Can of Worms

I finally had generation 13, Eloisa Bates, grown and ready to be married. She had met this guy, Gerard Bion, back when she visited France, and had really hit it off with him, so she invited him over to visit.  Since relationships progress at a headlong pace in the Sims, it wasn't but a few hours before they were engaged.

After scouring the town for a nice location to get married, I finally decided that there was a really pretty garden back at Champs Le Sims, in France, and that it would be great to fly them back over there to be married and have a short little honeymoon.

No sooner had they arrived in Gerard's quaint little hometown than I realized I hadn't yet taken any sort of peek into his family history, which was odd since I'm so fond of tracking that sort of thing for my legacy game.

Little did I know that clicking that tiny little button would open up the biggest can of worms I'd ever seen in a Sim's backhistory.

I am used to Sims having parents listed, if they aren't townies, or maybe sometimes grandparents or even a cousin listed. Maybe. Rarely. Not anything to be used to on a regular basis; it's more like something to be pleasantly surprised by whenever you do find it.

This guy, though, he had a monstrous horde of people, all vaguely related to him.

Now when you look at a Sim's family tree in-game, it doesn't show you everything at once. You get maybe two or three generations at a time, and if you want to see further up or down (or left or right), you need to click on other faces to reveal two or three more generations at a time and hide the ones you just were looking at. All that to say that figuring out who all these people were, and how on earth they were related to poor Gerard, was a horrible exercise in patience.

I mapped the whole thing out on paper, and then took screenshots of everyone's faces, and updated the family tree, which you can see here. Come to find out Gerard and Eloisa are ... step-cousins? Once removed? I'm not sure what the relationship is there.

I guess the tree's finally looped back on itself.

Wordless Wednesdays: Gemyndsted

The Journal of Gonff, page 3

The next morning I resolved to turn myself in for what I'd done. I marched myself across town to the city jail, and after taking a deep breath, went inside. It was crowded inside, and the guards appeared to have their hands full. After waiting my turn in line, I approached the desk and cleared my throat. The woman behind the counter looked up and asked what my business was. 

"I ... I would like to turn myself in."

She raised an eyebrow, and the guard standing nearest the counter stiffened. "What did you do?"

I hesitated, then announced, "I killed a man. Some men. Several."

By now the guard was on full alert and looked ready to stab me with his spear.  "Who did you kill?" The woman asked, dipping her pen in the inkwell and preparing to write in her logbook.

"I ... I don't know their names." 

"How many did you kill?" She asked, not looking up from her logbook as she scribbled down information.  Her handwriting was small and angular.

"Seven or eight .... it .... it all runs together a bit." I don't remember how many the farmer had asked me to kill. I just know that once I had settled into the idea that they were vermin and I was seeking revenge for my hometown of Archet, the killing had come easy and I ... I had lost myself.

The woman looked up at me, obviously surprised at the number. "Where did this happen?"

"Outside of town, in the ruins south of the Road." I answered. 

"Blackwolds?" she asked, skeptical.

I nodded. 

The guard standing by the counter relaxed visibly, and the woman laughed - a warm, throaty sound. "You mean to tell me you're trying to turn yourself in for doing the city a service?" She scratched out everything she had written in the logbook with bold strokes. 

"But I need to be arrested. I killed those people. I'm ... a murderer."

This last statement made her angry. She stood and pointed to the jail cells on either side of the room, which were full. A few were probably holding more than the intended number. "We are full up of people who actually deserve  to be in here, and you want to tell me you are trying to turn yourself in for clearing vermin? You don't need to be locked up, I need to give you some livery and put you on the Town Watch. What do you say?"

I blinked and stumbled backwards, tripping over the uneven floorboards. I scrambled to my feet, shaking my head, and ran out the door.

Outside, there was a woman kicking and spitting on a Blackwold tied to a post. I stood for a moment and watched them both, and saw the hate, the fury, in the woman's eyes as she abused this nameless man for who knew what sort of crime.

