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Messages - D. Ein

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1
Dark Age Games / It's good to give the spiders a scare sometimes
« on: August 10, 2019, 11:09:11 AM »
Web and dust covered circuits will calcify from disuse, you know!

It's 2019 and I still think about DAL occasionally. DND takes the place of DAL these days. Good stuff. 

If anyone else sees this, why don't y'all doodle a reply here. As Xorlak said a few years ago, activity's good!

2
General Discussion / Re: 10 years in the TK community
« on: March 01, 2017, 08:41:01 PM »
Well, I'm a couple of months late for the annual January post, but I still live! Who else exists?

3
General Discussion / Re: 10 years in the TK community
« on: January 18, 2015, 11:00:37 AM »
Unimaginably, impossibly...

4
Dark Age Games / DAL Alumni?
« on: January 28, 2014, 04:34:14 PM »
Well, I don't wonder whether anyone posts here -- this is self-obvious when one presses the "show unread posts since your last visits" button -- but I do wonder, do any DAL alumni still visit these forums? If you do, where are you now? How far have you gone? Has DAL influenced you in any way?

I am a programmer now, the only one in a fairly promising startup, concentrating on web technologies -- javascript, html5, and the like. Alas, not a published writer. I've joined another website, youngwriterssociety.com, where I occasionally post stories and less occasionally critique other people's stories, under the username carbonCore. DAL was the thing that got me writing in the first place, for which I am very thankful. It has given me a way to release all the various darknesses that had plagued me at times -- without that initial push, without DudeMan dragging me over here, and without me getting lost in Gaian, I don't know if I'd be writing as I am today. So, from my heart: thank you, Xorlak, and thank you, everyone who had made DAL the experience that it was. I don't know where you all are now, but I know that in my memory, you will remain forever.

5
General Off-Topic / Re: Oh man, oh man.
« on: May 30, 2010, 09:15:42 AM »
Zeros', do you write outside of RPs?

6
Dark Age Games / Re: DALpedia updates
« on: May 30, 2010, 09:14:21 AM »
Such good times. =) Strangely, I have not been able to get into any other roleplays after DAL. None of them were as interesting without the old crew.

7
General Off-Topic / Re: You know, this is kinda depressing
« on: December 16, 2009, 06:19:54 AM »
...quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

Smile

8
General Off-Topic / Re: You know, this is kinda depressing.
« on: December 10, 2009, 10:22:47 PM »
I just stuck around for DAL, but it isn't easy to forget a site I spent two years of my life on. I will be here to support any developments in any way I can.

9
Dark Age Games / Quick and temporary thread
« on: August 20, 2009, 10:49:51 PM »
The shambler gently rocked, almost lulling me to sleep, but the knowledge of my arrival to the cliff town-outpost of Spondekai kept me stark awake. Besides, I would hate to miss passing over the flaming rivers of Gwely's resident volcano, although most folk say that a mere web of orange-red streaks is only interesting to see once. But something else attracted me to these flows; the knowledge of how far away they are, perhaps, or the barely perceptible pulse they give off, as if from a living creature.

The whine of a badly-oiled hatch behind me heralded a visitor. It seems that I am not alone in my fancy to see Gwely's lava streams, after all.

"It's a good day to spend outside," I engaged the conversation. "Isn't it? I think it was yesterday's Edna VI eruption that stirred the ash against its normal course. "

"Don't remind me," my guest replied. The safety rails groaned in undeserved protest as he propped his small frame against them, taking position beside me. "I made the mistake of going out up-wind once. Even though it was just for a minute, it took me a week to get the smell of sulfur out of my hair."

We stood in silence for a few minutes, watching the insectoid legs of the shambler dive in and out of the bleak ocean of volcanic ash. And there they were - faint, but definitely occurring pulses in the lava's flow. Not unlike veins around a gray, withered heart, I mused.

After a sudden woeful groan from one of the legs, a violent tremor shook the shambler. Hearing the rattling of the machine's gears disengaging themselves from the main flywheel, I fastened my grip on the railing to brace for the upcoming stop. The shambler came to a halt, and rested in contemplative silence for a few seconds before resuming its course.

