Diorblo

(DIABLO III SPOILERS AHEAD)

Diablo III is satisfying to play in a lot of ways. Setting aside a handful of complaints about generic-looking monsters and problems with the servers... well let me get down to it. The writing is horrible.

It's predecessor, Diablo II, is universally accepted as a great game. It's the kind of game that you play until you're bored of, then 6 months later it's fresh and fun again. It did a lot of things gameplay-wise that Diablo III seems to have adapted, and while the story wasn't complete gold it had some interesting elements that I still love. The cut scenes of Marius following the Dark Wanderer told a really compelling story, and the idea of the mage Tal'Rasha sacrificing his body to imprison Baal was good stuff.

By comparison, story of Diablo III is downright vanilla. This isn't the result of a single thing. It's a lot of things.

Diablo III gave player characters a voice. A really boring one. When I first heard the Barbarian talk about his people and the honor and glory of battle, I was jazzed to learn all about him. The feeling quickly subsided while completing ACT 1. Suffice to say that no, we don't learn about that. We don't learn anything about any of the characters in Diablo 3 because they're all cardboard cutouts. By the time I was half way through ACT 2 the only thing I could think was "ugh, do I really have to listen to another half hour of talking before everybody realizes Emperor Hakan is the demon of lies?"

The player characters get in the way of real storytelling. With no player voice in D2, there was a decent amount of monologue, but at least it delivered a complete message. So what's worse, having no player voice, or having a voice that's so vanilla that they might as well not be talking? If all the Witch Doctor has to add is "I will find the Sin Hearts and destroy them!" then what are we gaining? There are even moments in dialogue where some interesting questions are about to be asked asked, only to be brushed off by an inserted: "this isn't important. What's important is that we continue on blindly to ACT 3 and not question anything!" Thanks Demon Hunter, we didn't really need to know what a Nephalem was anyway.

In an extremely tactful plan to conserve man hours, they've given all NPCs the exact same reactions to the player character dialogue. This essentially makes the Monk, Wizard, Barbarian, Witch Doctor, and Demon Hunter the same person. They're all obsessed with defeating demons. Nobody can stand in their way! They will bring light and justice to this land and discover the truth because... well... because they are the hero! No other explanation or motive is given. There are no side quests to explain why the Wizard is the cockiest bastard on the planet. We never learn the details of the Monk's order. The most we ever get is their take on the weather when the Scoundrel comments on how hot the desert is. The answer is always "yes, the desert hot, but we can't let that stop us from defeating Belial."

Perhaps inspired by the success of Valve's humorous character banter in Left 4 Dead, or the comments between party members in BioWare's Dragon Age, Blizzard couldn't resist the temptation to throw in pointless dialogue during gameplay between hireling and player. They each consist of a comment that introduces a topic, a generic question in response, and an almost-witty answer. You'll get to hear each one about five times before beating the game. There are also three or four battle cries for each hireling which players will have memorized by the time they complete normal difficulty. If I have to hear the Templar say "By all that is holy do you see that enemy over there?" one more time, I'll... well shit, I'll keep playing the damn game, but it will drive me nuts in the process.

It's not just the hirelings and the player characters. In fact some of the worst dialogue comes from Leah and our beloved Deckard Cain. Leah may be the most unlikable character in the game, painted as an innocent (read: clueless) Agent Scully who studies under Cain, she's also the last one to believe him when he warns that Diablo is coming. Even after Cain's death, it takes a memory-flashback from Tyrael to somehow convince her that shit is getting real, and she'd better keep that giant book of Diablo-related secrets she was about to burn.

Our reintroduction to Cain gets a great start with the cheesiest line in the game: "The Skeleton King?!" Yes Cain, it's a big skeleton with a crown. Forget that you know all about King Leoric and who he is. Ignore the fact that you're currently being chased by skeletons. The Skeleton King responds just as every single bad guy in the game responds:

"Now you shall suffer just as I have suffered! Your victory is meaningless! Terror will fall across the lands and everything will be destroyed! I will become all powerful! There is absolutely no way to stop me!

