Archive for August, 2009

Crossfire Tango, Part 1

31 Aug

Meanwhile, galaxies away within the same city, it was that time of day where Caullie Fisheye threw out those bits of meat and fish that failed to meet her rather generous standards of edibility. This simple act could be viewed through several lenses. Some saw it as a beacon of pride in an ocean of culinary apathy and ill-will. Some looked upon it, with some accuracy, as a severely improper handling of biohazardous waste. To the maggot species, it represented a brave and exciting change of scenery.

Today, to Vatsy and Bruno, it constituted brunch.

Vatsy reached down into the pile and grasped a sliver of meat between his claws, letting it writhe animatedly in his grasp.

After an instant’s hesitation, he slurped it down. “Hm. Not half bad, actually.”
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In a Hostile Country: The Saga of Cahmel (Let’s Play Morrowind, Part 12)

30 Aug

Alright, Cahmel fans/stalkers, we’ve reached a red letter day. I’ve officially blown through the week or so of gameplay this series has thus far been based upon. This means that starting now, I can actually, you know, play the game I’ve been Let’s Playing.

This would be fantastic, save for one little detail:

I didn’t actually notice that my buffer was running low until I sat down to sort out this post today.

Relax, relax. Lower your empty beer cans and molotov cocktails. I’m still going to give you a post, but it’s going to involve going back and showing some things I glossed over in my LP.
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The Week to Come

29 Aug

I’m taking the time away from my one-man quest to discover the truth behind Videogame Poisoning to bring you this precise prognostication of the present path we’re plodding along, and other “p” words I can ungently shoehorn into that sentence.  So. This is the Week to Come.

  • Journey to the Salt Mines
  • The Stankrag Motel
  • All for One
  • Pixie Pretty

Fun Fact for the Week: Research is progressing slowly. I’m currently trying to determine if the malodorous haze is related to my TF2 exposure or just a function of not bathing for 532 hours.


The New Firm: Auditing Season

28 Aug

“I think,” Rutskarn said, “we just need to calm down here, take a few breaths, and think reasonably about the situation.”

The patrolman smiled fleetingly. “Believe it or not, I feel exactly the same way.”

Rutskarn clicked his teeth, glancing between the armed and uniformed men that milled about the scene. “Right. So, about the whole…gunpoint thing.”

The patrolman threw back the bolt of his rifle. “You’ve put your finger on my reasonable response, yeah.”

Baghut snarled, thrashing like a rabid cat under one of the thicker patrolmen’s boot. “If I ever get out from under this fat bastard, I’m gonna fish your eyeballs out with rotted twigs!”

Rutskarn cleared his throat loudly shooting at Baghut a glance filled with pointless subtleties “Let’s go ahead and start over. Look. Sir. I’m going to be the first one to say that this is,” he nodded towards the body on the ground, “a fairly suspicious situation.”

“You would be the second,” the patrolman remarked dully.

“Well, okay, yeah. And you can certainly be forgiven…be expected…to make certain…y’know, judgments.”

“Are you still talking?”

“Hear me out, hear me out. All I’m saying is, you should be considering a few additional factors that might shed some light on the whole…”

“We found this man dead,” Ozongo said, waving one of his raised hands, shushing Rutskarn. “We didn’t murder him.”
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Bonus Post: Chicken Surprise

26 Aug

(This is not the only post launched tonight. Check below for the regularly scheduled blog-based entertainment.)

What follows is, while not amazingly controversial once you get past the first few sentences, probably more so than my standard milieu. If you’d rather give that mess a miss, feel free.

PETA is not an organization I give much thought. This is largely because its public face (ie, the one that’s by design the most visible) is one of a cabal of batspit insane freaks with a fetish for offputting carnage and demented publicity stunts.

Recently, I’d heard that they’d resurrected their McCruelty Unhappy Meals campaign. I won’t link to the site in question—suffice it to say that it fluctuates between unnecessarily graphic videos of chickens being mutilated and frankly laughable mutations of McDonalds icons. Upon looking at it, your first impulse is not tell me more, good sir or madame. Your first impulse is to close the browser and go watch some Sesame Street or something.

Basically, as soon as I’d seen the front page I’d dismissed the cause entirely. It looked like another stunt based on shock value and questionable facts, another absurd crusade launched by people out of touch with reality.

But instead of closing the browser, I dug around a little. Partially out of morbid curiosity, partially because I was bored.

