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Randimaxis

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  1. Randimaxis

    Alienation Nation

    By Randimaxis,

    I can't really help myself sometimes...
     
    I go through the RP section a lot, and there are a number of times I come across some of the niftiest scenarios and characters - the folks who RP here are awesome - and I wonder to myself, "hey... wouldn't it be neat if I could-"...
     
    But that's where I stop. Why? Well, that's a complicated answer...
     
    You see, I've been floating around on this site for over a year now, and I've been a part of a number of RPs here. But many of those RPs have fallen through, even when I tried my best to save them... and it makes me feel downright awkward to get myself involved in an RP that someone else from a past endeavor is already involved in.
     
    It kinda feels like I was in a boarding house with them, and after splitting ways, I see another vacancy in another boarding house... but they're already there, too. It's weird, and it feels... well... it feels like I'd be intruding if I asked to join them again.
     
    It's like I feel them thinking:
     
    "Oh LUNA SAVE ME, not HIM again! Last time we roleplayed, the story fell apart - if he gets into THIS one, the same thing'll happen! I hope to Celestia they turn him down!"
     
    That might not be what they're thinking at all... but it's how I FEEL like they see me, sometimes.
     
    I guess I simply get the thought that folks would rather continue on in their own way, not needing ME coming into the middle of their fun and knocking it askew. As it is, I'm already ensconced in a few RPs of my own; it's not like I don't have anything to do or such.
     
    It just... I dunno... I feel like I'd be intruding. The last thing I'd want to do is become an RP Albatross, folks feeling like I'm basically a brick tied around their necks, weighing them down and dragging the story through the dirt.
     
    The funny thing is, I'm fairly certain that I'm not a drag to RP with... however, between my self-defeating attitude and my somewhat irrational fear of being shunned, I get to the point where I have multiple RPs open to their OOC threads, ready to write a want for joining... and I just close them, thinking "I don't want to intrude - let 'em have their fun."
     
    As much as I'd love to add to many of the other RPs I see here, I just can't bring myself to see it as anything more than my butting-in where I might not be welcome; probably better to simply carry on with my own and maybe brohoof a post or two along the way.
     
    Perhaps someday, I'll even get over myself, eh?
     
    But until then, I think I'll simply let folks do what they do. Easier that way. Besides, this way I don't embarrass myself NOR others who I've RP'ed with in the past. They've already had to deal with me before... which, I know, can be irritating at times (and I apologize for profusely, in retrospect).
     
    Still, so many REALLY cool stories here... and I'd love to add to SO many of them... but it's probably for the best that I stick to my quarry stories - let everyone else have fun their way.
     
    If anyone needs me, I'll be with my OCs, doing my thing. Pardon me.
  2. Randimaxis
    Hiya, folks.
     
    By now, it's no secret as to what we've been dealing with since this month started, and there have been a lot of hurt feelings, anger, and understandable fear due to a lot of things that happened while we weren't even paying attention.
     
    I don't mean simply staff, either - I mean all of us.
     
    Now, suddenly there are all sorts of folks leaving here - supposedly for good - and many others standing in a state of shock, worried as to what might come next.
     
    Well, as far as it goes with just plain ME? That's what this particular blog is for.
     
    Let's start off with my general opinion on the whole matter.
     

    WHAT I HAVE TO SAY ABOUT THE SITUATION WITHIN STAFF:


     

    ...


     
    ... and that concludes it.
     
    When I opened the forums page on the first of this month, I would never in my wildest dreams have imagined what I came across. The first clue was a friend asking if I was leaving too - and I wondered, "what is he talking about", so I investigated.
     
    Twenty minutes later, I was actually crying.
     
    Jeric was one of the folks here who actually managed to bring me out of my little social shell, and he made me feel so very welcome here that I eventually ended up applying for staff. That took guts on my part - Aspergers' plus generally being weird doesn't leave me with a dearth of good experiences within social forums. But even with the scattered conversations we had, it was obvious I was in not only good company, but good hands.
     
    Eloquence was the one who trained me. There was more time taken between myself and Elo for teaching me what to do than any other single member of staff... not that they were lacking; Elo was just the only one who truly prioritized making sure I had a working knowledge of what the heck I was doing. A tall order, as I had NEVER IN MY LIFE been a part of a social forum like this one - but Elo helped me put the intimidating parts behind me.
     
    Seeing they had left felt like someone had suckerpunched me right in the heart.
     
    I started to try to look into the situation, then I remembered a little something about myself: I hate politics.
     

    With a fucking passion.


     
    So instead, I immediately dropped my 'hunt for the truth' and began PMing folks... asking how they were doing, offering an ear or a shoulder, and generally trying to be a field medic in the middle of the fallout. I did my best to let folks know that A: I wasn't leaving, and B: I'm here for them.
     
    I got in touch with EVERYONE involved - BOTH sides - and offered myself as a neutral party to vent, cry, joke or simply talk to... and I didn't WANT any details of what happened, truth or not.
     
    And I STILL don't want to know, don't care to know, and don't feel like prying to find out.
     
    Now, before you simply toss that off as ignorance, allow me to explain to you that, indeed, you're right - it is PURPOSEFUL, BLATANT IGNORANCE. I am consciously making the decision that I truly do not give the first damn about who SAID what, who DID what, or what happened as a result. There's already a lot of folks speaking their minds on the matter, and I'm not much for bandwagons anyway.
     
    This is NOT an act of heartlessness on my part - quite the contrary, it's BECAUSE I wish to maintain a neutral status in this that I REFUSE to find out the truth. I would much rather keep myself available for any and all who might need someone in this less-than-stellar moment for the forums, than color my attitude towards others and deny them the friend they might truly need so very badly in this eclipsing wake.
     
    And that is completely MY choice. I am well within my rights to simply not get involved in the war on ANY side, but to crawl under the line of crossfire and rescue the wounded. With that said, I am here for anyone who feels sad, angry, lost, hurt, distrustful, doubtful or ashamed over the current state of affairs.
    Consider this a public PM to everyone out there in Forumland:
     

    I'm not involved in this incident, and I never will be.


     

    But if you're hurting or even just worried, feel free to drop me a line. I'm always available, and even when I'm not on, I'll reply as soon as I see it. I'll tell you bad jokes, we can swap stories, or even chat about roleplay...


     

    However, I do ask for a bit of respect, and would much appreciate if you would kindly not try to tell me 'the truth' or 'sway my opinion'; as I said, I refuse to get involved in this drama-bomb - mostly because I wasn't even involved in the first place.


     
    For what it's worth, this has hit me hard, and it stings like you wouldn't believe... but at the same time, I feel compelled to do everything in my power to keep something like this from happening again.
     
    I am now making it a matter of public record that the day all of this happened, October the first, I applied for my voting rights within Poniverse - something I would NEVER have done on my own, because I hate politics... but this whole situation has made me feel as though it is a necessary step for me to take.
     
    As far as the rest of you wonderful people go, if you're feeling down about all of this, drop me a line - I have no interest in the politics of it all, so we can both be supportive of each other apart from this whole ordeal.
     
    And the [bLACK ARMBAND] on my status? That will stay as it is for the remainder of the month - perhaps even longer - as I feel that this incident still requires me to show that I miss my friends, even as I gear up to put my nose to the grindstone to try to ensure something of this manner never happens again on MY watch.
     
