Tarquinus

[quote name='maggot' post='16959' date='Sep 18 2008, 05:55 PM']Not protesting current rewards for rpcs, not protesting right of roleplayers to fantasize and have preferences, protesting lack of reward/incentive for other playerbases.[/quote] [quote name='maggot' post='17037' date='Sep 20 2008, 02:00 AM']I'm not threatening the game, not demanding anything, not even suggesting that things be changed[/quote] Protesting implies a desire for things to be other than what they are. [quote]a game can be a roleplaying game and please roleplayers, or a game with more emphasis on strategic combat and please PvPers. Either way a fine game.[/quote] [quote name='King Manu' post='16650' date='Sep 14 2008, 05:31 AM']About the other players that do not enjoy role playing so much, well its a roleplaying game ... don't worry, the combat system will 'suffer' improvements and new creatures will be put into play. I wish i could work to improve both role-playing and fighting , but i cant do both at the same time...this period was for the role part...the same as the period when i made the head contest was for the fighting part. A lot of people dont like the head contest, a lot love it. ... it will allways be like that.[/quote] This sounds pretty self-explanatory. [quote name=''maggot' date='Sep 20 2008' date=' 02:00 AM' post='17037'']I said: it is simple, a game cannot expect to please all when it doesn't try to appeal to all. So don't take offense. That is offensive. Every game has a specific playerbase, if not as particular as this one's. Fine for games to discard players "less desirable" like Tarquinus suggests, but not so for a community to be so annoyingly prideful and unopen to opinions in a [i]forum[/i].[/quote] From the tone of your response, you seem to be the one who has taken offense. I did not mean to give offense, and regret it if I did. Speaking solely for myself, I find it tiresome saying the same thing over and over, and sometimes come across rather sharply. If you are entitled to your opinion, so am I. My opinion is and has been that offers of help are much more useful than negative feedback. In my line of RL work, I see a lot of effort get discarded, and I hear a lot of criticism from people who are unwilling to offer or are incapable of offering constructive suggestions. When it comes to work, I have learned to accept that fact because I get paid either way, and I have developed the attitude that there is no such thing as wasted effort. When I hear someone criticizing something I do for [b]fun[/b] - even when it is from players such as Faraday and yourself who have been paying attention to the game longer than I have - I want to know what the critic is prepared to do about it, how the critic is prepared to contribute to the volunteer effort of helping an unusual game thrive and improve. I give the criticism weight in proportion to the effort I see expended to redress the perceived problem. Surely that is not difficult to understand. I don't know why you think I worship this game or the developer. It's in alpha, and I have seen occasional, very dramatic tests and changes even in my comparatively short time playing. [quote]I log in after a few months to check where game has gone, and see all this roleplaying development. Figure I will tell others what I think because all the other people who are like me don't bother and just quit permanently, and here I am wasting time writing posts in a forum for a game I do not actually play... Do not expect more effort from me to give feedback.[/quote] I'm sorry you feel you have wasted your time. Again, speaking for myself, I did not entirely miss the point - but I do not feel compelled to agree. [quote]It is why I stay and wait to see development, though grow more and more discouraged as I observe this development and hear from this outright arrogant, egotistic playerbase-community which calls the game developer "God."[/quote] This is simply invective. You seem to feel stung. I offer my personal apologies. Though I doubt you will ever read this response, I encourage you to think about why some of your remarks can be taken the same way you seem to have taken the responses you received.

I do that a lot, and frankly I prefer it to having a badge. You go to the newbie area, hang around, explain how to use basic functions such as the BIG GLOWING BUTTON that says live help, and then you say, "click my name and then click Send Message if you have any questions." I've managed to help about 6 new players that way. Not much, I know, but I do it for the sake of the game. And one of them became my adept... poor guy.

