened his eyes, shielding them from the early morning sun with his hand. It was 5:00 AM, and he had only an hour to get ready. Getting out of bed, he proceeded to focus his mind on the tasks and get to them.

After doing his business in the surrounding wilderness, he bathed in a small pond not far from there. He could hear the rush of the river, which was where he fetched his drinking and cooking water and washed his clothes. When he wanted to eat, he hunted in the woods, captured, cooked, and then ate his prey. It was a life that most people in the world would find barbaric, but it suited Taizan just fine. He was a descendant of the Ainu, an early people in Japan who had lived just like this before being chased into the mountains of Hokkaido by the early Japanese. Thanks to the Capsule Corporation, the language barrier between the Ainu and the Japanese had been broken, and his people became modernized.

But his father had clung to the old ways, knowing that someone would have to carry on the culture and traditions of the Ainu. Taizan was the result of the union between an Ainu man and a Japanese woman, and though he was only half-Japanese, he would never admit to his Ainu heritage. It was simply a way to protect what little of his culture was left. Given that he looked Japanese and could speak the language at a native level, most would not question his ethnicity. Even so, Taizan preferred to live apart from them. The forest around Hercule City was his home, now and forever.

There was one other thing that separated Taizan from other Japanese boys his age. He had learned how to use his Ki, his body's natural energy, and it augmented his strength, speed, and agility. Taizan had discovered it by accident, after it came out toward the end of a particularly exhausting training regimen. Two blasts had knocked holes in his ceiling, and he had spent the rest of the evening patching them. Taizan spent almost all of his time training his body and Ki. The reason for this was rooted in his past.

When Taizan was six years old, aliens attacked the Planet Earth. They had focused their attack mainly on Hercule City, but a stray bolt from one of their ship's cannons blew apart his home. The explosion killed his parents and left him buried under rubble. The military, with the help of the Capsule Corporation, had chased off the aliens by the time Taizan dug himself out. But, that day changed everything for him. He was grief-stricken, and vowed to someday get revenge on the aliens that robbed him of his parents.

Taizan developed what most would call an unhealthy fixation on training and the martial arts. He would exercise for hours on end, often training until he passed out. He would punch and kick at a wooden wall until his knuckles bled and his legs were bruised and calloused. It all had a positive result, as he had a bodybuilder's physique at age thirteen. After he discovered his Ki, he did research at the Hercule City Library and discovered ways to increase it and practice it. His research also revealed information on the Namekian Z-Fighter, Piccolo.

Piccolo was a loner and had a rough early life. Taizan latched on to this and made him his idol. As a show of admiration, his first ever technique, the Mouth Blast, was based on one of Piccolo's techniques. He was still working on building up callouses in his throat, so that when he used it, it did not hurt or make his throat bleed. All of this energy usage caught the eye of a man named Hinoki. He came to visit him one day, and told him that he was the Grandmaster of a school in Hercule City called the Z-Academy.

The school was meant to cater to warriors like him, who had learned to use Ki. Hinoki had been impressed with Taizan's work ethic and aptitude for the martial arts, so he offered him a place at the Z-Academy. Taizan was not sure that he wanted to go, but today was Orientation Day, and if it was anything like what Hinoki had said, then he definitely needed to train there. After getting dressed in black weighted Kung Fu shoes, white pants, and a blue tunic, he set off for Hercule City. He arrived there in about ten minutes, and then went to the address Grandmaster Hinoki gave him. Taizan was awestruck by what he saw.

The building was huge and topped with a dome. It was connected to other buildings, and looked like a city unto itself. Taizan entered and became uneasy when he heard the buzz of voices. He followed them to the auditorium, where hundreds of teens like him were seated. After finding a seat away from everybody else, he sat down. On the stage in front of him was a podium, where he guessed the speaker that everyone seemed to waiting for would appear.

Taizan wanted to center himself, so he closed his eyes. He was a fiend for meditation, and when not physically training, eating, or sleeping, he could always be found in one of two stages. His first was just to center himself and focus his being into one point, such as when he wanted to listen very closely to a speaker or feel at one with nature. His other stage was when he was trying to break the chains of limitation on his Ki through intense focus, or when he was trying to gather his Ki into a certain body part, like his elbow joint. The first stage helped him block out the noise, and he felt better. Now was the time to wait for the speakers, and decide if the Z-Academy was right for him.

Mai Yukou (1)

Mai sighed as she was walking from her posh mansion in the eastern corner of Hercule City, heading toward the recently completed Z-Academy. All of the boys in her small circle of friends were either intrigued or excited by the institution, but to her, it was just a barbaric warrior's school. With the Capsule Corporation and the military working so closely together, why did the city need such an expensive new building to teach such outdated techniques and ideals? It made no sense to her, but her parents apparently saw the value of it. Tired of her rotten attitude, they had shipped her off to this place to learn discipline and manners. They wanted to make her more lady-like.

Well, piss on that! I mean, sure she had zapped the maid in the butt a few times with her Ki, but the lady was slow and needed somebody to light a fire under her...erm, buttocks. Yes, she had spent more time at the mall than doing her homework. Sure, she had smarted her parents off a few times. But did all that really warrant this kind of treatment? Her stuff had been packed, her inheritance held hostage, and not even the benefit of an air car to transport her to this over hyped money pit. She had fallen quite low indeed.

But Mai was a fighter. If her parents wanted a lady that could use martial arts, they were sorely mistaken. She was going to do all in her power to get through this next ten years. A decade at this place nauseated her, since she didn't even want to spend even ten seconds there. So, she looked on the bright side. This could be her chance to make new friends, pick up some new techniques, and still have her housing completely paid for.

The Z-Academy's Orientation Day was today, meaning that she was there to pick classes and get her housing ready. Thankfully, there was no class requirement, she could take as few or as many as she liked. Mai was going to find the easiest class she could and do only that for ten years. With any luck, the time would fly by and she'd soon be back home in the comfort of her chair, kicking the maid in the butt when she went too slow. After going through the door, she found a seat amongst some other students-to-be. Mai's white hair and beauty drew many eyes, and she waved back and smiled at all the cute boys, giving the jealous girls a mental sticking out of the tongue.

However, her bratty attitude vanished as her mind went blank. Her eyes were glued to one boy, though he was built like a man. There were muscles coming out of everywhere, and that placid face of his just made her melt inside. She shook her head and frowned while she blushed.
Get it together, Mai! You're not supposed to feel like that toward one of those meat-heads!

Mai tore her eyes away from the man-boy and focused on the stage. The place had been noisy, but was starting to quiet down a bit. Everyone was waiting for the Grandmaster to appear. Mai in particular had to see him. Her family had paid a bit extra to have Mai's room customized a bit to suit her standing as the daughter of one of the richest men in town. Mai could not wait to see it, so she wanted to get this stupid ceremony over with and see it all ready!

Endo 31st (1) August 1

The Namekians are a strange race by any account. They are entirely male, reproducing only asexually by spitting eggs out of the mouth. The clutches can be in the double and rarely, in the triple digits. An old myth within the Namekian race says that if the parent lays a golden egg, that child will be a Super Namek, a legendary figure on par with the power of the Super Saiyans of the monkey-tailed warriors. Endo 3st, a name implying that he was the thirty-first egg laid in his clutch, was born from a golden egg. Contrary to the legend, however, he was anything but a Super Namek.

Small for his age of thirteen, Endo was picked on and shoved around by his bigger peers. His race are renowned for their legendary Ki reserves, but his were so pitiful that even a small ball of energy took work. As if those two things were not enough, his special training by the Elder, Kumara, made them think he was a teacher's pet and elder to more teasing. The only people that were good to him were his father, Snare, Kumara, the Village Chief, Hammer, and his thirty older brothers. Endo had only one younger brother, Dacoda 32nd, but that boy had run off to Earth and never looked back. Endo had a lot on his shoulders for such a young boy, and everyone was constantly putting stuff on him.

Whenever Endo complained of the teasing of the other boys, Hammer and Kumara both told him that one day he would be mightier than they ever dreamed of achieving. That was a nice thought, but it did nothing to help him out in his current situation. How was Endo going to live up to any of his cultural expectations? He could not defend the planet of Namek II even though he was part of the junior division of the militia known as the Planetary Defense Corps., and he was sure that he could not rule his people as the first Super Namek in over a millennium. It all had him so stressed out that he cried at night, thankful that the other boys did not know about and could not tease him about that. So when the Elder called him out of his militia duties unexpectedly, he thought it would just be another long-winded explanation of what his responsibilities as the Chief of the planet would be.