    Thank you for your time. *bows*
     


    - Matthew S. Grant



    aka Randimaxis


     



  3. Randimaxis
    As the folly of my own existence plays out each and every scene in the theatres of my mind, I realize, the slow roil of my emotions beginning a rolling boil, that the seats in particular that I have been sold tickets to temporarily dwell in are firmly positioned behind a massive column of self-doubt.
     
    Is this MY column to deal with? If so, that will be fine; I tend to column like I see 'em, so there will be no doubt as to the dab of indubitable debt's debate. The call is made, the words are yelled, the agreement is reached. The ushers come and, after a fine hip-hop number, they proceed to move the column INTO my seat! Oh, the humina-manity! After the fee of life lessons that I had to learn went to pay for the play of the day, I say there's no way that I shall stay, okay?
     
    They listen not, as they have already lent their ears, along with their other friends, Romans and countrymen, to the performance currently concurrent to the curvaceous currency those curs collected. The show must go on, but were it I at that wicked helm, I should dare say it would be going off.
     
    But it is I that are the eye, aye? This is a pronounced production of pontification to ponder upon, and please pardon the pernicious pun. To feel put upon by a petty pun is preposterous! Still, with myself at the helm, I try to continue on to the sash... or at least the breastplate. There is small hope of a big result, but one must forge on and forget none.
     
    The actors who are meticulously metric in their meters make a mantra of methods matriculating amidst the mayhem of morality and mortality and mononuclei. Man, what manner of minute moment undermines the master of these mutton-headed minions?
     
    Still, their fait is accompli; they move about the sullen stage, stretching the semantics to the straining point. Though their performances are full of vim and vigor, the actual viscous vitality in it is vastly vicarious; how could they ever know what it is truly like when they cannot relate? Or prolate? Or conlate, even?
     
    OH DAMNABLE STAGE! Why dost thou torture me with visions of the life I live, yet refuse to allow me to live it upon my own terms of endearment? Haven't you seen that movie? Where is the yesterday that was promised to me last week? Where is my tomorrow stashed?
     
    The answer was simple, of course - I was in the wrong theatre. Silly me.
  4. Randimaxis
    Part Two of "How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Players"

    I'm gonna try to make this a thing I do, since some folks out there actually read blogs; hopefully my experience with roleplaying and game-mastering will be able to help others develop themselves and their characters into dramatic powerhouses... or, at the very least, something more fun than it may already be.

    In the second installment, I'm gonna address a big one: dealing with Mary Sue characters.

    A Mary Sue, for those who haven't heard the terminology, is a character that is so very powerful that they unbalance a game, in many cases simply by being there. They have ungodly amounts of power, are well-nigh invincible, and usually tend to try to make an RP completely about how awesome they are.

    Sadly, many of them don't even realize how LAME they truly are.

    Characters have flaws; it's a part of life. NO ONE is perfect, which is a portion of the reason they make these characters - to be the surrogate avatar of perfection they wish to be themselves. Though that might sound cool, in practice it's a total MESS. Mary Sues tend to ruin fun for everyone else because they're too busy trying to have their OWN fun; a good RP is about SHARING the spotlight, not stealing it every chance you get.

    DEALING with a Mary Sue can always lead to headaches and TONS of butthurt, but I can give you a few ideas to ponder about how to work them down to an acceptable point.

    Now, I will state that the techniques I'm going into here are for dealing with MATURE people; when dealing with children and immature morons, all bets are off.

    The Situation [cue suspenseful music]:

    You've had an RP going for a while, and folks enjoy it. In the OOC Thread, you converse with someone who says they'd like to try, and you agree... but instead of adding a character rich with RP possibilities, they instead add a Mary Sue that begins PROMPTLY sucking all the fun out of the story for everyone else, causing people to complain and threaten to leave.

    Solutions [heroic trumpet-laden fanfare]:

    First and foremost, remember that it's YOUR game; you have every right to toss them out unceremoniously on their asses if they think they'll just take over the RP from you - and staff will back you on it, if need be. Don't put up with RPirates.

    That being said, a true mark of a Damn Good DM is how they deal with Mary Sues. There are a few ways to do this, and if you're lucky? The player will see their OP-ness hanging out, and will try to put it away before anyone else has to see it... just like college.

    What about this: FIRST AND FOREMOST, TELL THEM. Believe it or not, most players with Mary Sues don't even realize they HAVE one; they'll tell you, 'oh, no - I'm not invincible; you just have to get through the magic shield, the inches-thick armor, the Danger Sense and the spell that makes them immortal... then they can be killed'. Look, let me break reality down for you Mary Sue types: If there are more than TWO steps required to make your character hurt (physical, mental OR spiritual), then there are TOO MANY SAFEGUARDS - ditch some, and we'll talk. Bottom line, folks: COMMUNICATE with your player and tell them that their character is OverPowered, and they should tone it down. If they listen, great! If not, well... that's what the other suggestions are for.

    What about this: Work the character into an important position that requires self-control. Oh, that Mary Sue is simply doing whatever the Hell they want to, with no semblance of control? Then GIVE them something to keep them occupied, like a shiny new position of importance. Maybe, since this character is so powerful, they are charged with the safety of a group of children? A baby? A delicate pet? Make it seem like a BIG responsibility, and keep them active with it. Don't give them time to think - just like REAL children. You can keep them juggling for as long as you want to, but make sure to toss some NPC praise at them every now-and-again for maintaining control.

    What about this: Steer them into the parts of the RP that can handle it. You've got the equivalent of the Mane 6, but the Mary Sue is trying to be Celestia, Luna AND Discord, all at once. The power levels are WAY out of proportion, and your players are getting peeved. Well... if the Mary Sue wants to play, then send them to the proper ballpark. They wanna rival alicorns? Let them meet alicorns and start a frigging fight - as long as it's away from the rest of the group, it won't bog THEIR plot down with the MS's posturing.

    What about this: Give 'em a taste of their own medicine. That Mary Sue is quite a bastard/bitch to deal with, aren't they? Well, if your players feel the same way, then perhaps turnabout is fair play after all. Gather a consensus with the other players FIRST and let them know your plans ahead of time; they'll appreciate the heads-up, and they'll probably be looking forward to seeing the MS get theirs. Then, create a new NPC - and make it better than ANYTHING the MS can do, effectively showing them what it's like for everyone else to play with their MS. This option comes with a warning, however - make SURE your other players are okay with this first. If you simply toss another OP character into the mix without warning, they'll assume it's how you want the story to go... and will probably quit. Plus, if you do this - STAY LEVEL HEADED; Mary Sue players tend to pitch a fit when this option is used on them, so there's no need to make it worse with petty arguments; just do it long enough to make your point, then exit the OP NPC, stage right.

    What about this: Give the other characters the win. The Mary Sue is making your players feel useless? Well, then give your players a situation where ONLY a non-OP character can succeed - and feel free to fudge it as much as you like. The Mary Sue tries to vaporize the villain? Nope - that was a clone; the REAL villain is in hiding, and they won't deal with ANYONE... except the other characters. The MS is monopolizing the thread? Then have the entirety of conversation happen through a telepathy spell... that the MS isn't invited into. Keep it up, and they'll either take the hint and change, or leave. Both work just fine.

    Oh, and the bottom line? If all else fails, then toss 'em.