[quote name='stormrunner' post='17023' date='Sep 19 2008, 08:09 PM']ok then have to tell wind not to move the pub[/quote] Move... the pub. What madness is this 'pub'? Is this the delusion of people pretending to drink air from invisible vessels and pay with invisible coin? Move the barber shop while you're about it; failing that, convince the men of this utterly insane world to grow proper beards. [quote]and shades power doesn't reach loreroot[/quote] You are aware of the source of the Ferryman's power, yes? [quote]though I don't trust what the shades say anyway[/quote] Strange. They speak highly of you. [quote]damn I just had I very bad ithought what if they want to use her to make a new the black she is of the light if that is subverted she would become even more powerful than the black was with nature fury behind her it would not be good for anyone[/quote] At last you talk some sense. Yes; the disappearance of Lady NelyaSetesh is a matter of the utmost gravity. I call on all of Loreroot and its allies to aid us in our search for her.

[quote name='dst' post='17014' date='Sep 19 2008, 03:26 PM']I don't play a role. This is who I am. Everyone is free to like it or not.[/quote] From my perspective, not playing a role is still a role. "Hi, I'm dst. I do whatever I feel like; deal with it" is perfectly valid to me. I will react to that in-character unless and until someone tells me I'm being annoying, in which case I think the rules of courtesy take precedence, and then I will drop the RP schtick immediately. If Lucius Tarquinus says you are insane and deluded into thinking you inhabit a world you no longer occupy, that's not the same as saying I (Sebastian, the player) don't think you're worth my time. Personally, I find your interaction with the MD world very entertaining and sometimes instructive. The point of contention here, if there is one, seems to be a sense of unhappiness some players have about missing in-game rewards for doing things that don't interest them. Well, as Faraday points out, such complaints are valid, though I would add the caveat that I think most of us knew what we were getting into when we started playing the game. Mur has given every indication he will reward all sorts of different kinds of engagement with the game. Is it not so? I am mildly discouraged that so many RPC quests involve things from cryptography to very strange and specific requirements, but it hardly ruins the game for me. It simply means that if I want to get a certain reward from a certain RPC, I have to play by his/her rules. I think we all contribute something. Sometimes I am slow to see what certain players contribute, but the simple fact of a player's persistence in the game says much about that player's contributions.

[quote name='Suuljin' post='16746' date='Sep 15 2008, 06:28 PM']first of all, i second penelopes point about meta-gaming and godmoding.[/quote] Thirded. This kind of thing is way out of hand, and unfortunately tends to snowball: Player A offers a flower to another player, so Player B feels encouraged to do something such as, say, open an invisible shop and make unilateral declarations about what other players are "supposed to see". My primary objection here is not so much that "benign" god-moding deprives other players of choice (which it at the very least attempts to do) as that it passes over the available details about the world presented by the game. Player A's invention is truly benign, since in the MD world we see plants growing and it is reasonable to conclude that flowers grow in it somewhere. Player B's invention is more pernicious, especially when it conflicts with the beautiful artwork of the game already in place. Good roleplaying is more than just playing a role - it requires engagement with someone [b]else's[/b] imagination, which in this case is presented in MagicDuel in detail through existing legends and beautiful artwork. There are genuine mysteries here: the sun never sets. People's purses refill over time, but only to a certain point, and if too much time elapses, gold (VP) exceeding a certain amount disappears. To my knowledge, no one has ever really bothered to talk about that or integrate VP regeneration into a character's point of view. [quote]most important point (you might as well reduce the whole post to that) is simply: you dont need a reward of points for your roleplay, the reactions of other players to good rp will be reward enough [/quote] I could not agree more. While I like the rewards given out during the Festival, I find that presenting my character is its own reward. It is, in fact, why I play the game. Expressed opinions in this thread and elsewhere seem to indicate that some players feel they are expected to play a role. I disagree - your role might simply be that your character represents you having been transported to the world of MagicDuel. Your motivations might be anything, nothing, or apparently random. I have no problem with this approach whatsoever. But while I do not think roleplaying is some kind of burden, I do think it is explicitly part of the game's emphasis. I find it tiresome, to be polite, when players complain that the roleplaying game over-emphasizes roleplaying. That's a bit like complaining that football (soccer to Yanks like me) puts undue emphasis on feet.