So, he was a bit surprised to see his entire family gathered at Kumara's house. It was not unusual for his father to attend these lectures, but for his whole family to be there was definitely out of the ordinary. His father approached him and put a hand on his shoulder.
"Son, today marks the start of a wonderful journey."
"Journey?" Endo asked him with a confused look on his face, "To where?"
Snare did not answer, turning to face the Elder.

"Elder, would you please do the honors."
Kumara cleared his throat, which caused Endo to roll his eyes and earned him a paternal sharp look that sent a shiver down his spine.
"It is not the location of your journey that is important, young Endo, but where it will lead you on the inside. I have spoken to a very wise Earthling who has offered you training, so that you might reach the potential within."
Endo turned his confused look to Kumara.
"What do Earthlings know about Super Nameks?"

"Quite a lot actually. I must get on Hammer for apparently scrimping on your history teaching."
"Super Nameks have had quite an impact on Earth, son," his father explained.
"Yes, our greatest heroes were Super Nameks deeply involved with Earth."
"Kami and Piccolo, right?" Endo asked.
"Yes."

"Can this human make me like them?" the young one asked with excitement rushing to his voice.
"Not him, no. But a member of his faculty at the Z-Academy, the former Chief of Namek II, Kami 53rd, can certainly help you along the road."
"There is much he does not know, Elder. Perhaps we should fill in some of the blanks."
The Elder folded his hands and nodded.

"As you know, Piccolo and Kami were once one being until Kami expelled King Piccolo in an attempt to make himself a pure being. King Piccolo's son, Piccolo, later fused back with Kami to return to the nameless Super Namek that is our mightiest warrior in recorded history, with a power level close to even the Legendary Super Saiyan Broly. The Kami of this time, the fifty-third of his clutch, is not a Super Namek, but has completely mastered Piccolo's fighting style, a feat many of our people have tried and failed to do. He was a mighty Chieftain, overwhelming threats to our planet with sheer brute force and energy blasts so fierce that even the heavens trembled in response. He gave up being a Chief to go to Earth and protect it from alien threats. He is now teaching the Namekian Style at the Z-Academy."

Endo had been seated in a lotus position, since it hurt to stand the whole time through the Elder's long-winded speeches. All of this information was pretty much common knowledge, so he did not pay it much heed. When Kumara said "Z-Academy" though, that got his attention, which was evident by his arched eyebrow.
"What is this Z-Academy?"
"A very special school for young people wanting to become great warriors," the Elder replied.
"So, it's a dojo?"

"That's a major simplification," the Elder replied.
"The Z-Academy houses ten dojos, young one," Snare began, "each for the ten styles taught to the next generation of Z-Fighters."
Endo was starting to catch on to what they were saying.
"This man the elder spoke to is affiliated with the Z-Academy, isn't he?"
"He's far more than just affiliated. His name is Hinoki, and he is the Z-Academy's Grandmaster."

Endo chewed on his lip in thought for a second.
"So, you are not sending me just to meet this man and Kami 53rd. You are sending me to Earth to attend the Z-Academy."
"You are correct, as always," the Elder replied.
"I have heard that a full study program at the Z-Academy lasts for ten years. Spending ten years on a planet I am not familiar with is a daunting prospect, Elder."

Snare put his hand on his son's shoulder.
"It is not as daunting as you might think. Your little brother Dacoda is there, and can help you become familiar with Earth customs."
"But Dacoda has rejected our ways! I am sure that he will do nothing but lead me into trouble."
"Then perhaps you can return his help by steering him back toward the right path."

"I don't know, dad. He sounded awful serious when he swore that he would never follow the old ways again. He called them rustic and outdated."
"Young Dacoda is struggling to find both his path and himself," the Elder said while shifting position, "Though his words are harsh, his heart is kind. If he has fallen, it is not very far."
Endo still looked a bit skeptical.

Snare clenched his fist and smiled.
"Do not forget that Kami 53rd is also there. Earth and Namek II have very close ties. Even away from home, you will not be without your people. As you have carried the hopes of your people in this land, you must carry them across the galaxy to the Z-Academy."
Endo closed his eyes, hearing the jeers of the other boys in his ears.

He shrugged. Though he had his doubts that he could live up to this borderline grandiose expectations of his people, ten years away from the same old bullies would do wonders for him. If Master Kami could teach him how to boost his Ki and fight skillfully, then he could return home in triumph and shut the mouths of the naysayers once and for all. Endo closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then looked the Elder in the eye.
"I'll do it. I'll go to Earth and represent my people at the Z-Academy."

Endo's brothers began cheering wildly, but were soon hushed by their father.
"I am very happy to hear of your decision. Elder, please excuse us while we go to the spaceship that was prepared for him."
The Elder nodded, and the mostly complete family went filing out the door. It was not a long walk to the spaceship, but Endo's nervousness made it feel like a thousand miles. Though he spoke bravely, he was terrified of what he might face.

The spaceship itself was of a hybrid design. Most of it was a ball, based on the Saiyan model spaceship. However, Saiyan technology to this day was still a mystery, so it had only about half the top speed of a true Saiyan spaceship. On top of the ball were two antennae representative of the Namekian race, since all Namekians had that same antennae jutting out of their forehead. It was not just for design, but for better maneuverability. Though Namekian technology still had a long way to go before it could rival Earth's inventions, they were well on their way with this model.

Endo approached the ship, placing his hand on the cold metal exterior. He turned to find that he was not alone. His family had been joined by many from his planet, including the same bullies that taunted him mercilessly. This time, though, they were stoic and had a much different look in their eyes.
"Though you must make this journey alone, you carry the hopes of your people wherever you go. Whatever they were to you prior to this moment, they are all united in their good wishes for a safe journey."

Endo felt overwhelmed, and knew he had to get on the ship before he started crying.
"Thank you, everyone. Rest assured that our race will once again rise to prominence. I swear it!"
The people cheered as a hatch opened in the ship and an entry ramp extended. Walking up it, he turned and waved goodbye as the hatch closed and the ship started.

Within minutes, it started automatically calibrating all of the necessary functions for takeoff and flight in space. Since this model was in pristine condition, the check lasted only seconds. The ship shot off like a rocket, which was not felt thanks to the equilibrium effect of the ship's internal gravity. Endo knew that his father would want him to pass the time productively, so he took up a lotus position on the floor and began meditating. Meditation was a simple skill for the Namekians, but deep inner meditation in pursuit of knowledge and personal truth was harder to reach. Endo would use this time to practice, and maybe gain insight into how he could build up his skill and power himself.

August 18

Endo had no idea how long he had been in this ship. It was outfitted with a holo-clock, but no holo-calendar. For all he knew, he could have been in here for a few weeks or few thousand years! Okay, maybe it wasn't that drastic, but time has a weird way of being our perspective when we have no idea how much of it has passed. He was starting to fear that he would miss Orientation Day. Suddenly, lights began going off on the ship's central console.

"The ship is now approaching Earth. Prepare for some turbulence as the ship descends through the atmosphere."
Endo smiled and laughed with joy. He had made it to Earth. He then thought of something that had not crossed his mind the entire trip.
"Computer, what day is it?"

"It is many different days on many different planets in different systems. Please be more specific in your question."
"Sorry, what day is it on Earth?"
"It is many different days in many different countries on Earth. Please be more specific in your question."
Endo gritted his teeth with annoyance.

"What day is it in Hercule City, Japan?"
"August 18."
Endo pumped his fist in happiness. He had made it to Earth just in time for Orientation Day at Z-Academy! He felt a slight rattling as they descended, but not too much turbulence. As the ship sat down, Endo headed for the door as it opened and the landing ramp descended.

Endo made his way down the landing ramp, looking around at the foreign landscape before him. His ship had landed in the heart of the city, with different building styles and people. No one gave him a second look, but he still felt like an outsider. Looking over the skyline, he saw a big shiny dome that towered over the other buildings.
"I guess that must be the famous Z-Academy. If any place can turn me into the Super Namek my people need, it is that place."

Endo began heading that way, tired by the time he got there. Everything was pretty close by on Namek II, so he was unaccustomed to that much walking. Thankfully, the building was not a maze of hallways, and he followed the signs and sounds of other students into the auditorium. So many strangers in one place made him a bit uneasy, so he looked for a place that was not full up. He found a spot next to a boy who looked like a monk of some sort, but since he was meditating, he did not wish to disturb him. Endo turned his eyes toward the stage and waited for whatever was going to happen next.

Dacoda 32nd

Dacoda hustled over to some bushes, where his comrades were squatting in some bushes.
"Whatchu got, Kash?" he asked as he turned to a human-Pterodactyl hybrid next to him.
Kash put down the binoculars he had up to his eyes and smirked.
"Those Rokyu punks are still hanging around. I guess they didn't heed our warning about doing their business on our turf."
Dacoda summoned a low-energy concussive blast in his hand.