"Similar problems occurred the last time I traveled through here," I said. "The land below is irregular. Considering what's down there, it really is a wonder that they don't do that more often. Did you read what--"

The distant roar of a fog horn momentarily drowned my voice and the mechanical clashing of the driving apparatus beneath. The dark form emerging from the impenetrable wall of ash ahead soon adopted the shape of another shambler from Spondekai. I could not discern the glowing ring of its generator turbine on the front; the tame winds appeared to lack the strength that the great propeller needed, leaving the machine to depend on its flywheel alone. After catching the sound of the fog horn, our shambler drifted to the side, allowing the larger one to pass by. It's incredible how these machines operated with a degree of intelligence without any sort of pilot. Maybe the world would be different if we knew how they worked.

"Did you read," I continued, "what the expedition to the surface found down there, beneath the ash?"

"Nothing," he answered. "An acquaintance of mine was on the team, he told me before it was even in the papers. Just rocks, fissures, and plains. We've tried looking for them everywhere, and the closest thing anyone has ever found - aside from the shamblers and the hollowed out mountains, of course - are a dozen or such of useless trinkets, each capable of fitting in the palm of your hand."

He paused.

"He didn't say very much, which, if you knew my acquaintance, is rather odd of him - especially since this is the first time anyone has gone to the surface in the last three hundred cycles."

"Maybe there wasn't much to say," I suggested.

"Or maybe he didn't want to talk about it. I don't suppose I can blame him. To know that someone could have built these machines without leaving more of a trace than the mountain reservoirs..."

"...and all those are good for is the fish," I chuckled.

My companion appreciated the joke, and we were quick to make the discovery of mutual interest in grotto fishing. The conversation quickly steered to a discussion of whether Mount Vorbhodsen or Mount Svirkaide yielded the most sizeable catch.

==================================================================================
==================================================================================

The warmth of the nearby lava stream kept him safe from the cold hands of the wasteland. Its bubbling granted a relief from the monotonous, homogenous din of the ashen wind. He has seen it happen before: people went deaf from hearing nothing but ash, and blind from seeing nothing but ash. They turned into senseless, mindless husks clinging to a dying seed of life. Fitting, he thought, for people to waste away just like the cities they built to shelter themselves.

A sound came from the wasteland behind him - the faint but unmistakable crash of a Walking Thing's three-fingered foot, followed by other, advancing crashes. The Thing will be here shortly. Maybe it will open up another building, like it did some time ago. Maybe it will just pass through without incident, like every day after that time. The dead structures built by forgotten hands crumbled away as inevitably as anything else - it was just a matter of waiting long enough.

Of course, as soon as the metal appendages of the Walking Thing came close enough for others to hear, the zealots woke up. Just one voice, then two, then three, then more. "All hail the walking god!" People screaming, howling like animals, throwing rocks at the Thing's legs. He wondered sometimes if that kind of adoration was appreciated by any self-respecting god. "Give unto us, Walking Thing!"

He could hear the crashing as if it was right above his head. No point in looking up; the Walking Thing was thus named for a reason - the ash prevented seeing any of its part, except the three pairs of thin stalks with three fingers on each. Then came the new sound that truly caught his interest, warranting him to raise his head - an abrasive squeal, and the dull thunks of falling concrete.

The Thing stepped on an ancient collapsed building, previously sealed by its own rubble. A large part of its front wall shattered into a hail of airborne stone. The Walking Thing paused, its leg standing upon its self-made altar, as if saying, "Look at me! Look at me! I gave unto you, as you asked!" Some zealots writhed on the ground in extasy, while others tried to climb the Thing's leg to be thrown off later or to reach whatever zealot heaven there is - either way, never to be seen again.

As the Thing walked away, he waited for all the other people to finish gathering their supplies - there was no rush, he knew of a hidden basement vault with much well-preserved food - and then came to gather his own. Furniture, dishes, strange things whose name and function were unknown to him - all barely disturbed. Some things sparkled with the glow of the nearby lava river - but he held no interest for those. His wonder was much more humble.

