Sworded Tales

The Mad Beggar of Cornfall was legendary.  Homeless, shirtless and wild-eyed, the self-proclaimed ronin defended the city against illusory attackers with his invisible blade.  Scorpion style martial arts displays provided an entertaining backdrop for the unsuspecting traveler, as the acrobatic lunatic navigated the streets with untraceable abandon.  Seen upon rooftops, emerging from sewage tunnels and within any edifice the city boasted, the Mad Beggar was a beacon of local culture.  Though he survived upon the charity of others, his positive influence lightened the load of any who happened to cross his path. Continue reading

Shuffling feet were sanded smooth by the hot asphalt.  A windpipe whistled in the salt air, and caked teeth clacked against the insatiable hunger.  Movement again flashed ahead, hot and taunting.  A groan of need and the hunter turned, arm outstretched and drifting forward.

Then the prey was gone, vanished in a cataract world of barren wastes.  Gray everywhere, surrounding and smothering.  The flesh statue waited.  Snaking winds through the trees and a vague whisper thump pulled the grim visage around.  Murmurs in the distance, faint and far, cycled up.  Rotten feet plodded forward. Continue reading

Merinde turned and dry heaved along the trail again.  Deep painful chucks that ended with her surprise at the lack of internal organs splayed at her feet.  ‘By the gods she was out of shape!’ her mind crowed.  She was sure she would pay the price for last year’s sloth with a kidney.

The game trail was doing little to facilitate a smooth journey, though the narrow defile was more promising than the rest of the rugged terrain surrounding them.  She had regurgitated her light breakfast shortly into what became a rather intense dash across the landscape.  Merinde would have been angry with Gerard but for two things.  One, anger required effort, and two, that damn Halfling was barely breaking a sweat! Continue reading

Horil was furious.  So much so that she quivered in silence for a few moments before letting the pressure release.  “If you’ve forgotten the count.”  She bit into each word, resisting the urge to bite directly into Farrin.  “After all the calculation, after chucking every unnecessary piece of weight.  If you don’t remember how many times we’ve tumbled, I may just have to kill you and carry on alone.”

Farrin let her vent.  He needed her focussed, and anger was the most efficient method.  “No, wait, I’ve got it,” he said, balancing her emotional state once more, “Number five was when my shoulder went.  There was one before this, and now this one.  We shall call number seven, the belt of gaseous form!” Continue reading

“Can you handle the wagon?” Borlak asked of Katarina, “I will ride ahead a bit and see if I can find a safe route.”

He hurried Galagina ahead with practiced agility. Heels administered a sharp tap to her withers, prompting the horse to step smartly forward and a bit to the right; a slight, follow-up tug on the reins brought the well-trained horse to a halt.

The barbarian secured the reins to the saddle’s pommel whilst taking up his shield; best to guide the horse with just his legs. A few practiced motions secured the shield to his left forearm, and he rested his now-free right hand on the grip of his sword. He glanced back to ensure that Katarina was ready to proceed before starting toward the eastern edge of Westerly. Continue reading

I’m a Browncoat.  I’m also a big fan of Joss Whedon.  Yet somehow I overlooked the existence of Firefly Online (FFO).  Just a wonderful example of how out of tune I sometimes fall in an industry that is chock full of limitless opportunity.  I fancy all game forms, but there is something alluring about those special occurrences that strike chords with the senses, and Firefly is among the most sensual.

These blokes have my money and don’t even know it yet.

Now, FFO is not an MMO, more of an RPG with interactive elements player to player.  One of them being ‘job creation’, i.e. mission creation, which was a huge perk for me when I played City of Heroes.  Play your awesome business?  Check.  Write my own awesome business to play?  Supercheck.

We’ll see how well the genre is managed, but I get a sense that the spirit is true to the crew of Serenity and Whedon’s vision.  With luck, they’ll do well enough to develop it into a full fledged MMO.  If so, I very well may have found my niche once more.  Either way, keep an eye out for more FFO goodness here!

The Sibari Terraces were blasted with civil war. Clans shed blood for years after the assassination of Gomar-Tuk the Spinebender. This fluid and horrific culture was the backdrop for Yor’Tahl’s coming of age. The waste and wanton destruction weighed upon the young Orc with uncommon purpose.

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Jasmine walked around the contraption with care. There really was no better word for it. Machine was insulting to every machinist that ever was. Device was too generic a term, and it implied cohesion, uniformity. This hodgepodge of metal and plastic had some symmetry, but it bordered more on death machine. She knew that Lorne was incapable of creating something harmful though, so it was definitely a contraption.

“Okay, what the hell am I looking at?” she asked.

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Merinde’s eyelids fluttered open to the mute glow of darkness.  The hot embers shaded the clearing in orange, and the starlight gave her a picturesque sense of the camp.  No moon was in the sky, and a deep blue orb on the horizon nudged the night away.  This dawn was like none she could have dreamt.

Her heart pounded still.  Her own dream disintegrating with each fevered pump.  Her miniature efforts upon a giant game board.  The pieces crashing down around her.  Huge fingers plucking her out of harm’s way and dropping her into another embattled region.  Had it been Seravis’ hand?  That smarmy bastard.  She couldn’t recall, and already the imagery sifted away on the conscious winds.

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“Okay, so jumping onto the dragon was a bad idea.  I’ll admit that,” Farrin said.

“One of the worst you’ve ever conjured,” Horil replied, shifting her weight to gain better purchase, “I just can’t believe she hasn’t come back.”

“Matters could always be worse though,” the wily man continued his rationalization, “She could come back, for example, or it could be raining or snowing even.”

“We’re over a thousand wheels in the air!”  Horil’s distaste at the way her shout vanished into the cloudy nothingness was paramount. Continue reading