[quote]Why reward players who enjoy making up roles more than others who dislike making up roles but participate in the game equally other ways? But think I now understand the development direction of this "roleplaying" game more: focus on hardcore roleplaying. Viewed as more important than combat.[/quote] Stormrunner fielded this bit far more politely than I can bring myself to do. Re-read your second sentence above, and re-read it again until it sinks in. Seriously. MagicDuel is not a democracy; it is not Hollywood; it is not Dungeons&Dragons. I am profoundly grateful for these facts. [quote]Game will always lose players unless it appeals to all equally.[/quote] Not all players are equally desirable. Did you think there was a goldmine waiting to be discovered here, or can you possibly, conceivably admire the art that has gone into the creation, and yes, the playing of this game?

This is a matter of the utmost concern. Any information regarding the whereabouts of Lady NelyaSetesh will be [b]greatly[/b] appreciated. Anyone with knowledge of this: please notify Eden, BlackThorn, Raven, Udgard, or any member of the Guardians of the Root at your earliest convenience.

[quote name='Zirenaz' post='16929' date='Sep 18 2008, 11:03 AM']I'm currently a MP4, trying to gain experience enough to get to MP5, but my win counter is stuck at 99, while the loss counter increases as it should. Bug or working as intended? - Zirenaz Koridor[/quote] At MP4, simple wins no longer increment the Wins counter; you have to get Victories. Click the 'ballancing fights' link in the game interface for an explanation of the difference.

[quote name='Udgard' post='16898' date='Sep 18 2008, 12:08 AM']I know a bit about Ctulthu myth myself, and I was hoping that MD, with its very unique and uncommon background, does not incorporate legends from our own world, but rather a completely distinct one.[/quote] As you probably know, two gods from Cthulhu mythology have been explicitly mentioned in MD. Granted, everyone has his/her own view of these entities, but Yog-Sothoth is a pretty potent symbol.

Removed. Sorry, I didn't realize the spoiler-ness of it.

Happy birthday.

During a certain recent thread in the game, the question of what an Elder Sign (or Elder Seal, or Elder Sigil) looks like arose repeatedly. Lucius Tarquinus insisted that the seal at the Howling Gates is [u]not[/u] the Elder Sign; it must be admitted, however, that he is both a) prejudiced by his experience in other worlds and b) more than a little insane. This is the symbol at the Howling Gates: [img]http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c176/Ahuitzotl/necro.gif[/img] The symbol pictured is almost certainly a work of near-complete fiction, much like the Simon "translation" of the [i]Necronomicon[/i] sold in stores. The Simon Necronomicon contains many haphazardly collected translations of Sumerian/Babylonian rituals along with Cthulhu Mythos names and pure nonsense. If one had to give this symbol a name, the tag "symbol of the Necronomicon" is probably the most honest and accurate. [b]Important:[/b] The Simon Necronomicon may be an influence in the writing of this game. Simply because it is a hoax in real life does not mean that the symbol on its cover, or passages quoted from this work of fiction, are not pertinent to the world of MagicDuel. [spoiler]As nearly as I can tell, the reverse is true, and the Simon Necronomicon and passages from it play actual roles in the reality of MagicDuel's special world. References to certain Mesopotamian gods such as Enki seem to confirm my (Sebastian, the player's) suspicions about the origin of the material shown to Lucius Tarquinus.[/spoiler] [url="http://www.miskatonic.net/pickman/mythos/sign.htm"]This page[/url] is useful to those wanting a quick bit of history on Elder Signs and what they look like. This Elder Sign was invented by August Derleth, and is prominently featured in the Chaosium [i]Call of Cthulhu[/i] roleplaying game: [img]http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c176/Ahuitzotl/elder_sign_nubldoff_01r.jpg[/img] This Elder Sign was drawn by H.P. Lovecraft in one of his letters: [img]http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c176/Ahuitzotl/Elder_sign.jpg[/img] [url="http://warlockasylum.wordpress.com/open-letter-to-dan-harms-part-9-the-hoax-that-was-never-created/"]This guy[/url] claims that the Simon [i]Necronomicon[/i] is not a hoax. Like all cultists, he seems to be completely insane. His linguistic arguments are easily exploded by the [url="http://www.geocities.com/soho/9879/necname.htm"]link provided[/url] on the [url="http://magicduel.invisionzone.com//index.php?showtopic=1025"]Yog-Sothoth thread[/url]. To be absolutely clear, I make [b]no representation whatsoever[/b] about the utility of this information to my fellow players. I provide it simply because I know at least one other player was very curious about the Elder Sign and what it might look like. Lucius Tarquinus' prejudices have some probability of being totally off-base; he would never admit it, but he has no idea what the Elder Sign/Elder Seal/Eldritch Weasel looks like in the world of MagicDuel.

