tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67811494591129319102024-03-06T05:51:43.309+01:00Absurd HeroesRiklurthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08615536940608922069noreply@blogger.comBlogger259125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781149459112931910.post-26202544055761888642015-05-10T13:54:00.002+02:002015-05-10T13:54:43.015+02:00Social Justice and StatisticsThe philosophy of social justice is a direct consequence of statistics, and hence solidly scientifically backed. I don't think people realize this, so I will try to explain my viewpoint here. <br />
<br />
Social justice is not the <i>only</i> possible interpretation of the numbers, but it is <i>a</i> valid interpretation - a reasonable conclusion to draw from the data. I will argue that when analyzed, a piece of social statistics will lead to one of only three possible conclusions, outlined below. <br />
<br />
Let us take an example: Consider the black incarceration rate in the United States. Black male Americans are six times as likely to be incarcerated as white male Americans. Why?<br />
<br />
As soon as you have asked "why", you have done something very, very important. You have asserted that a statistical structure such as this <i>has </i>an underlying why - a reason. You have asserted that it is not random. You have asserted that a reason can be found. That this is so is a statistical inevitability. If you flip a coin seven
times and it comes up heads six times, you have good reason to suspect
that the result is not random. If you flip it seven million times, and it comes up heads six million, you have fact. Fact, at least, with the same certainty that a certain particle in a lab behaves so-and-so, or that such-and-such a chemical compound reacts in a certain way. There are roughly 300 million Americans, more than enough data points to make statements about fact. So. We can be certain that there is <i>some</i> reason for this anomaly.<br />
<br />
The social justice interpretation is that this is due to a system underbuilt by invisible privilege - underlying structures in society that actively discriminate against black men, that, though largely unseen by whites, pervasively and actively games the system against black men.<br />
<br />
It seems to me that those who disagree with this interpretation instead typically call the reason "black culture" - the argument that nothing is wrong with the system at large, merely with the culture in which black males grow up; with gangs, crime, welfare, laziness. Black men are simply the result of a culture that creates criminals.<br />
<br />
And here is where a four-year old can push the discussion further. "Why? Hey, why?" the four-year old will ask. The four-year old asks a good question.<br />
<br />
If it is the case that a culture consisting of 40 million or so Americans raises lazy criminals, why, we have enough data points to make further assertions. So now, instead of dealing with the questions "Why are black Americans commonly incarcerated?" we are dealing with the question "Why does black culture create criminals?".<br />
<br />
Well, maybe it is because of some kind of systematic, underlying, invisible structure in black culture that actively lead black men into lives of crime. But culture does not exist in a vacuum. If it is only because black men are raised in ghettos, well, where did the ghettos come from? Maybe because of some systematic, underlying structure in culture...<br />
<br />
We can continue down this rabbit hole of cultural cause-and-effect until we arrive at some true root cause, some social inequality or injustice, at which point we have - again - asserted the truth of the social justice paradigm, just at some deeper, more fundamental level. Or we can continue down it until the data points become so few, and so blurred, that it all seems like random happenstance - but "random happenstance" in these matters is people making decisions. It is true that if you flip a billion coins, you might find some pattern arising out of total randomness. If you view people's decisions as coins being flipped, sure. But to do so is to wash your hands of any choice you ever make in your life; not an unscientific viewpoint, but most certainly a cowardly one. It is to claim that all our problems are just the outcome of coin flips, and there is nothing we can do to change them. It is to claim that we are both acting without cause (as there is no underlying reason for the coin's result) and without agency (as we have no influence over it). We call this viewpoint nihilism. <br />
<br />
What remains? Well, there is the third, obvious interpretation: That black people are genetically more prone to crime than whites. That would certainly explain the statistical results, and it means white people can't be blamed for this outcome as they just happen to be naturally superior, law-abiding citizens.<br />
<br />
Given only the data points that black men are more likely to be incarcerated than whites, this isn't a viewpoint that I can disprove with statistics. Which means you are entitled to believe it. You in that case have "<span><span class="oneClick-link">a</span> <span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available">belief</span> <span class="oneClick-link">or</span> <span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available">doctrine</span> <span class="oneClick-link">that</span> <span class="oneClick-link">inherent</span> <span class="oneClick-link">differences</span> <span class="oneClick-link">among</span> <span class="oneClick-link">the</span> <span class="oneClick-link">various</span> <span class="oneClick-link">human</span> <span class="oneClick-link">racial</span> <span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available">groups</span> <span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available">determine</span> <span class="oneClick-link">cultural</span> <span class="oneClick-link">or</span> <span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available">individual</span> <span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available">achievement" - which is the textbook definition of racism. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span><span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available">I cannot tell you not to be a racist. You're entirely entitled to that opinion. I <i>can</i> however tell you that if you're not on the side of social justice, you are either a nihilist or a card-carrying racist. </span></span>Riklurthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08615536940608922069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781149459112931910.post-91578729949684068652015-04-11T23:00:00.001+02:002015-04-11T23:00:40.760+02:00ObservationTo some, this is probably very old hat. To others, it might be new. I am articulating it so as to remember it myself, because I think it is a good way of grounding knowledge in the absence of more solid data.<br />
<br />
This is an observation - a learning without anything really solid underpinning it. But I think it is true, and therefore I will write it down. The observation is this:<br />
<br />
1. When individuals or large masses of people complain about or conversely like something, it is for a reason.<br />
<br />
And the more important corollary,<br />
<br />
2. The reason is not always the reason stated.<br />
<br />
Now; while this may seem like a simple observation, it has one very useful immediate consequence - namely, that whenever we observe a social movement, it is never without reason. It follows that it is <i>never</i> logical to dismiss the opinion of any group - no matter how seemingly stupid or irrational from our point of view - because their behaviour is for a reason, making it fundamentally rational given its premises. The tricky thing is figuring out what those premises are.<br />
<br />
Consequence of this point: If tens of thousands of people are upset about something, there is a problem somewhere. There is never no problem. Nor is the problem ever trivial, or they wouldn't be this upset. If I insult a book, I can inflame hundreds of thousands of fans to come after me - but not for the trivial reason of the book itself. If people are willing to go to war over a book, it means something more to them than just the information contained within. It is in some sense personal - representing community, power, self-worth or any number of things. It wouldn't do this without some sort of historical context around it because the action of latching onto the book so hard is itself not without reason.<br />
<br />
Grand sweeping trends do not come out of nowhere; and the only way to change the turn of the behaviour is to address the root of the problem. If people are angry, and you know why they are angry, the problem is fixable. If you do not know why, it likely isn't.Riklurthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08615536940608922069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781149459112931910.post-7877610435359826912014-12-26T16:25:00.001+01:002014-12-26T16:26:22.853+01:00An Unmentionable Event, part 1<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Miss Winchester had found herself in quite a conundrum. It appeared
that she didn't have anything to wear, which was perhaps an ordinary
problem for a young lady in the finer circles of Eisenkrone Academy;
but in this particular instance, the conundrum pertained less to the
shifting fancies of fashion, and more to the fact that her wardrobe
appeared to have disappeared into thin air while she slept.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh my,” was Miss Winchester's expert assessment of the
situation, “Oh dear me, my wardrobe seems to have vanished.”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
It was an astute observation, owing to the fact that she was a well
educated lady with a keen eye for detail; it was also, fortunately,
an observation she made to herself, being dressed only in her
night-gown, beneath which she wore very little in the ways of
modesty, and above which she was similarly undressed. This left her
in the precarious state of having only a single layer of clothing
between her and the world at large, which was, of course, a dreadful
dilemma.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Had the matter vexing Miss Winchester been something other than a
matter of acute embarrassment, she should of course have summoned her
loyal butler Ralph; or failing that, her close friend Cecil. Alas,
she knew they were both quite passionate young men, prone to shock
and – in Cecil's case – behavior he might later regret. Given
that the situation presented a mystery, her good friend Mr.
