The Problem with Color

Playing with color groupings. Also a horse.

I don't normally feel my age. When you've been playing a video game for years, especially if it's one that updates and improves continuously, then it's hard sometimes to feel the age of the game, either.

I'd been saying for years now that stained glass was high on my wishlist for Minecraft. It was something I was sure would take my Masterwork, my cathedral, to the next level.

Random colors hooray!

He wanted Avengers windows.

Now that I finally have it, I'm not quite sure what to do with it. I flew to my cathedral, eager to redo the existing windows and add new ones to the unfinished portions. Too bad I can't make little strips and maybe make a more intricate window on a smaller scale. Maybe that would solve my dilemma. The huge color blocks end up either looking gaudy or childish to me.

A friend and I played around with color groups and patterns, and we could figure out something that would work - or so we thought.  In the end, I wasn't happy with any of it.

Turns out patterning color is much much harder than just patterning windows with clear glass. At least with clear glass all you have to figure out is what shapes you want. Now - it's - I don't know how to put it, other than I feel like some film director during the transition from black and white films to technicolor. What once did not matter much (if at all) now matters a lot. 

I proceeded to Google screenshots of others' Minecraft creations, to get ideas. Well, as it turns out, the good news is that it is perfectly reasonable to be able to produce beautifully patterned windows. The bad news? To get a decent look, your window needs to be about 100 blocks high. Not gonna happen with this one. My large rose window at the entrance of the church doesn't even approach that height, I don't think. Honestly, I never really counted. 

I'm beginning to think I like the cathedral as it is, with just the clear glass, or else with just a smattering of color (which you can barely make out on the rose window at the far end of the room in the bottom screenie). It's funny how long I wanted it, asked for it, and now that I have it, I don't know what to do with it.

It's coming along, at least.

The Journal of Gonff

It's been five days since the burning of Archet. My family, what little there was, is missing, with no sign of either my sister or her husband.  I left the ruins of the city after picking through the husk that was our house.

There was nothing left. 

I might have been comforted by bones - but there were no remains. I'd like to think they are still out there somewhere, alive. Maybe they got out in time.

Well, that bit about nothing might be a tiny lie. I did find one thing - an old journal of my sister's - the one she used to write her herbal remedies and recipes in. It's a bit charred on the edges, but there were lots of blank pages at the end, and as I've nothing else to do - - - 

The sky has been pouring rain for three of the five days since the fire. Rain. You'd think it could have been raining the day of the attack. Maybe then Archet would still be standing. The dead would still be dead, but there would be something still standing at the end.

I left the ruins after two days, when the rain started and the ashes turned to black sludge, running smears of char down the streets in runnels. So many deaths. The fields of Archet are sown with headstones, row upon row. 

Like every other refugee, I've fled to the other cities, looking for work, food - anything. Combe was full to bursting, and the guard of Staddle had been so increased over the past few days in fear of the Blackwolds, many folk (myself included) are avoiding the city simply out of fear. 

So far, Bree has held little for me either. Though the streets are full and the markets bustling, clogged with other refugees like myself, people keep to themselves and have little in the way of a warm smile, much less an open hand. Times are tough, and purse-strings tight. 

There are so many people about, looking for homes and work and food, the citizens of Bree have hardened. Most are turning away any questions about employment, and many won't even acknowledge you in the first place.

The air is turning cold. I can tell winter is on its way, though the leaves have just now begun to turn. Maybe the dryness of summer's last breaths are what fueled the flames - maybe if it had only been a wet spring instead, or - - -

 I stumbled my way through the streets to some inn called the Prancing Pony. It was warm enough inside, to be sure, but I spent almost the last of my coppers on a mug or two of cider to warm my belly. I had little enough left, none for a crust a bread, let alone a room.

After dozing by the fire for a while, letting my soaked clothes dry, I wandered about the inn. The proprietor, a bumbling man by the name of - - - to be honest I can't remember his name. I was cold and wet and all I wanted was something warm in my belly, with a bite to numb my mind. Anyway, the inn was busy, with people coming and going. 

No one saw me slip into the kitchen. No one saw me slip a few handfuls of food into my pockets. The ale was over-priced anyway - it's not like I was actually stealing. I was evening out the cost. 

I am sure he has gouged the prices to take advantage of the refugees anyway.

The next morning I made my way to the Mayor's office. There was rumor he had a listing of those in the town who had work or lodgings. The line of people waiting to see the mayor was out the door, and the crowd around the notice board was so tight I am amazed I even got close enough to be able to read it.  I took every name off that list I could remember in the time I had before I too was shoved out of the way with fellow desperates and went my way to check out the leads - all of them had either been filled already or - - - 

There was this one fellow, lived near the Staddle gate as best I could tell - I can barely find my way around this mess of a city - I asked him about the notice he'd left in the town hall, and he gave me one good look over, spat his chaw out near my boots, and shook his head.  "Naw," he said, "I don't reckon I've got any work for the likes of you." I wanted to punch him in the face, but instead I turned and walked back out into the rain. No use getting myself arrested. The likes of me, indeed. I'm no criminal. Honest, hard-working man. Have been all my life. Sold my sister's remedies, wrote the post for those in the town as couldn't read nor write themselves. Taught the boys their letters in the winter-time.


As I wandered the streets some more, slowly eating the last of the dry bread and hard cheese I'd 'borrowed' from the inn, I spotted a miserable looking dwarf, slouched against the wall, an empty mug in his hand. I wondered if he was from Archet too, or what troubles he was trying to drink away. 

Ah well, the rain has to stop eventually. The refugees will eventually all find work - places to sleep and eat and fields to work - and I will find - - - something. My sister, maybe? 



Not tonight, though. I've got enough coin for one more bit of ale. 

 

A Minor Pair of Glitches

It seems Ben Ben the Dog found a way to swim between dimensions. That, or else the floor really is lava. In which case, I don't think he knows how to play the game. 

 

 What is this I don't even.

Marrying the Princess

 I didn't think she would go through with it. I don't think Fedaykin did either.

Fedaykin and the Princess by the Water

I might be a bit jealous.

Oh my gosh it's been so long since we've visited the legacy house. Where to begin?

JC, Sybil, Celandine, and the boy left the longtime home of their ancestors and moved to Paradise Island, where they have made a new, lighter life among the tropics after the incredibly sudden and totally unexpected death of Rian, Fedaykin's father. Seriously, I had no idea, and it took me almost as long as it took Celandine to get over it. They left Warden and Vofura behind, but that's okay. I really can't stand those alien voice clips.  JC bought a home on the top of a hill, and this is the view from their backyard. Life could be worse, I guess.

Fedaykin took to the water like a natural, and he began to flourish in this new environment. He loves the water. I can't keep him away from it. He's constantly thinking about it, wanting to be swimming or boating or just outdoors, near it.

Celandine hasn't had much to say about it, really. She might just be letting him go his own way, letting him find himself after the death of his father.

He's actually a really good kid, he works hard, always helping around the house and always doing his homework. His only fault? Staying out too late. One of the reasons I've already mentioned - I can't keep him out of the water. The other reason? A girl. 

And not just any girl. The girl. The only girl on the island he had any interest in from the beginning. Lilliana Ichtaca, the princess of the island. Literally, she's a princess. Her family is the last vestige of the hereditary monarchs of the island, left over from an era before the island was brought into the fold of whatever vague, amorphous democracy rules the collective cities of the Sims 3 world. I didn't think she would go for him. She's kind of a snob, and I have a feeling the only reason he piqued her interest is the fact that his family, whether they are new to the island or not, is definitely considered old money.

 I hope he ends up with Lilliana. I hope she isn't horrible to him. I hope he is always by the water.

I hope JC never stops being JC

An RP Experiment: One Lonely Burglar, Seeking Companionship

This is Gonff. Aside from being my first male character in an mmo (heck, in any game where I had a choice), he is something of an experiment for me. I will be rp-ing this poor fellow as hardcore as I can. That means a few very distinct things:

1. He will walk everywhere, unless he has a justified reason to run.

2. If he manages to acquire a horse, he will probably walk the horse for the most part, as you can't run a horse like a race car. It'll collapse.

3. He will only do his adventuring during the day, unless his activities necessitate nocturnal behavior.

4. If, in the course of his adventures, he dies, then he is dead. Honestly, this is the one that scares me the most. I kind of want to run to my friends and see if I can wrangle up a pocket healer, but I don't know how that would fit into his character.

5. He must eat something at least once a day, and I don't mean while standing in front of an orc. He has to sit down, make a camp, and eat. While we are on the subject of making camp, let's talk about resting. He has to rest once at least every couple of in-game days - whether at night or during the day, it does not matter, but for an acceptable length of time. Enough to correlate with several hours sleep in the real world.

6. No use of global chat channels. He doesn't have a palantir, y'all.

7. No transferring of equipment or gold between existing characters on the same account.

8. No knowing things he doesn't know. He doesn't know people's names until they introduce themselves, there are no levels, etc.

9. In-game dialogue must be short and to the point, much like normal conversation. No rambling monologues or story-telling (unless he is asked to tell a story, of course).

10. ALWAYS STAY IN CHARACTER. No brackets, no OOC clarification, nothing.  If it's not in character, it does not come out of his mouth.

This character is going to need a lot of patience. Probably a good bit of planning and a quick hand on the HIPS skill if he's to survive. It'd be great to have a buddy on this adventure, one willing to RP it out with me. Any takers? He's on Landroval.  Send me a message and let's get going!

The Wibbly Wobbly Doldrums

I'm finding this time to be a bit .... slow. There's not much in the way of new games, unless I've just fallen out of the loop. I'm sitting here waiting for Starbound, maybe Wildstar.  I dont know. I've tried Rift, I don't know how I feel about it. I could try more console stuff, I guess. I feel so behind in all the releases, recent or otherwise. I've never finished Bioshock, or Red Dead Redemption, or even that last Prince of Persia game, whatever it was called.

Have I fallen out of gaming?  For several years it seemed to be all I cared about. Now that I'm about to jump headfirst into writing again, I don't know.

Is this what growing up feels like? I hope not. I know plenty of people who still game well into their forties - heh, even my mother, in her fifties, games a bit. Does that make them losers? People who found a hobby they still manage to derive satisfaction from after all these years? The cool people?

So what am I? Where do I fall? Am I destined to be one of those stodgy, 'mature' adults?

I suppose I'm  a bit young to be having a mid-life crisis. Or else too old to be wondering what I'll do when I 'grow up.'

 Also, this is the last time I type a post on a tablet. Erg, hate touch keyboards.