    You're trying to have fun with other REAL roleplayers, and you DO NOT have to put up with immature, overbearing and selfish players. If you can't fix the problem, then DITCH THEM. If you have a massive missive to write to them about their behavior, do it in a PM to them; on the OOC Thread, keep it classy and simply state that they are being removed from the RP. Don't bring drama to the OOC; just inform the players of the change, and PM the Mary Sue gamer your issues.

    Nobody likes Mary Sues... hopefully, this will help those players to straighten up and put their OPness away.
  5. Randimaxis

    "Benny"

    By Randimaxis,

    On the property of the Blackwater Manor, located in the side garage, is a modern-day wonder of Equestria that only a small group of ponies even know exists.
     
    Stored at the very back of the large garage, under a moth-eaten old tarp, is the only Horseless Carriage in all of known Equestria.
     
    It stands on five wheels (one in each corner, and a retractable one in the center), and has four doors and six windows (one for each door, and the front and rear windshields). The metal plates that are fitted to its' steel and iron frame are enough to cover it from the elements, yet are thick enough to stop an arrow.
     
    There have been a number of curves worked into it, thanks to careful hammering and forging of curved plates. This lends a style to it that makes it look reminiscent of what would be closer to a classic 1950's automobile on Earth... and quite unlike anything else in the entire nation of Equestria.
     
    The engine inside is a steam-based number, which has a triple-folded iron furnace for generating steam in one heck of a hurry - though starting it would be no problem, it would take a minimum of three to five minutes before it generates enough heat and steam to power the vehicle.
     
    Believe it or not, the vehicle's original purpose was to act as a war wagon that could be used without threat to anypony who might have to pull it otherwise. Rhenny Blackwater, a perpetually paranoid stallion, had the original framework built to act as a protector to the quarry grounds (note: Rhenny was also the stallion responsible for the ten-story tall walls that surround the quarry).
     
    However, since the Blackwater Quarry has never been under siege, the framework eventually was happened across by Larrimore Blackwater, who was the one who began to transform it from a siege vehicle into more of a leisure-time touring car. It was he who gave the project the name "Benny", forged onto the rear panel in silver scrimshaw-laced lettering - it was the nickname of his twin, Benjamin, who died in a cave-in at the mines earlier that year.
     
    It continued to be modified over the generations, worked on by some of the finest forgers and mechanical savants in the rich history of the quarry. It wasn't until roughly 40 years worth of work had gone into it that it was finally tested successfully.
     
    The vehicle has a top speed of 80 MPH, and with a ready and fired boiler, it can go from 0 to 60 in about 45 seconds. It handles quite tightly, as the fifth wheel underneath does the actual steering while the rest of the wheels are more free-roaming, with a clutch bar that can set all five on a linked framework, moving in synch.
     
    In the modern representation of the Blackwater Quarry, the vehicle's existence is shared by only a few ponies: Luther Blackwater, the patriarch of the family. Silver Studs, who has significantly upgraded it since she started working at the mines. Chuck List, the only pony alive who has ever driven it (due to being the only pony with the chestnuts to attempt to drive it, at Silver's behest). And, of course, Taps the mailmare.
     
    Otherwise, it is one of the many, many secrets the quarry keeps hidden upon its' unassuming grounds.
     
     
     
     
     
    [NOTE: The name "Benny" comes from the movie Who Framed Roger Rabbit, in reference to the character Benny The Cab.]
  6. Randimaxis

    Pitch Black

    By Randimaxis,

    He looked over the wires leading to the detonation box for the umpteeth-dozen time, nervous energy frittering away at details that he was already 110% certain were properly set and ready. Nothing to leave to chance, one might think - but after so many checks, there was no doubt LEFT in him; it was pure physical habit by now.
     
    Actually, more like a facial tic that refuses to quit.
     
    Pitch had used a lot of explosives in his colthood; he had NEVER used this much all at one time. He wasn't afraid, though - not at all. It was more like the opposite was true; he was so excited, he was about to simply EXPLODE with anticipation!
     
    He had checked the wind, made the precise calculations, and completed the circuits as perfectly as his brilliant mind could focus... when it DID focus, that is. Though he had never really known much in the way of anything 'soft', there was no denying that what Pitch Black lacked in physicality, he more than made up for in brains.
     
    Twisted, addled brains... but brains, all the same.
     

    ===========================================================================================


     
    His grandfather, Serious Black, had been the one to get everything started here, and it had now fallen to him to keep it going. The problem was, there was nothing to keep going WITH; the gigantic emerald that had been originally uncovered by Grandpa Serious had been chipped and whittled away until not a single sliver was left of it.
     
    The resultant emeralds, once cut and shaped, had been of exquisite quality and had gathered a slow, yet steady market for the semi-precious gems. Though there had been many talks of the value of emeralds increasing, Pitch had yet to see it, even once. Luckily, the market was just frozen - not dropping... though it had gotten to losing bigger and bigger chunks of the original ore to make the same profits.
     
    Nothing lasts forever, and the same can be said of giant emeralds; whittled away to nothing, it left the Black family with a bit of a savings... but not enough to last for the rest of their lives. Pitch was the only Black that had stayed here at the family boarding house after the rest had all gotten 'The Wanderlust', and went into Equestria... possibly beyond.
     
    And here was poor Pitch, left to look after the old homestead as it floundered and sunk into debt. Debt that wasn't looking as if it would solve itself anytime soon... and debt that none of the other Blacks would claim responsibility for. It would be up to him to find a way to solve this issue, and hopefully soon.
     
    And a solution was already in his mind.
     
    From an early age, he had always had a fascination with fire, and the things that made fire. Though there were a number of different substances and materials that worked rather well in fire, there was one in particular that had captured Pitch's attention since the earliest days of his colthood:
     
    Black Powder - or rather, the dynamite that contained it.
     
    Pitch's father, Tar Black, had been quite a prospector when he was young, trying to scout the area around the mountain to find anything that was even close to the value of Serious' find; he'd tried for years until he'd simply hung up his gear and became a grumbly old nag who sat around drinking cider and telling stories of how great he had it as a colt. As a result, he had a good bit of quality equipment stored at home -including his stash of prospecting tools, rigging for demolitions, an entire case of dynamite and ragged fuses for each questionable stick.
     
    Pitch found them at the tender age of five.
     
    The first thing he did was blow up a farmhouse.
     
    Okay, NOT on purpose - but that fact didn't seem to matter to the farmer ponies who came charging after him with shovels and pitchforks. He had wanted to test out exactly how powerful these things were, so he'd planned to simply light one and throw it into one of the farm's many haystacks. He figured the hay would take the brunt of the blast; at worst, there would be hay everywhere.
     
    The sheer magnitude of the blast was far, FAR more than he'd expected; the haystack didn't just go all over the place - it was obliterated... along with roughly half of the barn that had been a wee bit too close to the pile of straw. To say the farm owners took it badly was putting it mildly; there had been talk of civil action until the family simply moved away, opting to leave rather than fight the (at the time) rather rich Black family.
     
    Tar hadn't been pleased with Pitch; it had been several months of rock-kicking before the errant colt had been allowed to have a day off... and his siblings had teased him mercilessly. But they were gone, and there was to be no further income from this stretch of land, and Pitch was left here all by himself to tend the land while his siblings roamed Equestria looking for fortune and fame.
     