"Then I guess we be needin' to send dese boys a stronger message."
Kash and the others nodded and also formed concussive blasts in their hands. The law for all areas in Japan until they were in a time of crisis was to use low-energy concussive blasts, under threat of military and Capsule Corp attacks. Ricoda and his boys were not model citizens, but even they weren't stupid enough to declare war on Hercule City's elite military duo. Aside from that, the few other gangs in this section of Hercule City were practically nobodies, and Dacoda's impressive Namekian fighting skills had taken down many of them. The Namekian warrior had taken the reins of the Satso gang and made it a dominating fighting force that stamped out all competition in their area.

The latest in the string of new guys was the Rokyu. They used to live in the airway systems below Hercule City, but had decided to embrace sunlight again by evicting an even smaller gang called the Tatsu. Dacoda appreciated someone else doing the work for him, but the Rokyu boys had made themselves public enemy number one by refusing to leave Satso turf when asked. So, they were here now, getting ready to storm this building and continue their winning streak over their enemies.
"Are da boys in position?" Dacoda asked.
"Fo sho."

"Good. It's time to show dese foos why they should have left when we asked all polite-like."
Kash knuckle-bumped Ricoda, and the Namekian made a hand-sign above his head. Immediately, all of the Satso members stormed the building. There were lots of grunts being heard as Dacoda and the rest of the Satso elite calmly made their way across the street and up to the front door.
"Knock, knock..." Ricoda said as he fired his concussive Ki blast into the door.

The door was blown off its hinges and fell down to the ground, so Ricoda walked over it as the Elites flanked him and one followed close behind him. In the living area, which was nasty and decrepit, the Rokyu were mostly getting their asses kicked. Some fought back decently, but were overwhelmed by the sheer number of Satso foot soldiers. Dacoda crossed his arms and smirked.
"That's right, foo's. The Satso don't ask twice."
The last Rokyu member collapsed to the ground after being punched in the jaw, but a crash from further back in the house drew everyone's attention.

Ricoda turned around and looked at Bykon, the newest member of the Elite that still needed to prove himself a bit.
"Take about half these guys and lock this area down. If anyone makes trouble, waste 'em. Got it?"
Bykon quickly nodded, then split the group evenly. Half of them followed him out of the building to secure the entrance and the immediate area.

Ricoda turned to Kash and Krokus, who were still awaiting orders.
"Krokus, take about half of the remaining guys and investigate that noise. Kash, you and your boys will be with me as we back them up."
Krokus picked out his guys, and they ran ahead to confront the mysterious noise. Kash's boys scouted ahead a bit, and they kept a constant perimeter as Kash and Ricoda calmly moved ahead.
"You've really done a great job of organizing the Satso into an organized war machine."

"Ain't nothin' to it, Kash. I'm just employing the same techniques that I was taught in the militia back home. I wanted to be the boss, was all. S'why I left."
"Well, I'm glad you did. Even I didn't lead the Satso as well as you have."

"Damn right. Just wait, Kash. We'll have all of Hercule City under our thumb someday."
"If you would have said something like that last year, I would have believed you wholeheartedly. But the Z-Academy changes things. We ain't gonna have the whole city now."

"Pssh, you got no vision, Kash. That's why I'm running things now. A bunch of bonehead martial artists will make no difference. You see, I'm a Super Namek."
"A Super Namek? What's that?"

"What's it sound like, fool? It's a really powerful Namekian warrior. I hatched from a golden egg like all of the old tales say, so I must be a Super Namek."
This was a bold-faced lie, though it should have been the truth. But he hated to admit that Kash was right about the Z-Academy. If he was going to keep the faith of city-wide conquest alive in the minds of his troops, he would have to tell a lie or two to do it.

"Wow, maybe we will have a chance, then."
"Ain't no maybe about it, bitch. You betta show some more respect, Kash."
"Sorry, bruh. I just ain't ever seen it is all."
"Well, rest assured, it's coming."

The two entered the last room in the house, only to find a scene of horror. Krokus and his entire unit were sprawled all over the floor, and a giant cat person was standing in the corner of a room slamming one of his men into the wall repeatedly. Dacoda rushed over to Krokus, who was barely conscious and bleeding.
"Damn, man, what happened?"
"We was doing good, Dacoda..."
"It was this big motherfucker, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. We was working over the last of the Rokyu, but then this thing came out of nowhere. It turns out that they knew we would be coming, and they brought this thing in as a last line of defense. I thought we could wear it down by our numbers, but the thing is made of steel or something. We didn't stand much of a chance."
"It's okay, Kro-dog."

Krokus coughed and a little blood dribbled out of his mouth.
"I'm sorry, Dacoda. I failed you, and I dishonored the Satso."
"No. You fought to the last and didn't give up. No matter the outcome, you brought great honor to the Satso today."

Krokus reached up and grabbed Dacoda's forearm as hard as he could.
"Stop...him. Our job...isn't done."
"I know. I'll bring him down, just watch."
"I knew I could count on you, boss," he said, struggling to smile, "Long live...the Satso."

With that, Krokus' grip became nonexistent and he his head fell limp on the ground. Dacoda put two fingers to his neck, but there was no pulse. Kash reached out his hand with his mouth open in shock. Dacoda turned to him, lowered his head, closed his eyes, and shook his head. Krokus was dead, and Dacoda bore at least half the blame for underestimating the enemy. Kash lowered his head, closed his eyes, and his fist shook with rage.

Dacoda stood up, and when he opened his eyes, they were black with hatred for the monster that had killed his friend and trusted subordinate. The monster dropped the now dead Satso member he had pulverized into mush and gave the Namekian a cocky grin.
"Big bad Satso...Did you really think a gang as small as the Rokyu would move into your territory without a contingency plan?"
He spread his legs into a sumo stance and tightened his arm muscles, sending out a seismic wave that swept across the floor and acted as wind.
"You thought we were small and weak," he snapped as he pointed an accusatory finger at Ricoda, "but I'm sure that the message has not been lost on you, little green man."
He brought that finger up and traced his thumb cross his throat in a nonverbal death threat.

Kash planted his foot and shook his fist at the monster.
"Dacoda! If you are a Super Namek, use your powers to shut this chump's big mouth for good!"
The Namekian youth closed his eyes and let out a sigh.
I am not a Super Namek, but...
The cat monster laughed and spread his arms as wide as he could at his sides.

"A Super Namek, are you? I like a good challenge!"
He began to laugh a cruel, guttural laugh that chilled the junior Satso members to the bone.
"If you truly are a Super Namek, then you should be able to kill me in one blow. Give it your best, because if you fail, I'll eat you alive, small fry."
...But this moron crossed the line killing Krokus!

Dacoda put his right index finger to his forehead, focusing as he built up power in the tip of the finger.
I don't care about the military! I don't care about the Capsule Corporation! All I care about is the glory of Satso, and in achieving the ideal that Krokus died fighting for!
He opened his eyes and started at the creature as the blast grew bigger, now clearly breaking the law imposed by the guardians of Hercule City. Kash was wide-eyed as his boss poured the power he had stored in his body into this powerful blast.

"He's not going to use the Satso Combination rush on this one, he said to one of his charges, "he's going all-out with this ultimate technique."
Ricoda continued to drain his power into the blast, knowing that he was starting to run dry.
I'm only holding back a little bit of power, so that I don't die of exhaustion if this move fails. I hope Kash and the others can handle this guy once he's weakened, because if this does not kill him outright, I'm in trouble.
Dacoda finally finished the charging, and held the white light in his finger.
"I've never used this technique before, so I hadn't even thought of a name for it yet."

Dacoda crouched and squared his shoulders.
"But the heartless slayin' of my homie has given me the inspiration to toss out all negotiation."
He reared back with his arm, ready to drive the beam forward and get revenge for his dead officer.
"Revenge Piercing Cannon!" he shouted as he aimed his arm and sent the white beam hurtling toward the beast like a lightning bolt.
The technique completely hollowed out a space in the monster's chest, disintegrating his heart and giving his body a monstrous jolt that would have shorted it out, anyway. When the beam had gone all the way through, the beast fell forward and began bleeding out what blood was left in his body, as dead as the Rokyu's hopes of staying in that building.

Dacoda panted and dropped to one knee. He felt like a drained battery, nearly collapsing into unconsciousness. As he fell forward, Kash grabbed his shoulders and righted him.
"Playa, that was awesome! I thought you was bullshittin' about that Super Namek stuff, but you're the real deal, G."
Dacoda half smiled and closed his eyes.

