Children of God: A Coda

This is an - arguably spoiler-free - appendix to Children of God, explaining something of the back-story that I began the post with. It's never explained outright in the story proper, and may have been somewhat confusing; so I felt I should mention it.

The story seed came from thinking of Jesus. Specifically, the Immaculate Conception. The Virgin Mary got off rather easily; pregnant, not by her husband, but hey! It's the Son of God! That's perfectly all right!

Whether or not you accept the truth of the Immaculate Conception, you have to admit that being impregnated by God is a pretty good excuse for any young mother who's unwilling, or unable, to support a child. (Or to acknowledge its father.)

But - there's no free lunch. What kind of social structure would evolve around such a thing, if "immaculate conception" was accepted as a plausible excuse? Well - who's going to take care of a Child of God? The church, naturally. That's their ball-park. So they're going to need some compensation for this - otherwise they'd collapse, especially if this is in the context of a small town or village, where the Church is basically an old guy in a robe who knows how to read Latin. So perhaps the mother pays some small tithe to the church, in return for their acknowledging her claim of Divine Insemination; and when the child grows up, it becomes a priest in turn, helping to keep the level of clergy high. Maybe - if this is common enough, which doesn't have to be very common - most of the church is composed of these Children of God.

So - what do you call a person who's half human and half God? A demigod, of course.

And what kind of adventures might a demigod get up to? What problems might they find themselves in, as a result of their privileged status?

(This was another point I found in favor of this idea, by the way - the idea of having what are essentially orphans be higher-class than most of their fellow citizens. It seems... right, somehow.)



Whatever bizarre, disturbing mind-thing that produced this dream was also probably responsible for influencing Children of God. Probably the same as the 'darkness' in this post. It's a recurring character! We'll give it a slot on the cast page, next.

(The cast page doesn't actually work that way.)

(...and I'm to bed.)

(Sweet dreams!)

Children of God

(Author's note: this story is dark. In themes and in narrative. Act accordingly.)







The Church teaches that we, all of us, are children of God. I believed that, once. I believed.

What brings this to mind?

I was at a banquet; platters stacked high with roast mutton and prok, men and women in colourful clothing filling the hall with chatter and laughter. I was perhaps the soberest dressed of any man there, saving only my superior, Father Henrich, who (like I) was dressed in the black robes of our order. There was, for this and other reasons, naturally something of a distance between us and the other guests at the banquet, but I cared little. It was rare indeed that I had opportunity to feast as I did that night.

Still it was a surprise to me when the Baron himself, emerging from the crowd, greeted Father Henrich and I. His clothes were sewn of velvet and ermine, his bearing was noble and his eyes filled with festive charm - were it not for his slight limp, and what seemed like scars or burns on his hands, I would have thought him the finest example of manhood I had ever seen...

He spoke politely to Father Henrich, congratulating him on the initiation of a new novice (an odd piece of trivia for a Baron to know, I thought), and then turned to me. "What a strapping young lad!" he boomed. "You'll sire many fine children for the Realm some day, I've no doubt at all."

My face turned instantly red with mortification, and I turned away to hide it. Father Henrich was left to intercede in my stead. "He is a Son of God, your Lordship," he apologetically corrected. "His blood is reserved by God, and the only children he will sire are the seeds of faith in the minds of those he will teach." Henrich's wording was clumsy, as always, but I could not have appreciated his assistance more.

"Well, we are all children of God, are we not?" the Baron asked cheerfully, seeming entirely unmoved by the correction.

"Some of us more than others," I heard Father Henrich answer, just before I slipped outside.

Night had fallen since I entered the Baron's castle; the streets were cold on the route back to the cathedral, and I watched about me warily, on the lookout for the thieves and cutthroats known to populate the dark places of the city. None accosted me, though, whether by respect for my strength, for the robes I bore, or simple luck, I knew not. I arrived at the cathedral only somewhat colder than I was when I began the journey - that, and more chagrined by my early flight from the banquet.

The cathedral doors were locked, but Novice Welkin came quickly to open them when I knocked. I tarried not long once inside; the vast, arching expanse of the cathedral's interior, which I knew to be awe-inspiring when filled with life and prayer, was only cold and intimidating when empty, as now. Quickly, I collected the prayer-book and other personal belongings I had left in my cell before leaving for the banquet; then I made my way out of the cathedral, bidding a good night to Novice Welkin as I went, and set my course towards the dormitory where the rest of our order now lay peacefully bedded.

Barely had I passed beyond the cathedral when a hammer-blow fell upon the crown of my head, sending me reeling. A hood fell over my sight, blinding me; I thrashed, sending blows in every direction, but my fists felt nothing but air, while my attackers struck me again and again. Every part of my body seemed a blazing star of pain when at last, blessedly, I lost consciousness.

Unfortunately, I felt no better when I awoke. My bones ached; my skin was cracked and covered in crusted blood; my head - well. It was some time before I grew conscious enough to realize that I was naked, lying on filthy straw; more time yet to muster my much-abused musculature into motion. The place I was in was darker than any I'd ever been before, but a minute's slow crawling was enough to explore its confines in their entirety - and to test its bars. I was in a stone cell, in some sort of dungeon. If it was brigands that had taken me, they were uncommonly wealthy - and though I doubted the possibility that any common criminals could have such wealth as that, the alternative was itself so unlikely - and so worrying - that I preferred the thought of bandits. That this was the Baron's dungeon - that I, a man of the cloth, had been taken for a thief, not by one -

I attempted to occupy myself with prayer, though over the time that followed - minutes? Hours? Days? - thoughts of thirst, hunger, and worry all rendered prayer difficult.

Then came light - light! - flickering and dim, but still a blessing to my eyes. With it came footsteps, and I rose, realizing as I did so that I had fallen asleep. "Hello?" I called, my voice hoarse; with a start I remembered my nudity, and moved to cover myself with my hands. "I need to speak to the jailor - I'm being held here unjustly - "

A pair of men arrived in front of the cell - uniformed, with swords at their hips. Guards, then; not bandits after all. One of them held a torch, the source of the light that heralded their approach; the other fumbled at his belt for keys. "Why am I here?" I asked them, my throat paining me with each word, as he opened the door and pulled me from the cell. My legs had grown weak with inactivity; I stumbled as I walked, the guard's gloved shoves from behind being further antithetical to my balance. "Where are you taking me?" I asked again.

The guards made no response.

The trip was blessedly brief, but the destination was not what I had expected - no jailor's office, no exit, but a black iron door with a shutter near the top, bolted and locked from this side. It radiated menace. The guard with the keys reached forward to unlock the door; I panicked. "What are you doing?" I asked. "God will punish you for your misdeeds - "

The first guard pulled the door open; the one behind, bearing the torch, shoved me through with his free hand. But as I tumbled to the floor, and the door closed behind me, my thoughts were on neither - rather they were on -

- the light -

- her -

- for the cell was not empty.

Inside, naked and prostrate, lay an angel.

She was beautiful - I will say this first, so there is no mistake. She was beautiful, every part of her, despite the grime and bruises that marred her ivory skin. She was beautiful, and the light that shone from her and lit the room like a star was beautiful, and even the burning I felt at touching her - where my limbs, sprawled from impact, touched hers - was beautiful, in its own way. She was beautiful, and there was no drive in me at that moment but the need to protect her. And no thought in me but the question, "Why is she here?"

As the moments passed, and my mind churned, my thoughts grew darker - but I was interrupted before I could pursue them to conclusion. The shutter in the door slid open, and one of the guards spoke through it. "You! Fuck her!"

I was confused - disbelieving. Tearing my eyes off her with difficulty, I looked toward the door, trying to find words to respond. "What?" I asked. "'Fuck' - her?"