On the road he meets a burly man clad in blue-white scale armor. The stranger's black hair has been trimmed recently, and his smooth-shaven face bears many scars. The stranger meets his eyes. "Wynken, eh?" the man inquires. "My apprentice has spoken of you. She likes your inquisitive nature. I have no riddles other than the most obvious: where do you think you are? What do you think I am? And what," he adds, pointing at the sun, "is that?" The man pauses and waits for a reply. Then he says, "Tarquinus, at your service. Find me in Loreroot, or failing that, marauding in Marind's Bell." His smile is not entirely pleasant. "Do not be deceived," he advises. "Few things here are what they seem, and fewer still are the 'people' you encounter here who are what they claim to be." "Loreroot," the man calls, walking away. "Raven's Peace. I... have a friend there. He's dead, but something of a conversationalist anyway." He nods, dons a fire-bronze helmet that clashes with his armor, and thumps his right fist against his chest in salute. "Fortune favor you, stranger... you'll need it."

Sorry to hear it, Logan. I'm amazed you are able to get to the 'web. We escaped all the damage except for downed power lines, which will probably leave my house without power for a few more days. My wife and daughters are staying with me at my mother's place, which got power restored yesterday. Much of the city remains without power and/or water.

[quote name='maggot' post='16641' date='Sep 13 2008, 10:51 PM']Personally the roleplaying thing is unique but not especially appealing. This game rewards players who enjoy making up roles more than those who can win head contests. Understandable, because roleplaying seems hard judging by the quality I've seen. Nonetheless not fun for those who don't even care about it. Well, waiting for the ingame puzzles and features mentioned. Really liked that aspect, kept me playing for a while before I noticed it was limited.[/quote] Some of us entertain ourselves; many more entertain ourselves and each other. To those of us who care about roleplay, the point is helping bring an alternative fantasy world to life. That's entertaining to a large number of us. Even those who enjoy puzzles aren't shy about bringing their own to the table: check out the papers of I am Bored sometime. As is the case with many things, you get out of this game roughly what you put into it. The game [i]does[/i] reward players who enjoy making up roles more than those who can win head contests. If it were otherwise, I wouldn't play. It really is that simple.

I concur with all that has been said above. MagicDuel is unique in my experience. It is not perfect, but it does not claim to be. It is more enjoyable in alpha than several games I can think of in beta. The setting is highly remarkable, using many of the standard tropes of Fantasy while introducing new ones. The sense of mystery is pervasive and alluring. The community of players is strong and diverse. The game is worth playing for these two facts alone. Like any great game, it sparks the imagination, and is therefore enriched by those who play it. We argue, we fight, we philosophize, we nurture, we educate... and we grow. Manu may be the most amazing thing to come out of Romania since Mircea Eliade; in my mind, his contribution to mythology worth mentioning in the same sentence, and that is about the highest praise I can offer. Ave, Manu, rex regum!