After a few minutes, I’d reached a fairly unprecedented state. I found myself actually kind of agreeing with PETA.
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The Untold Story of My Doing Stuff

26 Aug

In this post, I’m going to give a behind-the-scenes look at some of the aspects of this blog. This post is going to be much like the featurettes that must, by law, come with every DVD: a collection of history and musings that are as self-indulgent as they are optional. That is to say, if this doesn’t sound like your cup of tea, feel free to send me a blazing e-mail excoriating my navel-gazing ways and likening me to the historical butcher of your choice. Or, you know, you could just come back tomorrow. Either way.
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Pretty Punktures

25 Aug

There’ll be another Pretty Picture post later this week, but I thought I’d do this as a midweek filler* since it’s a bit sparse.

This is probably more than a little influenced by my recent F3 playthroughts–I’ve been trying to work out a style that catches the manic, cheerful viciousness of the punk-raider-gangfolk.

*Which isn’t to say it’s taking the place of any post. There’ll still be a full house this week.


Chocward Fumbles

25 Aug

Just thought I’d let y’all know that some of my art was recently used by Awkward Fumbles, a Comics Irregulars joint that adds dialogue to blank reader-submitted comic strips. Considering the screwball I lobbed at them, I’d say they did a pretty damn good job.

You can find it here.


Crossfire Tango, Intro

24 Aug

The sun strutted over the horizon on Rosewater Lane, painting the scrubbed windowpanes and scarce marble a glassy gold–the shade you’d find on a wristwatch bought in an alleyway. A few individuals were already on the streets, frayed hats soaking in the morning dust, but there were many who thought themselves too important to get up this early.

While this assumption didn’t have much to do with reality, it was probably for the best, given what would happen in about 50 seconds.

A newsboy sat on the street corner, struggling to open the first crate with his grubby fingers. Finally–explosively, predictably–the lid burst off and sent a few newsletters flying into the street.

The newsboy sighed, beginning to scoop the newsletters back into the box. He skimmed them as he did so, but without any real interest. A fertilizer salesman loses interest in his product once he’s handled enough of it, and prefers to eschew direct contact as soon as he figures out what it’s made out of.
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In a Hostile Country: The Saga of Cahmel (Let’s Play Morrowind 11)

23 Aug

(Sorry if this post is a little odd/short/unfunny, but I had a bit of a nasty headache while writing it. There may be another Cahmel this week.)

When we last left our virtuous hero, he had just completed an act of badly managed espionage and was about to engage in outright theft.

House Hlaalu, it must be said, has a certain refreshing directness with which it conducts its affairs. There are no pretensions of legitimacy amongst the Hlaalu.

Imagine if you got hired by some big, household name of a company—an internship at Microsoft, for example. You report to your manager on your very first day of work, are shown where the bathrooms and important offices are, and then are given your first job: to go over to Apple’s headquarters and con them into giving you their project outlines. Now imagine that if you do this successfully, you’re asked to now steal their prototype outright, and then on to sabotage one of their factories, and you’ve got the gist of the House Hlaalu questlines.

My current job is to go to Vivec (thus breaking my 241st vow ne’er to return to that goddamn city), find a certain alchemist, and steal their prized secret blend of 11 herbs and spices. Or something. Honestly, I kind of zoned out somewhere between “steal formula” and “payment on completion”.

I consider using the Silt Strider fast travel again, but I quickly come to my senses. It is, of course, unforgivably unadventurous to use the same cheesy fast travel system once again. This in mind, I instead take the Mage’s Guild teleporter fast travel. The chief difference is that there’s a little swirl of sparks when you arrive via teleporter.

Once again, I’m given little clue where I’m headed. I know basically where my target is, in the same way that, in real life, I know my 43 library books must be basically within the nearest mile or so. Given the exceptionally helpful directions of “somewhere in that canton,” I have to painstakingly comb every winding staircase-strewn area.

So entranced am I by the thrill of the hunt that I’m genuinely surprised when I bump into an old friend.

"Well, my companion just told me he'd be right back right before he leapt off of the balcony an hour ago. I think I'll stand here for a few days and wait for him to come back."

Hey, it’s Squinty McSandbag! How has standing outside for the past week or so been treatin’ ya? You know, and I don’t meant to judge, if I was in your position, I think I would have gone inside or something. Then again, if you could walk three feet under your own power and initiative, maybe you wouldn’t have followed me into this godforsaken city to begin with. I make the mistake of talking to her; she immediately asks me if I’m ready to resume our little journey, and I just don’t have the heart to look into those big red doe eyes and tell her no. The lamprey reattached, I resume my search.

It takes me a few more minutes to find the alchemist.

The alchemist, apparently wanting to be a good sport, has left her priceless secret formula on a desk for all to see. Had I a pen and paper, I could literally have just copied the entirety of it down. However, this would not generate an easily traceable web of theft and fraud, and is thus not accepted Hlaalu procedure. I steal the documents.

Next week: holy crap, I actually decide to finish escorting that poor lady.