There's an additional barrage of Cainspeak whenever a new demon is killed. This is the game's attempt to insert half-logic where none is needed in order to explain why you're slaughtering a variety of scary looking minions. The most enraging example is Cain's explanation that the Tormented Stingers may look just like giant scorpions, but actually they're itty-bitty pieces of reanimated humans that have had their legs severed and chests ripped open so that demons could put them together in just the right order so that they look like giant scorpions. Also the torture made their tail stingers poisonous... you know, because of madness. So that's what these demons spend their time doing before we show up to the dungeon. They couldn't get actual giant scorpions, so they constructed them out of people parts.

Let's talk about the story. There's a meteor that fell from the sky. Turns out it's a man. Not bad... not bad. Unexpected, even. There's some promise there, but don't get too used to the idea.

Enter Diablo III's second generic bad guy, Maghda. Aside from the butterflies on her shoulders, she's basically like all the other demons. With such great lines as "You'll never get the other piece of the sword! It lies where only the ancients may tread!" Well thanks for the clue, Maghda. We'll see you there, right?

We get the sword. Turns out the black guy that sounds like Tyrael and carries an important sword was actually Tyrael. Well that's it for ACT 1. I hear bad things are happening in the desert so let's head over to Caldeum which hasn't been mentioned until just this moment. When we arrive, we walk around until we meet a guard... oh wait, "I am not a guard," Asheara says. Way to insert random ignorance into our characters. Sorry, but the line bothers me every time.

Long story short, we find Belial without much trouble. There is a moment where we bring Zolton Kulle (D3's equivalent of D2's Horazon) back to life. He shows a little more depth than all the other bad guys. Tyrael and Leah hate him because he's so corrupt (all while overlooking Adria's obvious and inevitable betrayal), and slowly the thought of having an evil but useful character in the party becomes kind of exciting. There could be some real tension there. Don't worry though, Kulle turns against you 5 seconds after being revived and you're forced to kill him for ph4t l3wt, but not before he delivers this gem: "This fetid air fills my ravaged lungs! I am alive again!"

Oh gee.

Nothing happens in ACT 3. Not until the end. No, really. We get to hang out with a lot of sick and wounded people in Bastion's Keep while Azmodan appears as a giant floating head and reminds us that our last victory was meaningless. If you scroll back up and re-read the Skeleton King's dialogue in a really deep and electronically-altered voice, you'll get the gist. Not even the other NPCs take him seriously.

Leah stays in the basement the whole time with her mother, shooting containment beams at the black soul stone, Ghostbusters style. It can barely hold the four demons imprisoned inside without constant concentration, yet with Tyrael's guidance all the good guys are bent on shoving Azmodave in there as well. Nothing bad could possibly- OH SHIT, something bad happened!

So Leah is Diablo now. She was creepy for about five seconds until she transformed into a strangely feminine, hip-swaying, breast-having big red dinosaur Diablo. There is no explanation for this. Mind you there's a 2 minute speech by Cain on the horrible truth about The Butcher being not just one dude you fought in Diablo II, but multiple demons - all of which are sewn together parts of other demons with an aptitude for cutting meat.

The dialogue between Diablo and the angel Imperius (with his ridiculous giant metal halo) is just what you would expect at this point. Leah's death goes completely unmourned as we jump straight into ACT 4: an act so brief and straightforward that we don't even have a new town full of characters to talk to. Just the same stinky cellar full of wounded Barbarians (Nope, sorry, still no Barbarian character sub-plot).

While Diablo and Diablo II ended with uncertainty, the ending for Diablo III is as saccharine as you can get without having all the dead good guys come back to life and throw a parade. Beams of light clean up the mess in Heaven, and despite the death and destruction that was caused, we all get a happy angel chorus as the curtains close and 10 minutes of credits scroll across the screen.

Twelve years in the making, a lot of people were expecting more. I guess what I want to know is - what happened? The story presented in Diablo III is almost base-line. A set-up story. There are so many things that could have happened but didn't. Someone was in charge of making this for a very long time, and instead of introducing intrigue they stuck with "Evil things happen when two demons release Diablo who destroys heaven. They player stops it by killing Diablo. The end."

