Under the Bridge (rant)

So...I got trolled. And I didn't realise for a whole month, lol.

Well, all I can say is...thanks for ruining it for me. I really hoped that the first comment I received would be somewhat positive, but I guess this is the internet after all, and as long as one can hide themselves in the crowd they'll say whatever they like.

But that's not really so bad. What really gets me is that people are actually like this. They think this is the internet so it doesn't matter, that that person is not real, so they say whatever they like.

And without intending, they reveal their true selves.

In a moral vacuum, what you do is entirely up to you. The anonymous internet is that moral vacuum. There are very few laws and regulations that effectively extend here. There are no pressures on an anonymous user, and little way to track them. No one will know.

Except you.

And increasingly what I see is that no one out there is decent. At all. The fact that most people would reach out and harm someone else without a care in the world is proof of that. And I'm not even talking about those that encourage people to kill themselves, but the little things like accusations and disparaging comments.

You ever read the comment section for a product online and see a bunch of positive reviews and a couple of negative ones? What makes the most impression? How many positive reviews outweigh those negative concerns? 5x? 10x? 50? How much difference is there between that kind of place and this? A private blog with someone accused of this or that. Of course an author will defend themself, but you wouldn't trust them to be unbiased, would you?

No, you'd trust a third party.

On a blog with a single comment, the seed is planted. This person is untrustworthy, someone you shouldn't affiliate with, someone who holds unsavoury views. None of which is true, I should clarify. Whether you like me or not (and there's much not to like), I carry no beef against anyone, regardless of colour, religion or sexuality. Yes, I'm still human and not a robot, but I tend to draw my lines on a case-by-case basis.

Do I make generalisations sometimes? Sure. Do I demean other people based on their race, belief, or sexuality? No. Unless they're crazy and believe I should be killed because I'm not some favourable archetype. Or believe I should be shut down and kept underfoot based on any of those three things.

My friend just read me another blog on how people have changed. Instead of protesting and picking fights for matters of life and death, now people want to take offence at any slight perceived insult and package it as a cause, because they have none.

And that's just sad. There are enough real problems in the world that we don't have to go out of our way to manufacture more. Want to really feel like you're a righteous person? Go feed a starving child, help set up a shelter, tend someone's wounds, march for someone's rights. Heck, do anything that requires you not to just sit at your desk and rub salt into people's wounds. But no, it's too difficult to actually make a difference. That would require actually giving up comfort, and what is a human life compared to that comfort?

It's different for me. I look in the mirror and know I'm not a good person. I know that to live my life I'm ignoring the thousands of people dying that second. The hundreds of thousands of people dying that day. I know I place my life above theirs, every single day of comfort. And that's why I live my life as a balance. If I'm going to have a net effect on this world it had better be positive.

But there's a dearth of people who've ever spared those souls a thought, and I guess that's why the world is going to hell in a handbasket. Why it's so easy for people to tell people to die, or accuse them of whatever they want whenever they want. If you have no idea of the weight of your life, of the life-saving choices you choose to forego every day, it must be pretty easy to assume no one else does. That every one else is just as self-serving and hateful as the next, and the smile they wear is just to hide the dagger behind their back.

But hey, the next time you see me talking to a dude in a skirt, ask yourself why I would be talking to that interesting person if I hated them. And then maybe, just maybe, think about revising that opinion.

Hard Coded

Never violate a woman, nor harm a child.  Do not lie, cheat or steal.  These things are for lesser men.  Protect the weak against the evil strong.  And never allow thoughts of gain to lead you into the pursuit of evil.

- Druss the Legend

There are some things I can easily say myself, for everything else there's David Gemmell.

This is a version of the code by which I live my life. The code my parents instilled with their actions more than their words. Finish what you start. If you do something make sure you do it right. Protect those who cannot protect themselves. Stand up for what's right. Judge fairly, but also with compassion. Only harm those who do you ill, or those with ill intent. And if you should fail, make amends.

This is why you will never see me two-faced. Why I don't pretend not to have made mistakes. Why I own up to my actions. Why I strive to help people, rather than hurt them. Why I defend my friends, and my foes as well, if they are right.