Maybe...I really am a...Super Namek.
Dacoda passed out sitting up, and Kash turned to the boys.
"Go get Bykon and his unit. We're takin' our boys, whether they dead or alive. There's no man left behind in this crew."
Kash lifted Dacoda and placed him on his shoulder in a fireman carry. He led a long procession back to the Satso main headquarters in the basement floors below a burned out city building, and more than one of these hardened gangstas had tears in their eyes.

Later that day: late afternoon-early evening

Dacoda's eyes fluttered open, and he raised his hand to block the glow from a hanging light fixture. It took him a minute to realize that he was home, but he smiled when he did. Sitting up, he looked around and saw Kash studying a holo-porno mag as he sat there.
"Checkin' out all the bitches you can never bang, brotha?"
"Just waitin' for your veggie green ass to sprout."
The two bumped knuckles and shared a laugh. Dacoda's face soon darkened as he remembered the ultimate fate of Krokus and some of the foot soldiers.

"Is it ready?"
"Yeah, it's done. The boys are waitin' on you to do the ceremony."
Dacoda sprang off the bed and walked down the hall, Kash at his side.
"So, how's Bykon taking all this?"
"He's in shock, honestly. None of us ever believed that shit could happen to one of our senior vets."

"Yeah, Krokus goes way back. He was the second-in-command back when I first encountered you guys six months ago."
"He was," Kash replied, some fondness creeping into his voice, "he was around before I even hit puberty. The brotha was solid as a rock."
"Bykon's got some tough shoes to fill."
"You're not seriously suggesting that we appoint another officer after Krokus just died, are you?"

"You know the code of the Satso, always four officers at one time. It's how we do it on Namek II."
"But this isn't Namek II and Krokus wasn't your boy like he was mine. Most of this gang are from the time when I was in charge. They won't take too kindly to Krokus being swept under the rug like this."
"Krokus is irreplaceable, but the Code still stands."

"It seems a bit cold right now."
"The world doesn't stop because someone dies, Kash. This organization must move forward. With Krokus dead, other gangs will want us on the defensive. We can't let down our guard or more of our family will be killed off. It stings in the short-term, but it's better for the gang in the long-run."

"I understand that, but our rank-and-file members will need more convincing."
"I know. I'm planning to give a speech explaining everything after the funeral service."
"Make it a damn good one, because this could lead to a mutiny if we handle this wrong. Then we'll lose the whole gang instead of just two handfuls of members."
"I got this, Kash."

Dacoda and Kash entered a large antechamber that was halfway filled with grieving Satso members. Ten pedestals had been erected, and the center-most pedestal had the body of Krokus lying peacefully on it. The members of his unit that had survived the vicious beating were currently receiving treatment at Hercule City Metropolitan Hospital, and were expected to make a full recovery in two to four weeks. Kash took his officer's seat next to Bykon, and that was the signal for the foot soldiers to turn their attention toward the podium. Dacoda, as their leader, was expected to make the farewell speech to their fallen comrades. He gripped the podium with both hands, and steeled himself to make the speech.

"I'm not a big fan of long, flowery speeches, so I'm just going to tell it like it is. We, the Satso, underestimated the capabilities of the Rokyu, and the price was the loss of ten of our men, one of which was our beloved officer, Krokus. But none of them died for nothing. They died fighting for an ideal that the Satso embodies in all of its members. With his dying breath, Krokus begged me to stop that monster, and I did. Victory is ours, but at a great cost."

The members of Satso began murmuring, some praying and others expressing concern over what was to come next.
"Let us not waste this lesson that Krokus taught us in his final moments. Never again shall we underestimate an enemy, but always be aware of what could happen. We must also be aware that he never really died, that he lives on in our hearts and minds. May the men who fell today never be forgotten. May their sacrifices not have been in vain."

Ricoda stepped down to applause and walked over to a switch. Dashie got up and took up a pair of holo-pipes, which he began playing in a sad, rhythmic tone, their farewell song to fallen comrades. At this tune, many members broke down and cried again, and tears stung Dacoda's eyes.
"Good-bye, brothers. May we meet again in the next life."
He then pulled the switch, and the bodies were reduced to ash by lasers.

Kash stopped playing the music and put the holo-pipes down, hurrying over to Dacoda.
"I know you planned on appointing a new officer today, but now is not the time. The men need time to grieve, and they will not be in the mood for duties right now."
"I know," Dacoda said with a nod, "so I'm instituting a cessation of duty while we remember those we lost. Tell Bykon to stay on alert, but the men can do what they want for now. I need some time alone."

Kash nodded and hurried over to Bykon to explain the new orders. Dacoda went into his chambers and sat down in the chair. The guilt over the death of his men was starting to weigh heavily on him, as they might not have engaged without prior orders from him. The foot soldiers could be replaced easily, but Krokus had truly been irreplaceable. Bykon was far from ready to take that more senior position in the gang, and they were more vulnerable now then they had ever been. Word that such a small gang had dealt a mortal wound to the mighty Satso would spread like wildfire, and armies of new gangs would come pouring in to their territory.

Dacoda was just about to slip into despair when a strange feeling took hold. He sensed a familiar power level, but it was weak and seemed to fluctuate greatly between burning bright and winking out. That could only match the description of a relative of his.
Endo...What's a bitch like you doing on Earth? Did father or the Elder send you to try and bring me home?
He clenched his fist so hard that it shook.

It was ironic in the extreme that the first supposed Super Namek in centuries was the weakest Namekian in recorded history. His youngest older brother had been the one to hatch from a golden egg, but he had none of the qualities of even the weakest Satso member. He was a punk plain and simple, and it disgusted Ricoda to even think about him.
Do not show your face here, Endo. If you do, I promise that I will beat you so severely that even father won't recognize you. I am the leader of the Satso, and no matter how bad things look right now, I will always rise to the occasion and defend our way of life!

Derek Carr

Hercule City is about more than the martial arts. All manner of sports can be found there, including an American import, baseball. The capital of Japan's home team are called the Champions, after the rank of Hercule City's namesake. While not as grandiose as Hercule's Champion rank, they had yet to live up to their namesake by winning a national championship. Another American import, Derek Carr, may have been about to change all that. He was only a boy of thirteen, but he had pitching talent greater than men twice his age and with more experience.

Derek had not had any special sports upbringing, no appointments with experts, no constant practice and coaching by parents, just a desire to play baseball on a team for the first time. His position on his first little league team had not even been as a pitcher, it had been as a shortstop. If not for the fact that their pitcher had gotten unexpectedly ill before a big game, Derek may have gone his entire life not knowing about his special talent. The coaches knew that if they did not find a replacement pitcher from amongst the team, they would have to forfeit the game. Always being described as a "go-getter", Derek volunteered for the position. The coaches were skeptical, but they had no alternative plan, so they decided to try him out.

Any doubts they had about Derek were put to rest on his very first pitch. The ball sailed right through the strike zone and into the catcher's glove in a perfect straight line, going so fast that the batter never had even a ghost of a chance of hitting it. This went on for several innings, and at the end of the game, it was Derek's team ten, the opposing team zero. As expected, the coaches made Derek their new pitcher, and the old pitcher was relegated to shortstop, which he did not mind because it was easier on his arm. Derek's team had a near-perfect season after that, and he pitched for that team until he was too old to play for it. While playing for his school's team in junior high, he started to get some big attention.

His pitching talent was so great that high school teams fought over him, and there were even some college teams willing to give him a shot. No major league teams were willing to offer their services to a kid so young, but they were keeping an eye on him. When Derek led his team to a perfect season, a college team offered to give him a try-out to see if he could pitch as well against their players. One after another, it was always the same, a perfect straight line pitch and a perfect miss by the batter. This impressive college tryout at age thirteen was the final piece needed to justify a major league contract to so young a player with no prior intramural playtime. After the contracts were signed, Derek was sent overseas to play for Japanese leagues until he was old enough to play for an American major league team.

No one knew the secret of Derek's talent no matter how much they marveled over it. Even the kid himself could not explain it. How could he know when it involved special energy not even discussed in his culture? Derek's pitching talent was entirely a product of his natural ability to use Ki, the natural spirit energy that flows in the human body. No child's arm, no matter his natural talent, could propel a ball so fast that even experienced players could not see it. Every time he pitched, he unintentionally used a special technique that augmented the ball into an attack, the untouchable Fastball.

Derek was now in Hercule City, practicing for his first big game against a rival Japanese team from Osaka. This was big, since a bitter rivalry prevailed between the two teams. Derek was all ready a hero to the people for being an American player on a Japanese team, but if he could completely humiliate the Osaka team, he would be a legend. Due to this heightened emotional tension, the coach was running him extra hard today, or thought he was. The fact of the matter was that the Fastball took no physical energy out of him, and though it drained his Ki reserves a bit each time he used the technique, there was enough time in between the pitch being thrown and the catcher returning it that the Ki was mostly regenerated. Besides, the coach would not find a flaw in the pitch even if he could see the ball, since it was always done with perfect technique.