    He DID miss them; his family didn't actually HATE him - they just had their own lives going on, and they had each sort-of expected him to stay here anyway. Honestly, he had sort-of been expecting to stay, too - he couldn't be mad at them for being right. So, eventually, they all said their goodbyes and went on their merry ways, leaving Pitch all by himself.
     
    All by himself. With a plot of rather useless land. And enough dynamite to blow everything here to Tartarus.
     

    ================================================================================================


     
    If he started with the west wall, then the vibrations from the falling rock should carry along the mountainside, and collapse both sides of the canyon-like mountain area where the emerald had once stuck up from the ground. It would fall in on itself like a box whose sides had been taken away, and the entire plot of land would be buried under rubble, including the boarding house itself.
     
    Which, incidentally, had been insured by Grandpa Serious a long time ago for a LARGE sum of bits.
     
    Armed with this knowledge (and plenty of dynamite), Pitch set about to lining the western-most wall of the mountainside with sticks of explosive doom, wiring them together for maximum effect. Once finished, he stood back from his work and smiled - this was gonna be an ENORMOUS explosion, and Pitch would be the ONLY one to see it... so he could blame it on a rockslide and claim the insurance, hopefully settling his family's debt and maybe even having a bit or two for himself in the end.
     

    =======================================================================================


     
    The handle was calling to his hooves, repeating his name like his mother, calling for him to wake up in the morning.
     
    The explosion will be beautiful, Pitchy; don't you want to SEEEEE iiiiiit?????
     
    He looked back along the mountainside for the twenty-third 'one last time', then could no longer hold back his anticipation - he gave a half-whinny, half-mad-giggle sound that would have made any sane pony think he was insane, and shoved the plunger down into the box with BOTH hooves, grinning like he'd just found his Special Somepony... and her name was Kaboom.
     

    ==============================================================================================


     
    There are a number of things that sometimes simply happen: accidents, mistakes, coincidences, deja vu... they are a common part of life; the unexpected can change your life, if you aren't careful. Sometimes, you manage to get yourself into a world of trouble thanks to a single decision, and Fate laughs cruelly at you as you sit and wonder where it all went wrong.
     
    Then, there are MIRACLES.
     
    When the wall went, it didn't collapse in a line like Pitch planned; it all fell STRAIGHT DOWN, piling up at the front door of the boarding house, yet not even disturbing the rosebushes his sister had planted outside. His plan had failed, and worse? He'd used up ALL his remaining dynamite to arrange this - he'd assumed he wouldn't need to make a second blast!
     
    However, when he looked up at the mountain, his jaw nearly hit the ground.
     
    From one side of the mountain wall to the other were large, warped-looking green stones that seemed to almost thrust into the open air like it had offended them. It was emerald, LOTS of emerald, in several chunks that put Grandpa Serious' find to shame! They jutted out from the wall like jagged, twisted fingers, grasping greedily for the open sky.
     
    At first, Pitch simply stood there, agape at the sight in front of his eyes. Then, he began making his way to the house; he had to send word out to ALL of his family that could be reached by post, and implore those in turn to locate the ones that were out of writing's reach. There was reason to come home now - they wouldn't have to roam Equestria even one more day.
     
    And he wouldn't have to be alone ever again.
     

    ============================================================================================


     

    EPILOGUE


     
    The Canterlot Archives show that Pitch Black never married - yet he remained on the Black property, living in the boarding house there through its remodeling, and was known as a strange, but playful and well-intentioned uncle to his siblings' children.
     
    Pitch Black passed away at the latter end of his middle-aged years due to illness, and was interred at 'Blackwater Ridge', the family cemetery. His headstone marker still has scant traces of child drawings, lovingly made, that depict what looks for all intents and purposes like a colt/filly riding on the back of a stallion whose coloration would have matched Pitch's own perfectly.
     
    In modern times, the area where the mountain wall was brought down is now where the rows of storage sheds are found, though The Blackwater Vault, located at the end of the rows, came later.
  7. Randimaxis

    Serious Black

    By Randimaxis,

    The mud was the worst part.
     
    There had been nothing but hardship since yesterday, when this whole mess began. It had been quite an issue to begin with, dealing with the other ponies in town while they laughed at him behind his back. He did not care if everypony else told him he was hearing things; Serious KNEW they were mocking him. Not a single pony in the small hamlet he'd grown up in had ever believed there was gold in the mountains to the north; they were foal's tales, many would state.
     
    Yet everything Serious had read and studied over the years told him there was SOMETHING up there - the conditions were too ripe for there to be no crop, so to speak. Yet still, they thought it was absurd for Black to sell his family's cottage and try to invest his entire life's savings in a 'pipe dream'; even the Mayor had told him so. He ground his jaw yet again, the old habit slightly comforting and familiar in the wilderness of the mountains.
     
    Perhaps telling the Mayor that he was a jackaninny for not granting Serious the permits he wanted to start gold mining wasn't the brightest of ideas, but that old nag wouldn't know a sure thing if it flew down and bit him on the flank. And yes, flipping over the Mayor's desk and scattering his scrollwork might have been a bit extreme, but the fool hadn't even considered Serious' claim. And so what if he'd bucked the door off its' hinges as he'd left in a huff - he'd been angry, that was all... the Mayor had told him he was a raging idiot, yet Serious KNEW there was value in the rock here - he could taste it.
     
    The air gave off the tiniest, faintest hint of what Serious considered to be 'the scent of money'; it was what his own grandfather would have followed right off a cliff, if that's what it took to get to the bits at the other end. It wasn't so much that the Blacks were known to be greedy... but you'd have an easier time asking a Hydra for a safe ride through the Everfree in it's mouth than you would have asking a Black for a loan. Of course, it hadn't even been mentioned that roughly half of the entire village had been built with supplies HIS family, himself included, had gathered and prepared - and most of that work had been for free... most of it.
     
    Since his exile (because the Mayor didn't take well to his little display), Serious had found himself dealing with every single little irritation that Nature could have cooked up for him. The bugs had been merciless in the muggy summer heat, there had been roots that seemed to pull at his hooves, and the rain had seemed to center on his general area as if it had been tied to his tail. Still, he kept forging ahead, and he was determined that he would get his hooves on a chunk of gold, even the smallest sliver, so that he could go back to town and put it right under the Mayor's muzzle and laugh.
     
    But the mud... it had been sucking at his hooves for miles, had gotten ground into his thick black coat, and had required thorough wiping from his face a few times, thanks to those puckish roots tripping him to the ground. Serious was in no way adverse to hard work - no Black worth their saltlick was lazy - but he did try to keep fastidiously clean... which the mud, in all its' mucky glory, was proving to be the downfall of all his efforts.
     
    He growled uselessly at the wet dirt squelching underhoof with each slow, laborious step. The muscles in his legs burned, but the cool wet gunk under him did absolutely nothing to ease his troubles - in fact, it was almost as if Serious was taking every incidental slight as a personal affront to his existence.
     
    Of course, Serious Black had always been a touch grouchy, even as a young age. He hadn't played with the other colts and fillies that were his peers, he hadn't been very social as he'd gotten to his adolescent years, and now as a young adult, he was more grumbly than ever. He was in full realization that he wasn't very friendly - and it suited him just fine; he had no aspirations to be any sort of social pillar. He didn't need friends anyway; they simply ended up asking for favors and speaking unkindly about you behind your flank.
     