This is why I have never trolled someone. Why I don't attack people. Why I only use one name on the internet, and if you got here you'd have to know it. Because Ikalx is me. Everything that's done in that name, links straight back to this person I've built and doesn't go away. I don't make a new name, a new identity, whenever I see fit. This is all I have. The integrity and honour in this name is bound inexorably to me. All the wrongs and all the rights are here to stay.

And I wouldn't have it any other way. This is how I show I am a person and not just an avatar. It's why I've never felt I needed a picture to prove I was human, and why I don't demand that in others either.

Some people reading might not believe or understand that. For some people, when they see me write that I'm a terrible person, they think I mean a truly terrible person. Someone who often enjoys harming and devaluing others. They see me call myself a scumbag and in their heads it's an "ah-hah!" moment, and an admission of guilt.

They don't see that I call myself a scumbag because I caused someone pain that day.

When they see me say I've betrayed someone, they don't realise I've said that because I failed to become the more that I should have been.

Because that's how I see life. I don't make my morals on a comparative scale to the people around me. I don't do something because everyone else is doing it. They are absolute. And if I do do something wrong, I swallow my pride and apologise for it.

So if you see me doing something wrong, call me on my bullshit. Talk to me about it. Tell me I'm doing wrong. Don't just sit in the dark nursing a grudge, tell it to me. Because nine times out of ten the response you'll get is a shamefaced one, and a promise to do better.

Thought it was about time I clarified that.

Exit; Stage Left

It had been a while since I'd really felt part of an online community, most of mine having either disbanded or fallen quiet in more recent years.

Of course I had to go and screw it up.

There's a point, I think, where I'm revealed to be a douchebag. Sometimes it takes years, or months, but whichever it is, I can be sure it's coming. Not that it's usually something I can control, or even aim for, just something that seems to pop up at some point.

This time, I wasn't really expecting it. This time, it took less than three weeks.

It wasn't the biggest, worst thing I've ever done. I take a little comfort in that. At least as I age I'm failing a little better than before, and knowing to quit before I ruin things for everyone. At least sometimes. But for a student of people, I really don't get how I keep stepping into it. The teachers at school always said I talked to much, guess my mouth is still getting me into trouble.

It was fun, though. The days leading up to disaster, I mean. Hanging with people, getting to talk to them, being excited to see them and getting to chat about writing in a more meaningful way...yeah, it was fun. But I guess it wasn't to be. Probably wasn't the right place for me, since I learned on exit that I had been rubbing people wrong for a long time. I don't like that. I like knowing when I'm pissing someone off, not being in the dark about it. I guess that's my fault for being blind and over-excited.

I'm starting to think there really isn't a place for me. Each time I think people get me, I turn out to be wildly mistaken, and it's only getting worse with age. I'm getting too old and set in my ways, and sometimes, even when I know I shouldn't, I let myself go and relax. I expect people to tell me what's on their mind, because I tend to just say what's on mine straight out.

This time I was seen to be passive aggressive, a loudmouth (probably true), trying to dominate the chat, and attacking people. I guess I've come farther and farther away from being able to express myself in text in a way that people can understand. That, or I've just become a douchebag.

I'm sure it's probably the latter :p

Ah well. It was a good three weeks at least. Now I'll get back to finishing this writing on my own...write too slow, read not enough, and talk too much. Not exactly traits that make a good writer.

Peace.

To the Girl

Are you kidding?

Do you even see yourself?

Some people start as flowers. You can't change that. They bloom and bloom and bloom. But every flower has its season, and the only way to stop that tide is to flow with it, knowing that being a flower isn't about blooming, but about putting new shoots forth, changing and growing as your seasons change. Because that is beauty. Becoming more than you were, ever growing and stretching towards the sun.

But you're different. You're like a little sapling. And as you grow and change, your majesty will only become more apparent. You are anything but boring. Funny and witty and smart do not do you justice. And the next thing you know you'll be walking next to a guy who's talking earnestly to you, who can't believe that he's getting to do so.

And you might not realise it then, because in you're eyes you're just you, but to that guy there's nothing 'just' about you. And he'll want to make that moment last forever, because he knows he can't say it, and he won't. He's just a kid, and doesn't know that the words have power, doesn't know that gently taking your hand might actually have you smiling at him.

He doesn't know that you don't understand why he's like this. That you see him as bright and fun and wildly effervescent, but don't see that you're the reason.