After the one hundredth pitch, the Coach made a timeout sign with his hands, his left hand being vertical and his right palm pressed against the tip of his middle finger.
"(Show me curve-ball!)" he barked at him in curt Japanese.
"(What?") Derek replied as he caught the returning ball with his glove.
"(You have done the fastball pitch long enough. Now, I want to see your curve-ball.)"
Derek nodded and tried to look confident, but on the inside, he was shaking like a leaf.

Derek had seen the curve-ball before when it was done by professional pitchers, so he knew the basic premise. The question was whether he could throw one. None of his coaches or his parents had taught him any other pitches, since his fastball was so effective. To throw this pitch, he would have to let the ball go at the exact moment that it would swing out just enough to curve and not fly way out of the strike zone. Trying to do that on a muscle memory that had been conditioned only to throw a fastball was a tall order. Despite all of that, the coach had asked for one, and Derek was obligated to give him one.

He put his feet together, then hiked his knee up and stepped forward as he drew back with his pitching arm. The key here was to go outward with his arm instead of forward. He changed trajectory and let go of the ball at the point he thought was the best. Miraculously, it did a perfect curve and headed straight for the strike zone, but speed had been much reduced and the batter connected with it perfectly, sending out deep into the outfield for an infield home run.
Well, that went almost as badly as it could have.
Even so, the coach still nodded with satisfaction.

"(Your technique is flawless, but you need to work on speed. Practice it until you can throw it as quickly as your fastball.")
Derek nodded, feeling less nervous that he had the technique down. Still, the speed was a harder thing to work with. Many pitches were thrown, and many of the first ones were being chipped into the foul zone, sent into the outfield as grounders, and there was even one outfield home run. But then the strikes started coming, and they increased as the speed increased.

As the sun began to descend into evening, Derek felt his arm start to go numb. He could throw fastballs all day and not get a bit tired, but curve-balls were an entirely different story. Thankfully, the coach was satisfied with his performance, and the two bowed to each other as the practice was called to an end. Derek massaged his arm and began to head toward the dugout. As he was getting closer, he heard a familiar voice call out his name. He sighed and hung his head as a familiar figure came jogging across the field.

Ryan Carr

Ryan was feeling like one of the luckiest people in the world right now. He had spent most of his life involved in Taekwondo, the Korean variant of Karate known for its fancy-footwork. He had done it since childhood, and held a blue belt that was impressive for his age. His interest in the martial arts had caused him to be very excited when he saw the Z-Academy being reported on in the United States media. The idea that top graduates of the distinguished school could be defenders of the entire planet made him dream of wanting to attend. However, with it being overseas, he had believed that it would stay a dream.

That would have remained the case if his parents had stayed together. However, his father's long hours at work and other problems that he did not really understand ate away at their marriage until there was nothing left. His mother had decided to move across the country to be with a new man, leaving his father with sole custody. Understandably, his father was crushed by the upheaval in his life, but tried to be there for his son as much as he could. It was on an innocent trip to a little league game that both of their fates would be changed for the better. This was the same game in which Derek pitched for the first time.

Everyone was impressed by the little one who could throw so well. When his father realized that the cheering lady next to him was Derk's mother, he politely commented that he was quite talented. The two struck up a friendly conversation, and after awhile, seemed far more engrossed in each other than the game. Ryan was too young to really understand this courtship, and he was mesmerized by the lightning fastballs that Derek threw. At the end of the game, the parents exchanged numbers and went their separate ways. It was not long before all four were getting to know each other better.

Derek and Ryan actually got along pretty well, both being enamored with a particular physical skill. Ryan respected his new friend's pitching arm, and Derek respected his high-kick. As they got older, their parents' affection increased and they got engaged. It was not long after that when the two got married, and both Derek and his mother changed their last names to Carr, since Ryan's father adopted the boy. Their friendship was not affected much by the promotion to stepbrothers, but being in close proximity all of the time meant they argued more over silly stuff. Their lives were pretty ordinary until Derek was going to be sent overseas to play for a Japanese baseball team.

Suddenly, Ryan's dream was within reach. The whole family was going to be moving overseas to live for at least five years, so he would have plenty of time to attend the Z-Academy. It was a better prospect for him than a regular Japanese school, since he was not big on studying or homework. So, he would channel all of his love for martial arts into success at this new institution. Derek was going to be a star player for his team, so there was no reason why Ryan could not be a star student at the Z-Academy. It was time to stand up and prove that the United States really did have the best of everything.

His parents were a bit skeptical that this institution would really be better for him than a traditional education, but he had talked them into at least giving it a chance. His father had called and arranged a meeting with the school's Grandmaster through their Counselor, Kyobei. The next day, they had gone there to meet with Mr. Hinoki, who was a very pleasant man. His impression of Ryan as a student was a bit dubious, since he could not use Ki and did not have a black belt in his chosen martial art like most prospective students. Ryan actually could use Ki, but only in his special technique, the Ground-Crunching Fist. This punch has such an impact that when it collides with earth or other material, it crunches it in such a way that it behaves as a glass.

RPG Maker

Sun, 19 May 2013 20:35:38 -0600

I can't stop. I have this idea I want to turn into an 8 bit RPG with this software, and I feel like I'm gonna die if I continue. It's tedious and I can't get away from it because I know I'll put it off and put it off if I don't keep working. ):

On the plus side though, I've made some headway with a plot. ^.^

The Nature of God

Sun, 19 May 2013 02:52:58 -0600

It was on the night of April the twelfth, leading into the thirteenth; I was sitting in my bathtub, questioning the nature of God, bringing to mind what a malicious asshole he had been throughout history. While I would have previously in life confessed myself an atheist, I feel I should tell my tale before I get too far ahead of myself:

On the morning of March thirtieth, my girlfriend of the past year, Margaret, and myself decided it would be for the benefit of our relationship to move in together. More to the point, she was moving in to my apartment. I loved her dearly, and had no doubt in my mind that she felt a likewise attraction to me. However, her one drawback, her one very crucial piece of baggage was her upbringing in a Catholic household.

Of course, living in New York City, one was never too far away from a Catholic-raised individual. However, it was the one thing we had a common dispute about. She would prattle on about the "unexplainable workings of the universe" and I would chuckle and shake my head disapprovingly, a reaction which would cause in her no obscure irritation. She would then challenge me to justify the "miraculous workings" of this world.

I would respond with a retort that the world had no miracles, only abnormal coincidences. Science had seen to defend my stance, to which she would fume and I was without sex for the next week. Still, she wanted to put up, on the mantle over the electric fireplace, a large, ornate platter of faux-silver, which had been inscribed with words from the book of Isaiah, chapter 57, verses one and two, which read:

"The righteous perish, and no one ponders it in his heart; devout men are taken away, and no one understands that the righteous are taken away to be spared from evil. Those who walk uprightly enter into peace; they find rest as they lie in death."

A rather out-of-place message for the home, but it was a sentimental piece in regards to her father passing away, and she felt obliged to hang it, prominently, for everyone to see when they came to visit. Of course, because it meant so much to her, my objections were abruptly trampled upon, when one of our infamous religious arguments ended with me, standing in the center of the living room, saying "If God does exist, let him strike me dead!" and tears formed in her eyes and she called me insensitive. So, I folded on my position, conceded to her womanly scorn and allowed the damnable ornament to hang upon the mantle.

The following week would have been grotesquely uneventful: I had a standard office job, passing memos and going to horrendously dull meetings, all in the name of "valuable energy sources." Yes, I was doomed to a life filing away busywork so we could find the next solution to crude oil substitution. The pay was piss-poor, but it was pay.

As I said, my week would have been uneventful, but as I walked the thirteen blocks back to my apartment, my coat billowing behind me in the oddly cold breeze, I noticed, across the street a man in an entirely black suit, gazing at me as if he were a lion whose eyes had fallen upon a wounded gazelle. Even as I caught him piercing my very being with his cold eyes, he did not break contact.

I was perturbed to say the least.

However, I made it home, locked the doors and saw Margaret sitting on the couch, waiting for me to get home. She looked rather jubilant, even running to greet me with an excited embrace and a kiss. She proclaimed to me, with no lack of excitement, that she had received a promotion at her job. She was an insurance saleswoman, and had been promoted to a managing position at her company.