“Sherlock” Lloyd Wilder might perhaps have suited the situation –
but Miss Winchester wouldn't dream of calling on a friend whilst
improperly dressed. Indeed, it seemed she must solve this situation
by her own accord.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Miss Winchester leaned forwards, taking good care that her backside
wasn't pointing toward a person, depiction of a person, or anything
that might with a helping of imagination resemble a person. She
knelt down towards the ground, narrowing her eyes, and nodded
solemnly to herself.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I say! A clue!” she said, to herself. For indeed, there where
the wardrobe had been was instead positioned on the floor a small
copper coin, valued at five Teutonian pfennigs. Miss Winchester stood
up, straightening her back. It seemed perfectly clear to her that the
culprit must have left the coin there as some kind of calling card;
she imagined some manner of gentleman thief, calling himself Monsieur
Five-Pfennig, who no doubt crept about at night like a dreadful
rapscallion and made away with extremely heavy wardrobes. Presently
her eyes swept over the floor to see if the thief had left some other
manner of clue.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I say!” said Alice, indeed saying it, as she spied something
sticking out from underneath her door. It appeared to be one of her
unmentionables, wedged between the door and the door-frame. “A
trail!”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Regrettably, the trail led out into the corridor. Miss Winchester was
getting quite excited about pursuing this dastardly thief, but not so
excited that she would even in her wildest dreams burst out into the
hallway whilst naked both beneath and above her clothes. That would
be dreadfully rude to her fellow club members, who after all even now
had nothing but a few dozen feet of solid stone between their virgin
eyes and her own indecent state of dress. But! What if some of her
unmentionables were likewise scattered in the corridor? Why, she
should die of embarrassment!</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I daresay,” she said, indeed daring to say it, “I shall
quickly have to formulate a plan!”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
And so, grabbing needle and thread from her dresser, she began her work. </div>
Riklurthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08615536940608922069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781149459112931910.post-47699320958341811522014-12-26T15:39:00.000+01:002014-12-26T15:40:12.067+01:00Facets of Fantasy: Legacy<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You will live as long as I. Maybe even longer. You know that,
right?”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Yes, Teacher.”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The street was full of noise. All around them Kyoto rose, with its
face of glass and steel and concrete, and its voice of bicycle bells
and street vendors and bustling crowds. A city more than one million
strong, a city that dwarfed the city of his youth – the same city,
the same Kyoto as it had been then. But his youth seemed a million
years ago now. In reality, it was scarcely more than a century.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'm barely an old man. If the cycle had not begun... Who knows how
long I would have lived?”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
His student nodded. A giant of a man, a blond foreigner from a land
he'd barely known in his youth; the land of the Eagle. A strange man
to inherit the Sword. A strange man to guard the Book of Truth. But
he had been the best choice; he had humility, despite his strength.
And he was skilled, moreso than any of his other students. It had
been the best choice.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“How old are you really, Teacher?”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
He thought.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I was born in the Edo era. I am one-hundred and sixty-two years
old. My body is perhaps sixty.”
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“How does that happen, Teacher?”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
His voice was like a child's. He barely spoke Japanese, and his words
were simple, clumsy. David. Like the small man from the Christian
Bible. Though he wasn't small. Or Christian, at least as far as the
Teacher knew.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“The Sword keeps you alive. The doctor... Your friend, he says it
does something to DNA. Rewrites it. The old ones said it rewrites
your destiny; maybe that is what they meant. Listen carefully: Now
that you have inherited it... I am going to die. Every day I go
without it, it's as if I age a year.”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“But Teacher – you said nothing-”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Draw the Sword.”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“But-”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Draw it.”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The Sword unfolded from David's arm, shining, living metal, from the
ancient times. From the previous cycle. If the Teacher was old, then
the Sword was – how old? How many guardians had held it? How many
bodies had it bonded to, like it now bonded to David's? The thick
strands of biomass flowed from his powerful forearm, intertwined at
the hand, forming the hilt. The weapon purified, intensified,
distilled into liquid metal and poured out to form the glinting
blade, the blade that could cut through anything. A symbiont, the
doctor had called it. A living creature, bonded with the host.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
He admired it. He had never seen it like this before, in another
man's hands – not since his own Teacher drew it that fateful night
in Satsuma.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“This blade will be your life, David Blaze.”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Yes, Teacher.”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You will use it to guard the Book of Truth. Until it passes to
another. Until you die. Only then will the Sword move on. Only then
will your duty end. It is not seemly for a Guardian to grow old in
peace.”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The student caught on. His clear blue eyes searched the old man's
face, searched for a clue beneath the snow-white eyebrows, between
the crow's feet that lined his ancient eyes.</div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“This blade will be your life, David Blaze. And yes. When your
teaching is complete... it will also be my death.”</div>
Riklurthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08615536940608922069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781149459112931910.post-74993299626124201882014-12-26T13:53:00.001+01:002014-12-26T13:53:16.469+01:00Facets of Fantasy: Empire<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Salt water splashed her face, and the smell of the ocean lingered
around her. She wrapped the brown cloak tighter about herself,
frowning at the fabric – so rough, and so dark, not at all the garb
she was used to. When they arrived, in that strange northern country,
she'd wear what she wanted to. This she swore.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Naimitsu.”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
She was there. She was always there.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“How long will the trip be?”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Eight days. This is a fast ship, but the crew is Nipponese, Miss
Tsuru, and-”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
She hated the name. "Tsuru". It was a necessary name, a disguise like the rags she was wearing, but she hated it still - a common name, a mere animal. Noble, perhaps, but not suited for her. </div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“And I must stay hidden for now. I know. Not that I care.”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“There are many Nipponese students at the Academy as well. If they
find out-”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Do what you must.”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Naimitsu bowed. It was hard to read her body language, but a lifetime
with her had taught Akane plenty. This was the solemn bow, the bow of
regret. The bow that told Akane just what Naimitsu was willing to do,
in the name of the Empire. In the name of the Empress.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I will act as I choose when we reach the shore. I don't care about
the daimyo's warnings. If there are threats, you remove them. Is that
understood, Naimitsu?”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Yes, Miss Tsuru.”</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
There was darkness in her eyes. Akane didn't know what became of
those Naimitsu called 'threats'.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Not that she cared.</div>
Riklurthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08615536940608922069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781149459112931910.post-20821656856730636832014-12-26T13:50:00.002+01:002014-12-26T13:50:14.982+01:00Facets of Fantasy: Sea<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Once, when he was very young, he had gone out to see the ocean. He
couldn't remember how old he was, but even now, it seemed to him as
though it was his very earliest memory that still dwelt in his brain.
He had gone to the sea with someone – an adult, perhaps a priest,
perhaps even his father. It had been a man, nonetheless. The man had
showed him the great ocean, and the ships sailing upon it, and he had
spoken.
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Son-” he had probably said, or maybe “Young man”, or
possibly even “Aust” - Aust couldn't remember the exact words.
“Son – I think the only way you can understand Creation is by
looking at the sea. It's perfect. It's so smooth, and flat, and
beautiful, and untouched – and yet it hides so many secrets. Some
are beneficent – people to meet, beautiful sights to see – but
some are dreadful: Storms, whirlpools, terrible monsters. Always
remember, though, that there is someone responsible for everything.
Someone is causing everything in the world – nothing “just
happens.” Just as every island has its ruler and every storm has
its port, someone cares for everything in this world, and when you
grow up, you will be responsible for something too. Maybe one day,
you'll have your own island.”</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
But then again, he thought, what is the sea? Water. He had mastered
water long ago. The sea meant nothing to him, now. Salt water. He
could rule water, make it bend to his will, make it sing and dance if
he wanted to – but sometimes, when he looked at the sea, a little
of it splashed his face, and he could have sworn it came from his
eyes.</div>
Riklurthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08615536940608922069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781149459112931910.post-41933052696628281902014-12-26T13:49:00.000+01:002014-12-26T13:49:29.821+01:00Facets of Fantasy: Tears<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The man's breath was heavy with alcohol, his accent stained by the
tongue of Those-We-Raid. He raised a hammer high. He spat. He said,
“This is what we do with rebels.” The hammer fell. The shoulder
broke.
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
He woke up, sweating. Long hair tangled in his face, blinded, but he
could feel the pain shoot up and down his useless arm again. The
bedroll stank of urine. The young'uns said Varro wet himself from
fear, in his nightmares. The truth was more prosaic; age. His bladder
played tricks on him, had been for a few years now. Probably some
sickness he'd caught in his youth... back in the slave days. Back
when they broke his shoulder.
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
He couldn't sleep. Rolling out of the cloth, he climbed to his feet
with his good arm, grunting as he went. The camp was silent.</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Except, of course, for the newcomers. They were sleeping nearby. He
wondered if Harkon knew about it, the way he spoke in his sleep. His
tongue was thick and strange, the language of the Far West, where a
mighty Empress had a fleet of a thousand ships. Varro didn't speak
it, not a lick, but he understood the feelings well enough. Was it a
greater shame to piss or to weep in one's sleep? Varro didn't know,
and he was too old to let shame rule him.
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The old man had lost his clan. Let him sleep and not feel shame.
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
There would come a time when he'd weep while awake, not giving a damn
who saw.</div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
Riklurthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08615536940608922069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781149459112931910.post-77861493996351997002014-12-26T13:00:00.002+01:002014-12-26T13:00:49.102+01:00Facets of Fantasy: Sisters<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Agnes rolled up her sleeve and stuck a bare, grease-spattered arm
into the machinery. Fingers closed around the misplaced wrench – a
critical moment. Yank too hard, the cogs would break. Move too slow,
she'd lose a hand. One.</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Two.</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Three.</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
With a grating metallic noise, wrench and arm and girl pulled free of
the machinery, and the cogs began their slow, halting grind. The
clock was running again.
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“That looked dangerous.”</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
She turned around, startled, dropping the wrench. A tall apparition
appeared before her, a terrifying woman in a charred school uniform.
The skirt was riddled with holes, the blouse stained with something
yellow and vaguely fluorescent. The stockings sagged in tatters
around legs that seemed to have been viciously seared, and the same
went for the arms, wrapped in bandages.
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Sis. You scared me.”</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“That's why I waited.”</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />The taller girl sat down, looking into the gears as the clock
went back up to speed, automatically adjusting itself with the Storm
Astrolabe. It would soon have made up for lost time.
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You won an award, Agnes. Top of the class in Storm Lore.”</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“This year too? Huh.”
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Agnes wiped her hands on a piece of rough sackcloth, leaving only the
rest of her completely covered in grease, from her round glasses to
her shoes. She was dressed more practically, in worker's coveralls,
with her hair cropped. Skirts and long hair were for people who
didn't have to worry about getting dragged into the clockwork's
innards. Like her sister.
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I couldn't make it. Clock needed fixing.”</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Right away?”</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“It runs almost everything in Eisenkrone, you know. Including the
scheduling. Somehow.” She paused, looking Amanda over. “...what
happened to you?”</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Alchemy accident. I won an award too, but I didn't want to go
there like this.”</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Which one?”</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Top of the class in Storm Lore.”</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“This year too?”</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Mm.”</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
They sat at the door of the clocktower, gazing out over the school.
They didn't sit too close together. They both knew how the chemicals
would react with the grease. </div>
Riklurthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08615536940608922069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781149459112931910.post-31364822922015246522014-12-26T12:32:00.000+01:002014-12-26T12:34:05.384+01:00Facets of Fantasy: An Ugly City<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The skyline of New
York twinkled, each little light bursting like a supernova straight
into his eyes. Distant cars roared and honked in his ears, the
exhaust mingling with the smell of sex in his nostrils, drifting from
the apartment right behind him – from his own skin. He closed his
eyes. New York wouldn't go away. It never did.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
Three apartments
over, a man hit his wife. Six apartments over, someone dropped their
cellphone in the toilet, and swore. Thirteen apartments over a woman
was crying. In Brooklyn, a cop shot a kid.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
She came up behind
him, a hand on his back. A jolt went through him, as he made his
blood course through his body again. He hadn't heard her. Too busy
taking in New York.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Now she was there,
and he turned towards her. Brown tangled hair around an asymmetrical
face, with a mouth that seemed twisted into a perpetual sneer. Dry
lips, goop in her eyes, remnants of mascara clinging to her lashes.
He smelled her breath, and with it, her six last meals and the exact
time she'd been sleeping. He smelled what had become of those meals.
And, of course, he smelled her blood, just beneath her skin.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
“Harper. Moping
again?”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
“I'm afraid so,
Miss Lennox. New York is such an ugly city, full of ugly people.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
She read his mind.
He turned away, but too late. She was hurt.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
“Do I really look
like that?”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
“All humans do.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
They were silent. He
was naked, aware of the cold winter wind playing over his body but
seeing no reason to care. She was wrapped in a sheet, her feet bare
and cold on the balcony.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
“What the fuck's
the point, then? Why sleep with a stinking bag of body fluids, when
you could be banging the Queen?”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
Harper laughed.
“First of all, one doesn't 'bang' the Queen of Vampires. But you
have a valid point.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
He turned around to
face her. His pale chiseled face sank into an expression of utter
melancholy, his deep eyes searching hers. Licking his dry lips with a
dry tongue, dry, always dry except when he had fed, he began to
speak:</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="line-height: 100%;">“-in all my
endless years, haunted, tormented by my undying state, I've walked
the Earth, in search of true love, in search of-”</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
She burst out
laughing. It exploded in his ears, shattering the sounds of New York
and any illusion of a romantic, immortal vampire. Suddenly he was
just a naked guy on a balcony, looking rather stupid in the chilly
night. Harper Anderson smiled, not the cool, sexy smile of an undying
predator – but the awkward smile of a man being laughed at by his
girlfriend.</div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“And that's why.
I'm, uh... going to put some trousers on. Fetch me a beer, would you?
Anything but that American stuff. I swear it tastes exactly like
piss.”</div>
Riklurthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08615536940608922069noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781149459112931910.post-3558262527034871922013-08-12T18:23:00.003+02:002013-08-12T18:23:32.713+02:00The Waking Dead
<style type="text/css">P { margin-bottom: 0.08in; }</style>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And then one day, I woke up.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
That's how it felt. Mid-sentence,
almost, the latter half of a sentence that had taken me – how long?
Five years, ten maybe? I don't know. I woke up to this wasteland, a
place where the clocks had stopped, the lights were dead, the cities
blown-out carcasses. Nobody there to keep track, not that I know if
anyone could. World's gone crazy.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I musta killed people. I mean, I must
have. If nothing else, I must've turned them. Made them... like us.
You know? I even woke up with meat in my stomach. Heh. Brains, maybe.
You know, like in the old movies? But I don't know what they eat.
What I... ate. I don't think they're picky. They don't seem to be.
They just eat.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
That's why, I guess, there aren't a lot
of them. Most people never have time to get infected. Most people
just die, ripped apart by the damn things. Like my friends were. Like
I nearly was. But I, well, I was a coward. They shoulda put a bullet
in by brain, but I never told them about that bite in my arm. It's
healed, now – there's barely even a scar. I must have been under
for a very long time. Last thing I remember, my head was swimming
with a fever, and now- boom! Here I am. Mid-sentence. Somewhere. The
city's called Fullerton, but the state, I've no idea. Indiana, maybe,
judging by the plates on most of the cars. No idea how I got here –
I must have migrated, with the rest, in search of more prey.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
They're different, nowadays. No more
mass migrations. No more mass anything. I suppose they must have run
out of fresh meat, because the ones that's left, well... they're
eating each other. You might have noticed. I'm surprised there are
even any left.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But then there's me. I didn't get
eaten. I got infected, just a bite, just a tiny little scratch –
and then I died, and then I got better.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Nobody thought this was something you
got better <i>from</i><span style="font-style: normal;">. And what do
I know? Maybe I'm the only one. But I'm alive.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'll stay alive. Those idiot things
don't seem to know about canned food, and the survivalists left
behind plenty. Crazy as it seems, they ran out of bullets 'fore they
ran out of beans. Poor suckers must have been swarmed from all sides
by those things – by <i>me</i>. By us.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Well, that's how I got all this stuff.
I found the shotgun, though it doesn't have no shells, and the
shovel, and the chair, and the handcuffs. Thank God for the
handcuffs. I don't know how I woulda gotten you in here without them.
Risky enough, using myself as bait, and well... I don't want to have
to kill you.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Please, fucking fuck you please, say
something.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
No?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I can't be the only one. You're in
there, I know you are.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So wake.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The fuck.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Up.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781149459112931910.post-86699882214720151342013-02-14T11:31:00.001+01:002013-02-14T11:31:34.482+01:00Planet of HatsWe solved starvation. It was actually the last problem to go, despite how the technology had been around for ages - it was a matter of distribution, that was all. We'd worked out diseases, crime, climate change, et cetera, and now the final problem had been cracked; nobody needed to go hungry. We were done.<br />
<br />
And, being done, we started questioning ourselves.<br />
<br />
What would we do next? What else could our species possibly accomplish? We focused on entertainment, for a while - but it grew stale. We figured we'd work on technology, but without any real incentive to better ourselves, we invented nothing of consequence. We thought, perhaps, that we could focus on exploring the stars... but then it happened. We don't know who started it - someone, somewhere, just had an idea, and it spread like a wildfire.<br />
<br />
Our civilization had gotten bored. It needed a hobby. It needed, desperately, some means of occupying itself, and so it invented one. It could have been anything, the Project, but this is what we chose. Who knows why?<br />
<br />
It wasn't ubiquitous at first - not everyone joined the fad - but over time, over the course of generations, it began to change. It was the grandest project yet - the grandest project ever - a complete reinvention of ourselves. Every single member of our species, working together on an all-encompassing, planet-wide effort to change ourselves - not into something better, just into something <i>different</i>.<br />
<br />
Centuries later, the travellers arrived. By then, we had forgotten. Only the Project remained. And so, when they arrived, we greeted them as we had always greeted, spoke as we had always spoke. As had always been our custom - as long as anyone could remember.<br />
<br />
"Howdy, pardner. Welcome to the Wild West Planet - yee-haw!"Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781149459112931910.post-3202634178146993312013-02-06T10:34:00.003+01:002013-02-06T10:34:47.762+01:00The Artful Narrowness of TasteRecently I've been thinking about my old brain-spectre, Quality, again. Briefly put, I've been wondering - for a very long time - how the quality of art can be measured. They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, yet you can teach objective principles of painting, music, writing, et cetera - so obviously there is some objective mechanic at work. This is a conundrum.<br />
<br />
Here is, I think, another piece of the puzzle: Narrowness. Let's illustrate with an example.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLpEacqRNq6SQTjywxvcRYreAvEVghsjCb90eyP3XUucSfVSqlkrOFm6YNnprfNNPIHvwdEI5UEM4fmFO2vDgj6mlPoXK-8uylOp9c-KNdBCMJVvvXusOSAsebdpfgPQA7XtDWhqylHyk3/s1600/tumblr_mf3i4gC9tM1r7ogo4o1_500.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLpEacqRNq6SQTjywxvcRYreAvEVghsjCb90eyP3XUucSfVSqlkrOFm6YNnprfNNPIHvwdEI5UEM4fmFO2vDgj6mlPoXK-8uylOp9c-KNdBCMJVvvXusOSAsebdpfgPQA7XtDWhqylHyk3/s320/tumblr_mf3i4gC9tM1r7ogo4o1_500.png" width="285" /></a></div>
What is going on here? Simply put - the first picture is very well-made, requiring a great amount of skill - but it's not very narrow. It's an old woman and a dog. People have seen a great many pictures of old women and a great many pictures of dogs. Furthermore, humans have a strong sense of tribalism - and there's nothing tribal whatsoever about the first picture. It's (almost) universally human.<br />
<br />
The second picture, on the other hand, pertains to a subculture. Not only does that make it a little more original, but it also speaks to a particular tribe. The picture says "I, the artist, have something in common with you, the viewer" - assuming the viewer, then, is a fan of rainow-fox-dog-things. Which we can presume a lot of those 145 people are.<br />
<br />
Two forces are at work here. Firstly, the second picture is competing against a much smaller pool. There are fewer pictures pertaining to its subculture than there are pictures pertaining to old women. Second, and I think more importantly, the second picture sends a tribal message - it establishes a sense of connection via shared interests. Jokes are a good way to study this second phenomenon.<br />
<br />
If I make a simple pun, it's instantly understandable to everyone who speaks English. It's extremely inclusive and, therefore, not very funny. On the other hand, if I crack a joke about that one time you and I did something, and compare it to a TV show we both love - why, I've established a strong sense of connection, and in the moment you're likely to find that hilarious. This is because it establishes a personal connection between you and I. <br />
<br />
So! The comment "Deviantart Logic" seems to imply that someone has taken offence at this state of things. The explanation is simple: There's another subculture at work. This subculture might revolve around knowledge of advanced anatomy, drawing techniques, et cetera - an artists' subculture - or it might be based on a classical schooling, in which Michaelangelo and Leonardo are what Michaelangelo and Leonardo are to TMNT fans.<br />
<br />
Both of these viewpoints are valid. In the former case, the person is saying "I appreciate the work that went into this picture, and feel a connection with the artist because of it". In the latter, the person is saying "I appreciate the resemblance to classical works of art, and I feel a connection with the artist because of it - as I imagine we both care deeply for the classical ideals". Whether or not this is <i>true </i>is, of course, irrelevant. I could (and have) write fanfiction for fandoms I do not care about in the least, and have people appreciate that work because of a perceived sense of belonging.<br />
<br />
So - this is another little piece of the puzzle. I think it makes sense. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781149459112931910.post-50275417318376361852013-01-16T12:17:00.002+01:002013-01-16T12:17:15.290+01:00A Quote<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: whitesmoke; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: Georgia, Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 24px; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">“Condemnation by category is the lowest form of hatred, for it is cold-hearted and abstract, lacking even the courage of a personal hatred” - Wendell Berry</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781149459112931910.post-49188142661410845652012-12-24T00:04:00.005+01:002012-12-24T00:04:58.953+01:00Fifteen - The Characters of Christmas Past
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<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We have been:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>The Raiders of the Lost
Knark</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Todd, the Bored Druid</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Arthad, the Black Knight</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Kråkmåns Höghatt, the Faithful Dwarf</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Aust Galanodel, the Visionary</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Vackeria, the Wild Woman</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>The Sleepless Fellowship</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Beo, the Absurd Hero</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ling / Ree / Arepo, the God of
Paradoxes</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Naseef, the Man Who Should Be Dead</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Freddy the Cat, the King of Tigers</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Aust Skywalker, the Last of Ban Lam</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>The Wizards of Jalan City</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Vincent Mario Giovanni Winthrop, the
Entrepreneur</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Luke, the Child of Misfortune</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Pervoslav, the Russian Scientist</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The French Thief</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The Mathematician</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>The Vampires of Berlin</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Athela, the Beautiful Beast</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Dragomir Zhukov, the Rogue</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Zetha, the Doll</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ulrich, the Patriot</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Plus Eddie, Mr. Crane, and many others</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>The Rune Pilgrims</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Vesper Kite, the Hero of the Empire</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Wade, the Champion of Death</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sojiro Naraku, the Lovestruck Sorcerer</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ulf, the Northerner</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>The Fandango Four</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The Ultimate Fighter</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The Hybrid</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The Littlest Vampire</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The Fat Ninja</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>The Exalted of the East</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Vincent Cale, the Bronze Falcon</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Zaraki Kensei, the Sword Saint</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Lily, the Drug Queen</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sharif, the Monster</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>The Guardians of Shinwa
Taizen</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Song Hui, the Mistress of the Mindscape</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Hyun Wook, the Hopping Vampire</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
David Blaze, the American Samurai</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>The Scions of Japan</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Shinichi Kurode, the Aquacop</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Magnus Magnusson, Thorboy</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
...and Brian.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>The Blood-Bearers of
Quetzalcouatl</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
James Fleming, the Monkey Man of
Mystery</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Rederick von Steinberg XIII, the
Faceless Rogue</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Setsuna, the Ojou-sama, and Setsu, the
Godchild</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>The Ragnarök Renegades</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Simo Pohjonen, the Finnish Sniper</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yvain the Dangerous, alias Åke Björk,
the Fake</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The Iron Librarian</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>The Protectors of Ptolus</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Gell, the Paladin</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Lupi, the Honourable Psycho</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Storm, the Wild Druid, and Logan, the
Sun's Chosen</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>The Agents of PSI</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Assistant Director Jack Hudson, the
Werewolf</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Special Agent Karen Lennox, the Mage</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>The Hope of House Tepet</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Tepet Kalyna, the Princess of Creation</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Tepet Taran, her Bodyguard</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>The Military History Club</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Lloyd Wilder, the Prince of Britannia</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Cecil Darashia, the Psychic Prodigy</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>The Kingslayers</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Gabrian De Veers, the Cold Killer</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Garrus, the Iron Man</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>The New Kardus</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Gehenna, the God of Judgement</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Gwendolen, the Human</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
…and many, many others.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
May
their stories live forever, and may there be still more heroes in our future.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Merry Christmas, everybody!</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781149459112931910.post-54602569818103832452012-12-23T00:17:00.003+01:002012-12-23T00:17:28.883+01:00Fourteen - BFFs
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Here are some characters whose
friendships were a huge part of their greatness.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Lloyd Wilder and Cecil
Darashia</b> - The Storm 'Verse, home of these two characters,
revolves around two great principles: Passion and friendship. Despite
their many differences, they exemplified both. Lloyd was a kind,
friendly Prince, and Cecil a fierce, dangerous pauper – but they
covered each others' weaknesses, both in combat and in social
situations. Though they frequently misunderstood each other and
caused unintentional trouble for themselves and their friends, they
always had each others' backs – because that was the very first
lesson they learned on their arrival to Eisenkrone Academy.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Gabrian and Garrus</b> -
This pair of Iron Heroes complemented each other very well, despite
being mechanically rather similar. Both of them were damage-sponges,
capable of enduring brutal beatings – and perhaps that was the
cornerstone of their friendship in a sense, because they withstood
terrifying punishments for each other. Garrus carried Gabrian out of
a crumbling castle after a fight against the Demon King, and Gabrian
delivered the death-blow to the dragon that nearly slew his friend.
Theirs was a friendship worthy of Iron Heroes – a friendship forged
in iron, and tempered in blood.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>The Norlanders</b> - Hoo
boy, I doubt anyone has heard of these guys before. They were a
Northern team of a berserker and a warrior-poet, appearing halfway
through the Fairy Tale Game I ran in D&D a million years ago.
Something about these two characters just clicked with each other.
They were created to be friends, and they lived up to it – right up
until the bitter end, surrounded by enemies in a pitch-black cave.
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781149459112931910.post-81091668702702532402012-12-22T00:04:00.003+01:002012-12-22T00:04:39.639+01:00Thirteen - Freaks and Monsters
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Today we take a look at some seriously
scary characters.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Sharif</b> - Sharif is
the first character that springs to mind on this theme. An unkillable
man-eating shapeshifter with a severely disturbed mind, Sharif reads
like some horror movie monster but was, in fact, a Lunar Exalt from
the Chronicles of the Bronze Falcon. He Exalted due to his tenacity
and perseverance in surviving a famine, but he also killed and ate
his brother in the process, something which... well, pretty much
broke his mind. Only very barely human in any sense of the word,
Sharif remained playable because of his strong loyalty to the Solar
Exalted, who perhaps, perhaps, might one day fix him. Or, you know,
just unleash him upon their unsuspecting enemies. And occasionally
friends.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Wade, the Champion of
Death</b> - Wade was actually a quite benevolent character, but
that didn't stop him from being scary and weird. Wade had fallen in
love with Death itself, and devoted his life (or weird pseudo-life,
as it were) to her service, harvesting souls and bringing euthanasia
to those who needed it. An Arcana Evolved Champion of Death, Wade was
very, very, very good at killing stuff, but only ever did it when
appropriate – a death-dealer in moderation, inhuman yet with a
strong moral code. As he found out near the end of his life, his
predecessor Hamadathurian had not been thus restricted.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>The Littlest Vampire</b>
- I have sadly forgotten his/her name, but this character – from
Trigonometry Fandango, a freeform anime-themed game – was the
creepy kid-trope incarnate. A soulless female vampire, forced to
reside in the body of a little boy, the Littlest Vampire was a
murderous little child who specialized in slashing tendons, so that
people fell over and could be properly disposed of. Although his/her
team also contained no less than two super-powerful killing machines,
neither of them could really match him/her in terms of
cold-bloodedness.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Athela</b> - seductive,
manipulative, psychotic. Likes: Crushing peoples' will, necrophilic
threesomes, stalkers. Dislikes: Water, especially in Berlin. 'Nuff
said.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781149459112931910.post-74743114567933128722012-12-21T16:41:00.003+01:002012-12-21T16:41:53.213+01:00Twelve - The Opposite of Optimized
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You are really terrible at your job.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Tepet Taran</b> - Sure,
Taran did protect his princess and did eventually deliver her to the
Blessed Isle – but that didn't stop him from being terrible at his
job. A Dragon-Blooded socialite whose only real reason for existing
was being married off to some other important House, Taran was chosen
for a super-important world-spanning covert mission solely because
nobody would really miss him. He did have a few redeeming skills,
sure – he knew how to parry attacks (because “Not the face! Not
my pretty face!”) and he could... Hm. I guess he could also jump
kind of far? Either way, he wasn't exactly the best guy to drag along
on a trek through the wilderness.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Todd Ark</b> - Todd, a
member of the Raiders of the Lost Knark, was admittedly pretty okay
at being a druid – but kind of awful at being an adventurer. A
half-fey druid with butterfly wings and antennae, he grew up in a
home with a talking stump, fairies coming to visit, unicorns grazing
in the garden and all kinds of weird phenomena – yet in spite of
this he had the personality of a particularly bored desk clerk. What
made him bad at his job was that, being a D&D character, he was
supposed to kill monsters and take their stuff – but he was far
more interested in relaxing hobbies like gardening or taking a
leisure trip with his yacht.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Jack Hudson and Karen
Lennox</b> - basically the worst police duo ever. They got
better after they turned into a werewolf and a wizard, admittedly,
but for being an FBI agent and a highly trained NYPD officer, they
were remarkably bad at actually solving crimes. It's a good thing
they soon moved on from crime-solving and into the more esoteric
realm of... um... whatever you call all the weird stuff they did.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Almost every character by
VMGW's player</b> - I tried really hard to pick just one, but I
couldn't. The defining feature of his characters seem to be “really
good at lots of things, none of them applicable or relevant to the
adventure”. I suppose the best exception I can think of is Vesper
Kite, who actually was pretty decent at serving the Empire and the
Church by being a swordsman. He, uh... ended up murdering the Pope.