Amid the eye-rolling and mockery of terrible dialogue read by sub-par voice actors, there's something even more disappointing when you realize that a lot of work went into the development of this game. Some of the dev teams got it right and some didn't. It's just too bad that the ones who dropped the biggest ball were the writers when, unlike skill balancing and server stability, a story isn't something you can fix with game patches.  We'll see if they repeat their mistake when the expansion comes out, because you know there will be one eventually.

D&D The Black Journal - Part 4

Here are the three final entries of the black journal! It was great writing these in an actual book and using them as a prop. It took some time, but it allowed for some extra flavor to be inserted among the entries, such as drawings by the King (mostly drawings of the ring as his obsession for knowledge grew) and paranoid scribblings, lists of people's names, questions, etc... Writing by hand also allowed me to do little fun things with the handwriting, like double-crossing all the T's in the final journal entries.

All that proceeds these last entries are some illegible scribbles by the old King. I left the ending nebulous, seeing how this is Dungeons & Dragons and the campaign has only just begun. No need to give my adventurers the whole story. That would ruin all sorts of surprises!

• One of my advisors is plotting against me but I don’t know which one. He is clever, and even the ring isn’t able to provide a clear answer. Perhaps he uses magic to cloud the ring’s foresight. Autumn is upon us. My people thrive in our new land, maintaining the very same crops our enemies had once sewn on this ground. Meanwhile I cower in my quarters. One of the few memories I retain from our years of war is the nighttime attack of the two assassins. I see that woman in the shadows of my bedchamber, and I remember her cold determined eyes fixed on the ring. It’s one memory I wish I could forget.

 

• I’m not sure what to write. I am the Enlightened King and according to this it has been years since my last entry, but I don’t recall ever keeping a journal. The previous entries are clearly made in my handwriting, but I made sure to confirm its authenticity with the ring just in case they were a forgery. These dates are from when I was still a young man. I feel as though I’m reading someone else’s life story. Apparently I was in a war which cost many lives. It also says it was during this time that I obtained my ring, but I know that cannot be. I’ve always had the ring... haven’t I? And what is this great knowledge I sought of the Universe? Forgotten now, it seems all that trivia I once knew has benefited me very little. All I know now is that I am old and feel a great need for rest. Perhaps in death I’ll regain all the memories I had in life. I could ask the ring, but I fear I already know the answer.

 

• Death is the end for many, but not me! Today the ring told me of another artifact of great value, though I do not remember asking it any question. It told me of a crystal which rejuvenates and invigorates life to all those around it. It told me that it would diminish the weariness of old age and restore my body to what it was. I began mobilizing a campaign immediately after hearing the news.

Stranger in a Strange Land

Croutons filled the sky as the salad wars raged on. How many nights would the battle continue? It had already been too many by anyone's count, but Caesar refused to relinquish the Capitol.

Major Onion's face was bright red as he shouted orders to his troops. "Get those condiments off the landing pad! We have incoming!" A young olive struggled to sweep sesame off the strip. "Yes sir!"

The Major walked to his tent and prepared to brief the new arrivals. "She was a fresh piece of pineapple," a red bean mused, recalling happier times. "Ever think you'll see her again?" one of his comrades asked. "I couldn't say, I'm just glad she's not here in this godforsaken rim."

    "Watch your sprouthole, Lieutennant," Onion said in a gruff voice. In truth, he didn't care about the bad language. The stories made the platoon homesick, and many of these brave greens were headed for the business end of a fork.

    "Oh c'mon Major, there's got to be someone at home waiting for you," the red bean said.
The nerve of this Lieutennant. On the other hand, memories of his sweet Mandarin came flooding into his thoughts, and Onion decided to cut his troops a break. "She was my main squeeze," he began as he absent-mindedly shuffled through his mission files. "Her eyes were as orange as her skin and she was sweet as can be. Not just some juicy tart like the other slices back home. She was the love of my life, but it just wasn't meant to be."

A tear came to the red bean's eye - Onion always made him cry. The Major's memories of home always seemed the fondest and the most vivid, but throughout all the stories he ever told his troops, he never spoke of returning.