It was great news, absolutely. However, my mind was not at ease and my enthusiasm for her seemed as real to her as God seemed to me, a fact which caused her displeasure. With a frown, she asked why I seemed so glum. I reassured her that everything was fine, however, and tried again to make my excitement sound as genuine as it felt. I mustered up enough stifled enthusiasm to express my sincerity.

The following day, I saw him again; same spot, same look, same uneasy feeling. I got home and found Margaret was not at home. She left a note, telling me that she had gone out to the grocery store for we were in desperate need of milk and eggs. So with this knowledge, I decided to doze off.

My midday dreams held a horrendous sequence of events that, had I been a superstitious man, would seem prophetic and ominous. Eyes and bones and blood, all culminating to an ending that involved me. Although, what exactly that ending was I hadn't the slightest inkling. I awoke to Margaret shaking me into consciousness. She then informed me I had been snoring; which was strange, as I never did.

It was then that I noticed a slightly uncomfortable clench in my chest. I shrugged it off, hoping tonight's rest would set me straight. However, that night I was plagued with more dreams of the most insidious nature, waking to find a slight intensity in my chest pains.

Work had dragged on, and to my surprise, that man that had been watching me for two days had arrived at my office. It wasn't long that knowledge came to me that he was a new temp worker. I made no attempt to speak with him, and he likewise made o attempt with me. I went home again, disconcerted.

I took a cigarette out on my fire escape, overlooking the back alley. As I sat there, partaking of the invigorating serenity of nicotine, I noticed, in shock, the same man standing below me. My eyes had widened, and I quickly retreated inside, locking, bolting, and latching my front door.

I slept poorly that night.

The rest of the workweek was more of the same, with more and more of that strange man staring me down. I hadn't confronted him about it for fear of the awful things he might do if I did. He looked hardened, face gnarled with enmity and age. His eyes were a deathly black, and his hair of the albino genetic pool. All in all, he was unsightly and unapproachable.

It wasn't until the end of the day on Friday that he had finally made his way to me, and spoken. "Hey." He had come from nowhere, it seemed, appearing behind me, his raspy voice startling me to the point where I felt like jumping from my very flesh. I turned, hand limply clinging to my breast, catching my breath. I turned to face him, and it was here I noticed the ebony cane he carried, a horse head pommel decorating it.

"H-h-hello," I responded. "I'm-" He held up a hand. "I know who you are," he said with an air of apparent hostility. Suddenly, he smiled. "You're Jack Miles. Heard about you around the office." I nodded, extending my hand, feeling the callouses on his. His grip was rather firm; firmer than mine, admittedly. It hurt, slightly, only just more than the unceasing discomfort in my chest.

"Name's Morgan Thomas. Most folks just call me Mot." I nodded, keeping a forced half smile. This guy seemed a little strange, but somehow not unpleasant. I still wasn't going to bring up his watching me: I don't do well with confrontation. "Well, it was a pleasure meeting you Morgan, but I must be getting home," I said. He nodded, sagely it seemed. "Of course. But, before you go, I'd like to ask you something," he paused. "Where do you stand on God?"

I was taken aback by the sudden prying into my personal philosophies, from an almost stranger. However, I felt it only polite to oblige him with the truth. "I, uh....I don't have a particular belief in any gods or goddesses be they Greek, Norse or......yours," I concluded with a smile.

As did he. "I see. Well, best of luck to you then," he said finally.

I got home and found Margaret not there again. She had left a note stating that she would be out with friends to a bar they frequented. I sighed, clenching my chest as the discomfort arose. I didn't want to see a doctor, primarily because my benefits amounted to half an ass and somewhat because I figured this a minor congestion. I went to bed early that night, only locking the door so Margaret didn't have to fuss with the deadbolt.

The weekend was more argumentative than we had been in a while. I had apparently fucked the balance of the universe up when I mixed her clothes together with some of mine. "The colors don't go together, and you can't wash these with warm water!" she shouted. "They're clean, Margaret, clean! I think the job got done. Nothing's ruined, and nothing's out of place! Drop it!" "What the fuck is your problem today? You've been irritable as all hell, and I'm fucking fed up!"

I don't even recall how it ended, or how it even cooled off. I didn't really care. I just sat on the couch, in front of the TV, watching the news as I so hated to do.

The weekend ended rather abruptly, and Monday morning was upon me once more. Morgan made attempts to converse with me, and even slipped me a pamphlet to the St. Mary's Church just down the road, which I immediately redirected to the paper shredder with a hearty chuckle. He, of course, watched me do it.

Tuesday was nothing special, save for the fact that I was almost late, until I got home to find Margaret on the couch, a frown plastered across her face in the most detestable of manners. Apparently, on my way out, I had left the toilet seat up, my robe on the floor, the toaster plugged in, and I left my empty glass on the counter. Apparently I had just completed the initial phases to commence World War III, and we argued until we were tired and went to bed.

I couldn't help but feel that everything was going to hell recently.

Wednesday passed slowly. My chest pain was pretty intense, but I still couldn't go to the doctor. I had been boiling water and inhaling steam over the week, taking some generic congestion meds. Didn't seem to help. I sat at my desk, blankly staring into the screen of my computer, my hands limp upon the keyboard.

Morgan caught up to me at lunch break, remarking how terrible I looked. I confided in him my increasing chest pains, and that company benefits were so awful and that I couldn't sink money into decent medical insurance. He just stared, and I noticed, to my bewilderment, a cold smile spread across his lips. "Good," he whispered. I immediately lifted myself, away from his person. My mind was alive with frustration and shock.

Finally, I confronted the older man about his staring at me across the street the prior week. His smile widened. "Who do you think I am, boy?" Morgan was on his feet in a flash, hand gripping my shoulder tightly. I cried out in pain as his thumb dug into me. "Do you think me some random stalker? Some pedestrian watcher? Oh no, my boy," he chided, "I'm much worse than that!"

I wrung his hand free of me, and ran away, quickly, faster than I think I had ever ran. I went home, uncaring of my absence from work. I paced around my apartment, looking to that large platter on the mantle, my eyes narrowing with ire. I thought about ripping it from the wall, but reconsidered incurring Margaret's wrath and abstained.

She didn't come home that night.

Thursday came, and I went to work. Morgan wasn't there, and I didn't know whether or not to see that as a gift or a warning. The day passed by as slowly as torture, and I was having a hard time focusing on anything. My boss, Mr. Burke, walked up to my desk, looking down on my ragged frame and began to grill me about yesterday's absence. I tried to explain to him that I wasn't feeling well, but he wouldn't hear it.

He then took the time to insult my rather lacking work output this week, intimidating me, picking at how I wouldn't amount to anything, and that's why I was stuck in this hellhole of a job. I felt myself boil, overcome by anger. I was out of my seat in a moment, and my fist had kissed Mr. Burke's chin and knocked him on his ass before I even had the time to say "what the fuck did I just do?"

He sat there, stunned. Then, his eyebrows furrowed, anger overcoming him. He stood, in my face. "GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY BUILDING YOU WORTHLESS SACK OF SHIT! YOU ARE SO FUCKING FIRED!" My shock was overwhelming, but I somehow made my feet work. I ran out of the building, home, sat on my couch and slept. My dreams were the same as they'd always been recently: vague and disturbing.

I awoke to the pain in my chest, a vice grip in my ribs. Standing and staggering to the kitchen, I grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water. I drained the glass, getting another, and another. Half-empty glass in hand, I turned to the back window leading to the fire escape and recalled how dark it was. I heard rolling thunder, and lightning popping off in the distance.

Draining the glass, I sighed, setting the dish inside the sink, turning and placing my back on the counter. I stared out the window, watched as the bright blue flashes of lightning burst outside, illuminating the dark grating of the escape. I was entranced by it, honestly.

Suddenly, and horrendously, the bright flash beamed through the glass a visage of the most terrifying and wicked disposition: it was the face of Morgan, smiling ear-to-ear, eyes widened, looking every bit a killer as I had deemed him to be.

The face was gone as soon as it had come, and the next successive flash revealed him to have disappeared. I however, was not at ease, and my heart felt fit to free itself from the prison of my chest. I ran for my room, to my end table. Opening the drawer, I plunged my hand in and grabbed the .357 magnum revolver my father had given me before his passing, a gift my grandfather had given him.

I sat on my bed, watching the closed door in absolute trepidation. I heard the front door open, and my heart stopped. The old bastard was in my house. I pulled the hammer back, aiming at my bedroom door. Footsteps, thudding and mesmerizing at the same time, closer and closer to the bedroom.

A twist of the handle, and my finger tightened.

Margaret came through the door, and immediately, my finger loosened just as she shrieked to the top of her lungs. "WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK, JACK!" she fumed. She started hyperventilating, and I rushed to hold her, placing the gun on the bed. She pushed me away, eyes hardened with hate she was not allowed to feel. She opened her mouth, but words didn't come out; she merely shook her head.

