|
Post by Beelzebibble on Nov 22, 2011 19:26:49 GMT -5
===-==>FH: Wait, no, that sounds stupid.
|
|
|
Post by Beelzebibble on Nov 22, 2011 19:27:50 GMT -5
===-==>
FH: Whatever. Better line of inquiry: Who's your server player? BA: Kitten. BA: At least, she's supposed to be. I'm not quite sure what she's doing at any given moment. But I can only assume it involves unicorns. And rainbows. BA: Double Rainbow all the way across Skaia. FH: Whoa ho oh my god. FH: /ɛNiWEɪ/ !!! FH: Graceful transition ahoy! FH: I believe you are /ɔlsoʊ/ acting as someone's server player, aren't you? You're Whitehearst's server, isn't that right? BA: I believe I've already stated so, yes. FH: Good! Okay. Well, this is what I was really hoping to ask you about all along. FH: I'm going to start in as someone's server player too, once this disc finishes loading. And I really have only the vaguest idea of what that entails. FH: And I /riəlaɪ/ don't want to fuck things up somehow. FH: So naturally I thought of you. Guru of all things Sburb! My mission control! FH: Since you already know the deal with being someone's server player, would you mind giving me a little overview? I want to know what to expect. BA: Give me a second. I think that seeing as I was the first Server Player for this session I should probably write some kind of a quick guide for the rest of us. FH: Yeah that would be such a help. FH: You gotta tell us what a "Grist Cache" is and what's the best way to level grind and what's the deal with nonfictional imps! BA: I'm on it - I'll send you a link as soon as I have a preliminary version up. BA: Assuming of course anything I upload to the servers back home will even get there, that is. BA: I'm still rather perplexed as for how PESTERCHUM connects to the Earth Internet from the Medium. FH: What medium? BA: The Medium, basically, is the place the game yoinks you into when you actually enter it. It's where these planets are. BA: Look, I should probably hurry up with this guide before any more of these blasted imps randomly attack me. BA: I'll answer everything I can there. FH: Uh, okay, that's fine. FH: Thanks! I look forward to reading this encyclopedic FAQ. BA: Sure thing, Flynn - Good luck connecting to the blasted thing!
-- biomechArtisan [BA] ceased pestering forteHolder [FH] --
|
|
|
Post by Beelzebibble on Nov 22, 2011 19:36:46 GMT -5
> Flynn: Figure this out.Good ol' Atreides. So reliable. So on top of things! No doubt he will prove to be a key instrument as you orchestrate the team's campaign. Him with the KNOWLEDGE, and the EXPLAINING THINGS, and all that stuff. You can almost forgive him for latching on with such a lame client player. Almost. Although speaking of which... hang on now... Wait wait wait. Rolls said he'd found a girl to be his server player. But Atreides says Kitten is his server player. Which means Rolls can't have been talking to Kitten. And, um, and Yulia is already your server player, and you know most of the others are dudes, and you're pretty sure tzolkinRoulette must be a guy too, so unless prismaticFashionista is a girl, then that must mean... That must mean...
|
|
|
Post by Beelzebibble on Nov 22, 2011 19:38:08 GMT -5
===-==>
|
|
|
Post by Beelzebibble on Nov 22, 2011 19:38:49 GMT -5
======>
|
|
|
Post by Beelzebibble on Nov 22, 2011 19:39:25 GMT -5
======>
|
|
|
Post by Beelzebibble on Nov 22, 2011 20:05:30 GMT -5
======>This kid's shtick is getting very, very old. Yes, okay, chieftain, we get it. Something happens, you take something the wrong way, bam, you lose your shit. Tamp it down, pretend it never happened, find something new to fly off the handle about, rinse, lather, repeat. Don't you ever get tired of pulling out the same histrionics time after time? Doesn't it ever wear you down? Can't you take a god damn break? No?