And there they were - two brown rectangular objects, the top one of which crumbled to dust as he touched it. He instinctively drew his hand back in a flinch, but the one beneath it looked sturdier. Hiding it underneath his dust-cloak, he quickly left the building and returned to his hideaway before the lava river.

This one was much different from the rest - instead of the neat black symbols he was so used to, these were hastily scrawled and poorly understandable. Still - his father taught him how to read the neat ones, so maybe he will learn how to read these, as well. Maybe they, too, will speak to him of a world with so many colours.

10
Dark Age Games / Re: I has returned...
« on: June 27, 2009, 07:27:58 AM »
They are all gone away,
    The House is shut and still,
    There is nothing more to say.

    Through broken walls and gray
    The winds blow bleak and shrill.
    They are all gone away.

    Nor is there one to-day
    To speak them good or ill:
    There is nothing more to say.

    Why is it then we stray
    Around the sunken sill?
    They are all gone away,

    And our poor fancy-play
    For them is wasted skill:
    There is nothing more to say.

    There is ruin and decay
    In the House on the Hill:
    They are all gone away,
    There is nothing more to say.

Replace "House" with "Mystic Software". Smile

11
Dark Age Games / Re: Dark Age Legends, Chapter 19 -- Sign Ups
« on: April 12, 2009, 05:41:32 PM »
I kind of feel guilty going to this site now. Almost feels like I betrayed DAL (which I probably have, in a way). The only thing I regret was that there were no new people to RP with and no fresh start - I guess DAL ran out of momentum for that. If only everyone else was so excited about attracting new people like I was... Sad

Xorlak, this RP may be closed, but will the site get deleted?

12
Dark Age Games / Re: Dark Age Legends, Chapter 19 -- Sign Ups
« on: January 22, 2009, 09:05:55 PM »
It's just too bad that everyone's schedule is so frantic now. DM and I are busy with exams, and additionally university for me, and Drannic has some other stuff going on in life. I will be sad if I won't bring my stories to a good close.

13
Dark Age Games / Re: Dark Age Legends, Chapter 19 -- Sign Ups
« on: January 16, 2009, 09:52:06 PM »
Thanks a lot for the suggestions, Xorlak! Apologies about the (once again) lack of posts, I was busy with my university application. I will definitely get one in before this week ends, at the very least.

Yeah, about the first few paragraphs... I wrote those without considering the 20-page (double-spaced) limit for the story. My mind started wandering and I wrote whatever came into my head, so instead of being a nice evenly spaced mass, the story went in a sort of clumps... the first two being huge, with the backstory and intro and all, the rest being more broken up to allow for dialogue (which is why I broke it up in inappropriate places, so that dialogue is easier to distinguish from the rest of the story - a practice carried over from my MS posts). Again, though, thanks a lot for the suggestions.

If anyone is interested, you can see the conclusion of the story.

14
Dark Age Games / Re: Dark Age Legends, Chapter 19 -- Sign Ups
« on: January 12, 2009, 08:12:06 PM »
I AM BACK RWAAAAAARRR

Also, I have been working on a massive assignment for my Creative Writing class - a story. Because of extreme paranoia connected to Turn-It-In bots, I don't feel safe posting the actual text on the internet, so here's the raw .doc file. If you find the time, please read it (it's 10 pages, single-spaced;~6500 words), and all criticism, constructive or unconstructive, is more than welcome. Thanks in advance, now I go read the infinity and a half posts I've missed (but can't post today due to finger ache after writing the said story).

As for the ending, it's a separate paper (a letter) which I still haven't finished. In a nutshell, the two guys get eaten by a dragon. =)

Expect an epic post tomorrow.

15
Dark Age Games / Re: Dark Age Legends
« on: December 17, 2008, 12:02:50 AM »
==Kopenka, Somewhere on Terian==

Baron Gonseng is a genius.

There is a limit to how much abuse a person can take. It differs from person to person, I suppose - some may snap at the smallest thing, others can take a lot before it is too much to keep bottling inside. Some rage at the increased prices of bintmeat, while others rage at the sight of their loved ones slowly wavering in the wind, strewn from the steeples of the Baron's castle. As it is painfully obvious, there is a rather large discrepancy between what makes each person's mental braces bend and break under the pressure of boiling hot anger. And that, I therefore deducted, is what makes the Baron such a gifted individual.