"Yah!" the guard replied, his tone derisive. "Fuck her! The up and down, the in and out, the all around, then you have lots of little angel babies together. Lots of fun, and if you don't, we kill you!"

Every fibre of me screamed in protest. I steeled myself, drawing together as much dignity as I could in my unclothed state. "She is a thing beautiful and holy and sacred," I told the guards, "and to do what you ask would be an insult to everything I believe in, everything good and right in this world. I would rather you kill me than I would do as you ask."

The door swung open.

The guards dragged me outside, kicked me onto the floor, and beat me until I lost consciouness.

Some time later, I woke again, in the cell I'd awoken in before. My body was covered in bruises. A small bowl of an unappetizing-looking gravy sat near the bars. I stared at it for some time; when I could muster the strength, I crawled towards it, lapping it up like it was divine ambrosia. My hands were clumsy, and shook as I held the bowl; some of the gravy spilled, pooling on the stone. I stared at that for a while. Eventually, I drank that too.

Then I waited.

When I saw the light again, flickering into my cell, it was no comfort to me.

They hurled me into the angel's cell and ordered me to violate her. I refused. They beat me.

Then again, after I woke up.

Then again.

Then again.

I stopped refusing, after a while. Just lay there, still, with the angel. That gave me longer, before they'd beat me again.

I eventually noticed that the angel's touch didn't burn any longer. It was - a tingle, now. Nothing more. One less torment for me to suffer.

I spoke to her, sometimes. Asked her things; her name. How she'd come here. If she was - happy. She never responded with words. But I think there was something in her eyes.

(She looked almost human, mostly. So beautiful; so radiant; but still, very nearly human. The only difference, in the gross physical sense, was on her back. Two long nubs, scarred, sensitive. (She winced when I touched them.) I eventually realized what they were. The sole remains of her wings.)

I changed, in that place. I knew it, at the time. That I was changing; growing leaner, losing muscle, feeling myself shift - inside, too. I had a lot of time to think. But I never understood.

Then there was a change. The guards opened my cell, dragged me out - but in a different direction. They took me to a room holding a tub of water - dumped me in, scrubbed me to remove the worst of the filth. (Did I ever mention the accomodations they'd made for my lavatory-needs? They hadn't made any.) Then they dressed me, in simple clothes - I could barely remember the last time I'd been clothed - and took me, cleaner and, I'd guess, more palatable to the nose than I'd been for - some time - upwards. They entered an area that was well-lit, furnished, carpeted. Servants passed in the hall, peering at me curiously; I heard some gossip, speculating as to who I was and what crime I'd committed for the guards to be man-handling me so roughly. Higher and higher the guards dragged me, still too weakened by my captivity to resist; and at last deposited me in an ornate wooden chair, opposite a table from the Baron.

"Hello, young man!" he boomed. "How are you?"

I looked at him, finding it impossible to muster any emotion. I could think of nothing to say to him.

"Not at your very best, I'd warrant," the Baron said, his voice as cheerful as ever. His eyes were warm and human. "But you were a strong young man when I first saw you, and I'm sure you'll be back to that in no time. I'm releasing you, as of today, and I must say - I am very grateful to you for the services you have rendered me. If you want anything of me - anything at all, in the limits of my power - just ask."

I stared at him blankly.

"Well?" the Baron asked. "You can't think of anything you'd want?"

A thought bubbled upwards.

"An explanation," I rasped, my throat dry and sore from disuse. "Why you did this to me. To her."

"Ah," the Baron said, nodding somberly. He rose; from a shelf beside his desk he fetched a bottle of wine and a pair of glasses, filling both. He passed one to me; I ignored it. Then he sat back down and cleared his throat.

"An explanation... a wise choice. That, I can give you."

"I came into the possession of an enfleshed spark of divinity, some time ago. The circumstances are - irrelevant, for your purposes, at any rate. This spark was something I had sought after for some time, for it is the nature of Kings to hold within their person the Divine Right of Rulership. So - "

"Hm. I see you do not understand. Let me step back."

"My goal - my only goal, which has always been my only goal - is the betterment of my children. What greater good can a man do in this life, after all, than provide for his offspring? And this is an important matter - too important to leave to chance. I wish my children to be the best - to have every advantage I can give to them. And there is no better way to ensure that than to give them the spark of the divine."

"Now you begin to see. My original plan was to beget children upon the spark myself - but the spark of the divine resents mortal flesh, and, well, burned me badly when I made my attempt. So I planned again - I need to dilute the spark, somewhat - soil it with mortal flesh, just enough that I could approach it."

"So you come into the picture - a strong, healthy young lad, well equipped to do the necessary, and possessed in half-part of divinity yourself. Now, of course, you're in the clergy, like all the rest of God's Children - he hoards them to himself so greedily, doesn't he? Uncommonly selfish, for God. You would not breed yourself upon the spark, or any other, by choice. So - I persuaded you."

"I see the way you look at me. The imprisonment, the starvation, the beatings - all that was for the greater good, you see. For my children. If only you hadn't resisted, everything would have been so much easier. To think you caused yourself, and her, such unnecessary pain!"

"Now," the Baron said, pushing his chair back and standing, "I trust that is explanation enough for you?"

Mutely, I nodded.

"Very well, then," the Baron said amiably. "I suppose I can't persuade you to try any of the wine? It's a splendid vintage - '43, just the thing to refresh you at a time like this. No? Very well. The guards will see you out. From the moment you leave the castle gates, you will be a free man once more."

He was true to his promise.

I stood outside the gates, for a while, watching. I watched the traffic of the city go by - noisy, smelly, rude, a heaven compared to what I had been through. I looked at the sky - the endless blue of it nearly broke my heart. I looked at the castle.

There was something strange, in my throat. Something pulsing, or beating - pushing upwards, striving to be set free. Like a shout of joy, or a scream. I would say that I was helpless to resist its push - but I wasn't. I could have held it back, if I wanted to. I could have walked away. But instead I let it out - tearing at my throat, as it escaped, scraping my escophagus raw and irreparably shredding my vocal cords - and I felt it, as a solid object, not as a sound -

a word.

מוות

shattering the air around me, sending people flying and turning carts into shrapnel, flaying the flesh from my bones

and tearing the castle stone from stone, sending it downwards into the earth in a collossal pile of dust and rubble.

Then, belatedly, I turned away. I walked; through the streets that I had known so well; past the cathedral at which I had worshipped, and the dormitory at which I had lived; and through the gates of the city, out, for the first time, into the world beyond.

Were I more arrogant, I would have justified myself; naming myself the judgement of God upon the unworthy and the sinful, sending forth only the punishment they had brought upon myself. Were I more arrogant yet, I would not have stopped at the castle; that word I would have brought forth would have taken the city, too, and brought it swirling down into death. Were I so - but I was not. I had chosen to kill, not only the entirely guilty, not only the somewhat guilty, but also the innocent. I had killed the one I would have given the world to protect. I had sinned, once and then again; and for that, the Word had taken from me my humanity.

There was a pond by the side of the road; I stopped to look into it. I was gaunt and haggard; the clothes the Baron had given me were shredded by the violence of the Word I had spoken. My flesh was torn and peeling in strips; a great hole was open in the side of my throat. Idly, I attempted to speak; the effort produced only a faint wheezing sound. I had already known, before I tried, that speech was one of the things the Word had taken from me.

But the pond did show me something. I reached over my shoulder with one hand, watching my reflection. Along one shoulder-blade I felt a nub; reaching over, I felt the same on the other. My wings were growing in.

chronicles of nikolas

If you walk through the swirling sands of the largest desert to the north of our lands, and you cross through the oases, to the break of the rising sun, that touched the dunes on the mount high aloft, you will find the ancient kingdom of KESSLER, which is inhabited by the KESSLER people, built tough, and muscular, with dark complexions, and mysterious to outsiders. In the capital city of the Kingdom there is a young man, who is known to his peers as NIKOLAS, the one of the large head, and who studies in the seminary in the gardens upon the fountain. NIKOLAS enters the large rectory, and he prepares for his studies. This is what happened from then on.