Then let's take a break from you.You know what this kid could use, honestly, is someone to rein him in a little. Someone to cut him down to size. Be the splash of ice water he needs whenever he starts going haywire. And frankly, there are more worthy candidates than you've got fingers on one hand. Probably enough to use up both. You wonder if that metaphor back there was entirely sound. Is that what you do with a piece of machinery when it starts throwing sparks everywhere? Splash water on it? To be honest, this twelve-screen monitor here actually constitutes your only experience with electronics. There weren't too many computers or the like back on DERSE. Mostly that kind of thing was the province of the hoity-toity stiffnecks over on OCCLUM. The kind of people who thought they could substitute high-tech bells and whistles for genuine class. And right glad you are to be rid of them. Forever. Obviously. (Christ, you could use a splash of ice water right now, and forget the gadgets. Ever since you hatched on that stupid metaphor, your parched throat's started making a pretty damn persuasive bid for your undivided attention.) But that's neither here nor there. Point is, the kid's obviously not gonna do anything but flop around like a crybaby until he starts playing the game, and you've already established that the TRACKING SYSTEM is a piece of shit, so there's not much use trying to skip ahead. You could check out what one of the others is up to. Or you could call a time-out on these stupid monkeys' shenanigans altogether and try to enjoy just one single moment with relative peace of mind. A DUSTSWEPT DRIFTER stands in his station, and that dustswept drifter is you. What will you do?
|
|
|
Post by Beelzebibble on Dec 25, 2011 14:33:33 GMT -5
> DD: Survey your surroundings.
|
|
|
Post by Beelzebibble on Jan 2, 2012 11:13:04 GMT -5
======>
Better stay indoors for the time being. Let that oncoming duststorm blow over. Not that it'll take too long before another one picks up anyway, not in this sand-blasted hole. You've never had more than an hour or so to explore the wastes before another looming cloud on the horizon sent you packing back here, for fear you might be chewed to death by the flecks of grit and flint borne across the landscape. The filthy wind moves like clockwork.
(To explore in search of what, exactly? If you had any answer to give, you certainly would.)
Yes, dustswept is what you've been, all right, and drifting is all you've done since the landing. The title seemed to fit only too well. More appropriate than your old handle. What office do you hold anymore, after all? Over whom do you possess any authority? With any luck, over no one.
Not since your career on Derse came to its abrupt end.
And just like that, the memories come back unbidden. Irritate you though it might to revisit them, you'll confess that a sharp mind like yours needs more stimulation than an empty desert and a huddle of obtuse machinery in a terminal shaped like a set of nesting dolls can likely provide. Fine, then: Let them run off the spool. Here's a good point to resume. Not exactly the beginning of the end (though whether the beginning lies earlier or later is hard to tell), but close enough. Establishes a few of the key players in one deft stroke, while leaving certain others, perhaps, tactfully, off in the wings.
|
|
|
Post by Beelzebibble on Jan 2, 2012 11:19:41 GMT -5
It was some time ago,a few weeks according to one perspective, and a few hundred years according to another. And, according to still another, trying to set a distance in time between that day and this one is impossible and pointless. But I don't have much appreciation for pointlessness, and like all Dersites, I would by nature rather skirt around an impossibility than confront it head-on. So let's take the point of view that this occurred a few weeks ago instead. I happen to enjoy that point of view, because it's mine.
|
|
|
Post by Beelzebibble on Jan 2, 2012 11:44:52 GMT -5
As you may have noticed from the wallpaper,this little excursion into the ambiguously-remote past doesn't find us on Derse. No, the nature of this meeting demanded a visit to Occlum, to which HER MAJESTY had dispatched me along with a certain close, if admittedly ill-matched, companion. Only on neutral ground would a meeting like this have been feasible. The exchange of prisoners was always a delicate procedure, even for a judicious and well-spoken DIGNITARY like myself. (As to the first word of my title, well, time clouds all recollections, obviously. DAPPER, DISTINGUE and DEBONAIR all sound about right. You're welcome to choose any one of them and consider it as true.) Unlike ours, the delegation from PROSPIT consisted of nothing more than a single agent. Trust the Prospitians to favor pride and prestige over pragmatic concerns. If he'd been accompanied by a bodyguard as hulking as my own, the situation might have been noticeably less comfortable to me. As things were, though, my pleasure at having been chosen for this mission hadn't yet diminished. I had an idea, you see, of who was to be the Dersite prisoner I would swap for. Her Majesty hadn't informed me, but I had my predictions, and I'll confess I was actually looking forward to relieving this Dersite from the clutches of the enemy. Much less pleasant was the sight of which agent the WHITE QUEEN had sent along to handle the other end of the transaction. I'd already crossed paths with this one more times than I'd ever cared to, and to say I was somewhat fucking pissed off by the sight of the MARTIAL ENVOY striding in from the other door would be putting it very charitably indeed.