There were reasons.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781149459112931910.post-23258185672591013572012-12-20T00:10:00.001+01:002012-12-20T00:10:18.343+01:00Eleven - Powerhouses of Powerful Power
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Like the fist of an angry god.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Timothy Luvenhay</b> -
Tim takes the cake when it comes to being a powerhouse of powerful
power. A four foot tall speedster, Tim had pretty much every power
source you could stack onto a single character in the Arcana Evolved
system. He could run so fast that battlefield composition didn't
matter to him at all, he could turn into lightning, he could keep
fighting even while dead, and this is all on top of his swordfighting
skills which were his <i>actual</i> signature power. Tim
single-handedly defeated a Rakshasa Mage King and his unbeatable
undead bodyguard in the span of three rounds of combat, something I
will never forgive him for.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Mr. Smith</b> - Mister
Smith was pretty much just a straight-up attempt at playing the
system in the NWoD rules if I don't misremember, but he accomplished
the feat quite admirably. A super-duper-secret agent, Smith featured
only for around two sessions but packed enough firepower to take out
even supernatural enemies without being noticed – which is quite a
feat in a system where mortals are designed to be extremely squishy,
even if he didn't get many chances to shine.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>David Blaze</b> - David,
from the Japanese Mutant game, wasn't intentionally designed to break
the game system or anything – far from it – but over the course
of his career, he became pretty much synonymous with “unstoppable
in combat”. Of course, since the game wasn't heavily
combat-focused, this made him more of a specialist character than
anything else; he still needed his friends in a multitude of
situations – but when it came to plain fighting, David was pretty
much the best. Only two things ever really posed a threat to him: the
symbiote super-soldier Aku-Shin Kage, and the insane vampire that
lived inside his closest friends' head.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Zaraki, again</b> -
Zaraki may have been a pretty silly character, but <i>man</i>
that guy could kill stuff. When you make a character whose highest
passion in life is “swords”, and that guy also happens to be a
Solar Exalt... things die. A lot.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781149459112931910.post-18663653906563314012012-12-19T00:04:00.003+01:002012-12-19T00:04:56.808+01:00Ten - ...instead of these comedians
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Today, we take a good look at hilarity.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Mr. White</b> - Mister
White makes the list again. A rotund, fat little man whose love of
money was only exceeded by his love of chicken, Mister White was a
banker in a freeform Wild West game whose special talent was being
able to run ridiculously fast. That was it, really. He sucked at
everything from gun-slinging to surviving in the desert, and the
combination of being absolutely useless and completely obsessed with
chicken makes him one of the funniest characters I have ever seen.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Zaraki</b> - Zaraki was
the poster child for “one-track mind”. He cared for exactly two
things – swords and womanizing – and he cared about them to
ludicrous degrees. He was a Solar Exalt in the Chronicles of the
Bronze Falcon, and though he had his moments in the limelight, he was
primarily a comedic character. To be precise, he was an idiot. Rarely
have I seen any player commit so much to a funny concept, to the
degree that he actually memorized a children's book because it seemed
like something his character would do. Zaraki read it to his
daughter, who was a genius prodigy. She wasn't amused.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Brian Ansiell</b> -
Scion of Anansi, Brian's special power was being able to convince
anyone of anything – well, that, and causing mayhem. A character
with no real motivation, Brian just stumbled through life and did
whatever amused him, which put him in a multitude of wacky
situations. He owned a pet jaguar for a while, he became a member of
the Yakuza, and he almost kidnapped a celebrity chef. I doubt he ever
really knew why he did... well, any of the things he did. I guess he
didn't need a reason.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Ling Tem'Enneth</b> -
Ling “died” pretty early in the Arcana Evolved game, to be reborn
as Ree Kaspathodex – which was perhaps for the best, because the
original Ling was batshit crazy. He makes this list because I have
rarely seen a character commit so hard to always having his hit
points be in the single digits. Ling fell off roofs, fell out of
trees, fell into thorny bushes... I don't remember any enemies
actually hitting him in combat, but then again, there was rarely any
reason to target him in the first place.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781149459112931910.post-13330589889544413442012-12-18T00:01:00.000+01:002012-12-18T00:01:23.746+01:00Nine - A Toast To Absent Friends...<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
These are the characters of some of the
people I haven't played with for a good long while.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Vincent Mario Giovanni
Winthrop</b>, from Mage: The Ascension. An iconic character in
every way, Mr. Winthrop was a stockbroker who could manipulate time.
Constantly armed with his pocket watch (except for that one time it
turned into raspberry ice cream as a Paradox backlash), Mr. Winthrop
was a wealthy man and linguistic genius with no real applicable skills for the adventure –
trademark of his player, who seemed to make a sport out of giving his
characters powers that were entirely irrelevant to the
task at hand.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Naseef</b>, from Arcana
Evolved: Breath of the Ancestors. Naseef was, on the face of it, a
simple humble woodsman – and though his eventual career took a very
different turn, it's his initial plain nature that makes him iconic.
No frills, no bells and whistles, just a straightforward everyman
trying to survive in a dangerous world. He was eventually corrupted
by Requiem, a sword possessed by a powerful Spirit of Death, and
turned into an avatar of death itself – before being redeemed at
the Tree of Life, and swearing an oath to defend humanity.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Freddy the Cat</b>, also
from Breath of the Ancestors. Freddy was a happy-go-lucky thief and
master of disguises, who – perhaps unlike the other characters in
the story – remained more or less himself even as he grew and
changed. It is precisely this happy-go-lucky nature that I think
makes him iconic to his player; even in the face of dire tragedy, he
kept on smiling. While he ultimately learned a
lesson about responsibility, he never ceased to be an optimist.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Aust Galanodel</b>, from
Raiders of the Lost Knark. While Aust would reprise in Breath of the
Ancestors, I think I liked the original Aust just a little bit
better. Aust was an idealist, a visionary, and a mad scientist. He
entered the story as an elf seeking to rescue his wife, but as his
need for power constantly increased, so did his addiction to it. Aust
was a futurist and transhumanist – or I suppose, trans-elf-ist –
and his quest for greatness is something that rings through in all
characters from his player. The first Aust, with his prosthetic ruby
hand and mind-rewriting powers, stands out as the best example.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781149459112931910.post-86791050960534161902012-12-17T00:04:00.004+01:002012-12-17T00:04:48.571+01:00Eight - Lloyd Wilder
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Lloyd was a character suffering from
severe Trope Overdose, and that is why I think he's the iconic
character for his player. Being originally based off the Chaste Hero, he came to live and breathe heroic tropes. It's rare to see those characters done really well, but
Lloyd definitely pulled it off – though, of course,
much of his kindness stemmed from the fact that he was far too naïve to even
realize he'd been wronged most of the time.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Lloyd was the Prince of Britannia,
hidden away by his father (the Crown Prince) in a small rural village
to grow up an ordinary boy. At the age of fifteen, he left his home
against his father's will to join Eisenkrone Academy, to wield his
extraordinary powers in service of the world. His adventures in just
the first year at the academy are too numerous to recount, but after
just a year and a half he had mastered the elements of Air, Water and
Earth, with only Fire remaining. Lloyd may
yet see a chance to master this last element – we haven't
definitely ended the story of Eisenkrone Academy – and if he does,
he will have to master his powers quickly. Inner Lloyd, his
mysterious alter ego, is growing in power – and he is every bit as
evil as Regular Lloyd is good.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
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Lloyd's most iconic moment, I think, is
his greatest tragedy. His father, Walt, knew that his son was in
danger at Eisenkrone, and travelled there to bring him home. Just as
he arrived, the school was attacked by ultra-nationalistic
terrorists, and Walt Wilder died defending his son. Only then did
Lloyd learn who he truly was – Lloyd Pendragon, Prince of
Britannia.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781149459112931910.post-25567185338630436762012-12-16T13:44:00.000+01:002012-12-16T13:44:22.928+01:00Seven - Vincent Cale
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...on the subject of obfuscating
stupidity, enter Vincent Cale. Vincent was a Solar Exalt, an archer,
assassin, ostrich-riding woodsman, bumbling idiot and fantastic
supreme ultimate genius. He was one of the most intelligent people in
the world, but since he grew up in the forest with barely any human
interaction, it took a while before his smarts manifested – and
when they did, it was perhaps the most astonishing transformation of
a character, ever.