Chapter I.

1. Nikolas stays after class to help those who are struggling to comprehend the lecture material.

2. He needs to inflate his ego.

3. One day a small group of students gather around him, eagerly awaiting his discourse.

4. He notices among this group a young lady, whom he finds intriguing, and sets himself after.

5. He throughly explains what he knows to the paupers.

Chapter II.

1. A year passes, Nikolas is in class again.

2. He notices the girl again, still in the same class as he is.

3. Staring at her vigorously, he notices her dress matches the pattern on his.

4. He writes down his observation.

5. He decides on a course of action.

Chapter III.

1. He buys a dark robe and tunic and paints it bright red spattered with blood.

2. That night, he goes to her dinner table, and slips the sleeping powder unto her wine.

3. While she is fast asleep, he abducts her and takes her to a remote location.

4. Wearing the robe, he assumes the identity of "DESMOND THE DESTRUCTOR"

5. He explains his evil plans to her, saying he has kidnapped her and holds her for ransom.

Chapter IV.

1. He tells her that she will die if he is not paid.

2. Nikolas slips quietly into the woods while she is not looking.

3. He replaces "DESMOND THE DESTRUCTOR" with a bale of straw, wearing the robe.

4. Thus the impression is given that he keeps watch over her, though from a large distance.

5. Nikolas, now without disguise, runs to her, with his musket, and charges the straw bale.

Chapter V.

1. Nikolas dispatches "DESMOND THE DESTRUCTOR".

2. He goes to the girl and frees her, and takes her back to the town.

3. Believing that Nikolas saved her life, she becomes extremely grateful to him.

4. He uses his new power over her to convince her to have sex with him.

5. Nikolas is quite satisfied that night.

Our Anonymous Correspondent Plans a Date!

Advice is requested.

how do i get that womon

alone

in a dark

place

where there are no witnesses

We request clarification; our correspondent replies promptly.

look

it just has to be a place

where there is nobody

around

and relatively soundproof

We observe that these conditions seem somewhat peculiar.

also

it needs to be near like

a body of water

or maybe

somewhere

with soft earth

Why?

for

relaxation

Being somewhat unsure of his intentions, we ask our correspondent to re-iterate his requirements.

i just want to like

hang out

with her

in a place

you know

that is

tightly sealed

and that like

she wont fall out

by accident

and people cant go inside

to look around

...she won't fall out by accident?

you know

escape

i mean

We observe that this clarification in no wise improves our perception of the situation.

look

ok look

i just want to chill with that womon

at the lake

you know

alone

isnt that nice

also

i need some bags

and like

some heavy rocks

you know

for a tarp

in case it rains

and also

some

chloroform

you know

in case i have to dissolve

some organic

compounds

It is good that we have explanations, or these items would appear suspicious.

i mean

you know

i need to get

a lock pick

to get into her room

i mean

no

i mean

my bike

the locks busted

you knwo

thats totally legal

you know

im just stating

some plans

its like

just

you know

legal

and stuff

so ya

um

ya

thats what i mean

t

man

what were you thiniking

your sick

you know that

man

look

i already said too much

no

wait

no i didnt

i didnt say anything

illegal

man

your sick

im not crazy

man

Thanks to the vast amounts of advice we provided, our correspondent now appears ready for a perfectly splendid date.

Success!

The Lair of Madness

Edwin approached the office, two friends close behind; and in his heart was trepidation.

He was an hour late, now, for the appointment; a meeting with a man from the Internet, unknown, Anonymous. The industrial-park was sparsely lit with orange-glowing sodium lights; offices and warehouses stood closed all about. And in Edwin's mind, too, was a darkness; cloaking his thoughts, letting him see naught about him but the ill. Through this lens he percieved events, and was much troubled by it.


Two men stood on the balcony, their faces hidden by cap-bills. The doors were locked; one of the men went down, letting Edwin in through a narrow stairway. And what they saw -


ah -


- graffiti, paintings, the scrawlings of a condemned mind! -


All about him was evidence of the sickness Edwin knew to lie in this place. He felt faint, reeled; nearly turned back and ran. But with him were his friends (a label the darkness in him would repeal), and so he continued on, into the innermost sanctum, where another man waited - his visage most horrible of all. And he spoke -

"Here's the turntable, $250, as we agreed."

"$250, for one of those?" one of Edwin's friends asked incredulously, bending to look more closely at the turntable. "That model - it's $550! You must be crazy to be selling it that cheap!"

"Crazy?" the man asked. "Must I be? Then perhaps I am... mad!" And with a cackle he roared his pleasure to the sky, as lightning flashed -


Or Edwin handed him the money, took the turntable, and left - through an office which seemed, if not ordinary, then certainly not malign, as he had percieved it -

And about him the world, though still night-dim, seemed a little brighter than it had when he entered.

The tale of the mutant organisms

Nikolas got out of maths class early that day. He walked quickly to the other building, so that he would get there before that womon did. He didn't know why he did this, only that it was vitally important to the success of this mission. When they were all settled in their seats he put the plan into action. He rapped quickly on the screen door, metaphorically, you know, and he asked her about her note-book, not really paying attention to the answers. But he did it, now, he could say something to her every day, and soon he would be the king of the rainbows, he thought. Time passed, and class was back in session. Some papers laid out on his desk, a plan formed in his brain, he thought, if I could move these to her desk, she would have to sit somewhere else...maybe next to me today. But it never happened. How can I become king of the rainbows at this point, he wondered. He took out his shovel and spade, and tunneled a hole under his desk, slipping out into the underground unnoticed. When he got back to the surface, a few furlongs away from the classroom, he thought to himself, she must have sex with people in fraternities like every day, man. Then he went home, and that was the end of that.

It's Mr. Kessler's Birthday!

Hooray for Mr. Kessler's birthday!

Very early this morning, a package arrived at Mr. Kessler's residence. Mr. Kessler picked it up; Mr. Kessler looked at the label. It had come all the way from Dreamland - and it was for him!

Mr. Kessler's heart leapt with joy!

(actually he spent like forty-five minutes getting the blasted thing to work)

Then Mr. Kessler's heart leapt with joy!

And so generous, so kind, so benevolent is Mr. Kessler that he will share his gift with all of you!

Download link is here! (You'll want to run "waddledee.exe"; "waddledee.sourcecode" is actually just a text file, if you want to have a look at it.)

An excerpt of the letter enclosed in Mr. Kessler's package:

Here are some things you may wish to try!

• Click near the ground!
• Click in the sky!
• Double-click near the ground!
• Marvel and delight at the natural splendor of existence!

Happy birthday, Mr. Kessler!

Aaand many moreeeeee...

The Dream-Diary of Mr. Zhang (Or: Exercises in Reciprocity)

Mr. Zhang lies deathless beneath the sea.

Through his cold mind flow alien thoughts.

He is dreaming.

In the dream, his perspective follows a girl - somewhere in her teens.

The girl is running. She sought something - hidden in a witch's house, possibly - but the witch discovered her, and now gives chase, holding a knife in her hand. She shouts something - perhaps, "If you succeded now, what story would there be left to tell?"

(This is a loose reference to Joseph Campbell's Hero with a Thousand Faces.)

The girl flees; but not quickly enough. The witch catches her, knocks her to the ground, and cuts her belly open. Guts spill out. Blood spatters everywhere. This is considered unfortunate, but not the end of the story.