In another life, on another world... "What did you call me?" Something is wrong. She is pushing him away. Half-awake, unexpectedly rebuffed, he suddenly realizes what he has said. He rolls over and sits up, propping his head on his knuckles. She sits, arms folded, eyes glistening, seething with the cold fury he knows only too well. He closes his eyes. "Ellen," he sighs. "So that is her name. I knew it. I knew there was someone." He glances sidelong at her, beautiful even in the dim light of their little room, her long, black hair unfurling from delicate tangles. He laughs, bitterly. She cracks the side of his face with an open palm. "Hijo de puta," she hisses. "Mentiroso cabron." "You said it was Craig," he accuses, a feeble riposte and he knows it. "Craig! Of all the ridiculous…" Another blow slaps him, and another. He does not resist. He stares at the floor, eyes dead. "No! No! It was this…Ellen! Ellen you said you loved so much." "Chiqui..." "I'm not your chiqui." She twists out of the sheets, pulling her clothes on with violence. "I was dreaming. Ellen was…a color." He almost believes it. Maybe it's true, but it doesn't matter. "So this is it." He tries to look at her but cannot. She ignores him, yanking drawers open, throwing her possessions into a bag. A sense of doom descends on him. "Now you leave. After everything. I don't even know an Ellen." He flicks his eyes to watch her, and she pauses, repressing a sob. Then she straightens, turning, her face rigid and sullen, slowly shaking her head, a tear ebbing from an eye. She mouths a word he doesn't recognize, opens the door, and slams it loudly enough to wake the whole house. He sighs, putting his feet on the floor, and reaches for his boxers. In a moment he is rolling a cigarette, the filter in his mouth as his fingers work. Then he slips the filter in, licks the paper, and wraps it shut. "Damnit," he says, grabbing a lighter. The flame billows as he inhales. He stands and walks to the window, which he pulls open so he can lean on the sill. The moon is out, golden and gorgeous. Her moon. Margarita liked to hint about her little rose-petal ceremonies, her final rejection of Catholicism, the brujería that would have appalled her mother. A voice whispers, "Simon… I need you. Please hurry. I'm so scared." He looks around, alarmed, but there is no one. He grabs his jeans, shirt, boots, stumbles out the door of the room half-dressed. "Who's there?" he calls. Silence. He pulls up his boot before hopping down the stairs. "Who's there?" No response, but a voice speaks crisply and rapidly in the darkness: the TV room. He collides with the wall, changing direction mid-step, and curses as he peels a "COFFEE & BEER-FLIES NIGHT" flyer from his heel. He paces quickly across the ballroom. Kate snores on the couch of the TV room, cradling an unopened copy of Differential Mathematics. He barely registers the remote dangling from her left hand. Local news is on: Police are still searching for a young woman last seen with a male Caucasian driving a dark blue sedan. If you have any information, please call the number at the bottom of your screen. The cigarette falls from Keith's mouth. The girl on the screen, blonde, freckled, pale, smiling shyly for a school photographer, is a girl he's never met, and somehow the girl he'd thought he was kissing not five minutes ago. "Ellen," he whispers. "Oh, hell." Fifty miles away, a girl on the cusp of womanhood struggles with her bonds and kicks at the lid of a car trunk, choking and whimpering behind the gag in her mouth.