And if he's a good guy, he won't know. Perhaps he'll be brave and take the chance anyway. But if he isn't, if he's just a guy, a guy who is cool and caring and wonderful but doesn't know it, try to make that walk last.

Try to let him see that you're enjoying his company, and give him that little bit of time to show you what he really is.

Because you might regret it, a year or two down the line. He might not be worth it after all, might not be that guy you thought he was.

But sometimes it's sadder still to remember a night where someone bright walked at your side, and yet forget who they were or what they looked like. And instead just hold the feeling of a path missed, of something wonderful lost by the wayside.

Life is tough. Life is hard, and we have to live with our mistakes. But don't let that magic pass you by, roll on to be just a whisper of a memory. Let it live. If only for a night, let that feeling blaze to the stars. Because that's life, that's the magic of the universe, that's the stuff of dreams.

That's where miracles happen.

Merx

A woman steps into a darkened store. There's a guard behind her and the unknown to the fore.

I've finally gotten started on the third scene I wanted to replace, this time it's the city. Eschewing the original scenes in their totality, I've created a set up for my heroine to get a little involved in the factions, and perhaps darkness, lurking beneath the surface of the city. Those tendrils should extend a little deeper throughout the first half of the book, giving it a depth and intrigue which most of the settlements they visited lacked.

For the first time in a long while I'm freely writing, and it's quite enjoyable, except for the fact that I'm stuck. I'm not blocked, the set-pieces are all in place, the actors lurking in the shadows, but this little meeting needs an event (or series of) that would take no more than a handful of days to complete, and not overly impede my character's mission to find information nor distract from the overall quest.

Quite a conundrum, really.

Except most of that doesn't concern me. All I'm actually doing is trying to put a few hirelings (plus one) into a room with some, let's call them...traders...that have an issue that needs taking care of. Be that guarding merchandise in the city, breaking into somewhere, taking down some thugs and thieves, warring with another faction, protecting from an assassin, delivering a missive - on the sly of course, or something else that hasn't come to mind, well, I just can't decide.

Y'know, I'm still enjoying the thinkin' though :)

Raindrops and polynops

It's interesting sometimes, because I forget.

The older I get, the lazier I seem to become with explaining my feelings, reasons, and ideals. I seem to be at the point where I feel it's almost a given that I think this way, and recently I've realised that I just tend to short cut the whole lead up and almost just 'go for the jugular' or the bold point of the idea.

Now I've always been pretty blunt, so this isn't so much like getting to the heart of the matter so much as being like a crazy person shouting at you on the street. Sure that's okay if you know me, but if you don't, most people would get a little wide eyed.

Heck, even I would.

So I find it a little funny, because I might have become a little bit of a crazy person. I didn't really realise I was skipping the explanations until I found myself saying things to people and getting...let's say less than the responses I would usually look for.

I need to not forget the run up, after all, that's what ensures people jump with you. Right?



And finally, let's address the elephant in the room, shall we? Polynop is not a word.

Not yet anyway.

The best thing about life is you get a second chance. Every god damn day.

 Don't run out.

Taufen Hall

So my roleplay character died. Actually the first I've ever lost, at least that I can remember. Something happened when he died though, and even though he was only with me for a short time, I really felt like...he was part of me.

In a way I really didn't expect, I felt like another me had passed away, and it struck me almost like a character from a favoured book perishing. Even closer, perhaps. Which is wild because the roleplay wasn't even the most serious of games. I guess it's a testament to how much my imagination is really a part of me, and how real these people are.

I wrote an end scene, because of course I would :)  There were four of us, Kevah the female half-orc fighter, Sirius the male elven rogue, Flint the male dwarven archer, and myself - Taufen, the human male cleric. We were deep in a set of mining caverns, seeking to rid the mine off the spider infestation that had ground work to a halt and starved the town of precious resources.

Bleeding from innumerable wounds, Taufen sighed as the spider landed with a thud beside him. Kevah had revived just in time, it seemed. But she would need time to get clear, and Taufen couldn't make it past those bristly legs unscathed anyway.
 
The blood dripped from his elbow as he raised his mace again and his voice raised in prayer, not a hymn this time nor a blessing, but a dirge. Bloody saliva flecked from his lips as with a roar he brought the weapon down. The monstrous spider's battered body took the blow head on, and it hissed in pain, though it still stood.