(In the context of the earlier reference, the word ectype comes to mind.)

Another character appears - a man, slender in build, meant to be the girl's guardian. He is the Player Character. (Mr. Zhang is, for no reason clear to anyone, playing the upcoming Computerized Role-Playing Game Dragon Age: Origins. In his dreams. He has never heard of the game; nonetheless, its advent cast psychic echoes throughout time and space, transforming all of existence. Hence, its presence in his dreams.)

Mr. Zhang's character approaches the witch. The witch fears retribution; she makes excuse for her actions, describing them as "her nature", and makes reference to some history between herself and Mr. Zhang's character. Still spattered in blood, she attempts to seduce him away from his duty. Mr. Zhang's character, to his own slow horror, passively acquiesces.

Is he a false guardian?

What does this say of Mr. Zhang himself?

It says that he hasn't realized that Dragon Age's peculiar real-time dialog/interaction system requires him to take action without prompting - just like the real world of objects!

Luckily, he figures this out just before it would be too late.

A happy ending for Mr. Zhang, lying deathless beneath the seas!

-


(Room-mates and guests partying the night away - until, at the very least, 5:30 AM - does not make for pleasant dreams.)

Pecularity: LOVE

The first time I logged in to LOVE, after going through a somewhat arduous process to purchase and update the game, I immediately fell into the water and died.

When I respawned, I was in a much safer, stabler area, and I dismissed it as a quirk. But when the game crashed, later, and I logged back in, I spawned in the exact same place, suffering the exact same death.

LOVE is a game with quirks.

I could list a few more. There's the walls that become, from time to time, invisible. There's the Monoliths (those are crucial) that occasionally, seemingly spontaneously, explode. And there's a plethora of small spelling mistakes and bizarre phrasings - though, as the creator is foreign (Swedish?), that's quite understandable. So's the rest, really. I mean, the game's in alpha.

Let's step back for a moment. What is LOVE?

The main site has a few things to say about it, of course. But, because I'm a pure narcissist, I'll give you a few words of my own on the matter. LOVE is a first-person-shooter which has hardly any shooting; LOVE is a game of unique beauty, created entirely by procedural generation*; LOVE is a slow-paced, freeform, sandbox game in which you will be killed again and again, and all your works rendered unto dust, by a relentless and murderous AI.

I'd summarize it as "Minecraft, but bigger and stranger."

Then I'll tell you some anecdotes of play.

When I first joined the game, a few people had already set up a small base. (The game is organized by servers, of which there are, I believe, four, at present. Two in the UK, two in the US. They'll hold at most 200 people, but the one I'm on now has only perhaps 50.)

(That's not people playing at the same time - that's a total number of people registered for that server. It's a micro-MMO, a rather amusing sort of term.)

An icon at the bottom of my screen told me where the settlement was, so I made my way there. The journey was fairly long - they tend to be, when you're spawned out in the wild - but I eventually made my way there. The people there had already collected a number of 'tokens' - useful objects that will appear at random in the wilderness and can be placed near a settlement, whereupon which their associated 'tool' can be placed in one of your four inventory slots. I looked around, picking things like the Radio tool (essential - allows long-range communication), the Pavement tool (cosmetic - lets you change how a certain tile appears), and the Binoculars tool (utterly useless). I wandered around - at one point getting stuck in a teleport trap that sent me into an infinite loop of teleports back and forth between two naturally-occuring teleporters, explored, built some walls, talked to people...

After a while, there were strange reports of 'enemies in the base!' Sometimes they were dispatched. Once I was killed, shot in the back. And then, quite suddenly, the base was destroyed - the Monolith going up in flames, and all its associated Tokens vanishing with it.

It was quite perplexing.

Eventually, someone else found and planted a new Monolith. We all trekked our way over there, finding that, unlike the old base (in a sort of grassy area, named "Arden - Garden of Colossi" - the random area names can be pretty sweet), this one was on a frigid ice shelf. Also unlike the other base, this one was under constant and harrowing AI attack. I took to the field, my puny Blaster plinking away at the foe's strange, amorphous shapes (other people look really weird in the game, and AIs moreso), killing a few; but I was greviously wounded, and fell back to the base. "Nice base," I might have said.

At that point, the server hiccuped and caused the game to lock-up. When I logged back on, I learned that something of the sort had happened to most of the other people there.

It's a very peculiar sort of game, still in alpha but very interesting for that. Like Minecraft, griefers are its greatest scourge - at one point, one managed to destroy our monolith, find another, and then plant it high in the sky where no-one could reach it. (If we had our terrain-shaping abilities, we could have reached it - but we needed to touch the monolith to regain those. Catch-22.) Much later, that same griefer (who repeatedly denied he was any such thing) threw an already somewhat complicated base into complete chaos, turning it into a seemingly non-Euclidean maze. What a mess.

But for that, I would recommend it. As it stands, I still spent the vast majority of my evening on it, and plan to spend more once I finish this - perhaps visiting the UK servers, where the Rock-Paper-Shotgunites live.

LOVE: what a mysterious, many-splendored thing!

*I.e., guided randomness. Wiki can help you.

**Quick warning: despite being an alpha, there is a subscription fee for LOVE. $4.50 for 30 days. The creator says that this is because, if he were to try to pay for servers for everyone who'd want to play in alpha without a subscription fee, he'd go bankrupt. Quite plausible.

But, you know, if you thought it was free (as basically all other alphas are), that could be a bit confusing.

A Salubrious Exchange (II of II)

(As this is one post in two parts, it seems appropriate to point you to the original, here...)

"What name do they call you by, stranger?" the village elder asked.

"People feeling kinda formal tend to call me Captain," the captain of the Salubrious Exchange explained. "People feeling very formal call me by my full name, the Admirably Lawful Expeditious Explorer. But mostly I just go by Alex, for short."

The elder accepted this without comment. "Where do you hail from, stranger?" he asked. "And what do you wish here?"

"I have come a great distance," Alex intoned in a deep voice, "from another earth, far above the dome of the sky. And my sole intent is to trade... with you."

"We are known, then, beyond the dome of the sky?" the village elder asked.

"Nah, not really," Alex admitted. "I just came to trade with whoever. You look like you'll do."

"And what will you offer us?" the village elder asked.

"Plenty," Alex said, gesturing to the bloated shape of the Salubrious Exchange looming over the village. "Off the top of my head... I've got soap, I've got disinfectants, I've got medicines - some quinine, some azlocilin, juust a bit of pethidine, for the laaa-dies. Any of those take your fancy?"

"I have concerns," the village elder said slowly.

"Hit me," Alex said invitingly.

"You are a stranger," the village elder began. "You come offering trade and friendship. I wish to believe in your goodwill. But I fear you may be like the city-folk, who come to us with smiles on their faces and knives held behind their backs. Do you seek to sell us junk and trash? Do you intend to gouge us for inferior goods? These are the concerns which I hold."

"Also, I can't quite figure out what gender you are," the village elder added.

"In the advanced civilizations that travel beyond the dome of the sky, we have evolved beyond gender," Alex said smugly.

"That in no way alleviates my suspicion," the village elder replied.

Alex sighed. "Look. You worry that I'll cheat you. Understandable! Especially since you've been cheated before. But I can prove to you - prove to you - that I only sell items of value. Matter of pride, that," Alex added as an aside.

"Well, prove it," the village elder suggested.

Alex examined the items brought down from the ship. "Maybe soap and medicine aren't the most impressive things. They're useful, sure, but not impressive. So let's pick out some other items. Here - " lifting up a box, opening it and pulling out one of the hafted items within " - monofilament cutter. Excellent for butchering deer, cattle, pigs, what have you - cuts through everything."

"The pigs will not be a concern," the village elder noted.