    When the raindrops began to spatter upon his neck again, he swore loudly - yet another habit that did nothing to endear him to the locals. If he was going to make it through yet another night on this sorry mountaintop, he knew he would have to find some form of shelter from the elements; he was already nursing a wet sniffle, and he didn't want to deal with anything worse than such.
     

    =================================================================================================


    He had made it to the patch of land that he'd used his entire savings to invest in... and knew he'd been taken for a fool.
     
    The shoddy map that had been drawn for him had been sold to Serious with the promise of a beautiful and idyllic spot; this clearing was between two mountain peaks - and looked as though it was nothing more than solid, rocky ground with a few scrub pines and absolutely NO signs of hospitable reprieve. The amount of bits he'd paid for it was phenomenal - and the actual land itself was considerably less than such.
    Again, Serious swore, his loud outburst scaring a number of lollygagging birds into taking wing. With a resigned sigh, he untied and dropped his pack; for better or worse, the land belonged to HIM now, and he was determined that he would find SOME sort of use for the place... after all, he was bound and set against the idea of simply giving up; wouldn't be anything left to do but die, if he did. His own father and siblings had all passed, one by one, into the realm of death... and he'd never known his mother; she'd given her own life for his at birth. But this was long ago, and a burden he'd borne for years - it was hardly worth thinking about anymore.
     
    He began to unload the pack, and set up a tent to sleep in while he stayed here - he wasn't welcome back on Mane Street anymore, so this would have to do as his new home... at least for as long as he lived. Serious had never known a Special Somepony... and with his attitude, he was fairly sure that he never would. It didn't bother him so much - when all you had to care for was yourself, you could manage quite well. It did hold the harrowing implications that Serious Black, last of the Black family line, would never be able to carry on the family name, and was therefore the last of his kind.
     
    He tried not to think about that too often, but when he got deep into the cider, the thought would rip away any stability Serious might have had - he'd spent a few nights crying over how bad things were... but those moments had been in private; the townies all operated under the impression that he was incapable of emotions other than hate, since they'd never really seen him emote in such a way. Not like they'd ever been interested in speaking to him anyway... but, since the feeling had been mutual, and had been for a long time, he didn't care. Not anymore.
     
    Regardless, he made himself focus on the here and now, and began to look over the entire area, seeking out good place to start digging - he might as well try, though he seriously doubted he'd turn up with anything worthwhile...
     

    ====================================================================================================


     
    The emerald vein was thicker than his own barrel.
     
    He'd been here for almost two weeks now, and had managed to put together a regular routine: Wake up, breakfast, pickaxe, lunch break, pickaxe, supper, bathe in the nearby mountain creek, sleep... repeated again and again until Serious could do it by rote. There had been no visitors, no days off, no distractions. And also, no gold. He hadn't actually expected to find anything valuable, though he'd held out for the hope that there would be SOMEthing here...
     
    Of course, precious gems would do in a pinch, he supposed.
     
    The more he struck at the rock face, the more emerald he found; the deposit was ENORMOUS! There was no way of knowing whether or not it was all one solid chunk until he got it all freed from the rock face - but he now had a MUCH better feeling about the property. Why, if this deposit was as big and valuable as he hoped it was, he'd build a home on this very spot! It was secluded, it was peaceful, and it was ALL HIS. He was pretty sure the fool who had sold him the property hadn't ever dreamed there would be something like THIS just under a few feet of rock!
     
    Now, he'd have to either head back to Mane Street in the small hamlet he'd left to make the sale, or he'd have to head to the next closest township; it had been the seat of Discord's reign of Chaos, which had only recently been ended by the Alicorn Sisters, Celestia and Luna. Ponies grateful to the duo were beginning to build up a lot of the area around their castle, and Serious knew it wouldn't be too long before it held its' own city name. There would be traders there, he was sure of it.
     
    He set his forehead against the cool, rough ore and sighed, a tear rolling down his muzzle; he'd actually been successful - the pony that no one thought would ever make any good has finally had their ship come in - and that ship was emerald green, just like his father's coat had been. It was a sign; it HAD to be. Now, he was in charge of his own Fate... and he felt secure in his future as a rich-... no, a wealthy pony.
     
    Who would laugh at Serious Black now?
     

    ==========================================================================================


     
    The pawn shop mare giggled behind a manicured hoof.
     
    "My apologies Mister Black, but 'tis true - emeralds simply do not sell very well. It has been so for decades; the market dried up during Discord's 'Emerald Rain' period, when the lousy things were everywhere... again, I am so very sorry."
     
    Getting over her initial reaction to his proclamation of what he had to sell, she now truly did look sorry to have to pass the news to him. She did genuinely feel bad for him; he seemed so desperate for a win of some sort. And let it never be said that the shrewd pawn broker, Fair Shakes, wasn't a fan of the underdog, as it were. Plus, in his own gruff, brash way, she thought that Serious was cute... seriously cute.
     
    Of course, she had to be somewhat picky in this case - after all, it wouldn't be much longer before her pawn shop would have to go into hock itself; nopony wanted to buy anything - only sell. As a pawn shop makes no bits when bits keep floating out the door in the form of sales, though a few emeralds would bring in a bit of cash - gems always sold, no matter what - but she knew the stallion in front of her was going to be upset. The pittance a few glimmering green rocks paid out wasn't worth much... but she had to make something, and soon.
     
    She sighed, giving him an appraising look before stating, "Well, I suppose 'tis possible I could take a gander... 'twould bring what harm? How far into the mountains is your find, exactly?"
     
    Serious was taken by surprised, but he wasn't about to allow this opportunity to slip through his hooves.
     
    "Well, uhm, er... 'tis north; FAR north - but not too far. Near a quarter-day's journey, to be true."
     
    Serious hadn't ever known anypony who would willingly suffer his company - and he might have never truly taken notice of anypony before, but Fair shakes was just pretty enough to attract his attention. He was internally trying to question himself as to why he was thinking about such a thing now, of all times - but this was a SALE, first and foremost.
     
    "You would... accompany me?"
     
    The mare could see he wasn't expecting any interest in the sale; all the same, he did have a certain... charm... that she found endearing in his pleading eyes... which happened to be the same color as the emeralds he sought to bargain away. And she did have an interest. In the emeralds. Yeah. This deal, she HAD to see through - not that she had any sort of greed; can anypony truly blame another for wanting something just a bit more than they have?
     
    "But of course; thou art a gentlecolt, I assume? I shall be safe on the journey?"
     
    Serious pulled himself to his full height, which was considerable - he had a tendency to slouch, so he didn't seem as imposing. The result of his posture change was impressive - he actually was strikingly handsome when he wasn't slouching, grumbling and holding a sour frown. She now took notice that he had a good bit of muscle... and he had what looked to almost be a negative amount of fat on his sturdy worker's frame. He nodded, trying his very best to appear stoic and able-bodied.
     
    Shakes grinned in that mysterious way mares sometimes have of smiling at somepony, and said, "Then let us be off, shall we?"
     

    ===================================================================================================


     
    "This is... is..."
     
    Fair Shakes and Serious Black stood side by side, looking up at the large chunk of emerald ore he'd managed to unearth. It was as big as a house; it still had chunks or rock stuck to it, but the rest of it seemed to have a bright green glow in the fading sunlight. It was quite a beautiful sight, to be honest... certainly one of the prettiest things Shakes had ever seen.
     
    She turned to look at Serious, her muzzle in shock. "ALL this is yours? Emeralds may not sell, but THIS much would still fetch quite a lot of bits at market - simply for the purity!"
     
    He looked at her and gave her a sly half-grin. "Yes ma'am - 'tis mine, and mine alone."
     
    "Alone?" She lifted an eyebrow. "Thou hast no family? No parents, nor foals or... a wife?"
     
    Serious caught the hesitation in asking about a wife; did she have an interest in him? He pondered the possibility for a moment - if it was so, he dare not rush into things. If being on the accursed stretch of land had brought him wealth, it would pay for itself... but if it had brought him love...
     
    Now Serious was the one who lifted a brow. "Your interest is merely of a professional nature, or is it more... personal, dare I be so bold to ask?" He had a feeling this would be the right question to ask, and now might be the best time to ask it...
     

    ==============================================================================================


     
    The wedding had been somewhat barren, as Fair had only a few relatives who would even approve of the exiled stallion, and Serious had nopony but himself. Still, for what it was worth, the ceremony was short and sweet, and they both came from the simple chapel-house with smiles on their faces, now forever united in mare-trimony... and that included the small fortune they had begun to make by ekeing out the emeralds to the non-local traders' caravans, sending them out into Equestria and possibly beyond. That had been Shake's idea, and Serious had truly grown to love her shrewd business mind; it had begun to provide for them more than he'd believed possible.
     
    He had even managed to get enough time and supplies together to construct a small, yet sturdy house near the rocky shelf above the clearing - it was far enough above the area to see not only down into it, but out across the expanse below the mountain range itself. The cabin had been meticulously made, as Serious was determined his life would be played out upon this stage here, amidst the peaks and scrub trees and emeralds...
     
    And in the company of his smart and wonderfully wily wife.
     
    And, eventually, their six children, as well.
     
    Though Serious Black had originally thought himself to have been completely taken for a fool, instead he discovered that this land was exactly what he wanted, after all.
     

    ============================================================================================


     

    EPILOGUE


     
    The Canterlot Archives show that Serious Black married Fair Shakes, and fathered four colts and two fillies - all of which ended up staying on the property their father had originally purchased, resulting in an expansion on the cabin and more regular digging activity.
     
    Serious Black passed away at an elderly age, and was the first of the family line to be buried in what is now known as 'Blackwater Ridge', the family cemetery. The small and respectable statue on his grave was sculpted by his youngest daughter, the old-world master sculptress, Chisel Black.
     
    In modern times, the ground Serious broke to find the enormous emerald is now the site of the quarry's very modernized Gem Refinery.
  8. Randimaxis

    The Blackwater Quarry

    By Randimaxis,

    The Blackwater Quarry is a permanent emerald mine located within the Crystal Mountains, a simple mountain road between it and its' closest neighbor, Canterlot.
     
    The quarry itself is surrounded by a large iron and steel wall, standing at an impressive twelve stories tall. A rather modern elevator system is in place for non-pegasi to reach the top quickly, and there are numerous defensive positions that can be taken in the case of an attack - of which there have been zero.
     
    Inside the circle of the massive wall is the quarry itself, consisting of the quarry yard, the gem refinery, two rows of sturdy equipment sheds, the lunch trailer, the sleepover barracks, the Pony Express office, the water tower and the vault. A lot of open ground is in the yard and staging area, due to the need to run minecarts in and out of the Blackwater Mines, located past the sheds and up the hill.
     
    The Blackwater Gem Refinery is a marvel of clockwork and steam technology, using hoofmade machinery to cut, polish and grade precious gemstones - particularly emeralds. Fed from belts at the drop-off end of the refinery, the finished products come out carefully weighed and sorted by grade and type.
     
    The rows of sheds are multi-purposed; one is operating as a home/workshop, and another is the medical services area. A number of them are still used for simple storage, while a few are still mostly empty.
     
    The Pony Express office is actually a two story cottage that houses the quarry's mailmare, and acts as a package delivery service as well as the typical letter/scroll delivery system.
     
    The Blackwater Vault is actually the large boulder sticking out of the ground at the end of the rows of sheds. The huge rock has been hollowed out, and has two strong and THICK steel doors that are magically enchanted to only open for a certain special kind of key. Inside, there are rows of shelves containing all the family's riches, including the famed Blackwater Emerald, a four-story tall column of pure emerald, expertly cut and hoof-carved with runes and scrimshaw.
     
    The sleepover barracks are for miners who either don't have a home to sleep in, or those who work extra shifts. The beds are free to use, and tend to be just comfy enough to get a decent night's/day's sleep, depending on the shifts. Curfew is midnight; any pony cought outside the barracks after hours without permission may be subject to suspension of that worker's sleepover usage rights.
     
    The lunch trailer is a sizable permanent trailer which houses the quarry's staff kitchen. It has a number of modern conveniences, including a walk-in freezer and a twin counter flatgrill. There are picnic tables set up nearby, as well as a condiment cart that is usually kept rather neat, despite the rough nature of the workers.
     
    Along the backside of the gem refinery is a path that rounds the edge of the quarry and heads up a hill to where the Blackwater Manor lies. Completely inaccessible except through the quarry or flight, the manor house is a three story, 55 bedroom mansion that extends back into the mountain itself; roughly one-third of the entire building is completely covered in rock.
     
    The manor house itself is a very stately, subdued home; architects and artists can easily see how the different levels were added at different eras, yet were all carefully crafted to blend in with each other. The resulting architecture is rather a treat to behold, and unique in all of Equestria due to it being built onto again and again as centuries passed.
     
    On the side of the Manor, out of sight, is the garage where the family keeps their modes of transportation. Within it are three carriages, two wagons and a hoof-crafted automobile, as well as the toolbenches that make up the workshop area.
     
    An ivy-grown path leads from the far end of the manor's property and through mountain scrub pines and rocks to the area known as Blackwater Ridge. Surrounded by the rusted remains of what was once a foreboding-looking iron spire-tipped fence, it is the family cemetery. There are a number of beautiful statues and aged tombstones here, as every Blackwater who lived on the property (with certain exceptions) is interred within.
     
    Not too far from Blackwater Ridge is another pathway that leads down into a hidden valley. Sitting in the bowl created by three intersecting mountain peaks, there is an overgrown statuary garden. Amazing statues of the Two Sisters are here, as well as countless other works buried beneath the vines and scrub brush.
     
    These are the basics of the Blackwater Quarry, the biggest supplier of emeralds in Equestria.
  9. Randimaxis
    Part Three of "How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Players"
     
    I'm gonna try to make this a thing I do, since some folks out there actually read blogs; hopefully my experience with roleplaying and game-mastering will be able to help others develop themselves and their characters into dramatic powerhouses... or, at the very least, something more fun than it may already be.
     
    In the third installment, we're gonna address a character's possessions... and how to get rid of the tricky stuff.
     
    First, some terminology explanation: A 'Monty Haul' campaign is a story in which the players tend to receive MASSIVE amounts of loot/magic items from their adventures. It's a reference to the classic host of the old 'Let's Make A Deal' gameshow (Monty Hall), which could send folks home with TONS of fabulous prizes. Hence, a campaign where you tend to get a lot of nifty stuff in each treasure trove is referred to as a 'Monty Haul' campaign.
     