Maybe they were right. Maybe the Blackwolds weren't really people anymore.

His Last Painting

The last painting of Caspian Bates, son of Fedaykin Bates. Died peacefully in the garden at the beautiful age of 121 days. Succeeded by his son, Jupiter Bates, and his grandchildren Seth and Chani Bates.

It's Not Exactly a Tree...

Just in case you guys hadn't looked lately - I'm over halfway to my goal of playing through 20 generations of Sims. You can take a look at the family tree here. As I was updating the page with the newest generations, I got to thinking .... it's not exactly a tree. When you see pictures of people's family trees on big genealogical charts (especially those charts that are trying to prove some sort of important something), well, they actually look like trees, because they show both sides evenly, or as evenly as possible.

I was going to include some sort of pictoral reference point here - maybe the family tree of some country's monarchy, but the more I looked at all of them, the more I realised that theirs don't really look like trees either... more like tangled, mish-mashed webs. 

My sims? Well, I mainly just trace the heir's line, and show who they married, and any siblings, but that's about it. A lot of the time I can't show any more for the spouses' own personal lineages, as they are usually random townies generated by the game who don't have any parents at all. If they do have them, it only goes back one generation, and that's not much to add to the tree. Plus it makes it messy-looking. *** Edited to say I went back and added all known relatives, just to make it as accurate as possible. It looks messy, but the completionist in me is happy. The link above should still take you to the updated version. ***

I'm beginning to think they shouldn't look like trees at all.

It's also really rare for me to marry off the siblings as well, but the one or two times it's happened I was sure to show at least their spouse and any of their children - but again, with only an eight person limit to households, and never mind the fact that most of the time I've got at least three, if not four generations in the house at one time, it's hard to include everyone and their siblings. Hence the reason why most of my generations are only children, because I just don't have room for more than one. Let's not talk about Aegon's children. That was a fluke.

Yeah, we'll just call it a family vine.

Pirates and Plonking Along

 So my husband surprised me this Christmas with a new graphics card for my zombie of a PC. As a fun surprise, a copy of Assassin's Creed IV came with the card. I loaded it up, just to see what all the fuss was about. I finished the first AC a long time ago, and made it about halfway (?) through the second one. Then we moved, and my husband unplugged most of the consoles, and .... we never really plugged them back up. So I never finished the second one. I never touched brotherhood or the third one. Okay, I didn't touch the third one mostly out of principle. Anything involving the American Revolution is usually painful. Well, a lot of history I find painful. Err, not history, the visual representations of it. Not that the AC games ever claimed to be accurate representations of history.

Ohmygosh. Getting back on track. The first thing that jumped out at me was that this game loves to randomly capitalize words. In every. Single. Line. Of. Dialogue. I will refrain from making any too many doge jokes, but yeah, many capitals. Such grammar. Wow. Seriously though, every single line of dialogue has these capitals. Even when you are outside of the Animus.

Then there's the matter of the controls. They are clunky, loose, and in some places a bit counter-intuitive. Granted, I have not played an AC game recently, and I suppose if I had that things would be different. Easier, perhaps. But that shouldn't be how a game is designed. A game should pull you in and be so smooth and fluid that you forget you are even playing, instead of frustratingly bashing your hips and knees against the crates and ladders and other climbable paraphenalia because ... not everything is climbable. Or you're doing something wrong. You are probably doing something wrong.

Other than that though, well, let's just say the game is gorgeous. I find it odd that so much of the intent behind this game is to run quickly and jump up walls and dodge and roll and hide here and there - but all I want to do is amble slowly along, taking in the sights. It doesn't make any sense for the game to be about speed and running blindly ahead when so much of the beauty of the game lies around you.

Then there's the characters. Yes, I am only just past the intro, but I am really loving the characters - the interaction between Edward and this guy ... whatever his name is. Yes, I realize I can't make a very strange argument for characters when I can't remember his name. But it was the interaction between them that caught my eye (ear?). Maybe we can attribute that to writing and voice acting more than characterization itself. But look! More Random Capitals!