“It is for you,” he whispered, rocking her gently, stroking the curls of her hair. “All for you. Always.” Someone walked into the public bathroom, saw the couple embracing, and immediately turned around. Lucius Tarquinus Superbus smiled to himself, too happy to issue his habitual challenge. It was never a question of falling in love with her, he later reflected, staring into the waters at Raven’s Peace. “One might as well ask a stone the way to the ground.” He longed for her to join him there, by far his favorite place in the little world he now grudgingly acknowledged as home. But she could not; her trials in the scroll had weakened her too greatly. He was sympathetic, as his last encounter with Marind had left him numbed and confused. He’d found, upon awakening, that certain pathways once open to him had become closed, and he grieved for them, even as he grieved for Khalazdad, who might have been his own reflection. Penelope LightMoon, nominally his apprentice, would not allow him to say certain things in public. He understood the wisdom of her words: better, he supposed, than she understood it herself. She couldn’t remember. He remembered: too much. Far, far too much. In the two worlds previous to this one, he’d become one of the most accomplished wizards alive… and later, not-alive. He’d cast his mind over the planes; he’d seen realms where stones sang in harmony and wondered aloud which way to fall; he’d battled gods, made love to demons, and stealthily aided the agents of compassion behind his façade of ruthlessness. Here he was simply a big man whose physical strength afforded him even less advantage than it had on Earth, Mars, Tormance, or Bode. But more than that, he’d been destroyed, many, many times. Lucius Tarquinus Superbus had looked up at the flash of Caliburn in the hands of Ievaris of Lede, believing his end had finally come. But here he was, with a new body… and Ievaris had followed him, and Carrack, and Ghadrûl, though now inhabiting different bodies. Why not? Ievaris was no more Ievaris than Artorius, Roland, Jack, or Hector; Carrack was no more Carrack than Titan or Sekander; Ghadrûl was no more Ghadrûl than Betál, A’chak, or Geryon. They were as brothers to him and more: they shared his soul. He wanted to speak of that here, and did so whenever he could. He’d met several already who also had the spark. Most of his fellow inmates thought him mad. Well, he considered, one who has gazed upon the realms of probability cannot be wholly sane. Who would believe him about Penelope… “Penny,” as they called her, always forcing him to wince at the homophone for the insult in the language of his ancient slaves… and Helen Wasp? Who would not laugh at him if he spoke of Penelope and Marind? Even Penelope would not believe him if he spoke about… others… here who shared her innermost nature. Better to be supposed a madman than to remove all doubt. So he would walk with her and talk of safe things, small things. She liked to touch him, and she was not shy, though she never for an instant gave him cause to doubt her maidenhood. He wanted to touch her, too, in more familiar ways. But he looked a filthy hill-savage, and he could not bear to despoil her. He’d made the mistake of saying so, and she shamed him by taking him to a place he’d overlooked, though he’d passed it many times. There, finally, was a marvel to match the curiosities of the architecture in this strange little hell: a bath. He’d eagerly disrobed, too excited to consider