|
|
|
Post by Beelzebibble on Jan 2, 2012 12:07:32 GMT -5
After formal greetings were out of the way,the Envoy managed to sneak in an uncharacteristically sarcastic but quite characteristically vexing compliment on the racing cap and goggles that had formed a recent and unwelcome addition to my wardrobe. I could think of a few pointed replies, to the effect that at least my abominable fashion compromise was not by choice, but rather by the decree of her Majesty, unlike the Envoy's own detestable attire. (Listen, these quips would have sounded fresher at the time.) Being, however, a man of great restraint and discretion, I let the comment pass and simply motioned for the HEGEMONIC BRUTE at my side to offer forth the Prospitian prisoner I'd captured shortly before.
|
|
|
Post by Beelzebibble on Jan 2, 2012 16:58:00 GMT -5
<>
|
|
|
Post by Beelzebibble on Jan 2, 2012 16:58:52 GMT -5
<>
|
|
|
Post by Beelzebibble on Jan 2, 2012 17:13:53 GMT -5
The boy did not awaken,neither from the sensation nor from the sound of his unceremonious impact with the floor. I hadn't expected him to. I knew that only in a dim, slanted sense did this really qualify as the boy at all. Detailed knowledge of the matter of "dreamselves" never fell within the province of my station, but I understood perfectly well that this form was not given consciousness unless the other, "true" Duke fell asleep. Another thing I understood perfectly well was that this iteration of the paltry prince had used his precious waking time unwisely. He'd overstepped his boundaries. One of the favorite mistakes of fools generally. If someone less merciful and prudent than I had run across him creeping through the corridors of Derse, the Duke would no longer be enjoying such pretty Skaian dreams. This useless shell would be rotting in an amethyst tomb.
|
|
|
Post by Beelzebibble on Jan 2, 2012 19:49:01 GMT -5
Satisfied, in any case, by the boy's condition,the Envoy tugged at the rope he'd carried with him, in order to bring his own prisoner into view. I readied for a mental pat on the back in credit to my spot-on prediction.
|
|
|
Post by Beelzebibble on Jan 2, 2012 19:50:52 GMT -5
But the face that now appeared from the shadows, hovering uneasily in the doorway,was not the face I'd expected.
|
|
|
Post by Beelzebibble on Jan 2, 2012 19:52:17 GMT -5
At first the churl was overjoyed to see me,
|
|
|
Post by Beelzebibble on Jan 2, 2012 19:53:55 GMT -5
and only gradually, by degrees, did he come to realize
|
|
|
Post by Beelzebibble on Jan 2, 2012 22:58:26 GMT -5
that the feeling wasn't mutual.Again, to put it very fucking charitably. I'll go ahead and admit: I lost my temper. It doesn't happen often, but I don't wish to give the impression it's a myth. Why should it have touched such a nerve within me, seeing that pathetic, mewling little runt dance around like he'd just been elected the mayor of Hat Town? I tried to pretend the feeling wasn't disappointment: that I was simply annoyed by the appearance of the COURTYARD DROLL in itself. But as grating as his cutesy shtick could be, I knew that was a lie. At least her Majesty could have told me it was the Droll I was going to retrieve, and that the INFORMANT was safe and needed no rescuer. Then I'd have had no reason to get my hopes up. The Droll was never so mortal as in that moment. I can only hope he comprehended the reality of that. One drive with my spear and he would've been neatly impaled on the spot.
|
|
|
Post by Beelzebibble on Jan 2, 2012 23:00:50 GMT -5
Or perhaps, in his idiotic valor,the Martial Envoy might have been skewered instead.