In the end though, I'm determined to enjoy it, despite the clunky and sometimes vague controls, and consider it the only tropical cruise I'll probably ever have.

A Slap in the Face

I said once in an earlier post that I was thankful Sims never had fertility issues or miscarriages. I never considered child death to even be a possibility. I knew that if you didn't take care of the children, social services would come and take them away, but I never knew that the children could actually die. Even pregnant women seem to have a sort of immunity against death.

I say all this because the other day, I watched one of my Sim children drown. No, I did not trap him in the pool intentionally. In the Sims 3 you have to actually build walls around the pool to trap them in, since simply removing the ladders does not prevent them from exiting the pool (they are able to climb out of the sides of the pool). No, he just floundered and died.

Truthfully, I didn't even know he was in the pool. I was on the other end of the house, watching Fedaykin teach baby Marcus how to walk, and occasionally glancing over at Caspian painting in the living room. It was an otherwise calm and collected Sunday afternoon. Suddenly, the event camera jerks me over to the pool, just in time to see Pye slip beneath the water. I paused the game to stare in shock at his corpse, just suspended in the water. The knowledge that there was nothing I could do, that he was dead, that I had played for several hours without a save so I couldn't reload, that all the plans I had made for him were now useless. Pye was gone.

 I un-paused the game and watched as the Grim Reaper showed up and most of the family ran outside to mourn and cry in shock. I have decided that this shot is one of the saddest and most horrifying screenshots I have ever taken in any of my Sims games. Pye, the child, begging for his life from the Reaper, who watches coldly while the child's grave lies between them. I will admit, I cried a little bit, not because I particularly liked Pye or anything, but because he was a child. A child.

Forgive me if the deaths of children hit me particularly hard.

Forgive me as well if the idea of a child, who for whatever reason must die, dies by drowning - is also particularly painful - I had a close brush with drowning as a child and was narrowly saved by one of my little sisters and my dad.

I suppose I had been living in this dreamworld where I felt the Sim children were immortal, unable to be harmed by fire or flood or famine, and that the worst thing that could happen was to be placed into state care. It was quite the slap in the face to learn otherwise.

Not something I ever wanted to see.

The Journal of Gonff, page 2

I woke up this morning and sat on the steps of the Comb and Wattle. I had slept in the stable, for I had no money left at all, and my belly was rumbling with hunger. I didn't know what to do. I had tried everything. No one had any work for me. 

I watched as people went about their business. Mostly common townsfolk, nothing interesting. Then, a stranger rode into town. He was rough looking, but he looked like he came from money, what with that big fancy horse of his and that green enameled armor. It was obvious he was a foreigner. I watched him for a moment as he rode slowly up to the inn and looked about, checking something in some little book of his. So, he had business here.

 I leapt up and offered to  watch his horse for him while he went inside. Foreign type like him should be easy enough to fool into thinking his horse needs to be watched. These might be troubled times, but no one is desperate enough to steal a horse yet. I just had to hope he didn't know that...

I must not be the wonderful salesman I always thought I was. Guess folks just used to buy my sister's salves and potions cause they actually needed em, not because of any great charisma on my part. The blasted fellow saw through my ruse, I think, and wouldn't even get off his horse while I was near! I wasn't going to make off with it, you miserable ....

In the end though, he gave me some pretentious speech about trying to always do good no matter your circumstances and not resorting to petty thievery just to get by. While I saw his point, I didn't need a sermon. He tossed me a few silvers and sent me on my merry way. I picked them up (stars above but I was starving) but I also didn't want to be some charity case. 

I didn't stay to see what he did. I went to one of the shops in Combe and bought some food, and then wandered south a ways out of town, where I sat under a tree and ate.

Turns out the tree I was sitting under belonged to some local farmer and I had unknowingly wandered onto his land. He didn't have any work for me, of course. But! His brother, a lumberer on the east side of Combe, did. That work consisted of clearing out some wolves and a few of the Blackwolds from the Chetwood. 