Kevah turned from her sprint to see Taufen faltering, but on the brink of death herself, she knew she would be too late. With one last gambit, she called out the spider's weakpoint, her superior knowledge of war giving her insight where the cleric found only the inevitable. Hearing her words, Taufen rallied to attack the spider's left side - where it was now crippled.
 
But he was too tired. His left leg buckled beneath him and he fell to his knee, even as the blow went wide. Defenseless, he raised his shield against the monster's fangs, but it was twisted away and the bite sank deep into his chest. Taufen fell to the ground, his last sight Kevah's mighty maul staving in the spider's head. He tried to gasp, "Run Kevah, run..!" but couldn't find his voice.
 
The cave was falling to pieces around them. The colossal spider matriarch crashing wildly into everything and anything in blind fear and anger. Though charmed, its lack of sight and the screams of its dying brood only whipped the mother into a frenzy and it ran this way and that, wounding itself and annihilating anything that stepped into its path.
 
"No, you fool! I can't carry you like this!" Kevah roared at the fallen cleric. "Get up and heal me, so I can get us both out of here!" Stalactites and rubble crashed around them, and Kevah was forced to scramble out of the way as one impaled Taufen's leg. Her face grew grimly determined, and she reached out to carry the cleric to safety, cracking her thick arms back into place and spitting blood. "Always comes down to this." She muttered bending down. That was when the boulder hit. Her orcish endurance already spent, Kevah's tough body finally succumbed to the incredible punishment she had taken.
 
Sirius saw her fall. The roguish elf wondered how it had come to this. They had been free and clear, or so they thought, handling the spider infestation in the usual carefree manner they took. Flint getting webbed, Kevah mounting the charmed spiders and having the time of her life, her maul still deadly even as she straddled the vicious creatures, and Sirius himself, darting in from the shadows to cut the scuttling monsters - barely shadows themselves - to pieces. Taufen had his work cut out for him, sure, but they were surviving, as they always did. A little rough and tumble, a little fun on the side, and a dash of danger for spice.
 
Then it had all gone to hell. Sirius blinked past the moment, vaulting the rubble as time caught up to him. "Flint! I could use some help!" Sirius yelled as he easily navigated the maze of fallen debris, his elvish feet finding footing in the most precarious of places. He reached Kevah's side in no time at all. "Come on, you two! Stop sleeping on the..." His words faltered as he saw Taufen, face down in a pool of blood. His chest was crushed under a large piece of rubble and he was not breathing.
 
Sirius's face went grim and quickly he searched the body, looking for anything that could aid them. He stepped aside as another spike crashed down and looked down at his hands that held only two holy symbols. "Fool cleric!" He growled. "Not even a resurrection scroll to get your back on your feet!" He grit his teeth and turned away, no time for the dead now.
 
The frustrating bandages and herbalism he had learned as a child proved scant use in the chaotic scene, even as he dodged rubble the matriarch's screaming set his teeth on edge, and despite his efforts, Kevah's breath remained shallow. In the end, Sirius opted for the half-orc's own technique and, hoisting the warrior unceremoniously to his shoulder, pelted towards safety.
 
At the far end of the cavern, Flint struggled with his bonds, the webbing tying tighter around him with each twist. "By Reorx! I've had bloody enough of this!" He roared, and with a mighty rip, the steel-like webbing tore asunder and he emerged from the cocoon, seething with anger. Sirius pelted towards him, carrying Kevah of all people, and screaming for him to run.
 
Just then, the spider screeched out again, and they scattered as the crazed monstrosity rammed against the wall beside them. "By all the gods, this beast has to die!" Flint roared and opened fire with his longbow, the arrow penetrating deep into the wounded spider's fleshy hide. Sirius dropped his burden and danced aside as the spider turned its milky-white eyes in his direction, and he opened fire with his own crossbow.
 
The two adventurers flanked the beast, peppering it with bolts and arrows as it charged at them. It was Sirius who scored the killing blow, though Kevah's poor body gained a few more bruises before he found an opening. The great beast, bristling arrows and stalactites, finally fell to the ground and was still.
 
Sirius turned and picked up Kevah's unconscious body and, watching every shadow, Flint and he made a mad dash for the exit and the sun they had left what seemed like a lifetime ago.
 
A hundred gold richer, but one man poorer, the trade hadn't been fair this time. Not at all.