"I-I-I have to get out of here," she stammered. "I have to leave before you do something insane. I'm....I'm gonna be at Rita's until you can get a goddamn grip on yourself!" With that, Margaret strode to the door not even bothering to pack. The door was open, and closed with a slam just as quickly.....

So, I sat, water turning cold and gun at the edge of the tub. I felt I had been losing my mind, the world a haze lately. But I merely only had my thoughts turned to God's infinite wrath, thinking what a glorious dick he would be if he were to be a thing outside the realm of fiction. I was in a state of conscious comatose, numb but aware of my unfeeling. I was tired of this state of mind, uncertain. Terrors plagued me: my sleep was replete with nightmarish dreamscapes and terrors unimaginable, and the constant fear that Morgan Thomas would show up and take away my life was always looming. I felt content to hide away in here, letting the water enclose me, comforting me in its chilling embrace.

It was then that my ears acquired the sound of footsteps. My heart leaped, but my mind tried to tell me that Margaret had returned home. However, no sounds that indicated the door had opened reached me. The gun was in my hand, and I rose from the water, soaking and naked, and I stepped out. I came from the bathroom, rounding the corner with my gun pointed outward. I looked around my bedroom, securing the place. I grabbed the doorknob, twisting it slowly, cringing at its damnable shuffling.

I opened it swiftly and stepped into the dark living room, passing the mantle, looking to the window where the old psycho's face had been days before. However, to my horror, the window was closed and locked down. So where had....

"Looking for me lad?" I heard the familiar raspy cooing of his voice remark. I turned in a flash, my gun training on the figure across the room. He was standing in front of the fireplace, leaning on his cane. "Get the fuck out of my house Morgan!" I shouted. He stared at me, tilting his head slightly. "But why? I thought you could use a little explanation," he said, clearly amused. "W-w-what do you mean?" I was stammering, my heart taking punishment for the fright I was feeling. "What explanation? What the hell are you saying?"

He chuckled. "God doesn't like you challenging him boy, and he definitely doesn't like you mocking him. That pain in your chest? You think that just some coincidental ailment? Naw, boy. What you've got there is a hard case of dying." This perturbed me, but my mind did not process it. "Dying? What do you mean...." I stopped. "How could you know that?" Morgan cleared his throat. "Because I rendered you that way," he chuckled. I was quiet, my mind gathering and processing the information that had been given to me.

"Bullshit!" I spat, "BULLSHIT!" He took a hard step forward, his arms spreading wide. "Claim fraudulence all you desire, Jack! The truth speaks for itself! And truth is, tonight is the night you die." A cackle, more awful and horrendous than any noise I had ever been cursed to listen to.

My mind raced, turning over and over. There is no God, this old man was just a deranged, sick fuck who got off on playing crusader. The gun was feeling hefty; I had lowered it without noticing, but it was up again, aimed at the crazed old man that stood across from me in the darkened room. My trigger finger was tightening. It was kill or be killed now, survival was all that mattered. If I didn't kill Morgan, he would do me in instead.

"FUCK OFF AND DIE YOU FANATIC ASSHOLE!" I shouted, a primal rage that made me feel surprisingly good, for the brief moment it had lasted. The trigger clicked into place, the bullet flew and the gun's kick lifted my arms to the point where the gun nearly hit me in the head.

It was as if all time had slowed in that moment:

The bullet glided across the room, towards the smiling old fuck. I was sure that he was finished, that soon his blood would decorate the mantle and his corpse would make a temporary rug on the floor. But in that slowed moment, I saw, to my astoundment, the bullet passed through him, as if his body were ashes being divided by the hot lead, and time returned to its normal state of being.

A sharp pang and a hard thud was all I heard before I hit the ground, my head a cracked and gushing mound of bone and blood. I lay there, deader than dirt, in the exact spot where I had just last week challenged God to smite me.

Morgan bent down, staring at me, and I could, even though no life remained in me, see him hovering over me. "May the next life see you well, and may God have mercy on your soul," he said, closing my eyes with his calloused fingers. It was here that I understood everything, that it all made sense. The "unexplainable" had now made itself clear to me, and the world before me, my life on this mortal coil of dirt and water, was at present an insignificant instant.

A blackened dent in that platter Margaret had loved so much, now the symbol of my demise, my fate determined by a mere mortal's challenge to something far greater than he could ever hope to be. I had spent so long denying the truth, blinded by my arrogance that I thought I could explain forces beyond me. Now, as Death closed my eyes and shepherded me to the afterlife, I understood everything, and the one self-evident horror that plagued my being as I awaited my ascension:

Heaven's gates were not going to welcome me tonight.

Truly Horrifying

Sat, 18 May 2013 23:48:16 -0600

A big problem I see in horror writing among writing communities is the fact that, more often than not, I find the writer of a horror story isn't so much focused on the "horror" aspect of the tale he or she is telling, but rather what sorts of dreadfully disgusting ways a person can be murdered that they can type out.

This irks me because when I read a horror story, I want to feel the suspense of what the characters are going through, being in this hopeless situation, not a good few paragraphs describing just which extremities are getting strewn across the walls in the art gallery.

Of course, this isn't to say that death and grotesqueness isn't a part of horror; Poe captured the elements very well. However, the point of horror is to scare the reader, not repulse them with the (un)creative ways in which you can dispatch a person. It takes a building of atmosphere; sound, sights, smells, feelings. It takes making the reader invested in the character's (or characters') surroundings and emotions by building that sensation with pacing and a command of tone.

Anyone can haphazardly drone on about how the killer takes a hacksaw and carves open a cranium to reach in and feed the contents of the cracked skull through the lips of the no-longer-alive captive. However, it takes some time and thought to make someone's eyes scroll across the text anticipating what is going to happen to this character they care about.

That's another thing people tend to neglect with such stories: character building. A typical scenario I come across is that there are a group of relatively identical personalities (give or take a few quirks) that just get hacked up for the hell of it. However, to truly build a character is to get the reader invested in that character, and one achieves this by making them stand apart from each other, giving them not just different traits, but making them entirely different people; make them seem real.

I just have a problem with most horror (including movies and games) because it just seems to boil down to how much of an intestinal tract can be used to strangle a hapless victim and how many limbs you can decorate your tool shed with than any actual atmosphere and the true sense that the characters are in a hopeless situation.

An additional problem facing horror is the presence of a clear and concise threat. For example, the Dead Space series (which I love very much, don't get me wrong) seems to make it a point to show you what terrible things you're up against. And yes, while the necromorphs are without a doubt a race of horrendous monsters, their scare appeal tends to wane because you cannot help but being put into a position of seeing them.

All. The. Time.

However, like in the game Amnesia: The Dark Descent, the point is made that the less you see of your threat the scarier it remains. That's why it's such a scarier payoff when this thing spends most of the time making noises and ensuring glimpses of its fleeting shadow are caught before coming full-face with you in a cramped, dimly-lit room.

My point is, if you're going to spin a decent horror story, and you want to keep people in suspense and (maybe) scare them, (looking at you, Stone >:^D) then you need to be aware that tone and atmosphere are more important than writing a guidebook on the various ways to mutilate your unsuspecting house guest with office supplies and a bottle opener.

Star Trek

Sat, 18 May 2013 19:54:46 -0600

Alright, spill.

Who're the Trekkies and have you seen into Darkness yet?

Without spoiling anything I'm interested in the opinion on the use of a certain memorable villain.

Cloud Atlas

Sat, 18 May 2013 13:05:02 -0600

If you haven't seen this masterpiece of a movie, I suggest you do so now. It has everything any fan of cinema could possibly want and more. I saw it just last night-twice, actually-and am in love with it. I think I have found my new favorite movie.

Now, I just need to pick up the book. (:

Festival of colors

Fri, 10 May 2013 20:03:02 -0600

The summer sun arose early, cresting the horizon with violent slashes of sanguine and tangerine that faded into soft hues of blue where the night still clung to its rein over the sky. The growing warmth lapped up the morning dew; a choir of birds heralded the coming day.

Underneath the sparse cover of thin birch trees lay a young boy, no older than eleven, atop a thin bedroll that was dirty and had seen better days. Currently unshod and clothed in a thin, loose tunic that was dyed indigo, and a large piece of fabric that had been wrapped around his waist in a very intentional, careful manner like a sarong that came down to his knees, the boy looked undoubtedly Azurian. His clothes were traditional ceremonial garb worn by the Azurei people to the desert lands in the southeast. The sarong, called an uri, was most often worn by young boys on a day to day basis (little girls often wore something similar, though wrapped differently and longer) because Azurei children were notoriously rough and rowdy, and the flowy fabric was perfect for hot days and extensive wrestling matches. But older men generally only wore them on special occasions. This particular young boy considered this day one such occasion and found the uri an appropriate article of clothing, as he typically wore trousers.