"I said I was sorry about the pigs!" Alex exclaimed. "Look. See this rock?"

"The one you just lifted from the ground?" the village elder asked. "My eyes are yet well enough to allow me that, yes."

"Here," Alex said. "I take the monofilament cutter, and -"

Two halves of rock clattered to the ground.

"Very impressive," the village elder said.

"Aw, you're just being polite," Alex said. "I've got something better. Ah! Here! How about this pocket-sized fusion-reactor? Guaranteed to last two hundred years, just dump a cup of water in to power it!"

The village elder looked blankly at Alex. "Reactor?"

"Oh, right, right, gotta hook something up," Alex mumbled. "Um... yeah, this should be good."

Alex adjusted a large, wheeled device. The village elder watched. Time passed.

"Sorry," Alex apologized.

Then, pointing at a large hill, Alex struck a dramatic pose. "You know that hill?"

"Certainly," the village elder said. "That is Muhall-Shali, where our younglings go to endure the Rites of Adulthood."

"Um," Alex said, losing the dramatic pose. The machine was readjusted.

"All right!" Alex said. "What about that hill, over there? The one with that weird purple tree on it?"

"That is Ocas-Ocas, where we have bury our dead, as we have done for uncounted generations," the village elder said. "The founder of our tribe is buried under the roots of the great purple tree."

"What do you think about... cremation?" Alex asked.

"We bury our dead," the village elder repeated.

"Oh," Alex said. "What about that hill, over there? The kinda rocky one?"

"What about it?" the village elder asked.

"Anything special about it? Sacred?" Alex asked.

"No," the village elder said. "It's just a hill."

"What's all this about?" he added.

"You'll see," Alex said. "Are you watching the hill?"

"Yes?" the village elder said.

The hill exploded.

"And that is what a fusion reactor can do for you!" Alex exclaimed triumphantly.

"...certainly it will drive our tribe to poverty and ruin to barter for such a device," the village elder said sadly.

"Ah!" Alex exclaimed. "Not so! I'll sell it to you for a song."

"Like, literally," Alex added.

"Why would you do that?" the village elder asked.

"Seems like a good idea!" Alex said cheerfully.

"So... if I sing to you, you will give our tribe these treasures?" the village elder asked hesitantly.

"Ehhh, kinda," Alex said, shrugging. "It's one song, one item; so all the stuff I've brought out here will cost you six or so. More if you want more, naturally. But I won't limit you to song; poems, stories, whatever works. Your culture, y'know, man?"

"Like the story of how Whistler tricked Badger and Goat into eating their own tails?" the village elder suggested.

"Yeah!" Alex said. "Exactly! That'll get you a great big box of nanopolymer cloth, no problem."

"But - why?" the village elder asked again. "Why would you trade us these treasures for mere songs and stories?"

Alex considered. "How best to answer? Um. Do you guys have the aphorism, 'One man's trash is another's treasure?'"

"So, you are trying to sell us trash?" the village elder asked.

"No, no, no," Alex replied quickly. "It's... um.... post-scarcity economics, you know? Look it up."

"That is probably not very useful advice for me," the village elder noted.

"That's because it's not for you," Alex said, looking directly at you. "Thaaat's all, folks!"

THE END

("Post-scarcity economics totally means we can break the fourth wall," Alex tells you as an aside.")

A Salubrious Exchange (I of II)

The sun rose.

Among the tribes of the Ipsan were numbered three primary opinions as to the significance of the sun's rising. The first was named Orthodox, and held that, as the sun had set uncounted generations ago and (according to prophecy) would not rise again until the coming of the Great Messiah, the sun they saw must be a fake thing, a trick, a deceit of demonic origin. Accordingly, the Orthodox shunned the sun, seeking to live so much of their lives as was possible without its false and misleading light; a practice mocked by the Redemptionists. Those latter worthies argued that the sun was obvious, palpable (in its light and heat), and clearly real; therefore the Great Messiah had come, or was about to come, or had come and gone, but in any case the sun's rising was wonderful and a thing to be celebrated so vigorously as seemed possible. Accordingly the Redemptionists centered their waking hours about dawn, rising in the dark hours and sleeping at noon. Both groups were considered rather peculiar by the Uncommitted, who suggested (quietly, without great vigour) that perhaps it was a bit of a silly question either way, and spent their waking hours in day-time, so they could, you know, see things. A neutral observer might expect the Uncommitted to come to dominate the tribes, owing to their energy being rather more focused on pragmatic matters than those of the other two beliefs; but the fierce zealotry of the Orthodox and the Redemptionists was sufficient to balance the scales and ensure a sort of stable balance between the three beliefs.

You may be somewhat confused by the preceding, or have forgotten the name of one of the beliefs, or be unsure as to how, exactly, the Orthodox believers manage to get anything done. That's entirely all right. If you comprehend it perfectly - good! Congratulate yourself! And otherwise - well, pretty much everything that was just mentioned is irrelevant. Don't worry about it too much.

So -

The sun rose, and below it fell the fat, metal ovoid that some (notably, its owner) named the Salubrious Exchange. Spitted atop a pillar of atomic fire, it drifted lazily earthward - down, down, down, until at last its fins met the surface (with such delicacy, such caution!), at the center of a steaming, black-glass coated crater.

The crater was new.

(If you hadn't guessed. I mean, there hadn't just been a crater there, waiting for the Salubrious Exchange to show up so that it could land there. Not to assign moral judgement, but, really, it was the Exchange's fault that the crater was there at all - )

(Whoops, back to the point.)

Time passed. The crater cooled.

"Hello?" the ship broadcast to the surrounding area. "Is anyone around?"

"I have soap!" the speaker added helpfully.

But no answer came; and after a few more minutes, the ship's innards rumbled once more*, and sent the ship soaring skyward and sunward once again.

The next two landings were similarly uneventful; the third found the Salubrious Exchange accosted by a swarm of howling, half-naked natives, who hurled spears and curses at the ship. (For some reason, they seemed to think it was a "sun-devil"!) The Exchange's captain burned skyward with haste, but not without forethought; as the ship began its ascent, a hatch on the side popped open, and a package rolled out. Inside were fifty individually-wrapped breath-mints, prepared for just such an occasion - even the most savage and fierce of warriors, the captain hoped, might well be soothed by such a gift! Suffused with powerful minty flavors, they would be more likely to greet the Exchange with warmth and kindness on a later visit, should it ever pass that way again. Such was the foresight of the Exchange's captain!

The natives burned the package unopened, then buried the ashes. Alas: the plans of mice and men!

On the fourth landing, with no sign of sapients present, the Salubrious Exchange's captain emerged to examine the hull. (More specifically, to clarify: the hull's ablative (and festively coloured!) ceramic coating.) Certain superficial scratches were examined and lamented; one rather deep dent, still holding the stone head of the spear that had caused it, was covered and repaired with an blast from an aerosol-can the captain carried. Then the captain re-entered the ship, and the Salubrious Exchange, still wreathed in the red-gold light of dawn, shot upward and westward once more.

(The Salubrious Exchange traveled in a state of perpetual daybreak. The captain considered this ideal; what better time to begin an endeavor than dawn, when the whole day will be available for its completion?)

The Salubrious Exchange's next landing was in the center of a small village.

"Hello!" the Exchange shouted to the small, motionless collection of mud huts and gardens. (The village, that is.) "Nice place you have here! I'm sure we have many mutual interests! Also, sorry about your pigs!"

Black glass, covered with by a thin soot layer of indeterminate origin, creaked and cracked beneath the weight of the Salubrious Exchange. Slowly, a blackened fence-post at the edge of the crater toppled and fell. Had this planet and climate been of the sort to support the formation of tumble-weeds, one most certainly would have appeared.