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The Vincent Cale that stepped onto the
stage in the first session was an angry young man, seeking revenge
for the murder of his father. During his journey, he learned that he
was the Bronze Falcon, the reincarnated King of the East, and
accepted his duties with... well, I would say grace, but Vincent was
never graceful. In fact, his most interesting trait may have been his
crippling inability to look or sound cool; he was terrible with
words, something which his player committed to one hundred and ten
percent.
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What makes Vincent iconic is his smarts
and savvy, coupled with his inability to apply them. Many other
characters have followed in his footsteps – but Vincent's brilliant
mind and terrible luck became a hallmark for his player, whose
characters are often geniuses with crippling weaknesses.
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Vincent was an Exalt, so it's really
hard to pick just one moment from his career – but his most
defining stunt ever was probably that one time where he got shot in
the spine 17 times, only to perform surgery on himself, fashioning an
artificial spine out of his appendix. It combines both his limitless
intelligence, and his limitless lousy luck: He fired the 17 shots
himself.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781149459112931910.post-76049469537533632562012-12-15T12:55:00.000+01:002012-12-15T12:55:21.895+01:00Six - Lupi
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Lupi is a fairly recent character on
this list, hailing from the latest run of the Banewarrens. A more or
less psychotic halfling (culturally goblin) rogue, Lupi turned out to
be some kind of psycho with a heart of gold – or at least, someone
who genuinely cared about her friends and... not so much about anyone
else. She managed to establish herself very well, committing violent
murder and maiming during her time off, but being absolutely
invaluable when actually working with her team. Aside from her
supreme backstabbery skills, she saved her team mates from dozens of
traps and ultimately ended up saving an entire city.
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Lupi, I think, is iconic in the sense
that she possessed a degree of obfuscating stupidity, which is
something I've seen in her player a lot. On the surface she seemed
random and insane, but there was a definite method to her madness –
a tactical thinking that went hand in hand with her antics. It is
perhaps telling that she was the only character to survive the
adventure – and that despite being nearly mauled to death by a
minotaur in the second session.
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Lupi's coolest moment must have been
her disappearance act at the end of the story. She gave the glory to
her dead companions, and asked everyone to forget about her – and
then stepped out into the city of Ptolus, and disappeared. She was an
unsung hero... and perhaps that was for the best.
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781149459112931910.post-46390071308502707722012-12-14T00:18:00.000+01:002012-12-15T12:53:36.771+01:00Five - Setsuna/Setsu<style type="text/css">
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Setsuna's chronicle might have been
short, but she managed to establish herself pretty well in the time
she had. She was a Scion of Amaterasu, a half-goddess of the Sun, but
carrying a crippling and unusual curse.
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Every time the sun went down, Setsuna
transformed from a gracious, pretentious Japanese lady into a
seven-year-old girl, not only physically but also mentally, which
effectively made her two characters in one. As Setsuna, she was
smart, aristocratic and domineering – as Setsu, she was impulsive
and charismatic, but also... well, mentally seven years old. Her
adventures took her from Mexico City, to the underground caves of the
Aztec Bat-Men, to Machu Picchu, to the icy reaches of Svalbard.
Throughout all this, she had her loyal dog Kiba at her side.</div>
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Setsuna was iconic to her player in the
sense that she was an oddball. The very concept itself was unusual,
and very funny when combined with Setsu's deadpan attitude towards
it. Setsuna was a little less comfortable with the arrangement; the
concept was successful in the sense that it created a comedy relief
who could still be taken seriously. I think that, perhaps, may be the
hallmark of the player.
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Setsu's best moment is undoubtedly when
she rescued a rainbow serpent from captivity, and the grateful
creature granted her one service. She immediately cashed in –
spending it on a joyride across the Peruvian jungle, for absolutely
no good reason.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6781149459112931910.post-87654249391760921652012-12-13T00:09:00.002+01:002012-12-13T11:26:30.966+01:00Four - Karen Lennox
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Ah, Karen. She was all over the place –
I think that's the best way to describe her. Impulsive, rash,
ridiculously brave, sometimes oddly brilliant, sometimes criminally
insane. It goes without saying that she illustrates her player's
style quite nicely.</div>
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Karen Lennox was a police officer, who
first became an investigator of the supernatural and thereafter a Willworker - a spellcaster extraordinaire. She specialized in mind-magic and warping space, and many of
her greatest moments revolved around Thinking With Portals. Her
adventures were strange, to the point of becoming outright comic-book
bizarre. She fought her own evil clone created by the Mothman, she
was almost possessed by a former college professor, and she killed
some random woman by dropping scuba gear from a paraglider. I don't
think anything will top the sheer weirdness of that last decision.</div>
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Karen existed in a world where
supernatural creatures frequently rubbed elbows, and she seemed to
live by the maxim that whatever doesn't kill you, simply makes you
stranger. She was arguably crazy – but on the other hand, she lived
in a crazy world. Her lateral thinking often backfired, but it can't
be denied that some of her plans were surprisingly successful.</div>
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Her most triumphant moment may have
been using the Supernal Tarot to ascend to the Mindscape, narrowly
avoiding her death even when her body was ripped to pieces, and
thereafter being reborn from her friend's right rib. It's a great
example of the sort of mad-scientist thinking she usually deployed.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0