|
|
|
Post by Beelzebibble on Jan 2, 2012 23:19:19 GMT -5
But the hand on my shoulder held me back,as well as the low word rumbled into my ear. A reminder that if her Majesty desired the Droll's safe return, even arranging his death to incriminate the Prospitians instead of myself would do nothing to quell her wrath. Not that my comrade put this so eloquently, mind you. Another confession: It did indeed sting, needing to be pacified by the Brute of all people. That a simpleminded thug like him should have anything to say in reproach of my behavior, and what's more, that common sense should find him in the right! Had MR. NOIR been standing in my position, I can very easily imagine him murdering everyone else in the room purely to save face. But as I've indicated, I am a man of impeccable poise and discipline. I bore the reprimand gracefully and stood down. I claimed to be delighted to have the Droll back in safe hands, which no one present believed except the Droll himself, but it concluded the tense moment appropriately.
|
|
|
Post by Beelzebibble on Jan 2, 2012 23:27:05 GMT -5
When the customary farewells had been begrudgingly exchanged,the Envoy took his leave, with the dormant Duke in tow. Once I could be sure they were gone, I deployed my TRANSPORT DAIS, upon which the Brute, the Droll and I returned instantly to Derse.
|
|
|
Post by Beelzebibble on Jan 3, 2012 2:05:43 GMT -5
Shortly thereafter,the Brute and I lingered outside the ARCHAGENT's office, waiting to hold counsel with Mr. Noir. At the moment, he was inside questioning the Droll about his capture on Prospit. The occasional snarled remark audible through the door indicated that Mr. Noir wasn't enjoying his end of the conversation, although the Droll's chipper tone suggested that (according, at least, to his very narrow worldview) nothing worth worrying about had happened. I could clearly discern his assuring Mr. Noir that the Martial Envoy hadn't managed to coerce him into giving up any of the information he'd gathered while snooping around on Prospit. The exact nature of this information was, unfortunately, lost to my ears, as it was to be shared only between the Droll, Mr. Noir, and her Majesty.
|
|
|
Post by Beelzebibble on Jan 3, 2012 2:23:32 GMT -5
The door opened, and the Droll emerged, followed by Mr. Noir,his head adorned by what I instantly saw with profound relief and gratitude to be the most miserably hideous and tacky hat of them all. Doubtlessly the only reason he'd been able to bring himself to put it on was on account of the Droll, who would otherwise have made a tremendous fuss about her Majesty's orders; it was the only subject on which I could conceive of him daring to make a tremendous fuss in such company. It seemed the Queen had once again made a particular point of goading Mr. Noir, a hobby very dear to her heart, and this attempt had obviously been an overwhelming success. The Droll paid a quite unironic compliment to Mr. Noir's "delightful headpiece" as he departed, and expressed regret that his own chapeau had been lost on Occlum. (Again: my word.) I could tell Mr. Noir was thinking of foisting the stupid helmet off onto the Droll as a replacement, but one glance at the difference in size & shape between their respective heads put the lie to that idea. Instead he tried to dismiss the Droll with a few growled words of parting. Oh, but wait! the Droll said. I almost forgot!
|
|
|
Post by Beelzebibble on Jan 3, 2012 2:37:33 GMT -5
There was something else he asked about, said the Droll,waving his hands around in the abrupt excitement of recollection. He said: after the Envoy gave up trying to get the Prospit intel, he attempted a different route! (Maybe the Droll actually said that particular bit, or maybe I simply assumed it was true and consequently molded it into a line of speech in memory. I can't tell you.) He wanted to know about things that were happening on Derse, too. And of course I didn't say a word but there was something about his questions that seemed awfully strange! Mr. Noir said what was that. The Droll said well, I kept feeling like he was trying to lead me into telling him if there'd been some kind of trouble on Derse lately. I think he wanted to know if anyone had been caught doing something they shouldn't have, and arrested or executed or anything like that. Maybe he just wanted to hear that we weren't doing so good, I don't know! And then the Droll added: or maybe there's someone here on Derse whose well-being is a concern of his, and he was trying to ascertain whether they were still doing all right, or whether there were any obvious signs that they'd fallen out of her Majesty's favor . . .
|
|