    A character's stuff can be very important to them; I can't even begin to recall how much crap my old Epic-Level Rogue used to carry with him at all times. All sorts of magic doohickeys, gizmoes, gadgets and even seemingly mundane stuff ALL had a place in my inventory, and I was exceedingly resourceful because of it.
     
    But I played fairly; even when I had a SUPERULTRAMEGAPOWERTHINGY, I only used it once - and it was so damn beautiful, the TIMING of it...
     
    *ahem* Sorry; got carried away, there.
     
    Anyway, the problem we're going to address here is NOT how to deal with players who have a lot of stuff... but it's about what you do when their stuff begins to derail your plot and piss off your other players.
     
    It's not as difficult as you'd think... but it DOES dance a line with some players, as they're REALLY attached to gear that's super powerful - and honestly, who wouldn't be? THAT'S why it has to be handled carefully and respectfully... or at least as respectfully as your players typically are, for what it's worth.
     
    The Situation [cue suspenseful music]:
     
    You've been working with this group for a while, and they have a bit of experience under their collective belt - more importantly to this example, they have amassed a LOT of magical/special gear between themselves, and it's beginning to get more and more difficult to present them with a legitimate challenge, as they always seem to have the right item for the right moment.
     
    Solutions [heroic trumpet-laden fanfare]:
     
    Okay, the biggest issue here is NOT that there are magic/special items... it's that there are FAR too many to maintain any form of challenge. Heck, there are certain magical items that could change the face of (insert your world's name HERE)... but the gathering of sheer STUFF they have could throw any artifact into a cocked hat!
     
    Don't panic; the fact is that it boils down to a simple question: Are they doing this on purpose, or is it accidental? Accidents are valid, by the way - sometimes, folks just don't realize what they're doing is disruptive; they just think it's really cool they have this thingy in the first place, and they want to make sure it gets used.
     
    This is a simple fix - just tell them what's going on. In many cases, they might volunteer to give up some stuff in order to maintain a balance. Many RPers realize the story is more important than the characters, and will be happy to help out.
     
    As for the ones who know, yet don't care because they feel it's their RIGHT to use and abuse ANYTHING you hand them... well, that's who this particular missive is aimed at.
     
    What about this: Make them give it up. Oh, your entire party is dedicated to the church of (yackety-shmackety), and they've been carving out a reputation as badasses, due to the nifty widgets they own? Well, they are QUITE the pillar of (whojiwhatsis's) community, aren't they? Well, seeing as how they mean SOOOOOO much to their religion, then their diety (nfjwoxbgbgj) would want them to set an example for the masses... in the form of a donation to the church of certain 'Holy Relics' they carry, to be displayed at the most high church of (ingapingawingaloo), so that it might bring hope to the poor folks who worship (mekkalekkahimekkahineyho).
     
    Yeah, turn down your deity's DIRECT request; I don't think I have to suggest anything to GMs out there about THAT mistake. Heh heh heh.
     
    What about this: They didn't own it first. That enchanted battleaxe the barbarian's been using has made it impossible for the rest of the party to even get struck by an enemy, let alone seriously stormed. But that axe has some HISTORY, brah... and the one who made that history with it wants it back! After all, where would King Arthur be without his Excalibur? Milton without his Swingline Stapler? Twilight Sparkle without Spike?
     
    It just so happens that this particular NPC is, oh, only 20 levels higher than the highest level PC... and he'll ask nicely for it back.
     
    ONCE.
     
    After that, rough 'em up a bit - and if the NPC is having trouble, remember that the party may have a lot of stuff on their side... but if this NPC also rules a large, distant kingdom... well, that could be a completely different campaign altogether!
     
    What about this: Monty Haul parties are a dime-a-dozen. Oh, they're having to go against a corrupt official, but the stuff they have will make it WAAAAAY too easy? Alright then... TWO can play at that game.
     
    The PCs can't have been the only adventurers EVER... so there had to be other parties that had a LOT of magic/special loot, right? Of course there were... and the NPC in question was the LEADER of one of those groups, so they have quite an impressive stockpile of 'toys' as well!
     
    This is a blatant 'taste of your own medicine' plan, as you'll be countering EVERYTHING they pull out with something even better and more powerful. Do this enough, and either they'll tone down the amount of times they rely on their stuff... or they'll use all their tricks up completely, and you'll be in the clear anyway.
     
    What about this: Magic doesn't always work with itself well. The magical energies of magical objects are assumed to be completely stable... but what if they AREN'T? What if, simply by being in such close proximity, the energies of the magical items within begin freaking out?
     
    Oh, there's all SORTS of fun with that! Magical illnesses, effects transferring to an entirely different item, a single item sucks up ALL the magic from the other items, the energies mutate into some sort of monster (with all the collected abilities of said items!), they tear open a portal to another dimension, or even simply outright EXPLODE...
     
    Man... *clicks tongue* such AWFUL things can happen to a Monty Haul party, can't they?
     
    Simply keep in mind that magic items are ALWAYS suspect at a GM's whim... and if you do it judiciously enough, even a Monty Haul campaign will think TWICE before activating the Sacred Stone Of (hominahominahomina) to finish their fights for them.
  10. Randimaxis
    Part One of "How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Players"
     
    I'm gonna try to make this a thing I do, since some folks out there actually read blogs; hopefully my experience with roleplaying and game-mastering will be able to help others develop themselves and their characters into dramatic powerhouses... or, at the very least, something more fun than it may already be.
     
    In the first installment, I think I wanna show the folks out there running these things how to work with one of the most important components of a storytelling game: The Players.
     
    A lot of gamemasters are actually somewhat intimidated by their players. That's right: INTIMIDATED. I'm not talking about "gimme a lightsaber, or I'll wedgie the hell outta you, nurd" intimidation, but I mean the fact that some players have a tendency to run off-track, and a good GM has to find a way to keep things from running away from them.
     
    But there are a few little tweaks you can use to enforce more structure without restricting the player's free will - which is actually their (and YOUR) greatest strength. I could yammer on for a while, but I work better with examples... oh, look! Examples, right below - how convenient!
     
    FLAW-KILLING: The act of wiping out/changing a carefully planned-for flaw. Usually perpetrated by new players or Power Gamers. Bogus Level: 6/10
     
    Okay, so let's have a moment where we pretend there's a particular situation, and then I'll show off a few tricks to make things a little... well, cooler. At least 20% cooler, I promise.
     
    The Situation [cue suspenseful music]:
     
    A player takes an interest in a character you've put forth. More precisely, they've taken such an interest that they're posting as if they plan to tackle that character's biggest flaw and solve it, right off the bat. This might make them feel accomplished, but all the possible ideas from the issue are forever lost. How do you keep the problem from getting nixed while still retaining player free will?
     
    Solutions [heroic trumpet-laden fanfare]:
     
    Well, there's always the idea that you can just let them solve it, and pass on the flaw to another character. It's a fast & cheap tactic that'll get you out of a jam - but it's like a patch job on a bicycle tire; it's gonna look tacky as hell if it's not what it's meant to look like.
     
    There's the idea that you could make the character unavailable for some reason. Maybe they got caught up in something happening elsewhere, or they might have been kidnapped or otherwise indisposed. Again, a patch job because they'll eventually want to interact with them at some point.
     