But this boy looked Azurian in more ways than just his clothing; his tanned skin and wavy, ebony hair was one giveaway. The real identifier, though, was the delicate tangle of black, indigo, and white lines tattooed onto the soft skin of his face. Beginning at the right earlobe where a thick bone gauge dangled, the lines spread out to his cheekbones and even touched his forehead and chin. The precision with which they’d been drawn into the depths of his skin was incredible; the ink was uniform, smooth and clear without any blemish to be seen, and his particular design was unique to him, like a fingerprint.

The Azurei called these tattoos ojih ((oh-juh)), and they were perhaps the most widely known of the Azurei traditions. The intricate linework was a form of written language, and the combination of lines and patterns on a person’s ojih was a quick, highly visible summary of who that person was, denoting unusual accomplishments, crimes, marriage, significant losses, trades, or family of origin. Other marks were reserved for those who performed military service or who held a position of authority. The Azurei, however, were not keen on educating the rest of the land, called Occai, on how to decipher these precise lines, so the interpretation of ojih was exclusive to the Azurei people alone.

Hadian Torzinei heard the warbling of nearby birds and awoke gently to their song. But as he lay half-awake and realized what day it was, he jolted to a sitting position and began gathering his things. Today, he and his recent traveling companion were going to attend the Fesival of Colors, of which Hadian had never seen but heard splendid rumors about. He had dreamed of eating until he was fat and drinking cool beverages that he had neither seen nor could pronounce. There would be music and people dancing and stories from every corner of the land. There would be street performers and opportunities to pick pockets and not a soul in the world would care what time he went to sleep.

Hadian had been waiting for this for months.

Faceraping

Fri, 10 May 2013 14:47:44 -0600

I got faceraped today. A fucking asshole posted on my facebook while I was away, and posted status updates discussing the use of drugs, and of explicit sexual nature. I hit him, and I told him if he does it again I'll cut his dick off.

I hate faceraping, and not just because I'm being a bad sport here and can't take a joke. What you're doing is posting crap, shit and sleazy fucking bullshit that YOU don't want posted on YOUR facebook, on MINE, in MY name. To me personally that feels like defamation. I had actually considerable problems controlling my anger, and I was close to beating him to a pulp. Maybe I just have anger management issues.

But as I said. I don't care what others think about faceraping. You don't do that on my facebook, because it's posted in MY name, and only I get to decide what is posted in my name. End of fucking story.

I also removed a former facebook friend who was so fucking stupid, or knew me so little, that he didn't realize I was being faceraped and instead took it seriously. Whichever was true, I don't need that kind of person as a friend of mine.

As you can tell, I'm furious. Outwards, I'm calm. Inwards, I want to go back in there and beat the little fucker to death.

The Frontier

Wed, 08 May 2013 21:02:39 -0600

The Frontier is a planetary system of seven very hazardous planets, only two of which are hospitable for all, the others only braved by the most durable of species.

Verk'am

A frozen planet characterized by dark, swirling clouds of blue plasma storms and monuments of sharp, pointed ice stalactites. The oxygen in the air is pure, though chilling to the very core of being. Scientific expeditions are frequent happenings upon this planet, although many teams have perished due to hypothermia and becoming frozen solid.

The Empire maintains a fortress in the far recesses of the frozen planet, a secret weapon hidden and secluded from outside knowledge.

Gestalt

Gestalt is not so much a planet than a collection of pieces held together by a core with a magnetism just powerful enough to keep its parts from drifting. The core tends to give off plasma bursts, like the sun in the Solar System from which humans originated.

Wekka

A viciously inhospitable jungle planet teeming with hostile life and an atmosphere ripe with argon and carbon dioxide. Vines wrap neverendingly around the multitude of trees that decorate the planet's surface.

Cerul

An oceanic planet with naturally occurring wooden islands made of roots of deadwood. Its wildlife is a multitude of aquatic animals, coupled with a primal group of beasts that inhabit the wooden islands.

Akkan

Akkan is a tundra planet with an air of nothing but radon. With a cold and radioactive atmosphere, Akkan can be regarded as the embodiment of "nuclear winter". Nothing can survive on this planet. However, its moon, Tartarus, a relatively small structure with a curiously standalone tree of immense girth, sustains its own atmosphere of thin oxygen, barely breathable but can sustain oxygen-breathing organisms for a short period.

Ornstein

A dreadful desert planet which an entire civilization of nomadic humans and assorted other species inhabit. The inhabitants of the planet incorporate a crude sense of justice; the law of "an eye for an eye" runs the civilization. Bartering is the planet's way of purchasing goods.

Two factions war for control and order on Ornstein: a gang of raiders known as the Dark Suns, and the law-keeping Desert Rangers.

Dasneich

A mountainous planet roughly the size of two Jupiters, Dasneich is home to a race of flying creatures simply called "stone dragons" by the alien tribals that live there. An atmosphere of an unknown gas covers this planet; however it is known to be highly toxic to all but the domestic species of Desneich. Guarded expeditions to this planet have been made in the past, although no recent voyages have been made since the mauling of the last team by the so-called dragons.

Ender's Game

Wed, 08 May 2013 16:24:13 -0600

In case you didn't hear my excited manly reaction of "this looks awesome" (I totally didn't fangirl squeal, I swear). Here's the trailer for the upcoming Ender's Game film.

Festival of Colors

Wed, 08 May 2013 02:24:18 -0600

I had an idea a while back that I've loosely played with here and there, but nothing terribly long or in depth (hopefully the one I have in existence already will pick back up again) but it's something I'd like to continue further. I had this dream this last summer involving a festival with colored paper representing 3 neighboring nations, and from the dream I could conclude that red was the largest/strongest (military/civilization wise), green was second largest and in good relations with the red one, and blue, hardly to be seen at the festival, was small, fierce, and on shaky terms (at best) with the others.

In the dream, my POV was a young boy who was traveling with an older man, a rough, ranger-type character who cared for him. At an annual peace festival held by the largest of the three nations, Vyyrica, (a nation characterized by the color red), citizens and representatives alike from the nation with a Green flag, called Ni'kali, come together to celebrate the anniversary of the ending of old wars. There is a ritual of throwing colored paper (representing one's homage) into the Capitol square to represent the rejection of old laws that separated the three nations that share the land. The third nation, Azurei, which is characterized by the color blue, is invited every year but each year only a couple begrudged representatives come out of formality. They have always been at odds with the other two.

During this festival, there's lots of festivities (duh) and the climax of the merriment is a ceremony in which everyone gathers at the central square in front of the capital building, there are some boring speeches made about peace and unity, and then everyone takes a piece of paper colored according to their home nation, crumples it up and tosses it into the square to signify the disposal and abandonment of the old laws and old ways that harbored feelings of separation, bitterness, and encouraged war between the nations, and is a celebration of unity and new laws.

My POV and his friend attend this festival and while they are there, some kind of chaos broke loose (in the dream I think it may have been natural distaster on an apocalyptic scale, but it could be anything, really) and we got separated. I, a member of the blue nation, got separated from my friend and ended up falling in with three people--an old man from the green nation, a woman from the green nation, and a big muscled man from the red nation. They saved me from getting killed and I went with them without question.

Now, this is just what happened in my head. That said, there are a lot of places to take this concept and it's pretty flexible. I think it'd be really fun to play with either the relationship between the ranger and the boy, the relationship between a group of strangers that take him in amidst some kind of social dissolution that happens, or perhaps both.

As for the world building.....oh my. There's so much information in my head that to explain it here and now would be insanity. The summary: human world, mixed technology but still fairly basic (a flintlock pistol or blunderbuss is a rare commodity) and not yet to the level of steampunk. The nations have a history of war. Vyyrica is the largest, most technically advanced, and thus, most militaristically powerful, and they have more cultural similarities to the smaller Ni'kali, but they are less technically advanced (slighlty), and are perhaps more connected with the woodlands than their larger sister. Azurei is the yin for Vyyrica's yang...they oppose many of the advances in technology and prefer traditional methods (swords, bows, horses, ect) and by some standards might be called barbaric, but truly they are a tribal culture of the desert.

I'm also super up for ideas. The only reason I'm spewing out all these specifics is because I got this idea from a dream a while back, which was incredibly detailed and surprisingly coherent. But this doesn't mean it's all set in stone. You got some good ideas, I'd love to her 'em.

Anyhow, any advanced writers out there in for a long-term project?