He managed to cross that line for every single person in Kopenka nearly at the exact same time.

Without the Sovereign's watchdogs, at times hilariously pious in the execution of their duties, it is safe to say that no one truly liked living under Kronos' reign. The Lich, no matter how saint he made himself seem at times, was not loved. Truly, how can one love a half-decayed corpse? He littered the streets with the walking dead, making a sniff of an Albatrash dung pit seem like a wave of sanctified aroma sent by the divines. He created arbitrary laws, only to strike them down the next day - and without telling anyone. Indeed, a fellow may be imprisoned for life because of a law that is gone with the following dawn, only to serve as a momentary source of amusement for Kronos.

Yet despite all these, as a friend put it, shortcomings, Kronos was tolerable. His corpses did, in fact, made lives easier for many people who toiled in the fields or broke bones at construction sites. He edified the simple folk, granting many peasants education, as well as jobs, and, subsequently, payment to fit. As for his musings... well, he has claimed victims, but he was different - he was the only one.

When he expired, all Citadelic hell broke loose.

Every single scribe, every single guard, every single whore, every single nameless idiot who has ever stepped foot into the Citadel had scattered all across Terian. The Baron was one of those - lucky little people, bitter at their treatment by the Sovereign and mindless from the surge of personal power, went off to claim a city as their personal play-toy. They came and declared their lordship in the name of the new Sovereign, who didn't even know about three quarters of these incidents. Gwen was completely powerless; she was a General, not a politician. Now, perhaps in many other cities like Kopenka, there are people just like me - crowds just like us - brandishing pitchforks and torches, advancing toward the raving fakes' castles to wipe them off the face of this planet. Free from any oppression, free to start anew...

The crowd advanced, slowly but surely, like a thoridium caterpillar. The younger ones were scraping their pitchforks against the ground, likely in an attempt to seem threatening. I think the Baron's guards did not need any more demoralization after they saw the castle's only Vanguard ripped to pieces by the angry mob. Most of them were now holed up inside the dark building in the middle, peering out in the manner of chipmunks hiding in a rotten hollow log from a python. As the mob hit the impenetrable walls, they surged outward, burning surrounding buildings and trampling each other. It was then that the despicable Baron made an appearance.

-"Peasants of Kopenka!" His shrill voice pierced my eardrums, even from this distance. My place was behind the crowd - I would have to be twice as young as I am now to charge mindlessly at the castle. "Hear me, peasants! I think you have the wrong idea here: I am the one with the guns! I am the one to give orders! Now back off and into your homes, and maybe I will spare some of you later!"

A well-thrown torch, barely missing the short Baron's disproportionally large top-hat, answered for itself.

-"Very well!" the Baron shrieked. "You choose to die now! Guards, spears!!!"

The three-foot long spears barely made noise as they cut through the air, and, seconds later, through flesh. On another tangent, he who invented spear guns really did have the right idea in mind: they may use up unholy amounts of metal, but the spears were a truly demoniacally effective demoralization tool. The entire front row of the crowd froze in grotesque positions, impaled by the enormous projectiles. Only seconds later the second wave came, fired at a lower angle; these spears dug through the flesh of several before finally settling at their grim rest. The scene of the rebellion soon took the shape of a child's insect collection, immortalized by pins on wood.

Mass panic ensued. I myself felt the stings of unease strike my heart. How many more spears did the body guard unit have? How are we going to get through those walls? Were we truly destined to fail?

-"Coscades!" I heard a call from the side. I recognized a colleague of mine, working in the same library, calling my name. "Coscades, we have to run! I heard the Baron kept a stash of spears in his castle; there is no chance we'll succeed!"

His voice of reason worked, but not as well as a dark reminder of the situation that came to me in the form of a spear. As I dashed to turn toward Suran, all I saw was a glimpse of his face, frozen in a surprised grimace, and two streaks of metal extending to and from his head, down into the ground. My mind was quick to purge itself of any thoughts other than "run", turning me to the same animalistic state as every other participant in this rebellion.

[This post 12, reclamation: 15]

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