"Come on," the Salubrious Exchange's captain said, exasperated. "Come out! It's safe! I only want to sell you things!" And with this the captain emerged from the ship, black pseudoleather boots clicking on the ramp, a large, clam-shell box cradled under one arm. (A small side-arm hung discreetly at the hip.) The captain placed the box at the bottom of the ramp - opened it, revealing an array of brightly-coloured spheres - took two from the box, placing them into her mouth, chewing, and swallowing with exaggerated relish - and then turned to retreat back up the ramp. "Come on come on come on," the captain murmured as an aside.

Behind her, dark shapes emerged from the shadows.


CLIFFHANGER





(Wait, no, better:)

It turns out that children like candy!







*You came this close to a rather unpleasant gastrointestinal metaphor there. It was a close call! I nearly used it! Be lucky this story was written by an author of my obvious skill and taste, unlike certain authors I won't name -

- cough, cough -

If you think that was referring to you, you have self-esteem issues! Sorry! Try feeling better about yourself**. That usually works for me!

**"You are a pretty cool person! Also I have nothing against your writing! I've probably never read it! This is only one reason why I have nothing against it."

The tinkerer

One day Nikolas was walking along in his village when he saw a "pretty young thing". Being a Nikolas type of fellow, he set about immediately to try to get her "in bed". Now Nikolas was studying many things in the university, but the most important thing was the fluid thing. He used his knowledge of the fluid to build a giant water gun, so that he would shoot water at the girl from a long distance, so that her shirt would be come wet, and he could see through it. It was a very good idea except Nikolas forgot how to power his big water gun. He realised he did not know anything about the electricity, or the magnets, and he needed this to power his "big gun". So then the divel came in through the roof, and he said to Nikolas, hey man I can like, teach you that thing, you know, bro, but like you have to like, give me some cool stuff ok dog. And then Nikolas was like, what kind of cool stuff. And then the divel said I want your soul, o ho ho. What a clever divel he was. Then Nikolas said, ok, and he learned all of the electricity, and he took a large coil of wire, and he coiled it up, and he laid it down under a power pole, and he got some "high-voltage rock and roll". Then he hooked up the ends to his water gun, and he aimed and prepared to shoot. But Nikolas forgot one thing, water and electricity dont mix. How silly of him. And that was the end of that.

Isaac and the Whale

I.

"Our whale is listing," the Mayor said to Isaac. "If nothing is done soon, our city will slide off and fall into the sea! Quickly - you must figure out what has gone wrong with our whale."

"Then, fix it," he added.

II.

Isaac's bathysphere descended into the sea.

III.

Isaac examined the whale's flank. "Hm," he said. "This is odd."

The whale rumbled, a subsonic noise that shook Isaac's bathysphere. It could have been a question: "What is odd?"

"It seems someone's cut a flap in your skin," Isaac said. "And they've mined all the fat stored beneath it."

"I'll be back," he added, as his bathysphere rose.

IV.

"So?" the Mayor asked. "Why is our whale listing? And why haven't you fixed it yet?"

"Someone's been mining our whale," Isaac told him.

"Ah," the Mayor said.

"I'll call a meeting."

V.

"I say he should be prosecuted," the Scientist said.

"Yes!" the Mayor agreed emphatically. "Sued for the greatest damages the law can provide!"

"And then," the Priest said with relish, "he should be devoured by sharks!"

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," the Businessman said. "Gentlemen. Let's be rational now. In the first place, there is no way that you can prove that I am responsible for anything."

"The courts will decide that!" the Mayor shouted.

"Secondly, even if my company were, hypothetically, responsible for mining the fat from the whale upon which our city rests (and therefore dooming us all in the interests of short-sighted profit), it is the company that would be sued; all my actions act solely for the benefit of the company, and therefore I am shielded from direct prosecution," the Businessman continued.

"Sue the company, then!" the Priest demanded. "Take every last penny!"

"And thirdly - gentlemen, please," the Businessman continued, "We are presently in the grips of an emergency. Surely we can act to fix the problem, and give me time to destroy the evidence and move my assets overseas, before we stoop to base acts of retribution?"

The chamber listed noticably. A chair fell over.

"Well, maybe," the Scientist said reluctantly.

VI.

"Solutions," the Mayor said.

"Here's what I think," the Businessman said. "We shouldn't look at this as a problem. Look at it as an opportunity. Just suck out the excess fat from everyone in the city, and stuff it back in the whale. The whale will be fine once more - and we'll have a slimmer, fitter community as a bonus!"

"There are, perhaps, certain logistical problems with that," the Mayor said.

"And ethical - " the Priest said.

"- and, to be honest, I don't think that's biologically possible," the Scientist interrupted.

"Let's look for another option," the Mayor said.

VII.

"Perhaps we could build a set of enormous gyroscopic stabilizers," the Scientist speculated. "Just insert them into the whale, in the empty space left by the fat - we'd be right as rain!"

"Do we have any enormous gyroscopic stabilizers?" the Mayor asked.

"Well, no," the Scientist said.

"Do we have any idea how long it would take to develop or manufacture them?" the Mayor asked. "If, in fact, it is even possible to do so?"

The Scientist wiggled his hand back and forth in a gesture of uncertainty.

"Let's try a more practical solution," the Businessman suggested, "and come back to this later, when we're all doomed."

VIII.

"Why don't we just find another whale?" the Priest asked. "Then we could move onto that - at least some of the city, enough to even the load."

"Could be expensive," the Businessman said. "But I'm certain that informed, local businesses could manage to make a profit out of it."

"Do you have any technical concerns?" the Mayor asked the Scientist, who, miffed at the rejection of his gyroscope proposal, remained silent.

"Very well, then," the Mayor said. "We'll send someone down to find a new whale at once. No time to waste!"

IX.

Isaac's bathysphere descended into the sea.

X.

Isaac floated in the center of a large whale pod. One whale floated immediately beside him, gliding slowly through the deeps. Isaac matched its speed.

"Whale," Isaac said, "Our city is in great danger. The whale upon which it rests has become unstable, and threatens to tip all of us into the sea. Would you consent to taking some number of us on-board yourself, to lighten the load?"

A rumbling came through the walls of Isaac's bathysphere. Looking at the whale, Isaac could only interpret it as: "I am sorry, but as you can see, I am currently occupied with raising my own children. I cannot abandon them for your city."

"That is very fair," Isaac agreed, and turned his bathysphere away.

XI.

Isaac floated next to another whale, smaller and younger than the first. It moved with rather more vigour, making circles around slower whales; Isaac struggled to keep up. Following it, he asked: "Haste-filled whale, I have a request for you. My city is in danger, and we need your help -"

But the whale issued a deep sound, and turned away; Isaac thought that, perhaps, this might mean, "I am young, and would enjoy my youth. What reason do I have to burden myself with a great city upon my back? Would it not cover me in stench and trash, would it not slow me to the speed of an elder? I have no reason to consider your proposal further,"

"I cannot argue with you," Isaac said to the departing whale. "I would never deny any young creature the right to enjoy its youth -" and at this he sighed, remembering certain traumas now past. After a moment, he gathered himself and began looking for another whale.

XII. The third whale Isaac attempted to speak to was on the outside of the pod, barely visible against the gloom of the deep. Its skin was old and cracked, its stroke ponderous; Isaac suspected it to be a matriarch among whales. He spoke to it with great respect.

"O Whale," Isaac said, "I approach you with a humble request. I come from a city, on the surface far above, which has come upon troubled times. Short-sighted persons among us have injured the whale upon which our city rests; now it rocks and tilts, and we may all soon slide off it, and ot our deaths. All living things must regret such a tragedy. Would you find it, in your wisdom, to come to our aid - or send another in your stead, if your age prevents you?"