her prudish aversion to naked flesh, though her furtive glances at his body made him wonder if she shared the fetishistic tonsorial practices he’d observed in other women in this place. “I hope not,” he growled, half to himself. “What’s that, mine?” she called, pretending to busy herself with her coiffure as he slid into the steaming water. He did not reply. Later, after she explained the curiously quilted cloth whose sole purpose was to absorb moisture and he’d had a chance to beat the dust from his filthy clothes, they walked down to the infernal “bathroom” – an inappropriately named space if ever he’d known one – that had become their habitual meeting place. He talked of small things, light things, and she babbled, girlishly unaware of her transparency. He thought of telling her she’d have been better unclothed in all ways, but kissed her instead. And they would walk, and talk, and sometimes train each other in the use of the spirit-shapes used for energy duels in this world. And sometimes they would stop to share an embrace, though a very chaste one by his standards. Some began to notice: “Get a room,” a Dimensional Shifter had called. Tarquinus did not reply, though he thought sourly that no room could keep out the Ferryman anyway. The razor fetishes and bodily prudery of the majority of the other inmates explained much, he thought. So he and Penelope would talk, often about the sky. One moment she suggested a walk to the Balcony of the Hall of the Sun. “It reminds me of an eye,” she said, squinting upward, her scarlet and blue accents shining in the light. “It’s as though the window means to magnify it. Do you think it stares at us, mine, or beyond us at Marind’s Bell?” “Some say it is an angien,” he responded, stroking the stubble on his scarred face. “The one credited with retrieving this world from the earth, perhaps.” She smiled at him. “Do you believe that?” He sighed. “Does it matter?” “It matters to me. Everything you say matters to me.” “If it is an eye, it is nothing less than the Eye of Ash-Shuthath. And it is that even if it is not.” “Ash…?” “The Thing at the Howling Gates, soul. The Abnormal One.” “Ah…” The smile receded from her face. “As such, It can look anywhere It damn well chooses. The Abnormal One is everywhere and nowhere; He is all things.” “Your enemy.” “I hate Him,” Tarquinus seethed. “I will destroy Him, mark my words.” She looked so small, so frail, but his rage overwhelmed him. He could not protect her from this truth. She gazed up with huge eyes and asked, “But how can you destroy a thing that is everywhere?” He scowled. Damn her lack of memory! “You made Him,” he accused. “If I did, then he is an errant beast in need of punishment. And I shall punish him.” Her chin jutted in defiance. “Only tell me where to point the arrow.” This was too much. He retreated, shaking his head. “Tell me!” He would not. He looked away. “Damn it, Lucius! You swore to tell me everything, to keep nothing from me. Tell me! Where?” Not meeting her gaze, he rested his thick, callused finger on her breastbone. She gave a small, half-choked sob. “What?” she gasped. “Lucius – mine – who? Who will do it? Look at me!” He owed her that much. Meeting her eyes, he asked, “Soul, would you have it from another?” Tears welled in her eyes, and her tiny frame shook. She whirled away from him, her face buried in her hands, and wept for the breaking of her heart. As she had done so many times before, in so many other worlds, through so many faces.