I am not a fighting man. I have a pair of knives, but one I've had since my boyhood, and the other I only picked up from a dead villager in the attack on Archet. I had never killed a man before. 

At first, even after doing what the man asked me to do, I still felt as though I had not yet killed a human. These Blackwolds were a pest. They destroyed my village, killed everyone I knew. Stars know where my sister is. I even relished the feel of my knife slipping between their ribs, watching their surprise as they fell. They were evil, and deserved to die.

At the end of the day I found myself with a fat pocket full of silver - the foreigner's odd coins mixed with those from the grateful fellow at the lumber camp. 

I went back to Bree and got myself a room at the Prancing Pony, completely overlooking the prices the innkeep was charging for both. I was a wealthy man now, with more silver than I'd had in years. But as I was eating, the reality of what I had done hit me. They may have been Blackwolds, but they were still humans. Still people, with lives and hopes and dreams. They were not like the mindless wolves I had killed, or the bear that chased me on the outskirts of Staddle. The food turned to ash in my mouth and the crackling fire suddenly felt like the Icemaw itself. Everyone was watching me, I knew it. They could see it on my face, could see the blood on my hands. Was there blood on my hands? I thought I had washed ...

I ran from the inn, guilt bearing down on my shoulders and grief clouding my eyes. I ran blindly, stumbling through the streets, until I could run no more. I retched up the little food and drink I had already consumed and fell down, exhausted. 

When I woke up the next morning my pockets were empty. I had been robbed during the night. Good. I didn't want that man's pity money, or the blood money from what I had done. Better to starve and die.

I stood, slowly, and dusted myself off. I wandered aimlessly through the streets of Bree, and by nightfall found myself in this place known as Beggar's Alley. Here was where I belonged, among the thieves and the rabble and the ... the murderers.

Wordless Wednesdays: Fangorn Forest

 

Legitimate Reasons

Was playing Skyrim the other day, and found my adopted daughter roaming about in something slightly less than appropriate:

 My only thinking is that perhaps she had the clothes stolen right off of her back. From a realistic viewpoint, I find this highly unlikely. From a gaming viewpoint, well, you get that dexterity up high enough you can do all sorts of crazy stuff. 

 Which is one reason I love tabletop RPGs so much. Games such as Dungeons and Dragons provide so much more room for story-telling and the imagination than even your most open world and sandboxy of video games.

As a DM for a local game, my players will occasionally ask me if they can do x. Can they justify doing x from a realistic standpoint, or have we entered the realm of Asian-martial-arts-film-gravity-defying power? My former boss at my job had a rule that was similar - she didn't care what we pinned  into the dresses, as long as it made logical sense and we had a plan for carrying it out. If we just pinned it just to pin it, then that was a no. If my players want to do a triple somersalt over this minotaur just for the sake of doing it, then no.

If, however, you can provide a legitimate reason for pulling the skirt up like that, or tucking that seam there, then go ahead. If you can provide a reason for wanting to set that on fire, then sure, go ahead.

That may seem a bit restrictive, but bear with me, I, too, have my reasons.

For the longest time in my writing I steered clear of any sort of 'magic' or magical systems. I didn't want it, because I'd seen too many books where, over time, the author decided to use it as a crutch.  Don't know how to escape from this latest hairy situation? MAGIC. Don't know how to solve this problem? MAGIC. I was tired of it, I consider it to be lazy, unimaginative, and flimsy.

I use that same logic with my players at the table. If they can accurately describe what they are trying to do - if they have a motive, some sort of plan behind what they are doing, then go ahead. You'll still have to roll for it, of course (nothing is free), but you can at least try.

I won't say this approach hasn't backfired before. In some cases, if a player wants to do something, but can't give an in-character reason why, then I've denied them, and subsequently they had a much more difficult time with the encounter or puzzle. I'm then faced with - well, if I had just let them do it, maybe it would have been easier.

But that's not the point.

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