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breeden
ursulav

(no subject)

Finished the Dark Tower.

Hmmm.

Like almost all the Dark Tower books, I find myself unsure if I loved it or hated it, but since I read the thing until nearly 2 AM, despite James's feeble protests, it was certainly gripping.

The world, as always, was the great thing--fantasy western sci-fi post-apocalyptic, mixed with the casual assured disregard that I really wish more fantasy writers would learn. (I've ranted before, and probably will again--when a fantasy writer writes a book, 99 times out of 100, the wolves are wolves/telepathic/were/magic/whatever and exist in the kingdom of Whatsit since time immemorial, and have this relationship with the wolves on the other side of the hill, and eat this, and have this response to travelers, and if you wanted to, you could roll up their stats in ten minutes or identify which book on Wicca their philosophy of eco-stewardship derives from. When horror writers write fantasy--and that 1 out of 100 shot of the fantasy writers--the Wolf is the Big Bad Wolf, the ur-Wolf, the only Wolf that ever lived or ever needed to live, and you're Little Red Riding Hood wearing a pork-chop necklace.)

Oddly enough, I found myself very sympathetic to King himself, both the bits that appear in the books and the bits in the forewards and afterwards scattered throughout the series. Maybe everybody feels this, or maybe it's a peculiar curse of creative types, but what came through--the terror of someone who realized that he might not finish the series, the guilt towards the fans who kept demanding more when he didn't know what else to say, and the almost apologetic tone scattered throughout--they aren't going to like this, they aren't going to be happy I did *spoiler*, believe me, I never saw that one coming either, but I couldn't not do it, the art is in charge, not me--are all things that I can identify with, albeit on a far reduced scale, being half King's age and having maybe a millionth of his fan base.

SPOILERDOM
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breeden
ursulav

(no subject)

Finished the Dark Tower.

Hmmm.

Like almost all the Dark Tower books, I find myself unsure if I loved it or hated it, but since I read the thing until nearly 2 AM, despite James’s feeble protests, it was certainly gripping.

The world, as always, was the great thing–fantasy western sci-fi post-apocalyptic, mixed with the casual assured disregard that I really wish more fantasy writers would learn. (I’ve ranted before, and probably will again–when a fantasy writer writes a book, 99 times out of 100, the wolves are wolves/telepathic/were/magic/whatever and exist in the kingdom of Whatsit since time immemorial, and have this relationship with the wolves on the other side of the hill, and eat this, and have this response to travelers, and if you wanted to, you could roll up their stats in ten minutes or identify which book on Wicca their philosophy of eco-stewardship derives from. When horror writers write fantasy–and that 1 out of 100 shot of the fantasy writers–the Wolf is the Big Bad Wolf, the ur-Wolf, the only Wolf that ever lived or ever needed to live, and you’re Little Red Riding Hood wearing a pork-chop necklace.)

Oddly enough, I found myself very sympathetic to King himself, both the bits that appear in the books and the bits in the forewards and afterwards scattered throughout the series. Maybe everybody feels this, or maybe it’s a peculiar curse of creative types, but what came through–the terror of someone who realized that he might not finish the series, the guilt towards the fans who kept demanding more when he didn’t know what else to say, and the almost apologetic tone scattered throughout–they aren’t going to like this, they aren’t going to be happy I did *spoiler*, believe me, I never saw that one coming either, but I couldn’t not do it, the art is in charge, not me–are all things that I can identify with, albeit on a far reduced scale, being half King’s age and having maybe a millionth of his fan base.

SPOILERDOM

Read the rest of this entry »Collapse )

Originally published at Tea with the Squash God. You can comment here or there.


breeden
ursulav

(no subject)

Gaming day!

Session two, and I'm settling into being a paladin. The function of a paladin, in virtually all RPG combat, is to function as a wall (as evidenced by the dialogue in various on-line RPGs, i.e. "I'm going to fight trolls!" "Need a wall?") The paladin stands in front, takes the headlong charge from the monster, and tries to hold its attention, secure in the knowledge that she's got more armor, more health, and almost certainly more inherent altruism than anybody else in the party. Then everybody else tries to whack it.

This is almost like being a samurai, except you get a shield and the headlong berserker rush is discouraged unless you're throwing yourself in front of the innocent. Also, you get to yell "Drop your weapons and you won't be hurt!" whenever you see anybody, which worked on the new PC, if not any of the monsters. Yet. (I'm gonna keep trying until it does, damnit.)

In a charmingly hentai-esque scene, we were set upon by nasty aberrations with flailing tentacles and screaming eyesockets, which mostly shrugged off our puny unmagical weapons. Our rogue, thinking quickly, set one on fire. Unfortunately, fire was not the answer, but it did cook me nicely when, in my function as party wall, I was picked up and grappled by a burning tentacle monster. Having botched my breaking free rolls badly, I decided that my none-too-bright paladin was trying to bear-hug a flaming tentacle to death. There was a lot more thumping and flailing and draining of constitution, and very un-paladinly obscenities from the heart of the tentacly inferno, but all's well that ends with nobody dead.

Since in the Eberron campaign, there is a feat that allows paladins to multi-class without penalty, my dream of a paladin/rogue is still alive in full force. (I might not even have to become a fallen paladin! I may anyway, simply because of my questionable grasp of morality, but y'know.) Our current rogue, alas, is not too great at finding traps or picking locks yet, which meant that the whole session was basically an endless march of breaking down doors with either the Paladin's Lockpick* or the psionic warrior's shoulder. (She's a little impatient.) Together, paladin and psionic are the Sisterhood of Stupidity, which means that they burst through every door together with courage in their hearts and vacuum between their ears. We fell in two pit traps and walked through razor wire. We are thuggin'.

Also, we got to dangle the dwarf from a rope for hours on end. Really, who can ask for more?


*A crowbar. Never go anywhere in an RPG without a crowbar.

breeden
ursulav

(no subject)

Gaming day!

Session two, and I’m settling into being a paladin. The function of a paladin, in virtually all RPG combat, is to function as a wall (as evidenced by the dialogue in various on-line RPGs, i.e. “I’m going to fight trolls!” “Need a wall?”) The paladin stands in front, takes the headlong charge from the monster, and tries to hold its attention, secure in the knowledge that she’s got more armor, more health, and almost certainly more inherent altruism than anybody else in the party. Then everybody else tries to whack it.

This is almost like being a samurai, except you get a shield and the headlong berserker rush is discouraged unless you’re throwing yourself in front of the innocent. Also, you get to yell “Drop your weapons and you won’t be hurt!” whenever you see anybody, which worked on the new PC, if not any of the monsters. Yet. (I’m gonna keep trying until it does, damnit.)

In a charmingly hentai-esque scene, we were set upon by nasty aberrations with flailing tentacles and screaming eyesockets, which mostly shrugged off our puny unmagical weapons. Our rogue, thinking quickly, set one on fire. Unfortunately, fire was not the answer, but it did cook me nicely when, in my function as party wall, I was picked up and grappled by a burning tentacle monster. Having botched my breaking free rolls badly, I decided that my none-too-bright paladin was trying to bear-hug a flaming tentacle to death. There was a lot more thumping and flailing and draining of constitution, and very un-paladinly obscenities from the heart of the tentacly inferno, but all’s well that ends with nobody dead.

Since in the Eberron campaign, there is a feat that allows paladins to multi-class without penalty, my dream of a paladin/rogue is still alive in full force. (I might not even have to become a fallen paladin! I may anyway, simply because of my questionable grasp of morality, but y’know.) Our current rogue, alas, is not too great at finding traps or picking locks yet, which meant that the whole session was basically an endless march of breaking down doors with either the Paladin’s Lockpick* or the psionic warrior’s shoulder. (She’s a little impatient.) Together, paladin and psionic are the Sisterhood of Stupidity, which means that they burst through every door together with courage in their hearts and vacuum between their ears. We fell in two pit traps and walked through razor wire. We are thuggin’.

Also, we got to dangle the dwarf from a rope for hours on end. Really, who can ask for more?

*A crowbar. Never go anywhere in an RPG without a crowbar.

Originally published at Tea with the Squash God. You can comment here or there.


breeden
ursulav

(no subject)

http://yerf.com/vernursu/littleredgulo.jpg
Once upon a time, there was a fetching young wolverine who, wearing her favorite red hood, went skipping through the fields, on the way to her grandmother's house, carrying a basket of tasty goodies.*

A wolf, who was lurking at the edge of the woods, descended upon the young wolverine and said "Hello, little red riding wolverine, and where are you going in such a hurry?"

"To visit my grandmother," said the young wolverine, as demure and maidenly as a gravelly wolverine baritone can be.

"To visit your...to...grand...to..my goodness, what big teeth you have..." said the wolf, who seemed to have lost his train of thought somewhere.

The wolverine nodded.

"And what...big...claws...you have..." said the wolf, in much the same tone as General Custer commenting on the surprising number of locals at Little Bighorn.

The wolverine nodded.

"I'll just bugger off, shall I?" said the wolf.

The wolverine nodded.

The wolf slunk gratefully back into the trees and hyperventilated quietly, and the little red riding wolverine skipped merrily through the woods to her grandmother's house and they ate assorted rodents and watched cartoons and baked cookies happily ever after.

(Trying out some new illo board, the Strathmore instead of Crescent. Had I realized how the paint would behave, would have gone for denser woods instead of the thin tree trunks, but hey, there's always next painting...)



*Pepperidge Farms' Mixed Rodent Party Assortment, to be precise, a pretty good value for the money, although everybody always picks through and eats the gerbils first.

breeden
ursulav

(no subject)

http://yerf.com/vernursu/littleredgulo.jpg
Once upon a time, there was a fetching young wolverine who, wearing her favorite red hood, went skipping through the fields, on the way to her grandmother’s house, carrying a basket of tasty goodies.*

A wolf, who was lurking at the edge of the woods, descended upon the young wolverine and said “Hello, little red riding wolverine, and where are you going in such a hurry?”

“To visit my grandmother,” said the young wolverine, as demure and maidenly as a gravelly wolverine baritone can be.

“To visit your…to…grand…to..my goodness, what big teeth you have…” said the wolf, who seemed to have lost his train of thought somewhere.

The wolverine nodded.

“And what…big…claws…you have…” said the wolf, in much the same tone as General Custer commenting on the surprising number of locals at Little Bighorn.

The wolverine nodded.

“I’ll just bugger off, shall I?” said the wolf.

The wolverine nodded.

The wolf slunk gratefully back into the trees and hyperventilated quietly, and the little red riding wolverine skipped merrily through the woods to her grandmother’s house and they ate assorted rodents and watched cartoons and baked cookies happily ever after.

(Trying out some new illo board, the Strathmore instead of Crescent. Had I realized how the paint would behave, would have gone for denser woods instead of the thin tree trunks, but hey, there’s always next painting…)

*Pepperidge Farms’ Mixed Rodent Party Assortment, to be precise, a pretty good value for the money, although everybody always picks through and eats the gerbils first.

Originally published at Tea with the Squash God. You can comment here or there.