There was a long silence. Isaac wondered if he had even been heard. But then a very long, slow, pulse came from the elder-whale; another; another. And Isaac heard, "You seek aid because of the abuse you have inflicted on the whale that serves you now. Why would I, or any other, seek to suffer the same?"

XIII.

Isaac's bathysphere ascended.

XIV.

"So, we can't find another whale," the Mayor said. "What do we do now?"

The chamber was silent.

"Is it time to return to the fat-extraction plan?" the Businessman asked. "I'm ready as ever."

"We may have to," the Mayor said darkly.

Silence prevailed.

"Where's the Scientist, anyway?" the Priest asked suddenly.

XV.

"Behold!" the Scientist said, slamming the chamber doors open. Behind him, a pair of assistants wheeled a large, cylindrical device forward, stopping it in the center of the chamber.

"What is it?" the Mayor asked.

"Our salvation!" the Scientist said. "A gyroscope!"

"I'm unconvinced," the Priest said.

The Scientist gestured to his assistants. Switches were pulled; lights flashed. The gyroscope spun into complex motion.

"Oooooo!" the Businessman cooed. "Spinny!"

"I'm convinced," the Priest said.

"We'll begin deployment at once!" the Mayor decided.

XVI.

Isaac gathered certain supplies; then his bathysphere sank once more beneath the waves.

XVII.

Isaac's tools moved slowly across the whale's surface. It rumbled; Isaac heard, "What are you doing?"

"I'm sealing you up," Isaac said. "The gyroscopes are all in place; now I'm plating you with iron, so you can't be cut up again. I'll do it on the other side, too, just to be sure."

XVIII.

The whale rumbled again. Perhaps it was another question: "Would your employers approve?"

"Probably not," Isaac said. "The Businessman almost certainly wants another crack at you, now that he knows his stupid mistakes can be fixed without repercussion, and the Mayor's always good friends with the Businessman when he doesn't think his own neck is at risk. So, I'm doing this on my own accord."

XIX.

The whale rumbled again. Isaac thought that were he the whale, this would be a third question: "Why?"

"Because I don't want my own life risked for the Businessman's profits," Isaac said. "Because I don't want the whole city to be endangered, again. Because I think you're a proud and noble creature, and I think it's wrong to hurt you so."

XX.

The whale issued another noise as Isaac put the last rivet into the whale's side. Isaac took a moment to interpret.

"Also, I'm pretty sick of this bathysphere," he admitted.



Apologies to Mieville, as appropriate.

Footage From a Recent Project

Physics!

(The video-capture software seems to operate at a low framerate - hence the unfortunate appearance of the wheels. Apologies! It's much classier in action.)

A Tale in the Mode of that Infamous Zhang

It was to his surprise that Ser Knight Nathan - by nature somewhat of a recluse - found himself in conversation with a young lady he knew not at all.

She had begun the conversation, speaking to Ser Nathan without prefix. "Your vestment is most fine," she said, her words sounding entirely sincere.

"My gratitude for the thought," Ser Nathan said, giving a courteous half-bow. "I have seen some number in this style about, enscripted with the words of the Poet."

"I really ought have one similar commisioned," the young lady said with some regret in her tone, "but at present, my only garb based on the Poet's works are of a different focus; his thoughts on the triumphs of the natural sciences."

"Ah!" Ser Nathan said. "I encountered a young nobleman wearing just such a thing earlier today, greeting him, praised him for it vigorously."

"It seems there are few here who appreciate the works of the Poet," the Lady said with a tone of sadness."

Ser Nathan shook his head. "Certainly you may find some hereabouts who do," he said.

The conversation lapsed. Ser Nathan considered. The Lady's appearance was in no aspect displeasing; quite the opposite, as it happened. He wondered if he should ask for her name - was it too casual a contact to justify such a request? While he deliberated, the issue was settled for him. The Lady turned away, speaking to a friend of unrelated matters; the moment was lost.

Throughout the rest of the banquet, Ser Nathan cursed his slow reactions. Certainly, he decided in retrospect, it was the wrong choice, a failure to choose - 'Alas! Alas! What a spineless witless worm of a fool am I!'

But then, even as Ser Nathan continued to lambast himself, a young lady spoke to him once more. ('Is she the same?' Ser Nathan - possessed of no gift for the recollection faces - asked himself frantically. 'Is she another?') This lady asked Ser Nathan a minor request - the location of cutlery - a trivial favor he easily granted. ('If she is the same,' Nathan thought with desperate haste, 'then most certainly I should ask her name. And if not - then it is incorrect. Ah - ah - if only my memory did not betray me so! - ) But the moment, once more, was lost; another opportunity, had it indeed been she (and likely so!), squandered.

Ser Nathan, walking dejectedly into the night, described to himself the situation he had just experienced. 'A young lady approached me, admiring my garb - a young lady of uncommonly excellent form and a demonstrably excellent wit, as shown by her tastes in the arts. Ah! I should have asked for her hand at once, much less her name! But - the moment - it is gone!'

Such is the life of the indecisive man!

The oracle

"a nikolas-idea post"

Kelsey sat inside the high tower, peering out into the wilderness, with his telescope pressed against his eyes, surveying the land for signs of trouble. Then he saw in the midst of the forest clearing, that young girl that he had his eye on for so long. She must be lost, he thought. I should go and rescue her. Then she will have to stay the night with me. I can use that opportunity to have sex with her. He was preparing for his endeavour when just then, he saw a man come into the clearing. What is this, he wondered. Then the scoundrels took off their clothes and started to have sex. Kelsey was very distraught at this, for he wanted to have sex with her first. Then Kelsey became very excited because he realised that he got to watch her having sex. That is almost as good, he thought.

Just then the door opened and the summons from the royal palace were delivered, requesting his immediate arrival at the court of the King. Kelsey cursed foully and set down the telescope. When he arrived at the court there was much commotion. There is a terrible plague in the capital city, the King announced, and the researchers have not been able to concoct a cure, because we are missing the important aromatic compounds. Kelsey noted that he was very aromatic himself, and that perhaps he could soak himself in the elixir and spread it around the city. The court looked at him strangely. It could work, the King declared, and Kelsey was stripped of his clothes and soaked in the elixir. Then the King told him to go into town and rub himself up against all the citizens of the town. Kelsey became very excited at this because he knew that young girl lived in the city, and now he had royal orders to rub up against her naked. However, as soon as Kelsey entered the walled city, the elixir radiated out, and, combined with the power of the aromatic Kelsey, the disease immediately faded away. Kelsey was very disappointed, because now he would not have a chance to rub up against that young girl. Well, that is the end of that, he thought, and retuned home.

Leopards and Stranger Things

(Warning: slightly risque content follows. Slightly. After that, there are turtlenecks.)

Michael and Jeannie were engaged in sexual intercourse. Jeannie was rather pleased with this, a state which ended exactly when Michael turned into a leopard.

"Ahh!" Jeannie yelled, rather startled. "Ahh! What the hell? What the hell!" She pushed the leopard off herself and off the bed; it sprawled on the floor and turned back into a rather unhappy-looking Michael.

"Dammit!" Jeannie shouted, still quite upset. She pulled the covers up to her neck. "What the heck, dude? Why were you a leopard?"

Michael lied on the floor. His face contorted in thought.

"I know," Jeannie said with sudden decision, pointing a finger at Michael. "I know. You're a furry, aren't you? That was your true form? Sicko!"

This brought an immediate response. "I am not a furry!" Michael said. His expression was one of defiance, which might have been more impressive if he wasn't still sprawled on the floor, naked. Perhaps realizing this, he began making his way to his feet.

Jeannie was disbelieving. "Not a furry, eh?" she asked. "Then how do you explain that? I knew this was going too well for a second date," she mentioned as an aside.

Michael, now fully risen, attempted to explain. "It's - I'm - when I get really stressed or emotional, I - well - probably easier to show you than to tell. Punch me, would you?" he asked.

"With pleasure!" Jeannie said, and swung at Michael.

Michael's head rocked back with the impact of the emphatic blow. A bruise began to form. Also, he turned into a large, feline creature with white fur and black spots. (Briefly.)

"See?" Jeannie said, triumphant. "Leopard. Furry!"

"Look - no," Michael said, human again. "That was - unfortunate. Usually it doesn't do that. Try again?"

Perhaps under the impression that she had been insufficiently firm the previous time - or still upset about the leopard-intercourse thing - Jeannie swung even harder on her second attempt. Michael's nose made an unpleasant noise; blood began to trickle down his face, which had, remarkably, become the monitor of an Apple ][c.

Jeannie drew back her hand, surprised. She looked at it. She looked at the Apple. She wiped her hand off on the sheets, absentmindedly. She watched the Apple turn back into Michael.

"...what?" she asked.

"See, I'm of the Logos-kin," he explained. "We're kind-of - linked - with brands, ideas, in the popular consciousness. There are a few of us, here and there. We've got a community, online - "

"Just like the furries," Jeannie said darkly.

"One, don't be ridiculous," Michael said, regaining somewhat of his poise. (He'd gotten his pants back on by this point.) "Two, what's with you and furries, anyway? Did one kill your dog? Or - "

"My last date was a furry," Jeannie said. "He didn't tell me beforehand, either."

"Bad memories, huh?" Michael said apologetically. "Look, I didn't think it'd be a big deal, the Logos-kin thing. I mean, I didn't think we'd end up - here..."

"And when we did?" Jeannie asked. "You didn't think to tell me then?"

"...my judgement becomes very poor when I am around pretty ladies," Michael mumbled, looking at his feet.

Jeannie looked at him. Then she sighed and went to put her clothes on. "Look, it was a crummy decision," she said, "but there are worse, and at least you apologized. I'll get my clothes on, we can call it a night, and then we can just be friends - "

But she stopped, looking at Michael. He was stock still, except for his eyes, which were flashing around the room wildly. "Do you hear that?" he asked. "He's here."

"Who?" Jeannie asked, somewhat concerned. "You brought a friend?"

"Not - intentionally," Michael said, his breath beginning to come ragged. "I've heard about him. On the forums. They say he's one of us, gone wrong - absorbed by his inner nature. People just go missing, sometimes - we're never sure. But he's here - now - "

"Who?" Jeannie asked, her brow furrowing. "Some kind of stalker? I've got Mace in my purse - let me look - "

"The Hunter," Michael gasped, his form shimmering. "There's no time - goodbye - "

A hammering came upon the door.

"Michael - " Jeannie said, picking up her purse and turning towards him.

But Michael was gone - where he stood was another man, calm and strong, wearing jeans and a black turtleneck. He strode to the door, opened it, bowed; and was gone.

When Jeannie finally worked up the nerve to look outside, there was no-one there.

Apartment 4203

By popular demand - "popular", of course, being quite rightly defined as "Mr. Zhang's" - we send our finest investigative reporters to that cesspit of sin, that darkest den of inquity... Apartment 4203. Shield your eyes, gentle readers! For now our dark tale begins.


The Apartment's unassuming entrance, hidden behind mounds of greenery, belies its true nature.

Observe! So placid! So serene! So very nearly clean! One can hardly fathom that such fiends live here as, in the fact of the matter, do.

Entering the bathroom is a harrowing experience; unearthly apparations seem almost to haunt the place, mimicking one's actions in the mirrors. We move on quickly.

Here, one of the foul denizens of this place, his visage captured as we beat a quick retreat. His room is not the one we sought -

But here - here -

Agh! Oh, the horror, the horror!

We flee -

And out the back, barely sparing a glance for the method of our escape.

A warning to all who read this: never venture into that dread place, if you value your life and sanity! It is not a place where Men should walk.

The throngs pulse and seethe, filled with an alien energy. Coloured lights flare and ebb, flicking to and fro in meaningless, soothing rhythm; and an endless noise pours forth, shaking the earth, bringing a trembling unto the sky -

So, yes, a concert.

But of all the ancient god-kings, of the Sumerians and the Han and the Aztecs, which of them could summon forth spectacle such as this?

(And how, in the melding of the human with the inhuman - the voices amplified a thousandfold beyond what any human could muster, the minds seeing the world through a veil of drugs and alcohol - can anyone see this as ordinary?)

(Strange world, this one.)

The shadowman

Desmonde walked slowley unto the steppes of the grande halle of the churche upon the villege of isse-lunde, for he was wont to praye fur a goode harvest of the croppes, and as hee inspectid the cravesses and the frescoues and hee saide unto him selfe, who ist there ? In this sacrid playce ? Hee lookt to the alter and hee sawe a shadew figeure there, and he call'd out to himme, Who ist there ? Speak, man ! And the shadowe figure came out of the darkenesse, and he spoke unto desmonde. Hee saith unto himme : Willst thou lysten toe myn histoire , whych conteynes inni it muche parabels of woe and mysery , such that I may be in peece with my selfe ? And desmonde , whoe waes a goode christien , saith that hee wouldt lysten to the histoire of the mysterious manne.

The shadowmanne saith : It waes at leaste passed one year to this daye, that the events unfourled. For thou seest, it was that thyme that I was allso a manne of faythe , and suche that I goone unto the monestery, that I may bee pure and cleen, and be with the grace of god. And in the cours of thyngs, I joyned the brotherhoode, and I wore the robbes of puryty, and I became verry sprituall , and all waes goode.

Then the face of the shadowmanne beecometh twistid and soure, and he speketh in a bytter toune. Hee saith : And then as is the wont of many thyngs, who straye from the lycht of the lord, and beecome tempt'd by eviles, of the worlde, I was leade astraye, by the machinations of the towne and the poupoulasce. It was the daye which I was wont to go unto the towne to acquire bread and porridge for the ketcins of the monestery, for our soupper, that waes the day wyc curse inflickt mee. As I wead thorough the iles of the central market I was wont to go unto the stalle whereupon there waes freche venison meats to be solde, and also a partrige , which weth hounted wy the forests wyn the wylde. Houever, as soone as I reche the stalle I beecame quite bewhilder'd, for there was a younge girl at the countre, not the olde mann whomme I waes acoustom'd too.

The shadowmanne lay prostrate upon the grounde, and hee continueth : I became enamour'd of the young girle, and I said many strange thynges, as ist the customme for myc, and she was bemus'd, and also bewhilder'd. And then I endeavoured to proposition the young girle, and she refussed, and I became withdrawne , and summarily retrated. A year pass'd from then, by wych tyme I doth forget of that milkemaide. Houever, at that tyme I recieved unto my personage a news-lettre, in which conteyned the expliots of the townsfolke, and I detected the presence of that young girl that I once saw, at the meat-shoppe, and I read of itte hastily, and I became enamour'd of herr once againe, and I beecame more detremin'd to take her too my sellf.

Then the shadowmanne pulled out a daggar, which was hydden upon his greatcoat, and he saith : I have comme here to slaye the manne, who was wont to bee her hosband, and to claime herr unto my selfe, ande that manne ist thou, M. Desmonde.

Then Desmonde saith : Calm your sellf, and remember that you are a goode christien manne, and that thou shoudst not murder a manne ! Allso, are youe notte a monke as well, by such not alloued to take a wyfe any way ?

The shadowmanne saith : That is a goode pointe.

Then the shadowmanne retreateth into the darkenesse.