A chopper landed outside, shredding several pounds of cheese and a good dose of pepper in its wake. Out stepped Onion's commanding officer: General Cherry. By the sound of his name you'd think he'd be sweet, and while deep down he was as savory as a seasoned tomato, when in the field he was all business.

Major Onion strode out of his tent and prepared to brief the General, but he saw someone in his custody that made him pause. There was a ring above his head like a halo, and all the ordinance in the world threatened to pour out of it. A dressing, but what kind? Was he ranch? No, didn't taste right. Perhaps blue cheese? Onion couldn't put his finger on it, but something about this soldier was fishy.

The General stopped Onion in his tracks and led him into his own tent. "This is Mike," he said at length. Mike? What an odd name. Before he could say a word, though, Cherry told him news that nearly peeled the skin off Onion's back.

He spoke slowly and clearly. "He's one of Caesar's men, Major. The war's over."

    "The war's over?" Onion repeated. The words failed to register until the General went on. "We lost, Major. The war's over and we lost."

An olive pit formed in the Major's stomach. The war meant so many things to so many heads of lettuce. How could they just end it? For many soldiers, the news would mean leaving the bowl for good. Time to go home. But for Major Onion it meant something more important: Caesar ran everything now.

    "You've fought bravely, Major," Mike said with a wry smile spreading across his face. "I'm sure your troops look up to you very much. That's why I'd like you to break the news to them yourself. I'll be taking over operations here immediately. Please leave your files on the desk on your way out," and with a wave of Mike's hand Onion was sent away - dismissed and discarded like a used napkin. He left, and Mike pushed back his halo and got to work. He could see a lot of changes he wanted to make.

D&D The Black Journal - Part 3

Here is the third group of entries from the ongoing black journal project I've written for my Dungeons & Dragons campaign. You can find the previous group of entries HERE.

• The enemy King is dead and my people’s fate is secure. Tonight I sleep in the large hall where his throne once sat. A great fire roars in the center of the room, kept fed by the green and gold banners which have been torn down. The war has meant years of fighting and sacrifice, many of which I remember... but not all of it. I remember a young boy whose father began this war to ensure the long lasting safety of his borders - or so he claimed. A father who fell in battle so that his son could take his place as King. The son honored his father’s campaign and carried on with the battle, costing many more lives. There were times when the fighting threatened to annihilate both sides. How many subjects can a single kingdom lose before it is no longer a kingdom? Still we fought, assured in our belief that death was far better than the encroaching rule of a malicious fiend. As we rode into the city, few men and women remained to stand in our way - even the King’s guard consisted of only a few proud soldiers. The enemy King was defeated before we even arrived. Looking around, it was clear that those who lived here had been well cared for by a loving ruler, but the war had driven them into starvation and poverty. This wasn’t the city of a tyrant. He stood and looked me in the eye as we marched into his hall. I dispatched him without a word. What was there to say?

 

• My people have bestowed me with the title of ‘The Enlightened King’. They see my great knowledge as wisdom granted by Pelor and they follow me with love and zeal. Few advisers know my secret source of knowledge, and none of them know the terrible price I pay to obtain it. Neither the price nor our victory in war has stopped me from continuing to use the artifact. I find that knowledge is like any power - and perhaps it’s the greatest power of all. Like an addict, I now turn to the ring for even the simplest of questions. Each time I do, I forget something from my past. I wish I could say I regret my loss, but how can a man miss something he doesn’t remember having?

 

• I’ve grown hungry to learn the secrets of this universe. I now have knowledge beyond what even the most prolific of scholars could hope to discover in a lifetime. What is life and death? Who created man and why? Sometimes I feel the artifact hesitate and give half-answers. This has become normal behavior for the ring, and I sense that it doesn’t enjoy relinquishing secrets such as these. It has on occasion answered me in riddles or metaphor. Today, however, it refused me entirely - claiming that no mortal could comprehend the answer to my question. In a fit of rage I demanded it tell me its secret, but the ring has outsmarted me and I have now forgotten the question I so desired the answer to.

D&D The Black Journal - Part 2

Here are the next three entries written for the mysterious black journal in my Dungeons & Dragons campaign. The first entries can be found HERE.