    What about this: what if the flaw turns out to be crucial to something later? Maybe that stutter the NPC has gets cured by the player performing neurosurgery... only to have that specific stutter make all the difference when it comes to opening the voice-activated secret room where a major goal is?
     
    What about this: let them think they've cured it, but it changes? Sure, the alien illness that was causing the NPC endless pain got diagnosed and medicated by the player, so it's not a problem anymore, right? WRONG-O! The chemicals might have reacted with the alien disease, causing the carrier to display not a single symptom... yet, for some reason, people around them often tend to get sick for seemingly no reason.
     
    What about this: turn the tables, and give 'em what they asked for - in spades. Let's say the player decides to offer their own place for the homeless vigilante to sleep in. You may not have planned for that, but hey - why not? Then, make sure to put extra detail into the mess that the NPC leaves behind: dirty laundry, mystery smells, missing food, cockroaches, broken items hidden in the garage... basically, give them the reality of being 'roomies' with someone, and emphasize the flaws.
     
    What about this: turn the tables, and give them the same treatment. Imagine this whole story arc you have planned around this hero with only one arm. Now imagine the player offers to fix said arm with a cybernetic replacement. It may have to mean letting go of the original plan, but make sure the hero shows them how grateful they are - if the OC has some debilitating disease, then find the cure; if he has a grand & epic quest in his future, have the NPC finish it for him. Use this one sparingly, as repeated use makes players jaded toward ever trying to pry into helping NPCs.
     
    The examples above are by no means exhaustive; there are a heckuva lot of ways to deal with flaw-killing, and I'm sure you may have one or two favorites. Either way, the idea is to not just shut down any idea you're given. To me, the best way to be a GM is to never say "no"; it kills creativity and stifles free-will. Just keep in mind that all actions have consequences, and that karma's a bitch.
     
    Don't be jaded to your players, as it's far more fun to just hand them the Monkey's Paw - let them make the wishes... heh heh heh...
  11. Randimaxis
    "Sleep is for the weak." - Croyd Crenson, aka "The Sleeper", "Typhoid Croyd", Wild Cards novels
     
    This was a line said by a character with a very unique set of problems that made him afraid to sleep... and for good reason, as well.
     
    Each time the guy slept, anywhere from a few weeks to a few years of his life would vanish as he 'hibernated'. When he awoke, along with being fully healed of any previous damage he'd taken, he would have a different set of powers and a different (sometimes handsome, sometimes horrendous) face. But, beneath that was a horrific possibility that each time he slept, the alien virus that he'd caught along with most of the world would mutate into one of the most common strains, which was usually lethal... or worse. And some of the examples of how much worse it could be were terrifying to consider - somewhat disturbing, yet fascinating as well from a writer's viewpoint.
     
    He got to the point where he'd start taking drugs - the kind that keep you awake for days on end. It began to show the consequences of such, including an inevitable travel down the metaphysical staircase to psychosis. Each time, either his occasional friends would help him get control again, or he'd just finally fall out from lack of sleep.
     
    Once, when he awoke in the 80's, the virus had mutated into a brand new strain; a strain that could RE-infect those previously infected (or born with it in them), and consequently possibly kill them in those wonderfully gruesome ways I mentioned earlier. It would be like winning the Lottery from Caesar's Legion in Fallout: New Vegas and getting released... only to have to play it again later.
     
    At first, he didn't even know what was going on; he had no clue he was a carrier. As things progressed, it began to dawn on him what was going on. He was genuinely appalled that he was causing so much death. Granted, he had a very checkered history with the law - theft and smuggling work while he was still rested, with things getting more and more out of control the more drugs he took to stay awake. He wasn't really a bad fellow, but he was extremely phobic of going to sleep and never waking again - and his judgement was affected by how desperately he was fighting Mr. Sandman.
     
    When the truth came out abroad, there was panic in the streets of New York City as he kept getting worse and worse until he finally passed the hell out. This was the event where he earned the nickname "Typhoid Croyd", and he would have been in big trouble had his face not changed every time he slept.
     
    ... so you see, it's a primal fear of mortality mixed with a sort-of cobbled together morality. Croyd was a wonderful character to read about, no matter which of the Wild Cards novels he appears in.
     
    And it was Croyd who was my first source for this particular motto.
     
    As someone who has some rather difficult issues with sleep in general, this was something I began to utter as a way of stating that though I acknowledge that I require sleep, I will push myself beyond this point because I refuse to be weak. Yeah, I know it sounds a bit pompous, maybe... but I had to train myself to actually STOP discouraging me from things. You have to give yourself a bit of a pep talk sometimes, y'know?
     
    Anyway, I always get a kick when I run across memes that have 'sleep is for the weak' on them; it always reminds me of Croyd Crenson, and helps me to realize that I just have to make it to my next successful attempt to drift off into Dreamland.
     
    Now, if I could just remember not to take that left turn at Albuquerque...
  12. Randimaxis
    Okay, this would mark the first time I've ever done a blog - though the idea of such has crossed my mind before. Honestly, I had considered such in the past, but I had never quite felt... well, safe. I mean, c'mon - people can be cruel, and I have a long history with cruel people in my life - but that's a story for another time.
     
    I am not truly certain what a blog is FOR, but I assume it's kind of like an online diary. I mean, I've heard that a large number of folks do it; why can't I, right? I tend to think I have a bit of a way with words, and I mean that sincerely... but not exactly in face-to-face conversation. Let me explain:
     
    [ONLINE]: The existential conundrum of life is being that which shall neither stagnate nor age, yet at the same time constantly evolving into more than mere statement can properly describe; as description can only be truly mastered after familiarity, it requires one to be persistent in reviewing one's past - leading to a stationary necessity in order to analyze and learn. Hence, age and stagnation are required, at least in some capacity, in order to progress oneself further along the path of self-learning.
     
    [OFFLINE]: Uhm... can anyone tell me where the garbage can is?
     
    As you can see, I tend to be a bit more... shall we say "talkative and verbose" behind a keyboard than in real life.
     
    This doesn't mean I am unable to interact with the world around me; I do love to entertain, and when I'm onstage, I flip the switch to 'on' and do my thing; the audiences love watching me ham it up, and the folks I entertain with enjoy my energy.
     
    But, that's just it - I don't have to flip a switch to express myself online - unless you mean the 'power' button on the computer, then you have a fair point. Otherwise, I can just let my mental meanderings pour out of my skull and onto the page/post/message/scroll/whatever. It's kind of relieving, y'know? I mean, I have to kind of keep my weirdness in check when I'm in public, and people tend to make me just a weeeeeeee bit uncomfortable. Not a fun combination when you're a husband and father on the brink of forty, much less growing up as such.
     
    Maybe it's the freedom from having five-million-billion things floating through your head, and only being able to vocalize one at a time; online, I can just start typing and I tend to get things out as I go. It's a kind of therapy, I suppose - the chatter of the keys as I type, the relative silence (music helps me relax, so to me it counts as a part of 'relative silence'), the clarity of thought... soothing the savage beast of my mind with the Sonata in C Major For Keyboard and Peace.
     
    Well, at any rate I'm not going to guarantee that I'll do this regularly, but I will state that I've enjoyed this enough to do it again... probably sometime soon.
     
    I thank you for your time. Excelsior, folks!
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