I speak only for myself: playing Tarquinus is, to me, its own reward. I like MD very much, and I also enjoy the various forms of rapport I have developed with other players. If someone notices me and feels I contribute to the game, wonderful! If not, no problem! I'm having fun, and I try to help other players feel at ease and do the same. Sometimes I lay it on a bit thick as Tarquinus, whose Latin cognomen means, after all, "the Proud". But I do try to take hints and speak out of character when the situation seems to warrant doing so.

Edit: As it seems to be unclear, I would like to state the following for the record: any of the following posts set in the MD world are based entirely on in-game conversations and role-played 'events'. A few unfortunates who have stumbled in on us know the truth of what I say only too well! There are now posts that pertain to other worlds as well... obviously, those count as 'fiction'. Hopefully the reason for their inclusion will be self-apparent. He knew her at once. “A redhead,” one had told him. “Proud and confident, flirtatious and winning. You can’t miss her.” That made him think of Gret, whom the slaver had called Ceys, and the memory filled him with trepidation. “No place for that kind of feeling here,” Tarquinus had muttered to himself, “…wherever ‘here’ is. If any of these ‘people’…” His suspicious scowl roamed, causing a boy to laugh and a shy woman to back away. “If they are even people at all.” He was pretty sure they weren’t, as he was nearly certain the sky was not a sky so much as a ceiling, and the light it held was no star. His ruminations to that effect had caught interest. “A girl I met thinks as you do,” a rhapsode had told him. “Penelope, she is called. Penelope LightMoon.” Thus had his quest begun. Phantom or no, he would find this LightMoon and speak to her, and perhaps together they might unravel the mysteries of the sky in this place. “It is a sort of hell,” he considered, walking. “Asphodel without all the color and excitement.” He could not find her. She had come and gone, perhaps never to return. The Celestial Observers seemed to know nothing, which lowered them in his estimation below the ones groveling before the Thing at the Howling Gates. Galleys with neither oars nor sails, mariners who knew not stars: in a word, useless. He’d approached Bootes, thinking to learn something of import. “Have you ever seen the sun move in this place?” he had asked. The astronomer simply said: “No.” Tarquinus walked away, his gloomy mood not a whit improved. He decided the question was unanswerable and his quest to find LightMoon futile. And then, one moment, at Wind’s Crossing, there she was. She was Ceys! But not Ceys. Her hair was darker than Ceys’, a noble shade of burgundy he’d never before seen. She stood shorter than the northern barbarian girl he remembered, and her figure, though slender, swelled more pleasantly with femininity under an elegant but modest long-sleeved gown of blue. She frowned at a scroll, not seeing him approach. “LightMoon!” he bellowed, his face breaking in an unwonted smile. Emerald eyes flashed to inspect him. Her face, the color of fresh cream, unmarred by freckles, assumed a guarded expression but softened at seeing his grin. A vermilion eyebrow arched. “Tarquinus?” “The same.” He bowed. “I… have searched everywhere for you.” She returned his smile. “Truly?” “Yes… milady.” Her bearing seemed regal. So many of these phantoms, or people, or whatever they were, apparently had no inkling of station, an ignorance he’d turned to his advantage many times. Then, too, was the distressing problem of the barber-cultists… but this one was different. And he knew her. He wondered how to say it. He explained his doubts about the sky, and she rolled up her scroll and nodded enthusiastically. They fell to talking; she knew no more than he but exuded enthusiasm. After some moments he could no longer contain himself. “Milady,” he began, and sighed, studying the ground, watching the water play over the river rocks nearby. He spread his hands. “I… know thee.” Her smile faltered but did not entirely fade. She began to shake her head. “I think not, Sieur,” she said. “We have never met.” He nodded at nothing, and then met her eyes. “Milady…” “Penelope.” “Penelope, I have known you in another life. I have no doubt of it.” She tilted her face with interest and mild surprise, but let him continue. He told her many secrets. “If what you say is true, I cannot think our meeting was coincidence, Sieur,” she said when he’d finished speaking. “Lucius.” A look of shock passed over her face but vanished under her smile. “Lucius. Lucius… I would apprentice myself to you!” He stepped back. “No,” he protested. “It is not appropriate! Do you not know… did you not listen?” But soft fingertips over his mouth halted his sputtering. She made a request of him, and made him swear. He knelt beside her and offered his vow. “Now,” she said, tossing her scarlet locks and smiling, “Will you take my hand and stroll with me? Of course he would.

I reference Al-Azif further up. But I do thank you for keeping me honest.

Thanks. I had forgotten that. I am familiar with that book... but I was referring to the fictitious, "real" Necronomicon rather than the work of fiction purporting to be the real Necronomicon. My point was really grounded in the study of Lovecraft lore and Cthulhiana - there is no particular reason to associate that symbol with the "real" Necronomicon translated by (the historical by partly fictionalized by Lovecraft) Olaus Wormius or Theodorus Philetas. The book described by Lovecraft is demonstrably his own invention; the book you reference is a somewhat clever hoax of which Lovecraft himself would surely have approved. He loved hoaxes in fiction, and as a man whose work was never fully appreciated in his own lifetime, he'd have been flattered and pleased that one of his childhood imaginings became a "real" book that has sold more than a few copies.

Lighthearted and amusing is glorious, though I voted for something else. You might want to fix the typos in the poll ('hierarchy' has transposed characters and 'criticize' [or 'criticise' as our friends across the pond spell it] is missing a few letters). I'm a perfectionist, and perfect is a skinned knee. Overall, very good work. As some of the players in the game who are close to me know, I do not give praise lightly or insincerely. Keeping that in mind, perhaps you will be encouraged to hear me say the Adventure Log is worlds improved by your participation and guidance.

Name: Tarquinus tags: "Moon-Knight," "Preparer of the Way," or "Hanged Man." Description: The Champion of the Moon: a thing of evil turned to the path of love. A servitor, a speaker, and a defender of the soft light that shines in darkness. I have more info on Tarquinus - much, much more - but this is the information requested by dst.