• We lost five men. It was a stealth attack last night while many slept. The enemy numbered only two, but they were highly skilled and nearly reached my command tent. It’s obvious that I was their intended target. One died during the attack, but the other was taken alive. I tried to interrogate her but she said nothing whatsoever. Even when I drew my blade and executed her, she did not make a sound. All the while, however, I saw that her eyes were fixed on the ring around my finger as if nothing else existed. We’ve decided to push forward our attack plans.
• The answer came to me in the night! I awoke with the ring both on my hand and inside my mind. It spoke to me in a calming voice. As I suspected it is magical, but its power goes beyond anything I could have guessed! It told me that any question I asked it would be answered. Rejuvenated by the moonlight, it is able to answer three questions each day. At first I did not believe it, but sure enough I did as it suggested and asked it a question in my thoughts. Only I know the true location of my father’s crown, but the ring spoke, sounding in my mind and telling me the correct answer! I have since tested it in other ways and found that it has knowledge beyond anything I could imagine. Knowledge which is now literally in the palm of my hand! Now it’s no wonder that the enemy King wanted the ring so badly. This will indeed turn the tide of the war.
• I do not remember my sister. I’ve learned a great number of important things over the past few weeks thanks to the magic ring, but I fear that my new knowledge has come at a terrible price. I asked the ring just to be sure, and it told me the truth just as it always does: For every question answered by the ring, I lose a memory I once had from my life. I know I had a sister who died when we were both young, but that is the extent of my recollection. My captain tells me that she was loved by her family and all the people of our land, and that many subjects still mourn her death. Now I can’t even remember her name.

Iain M. Banks

Roughly three years ago I was browsing one of the bookstores of the Seattle airport, getting ready to catch a flight with my boss. I wasn't reading anything at the time and the selection was decent. My boss was into science fiction and she picked out a few different book selections. The one I chose was Iain M. Banks' The Player of Games because the cover was a purdy blue color and the synopsis got my mind grapes working. Although I bought it for the trip, I don't remember having a chance to break it out until I got back home - after that I couldn't put it down. It was a good one.

I occasionally think about the story and wish I could have more of that. Unfortunately, many of the things I loved about The Player of Games weren't reflected in the next Banks novel I've picked up.

Consider Phlebas was the predecessor to The Player of Games, so it should have at least been half as good, right? I wanted just a taste of that same atmosphere and charm, but instead the reader follows a shape-shifting main character who should have been interesting but instead became increasingly dull and unlikeable, and ultimately stumbled his way to a downer ending. I don't want to spoil anything so I'll just say that while downer endings can be acceptable in a lot of circumstances, this one felt more like being slapped in the ear while searching for a lost pair of glasses in a dark room. When you turn on the light, Iain M. Banks is grinning in front of you with sunglasses on.

So I continued my search for the Culture feel found in Player of Games: clean and infinitely advanced technology - a space utopia where everyone had little iPhones floating around next to them, and quirky hovering droids as neighbors. That's some really fun material. Maybe if Banks' previous book didn't have those elements, the stories after Player of Games would.

It's not fair (or reasonable) to expect an author's next book to be just like the last one. It would also be boring as hell. Variety is great. Some say variety is the gom jabbar of life. Inconsistency of quality is the problem I'm running into. Banks could have gone on to describe a lot more about life in the Culture itself, but it seems like a lot of the characters in his stories are actively trying to avoid that society. Banks has a lot of really remarkable ideas which never go anywhere.

I picked up Use of Weapons but didn't make it far. After six chapters, nothing had happened story-wise and I suddenly felt like the most impatient reader on the planet.

State of the Art's "Descendant" and "A Gift from the Culture" were nice short stories that came close, but neither one took place within the Culture's network of Orbitals. I wanted sentient mega-city ships full of genetically altered humans. There was a lot in Player that was well ahead of its time, but none of it seemed to stick in Banks' head like it did in mine.

If I'm saying anything about Banks' writing, it's that it generated a huge expectation in my mind that hasn't been followed through. That said, I don't think he's a one-hit wonder and I'm willing to give him another shot. I have an unread copy of Matter, I can try re-reading Use of Weapons, and he has a new book coming out this year called The Hydrogen Sonata. The Algebraist is also supposed to be good. I plan to briefly review these as I go.


EDIT: Here's a recent and relevant Reddit (PrintSF) thread discussing the Culture. There are spoilers. Also very few people seem to like The Player of Games.

D&D The Black Journal - Part 1

I'm running my first Dungeons & Dragons (v3.5) campaign as the Dungeon Master. There are four other players, and I've chosen to create my own 'homebrew' universe using the standard Greyhawk as a rough template. I've decided on inserting a magic item to the campaign during the first adventure - a small black journal. I plan to have the adventurers find it while exploring an ancient temple. In it are the writings of a nameless King who tells his story over several entries. A mysterious ring will also be found with the journal, and the players will have to read in order to discover the ring's purpose.

I'll be copying these entries by hand into an actual black book. I'm hoping the real-life prop will add a little excitement and immersion to the adventure. These are the first three entries:

• This may be my last entry. The war goes poorly for me and my people. I write this entry on the eve of battle. My men assure me that tomorrow will prove successful, but I admit even as King I have many doubts. We are well provisioned thanks to the help of the Woodland Elves, and the bread they gave us has lasted days longer than expected. Maybe the small matter of a full stomach and a dire need to regain our foothold in this conflict is enough to bestow victory. May god be with us.
• Victory! I write this in what used to be the battle camp of our fallen foes. The fight was long and many men were killed, but our outlook on this war has changed and I feel a sense of hope that I haven’t had since my father was alive. The enemy fought well, but they were preoccupied with a treasure guarded in this camp. Something that was to be delivered to their King: a ring which I now hold in my hand. It’s a curious artifact, and I intend to keep it as a boon for my soldiers. Something about it makes me feel at ease.
• I’ve found some documents which reference the ring. It is magical in some way, but I’m not sure how. It’s possible that no one but its creator knows. The enemy King now seems bent on retrieving it nevertheless. It has made his tactics in this war desperate and unstable. Already we’ve been able to use this to our advantage. As long as I have his treasure, I know he’ll continue to recklessly seek it out.

EDIT: The next three entries can be found HERE.

Marcus' Day

My name is Marcus.

I got up this morning and ate whatever the hell I wanted to. I always dress this way. I would look nicer in other clothes but sweat pants are more comfortable than other pants and these plastic slipper things let my feet breathe. Before I leave the house I kiss my cat goodbye. He's the only one I don't dislike.

When I walk outside into my yard there's a broken piece of tree on my sidewalk. I don't want it so I throw it over the fence. My neighbor's too much of an idiot to ever say anything to me about it.

I get in my car. When I'm driving there are a lot of morons who get in my way so I pass them and honk as much as possible. I cut three people off on the way to the interstate and shave almost 15 seconds off my trip.

These ramps are loops. The interstate exit ramps continue to form the on-ramps in one continuous lane. I like this because as I approach, I see people leaving the interstate who want to get out of that lane. I drive right next to them so they can't leave. Every once in a while instead of hitting their breaks, the driver panics and tries to speed up ahead of me. When that happens, I speed up too. Sometimes I can stay next to them so long that they're forced back onto the interstate. I got a woman do to that this morning and it really brightened up the trip. She honked her horn in anger as she sailed back onto the interstate

I got to the Goodwill I grabbed one of the big push-carts. It let me block multiple aisles at the same time. Since I wasn't looking to buy anything in particular, I put random clothes in the carts and then leave them in the middle of the shoe section.

I walked in front of people when they're looking at jeans. I'm too fat to fit into a 36, but I browsed them anyway while the woman I blocked waits. How long will she stand there hoping I'll move? Let's find out.

I don't like watching movies, but the DVD section is very small and very popular. I got there and bent over right in front of everyone waiting to read the labels. Often I like to use my cart as a prop here and leave it front of the movies while I look at my phone or read the back of a book or pretend to fall asleep. This lets people see the movie they want through the spokes of the cart, but they're not to reach it.

Suddenly I desired a new pair of sweat pants. I left my cart in the middle of the checkout area and made a bee line for the pants aisle. I managed to bump into eight people on the way. My favorite color is purple but they only had blue. I was about to start taking sweat pants off the rack to drop them on the floor when I saw the perfect pair of purple sweatpants in someone else's cart. They were a red tag but today was a green tag day. I had to switch the tags with a different pair of pants to get a cheaper price.

I saved $1.40 and spent 13 minutes arguing with the cashier about politics. I'm not actually interested in politics, but I forward a lot of chain e-mails to all my relatives and those are sometimes about politicians. That plus naked women and photoshopped car accidents. I scan them for viruses before I send them out - that way I know when I've sent out a good one.

Faulkner missed me. That's the name of my cat. I fed him and ordered pizza for my neighbor's address. I've done this enough that my neighbor knows to send the delivery guy to my house when he arrives. Tonight I timed it just right, though, so he had to get up from the dinner table to answer the door. That reminds me, he should be over tomorrow to deliver my mail.

I use his address a lot.

A Late Night in Arkham

Professor Christine Strauss pondered over her instruments inside the Science Building of Arkham, Massachusetts' prestigious Miskatonic University. The microscopic substance under her microscope acted unlike any other specimen she had ever encountered. It was unclear whether they were plant or animal, but they moved with a hidden purpose which told her they were alive in some way. Swirling and reproducing, their patterns seemed random, however, and the longer Christine stared, the more difficult and uneasy her research became. The spiral patterns of the organisms were almost hypnotic.

It was very late in her research laboratory and Christine looked up from her notes, rubbing her eyes to relieve the strain. It seemed as though everyone else in the building had left for the night. It was then that a strange sound became noticeable to her. Possibly the sounds of feet scraping against pavement? Christine stood and listened for a moment, looking to the window only to realize that the sound was scratching from within the sample locker on the opposite side of the room. It slowly became louder and louder, as if something were living within the container.

Slowly she crossed the room, stepping ever closer to the shuffling and scratching from within the metal locker, then she bravely extended her arm to turn the latch. Just as it was lifted, the locker door sprung open to reveal a formless black ooze. A scalpel blade lashed out from a glistening dark strands and cut Christine along the cheek, startling her and causing her to sprawl backwards in a daze. Her mind struggled to comprehend the nature of this creature as it slithered out of its cell, then upward, stretching itself and becoming larger. The locker had been used to hold biological samples which the creature now wielded, absorbing animal organs and using sheep eyeballs to glance wildly around the room. It spotted a vent in the ceiling and ripped the cover away, flinging it wildly. It then sounded a high pitched screech and clambered into the air duct, vanishing from the Professor's sight.

The Professor's mind reeled from the horrifying experience of the creature. Had the thing been in the locker the entire time? Perhaps it had been growing there. She recalled the contents stored in the locker. Other than the innards of local animals and some harmless plant specimens, the locker had contained the bulk of the unknown microbes Christine had been researching.

Upon further investigation she found that the samples she had been studying had vanished from the table as well. Had the entire experience been a bizarre dream? Her senses told her it hadn't, and she was filled with an unexplainable dread for all of Arkham's well being. She gathered what reason she could muster and decided to investigate the mystery behind this queer and otherworldly specimen that had found its way to her town. There had to be clues somewhere as to its origin, and to begin she would need to revisit the place the samples were first discovered: The Black Cave.

The Purpose of Blog

Hey there Spidey fans,

I created this blog to keep my creative writing in one place as I strive to become a professional author: a goal I set last November after completing the NaNoWriMo 2011 challenge by writing 50,000 words. When I complete this goal I'll have fulfilled my Lifetime Wish and I'll get 32,500 Lifetime Happiness points which I can spend on things like a stronger bladder so I have to pee less often.  The 50,000 words I wrote took the form of my first novel, a science fiction story tentatively titled Blink. It's a hot mess so no you can't see it.

Instead, while I continue to work on Blink I'll also be playing around doing writing exercises and word games in attempt to hone my writing skills. This writing will go here. That's the true purpose of this blog. Please feel free to read and enjoy this write-stuff, but keep in mind that they're not for you.

Welcome to the third paragraph. After pausing for 15 seconds I've just realized this blog entry is very boring. So I'll tell you what; I'm going to end this post and here's an excellent picture of Anthony Hopkins: