Tarquinus

Most of my information comes from the Archives (what I will call the Legends section of this forum), but I will try to gather my information and post specific links, etc. Where possible, I will provide my citations; otherwise, I will identify word-of-mouth information as such. Loreroot is a fascinating place about which I have only guesses. Helen Wasp! I felt a shock of familiarity when I read this name. I immediately hungered to know more. When I sit at Raven's Peace, I could swear the place remembers her.

Yes, I recall your being there. But this was a reference to one shade, not necessarily a group, and the Legend Teller said it exhibited behavior unusual in a shade. When I said "independent-acting" I chose my words poorly, because what I meant was that it seems to have an unusual degree of personality for a shade, or an unusual personality for a shade, if there is any difference. Few beings are what they seem to be, humans included, as your example of Black Ops aptly illustrates. That said, the shades seem to have their own sorts of motivations which may or may not be comprehensible to mortals... and my guess tends toward "not." My reason for jumping into this thread at all is pretty simple: most of us don't seem to know what we're talking about, so taking action based on bad information, misinformation, or ignorance seems... risky, to put it politely. Rex has acquired some evidence, and I'm willing to bet Glaistig has, too. Nobody seems to want to be entirely forthcoming about the full scope of his/her information, and with good reason. All most of us can do is study the history of the MD realm and attempt to understand how things have unfolded to this point.

You're still making assumptions, Lloyd. I'd like to play along and say "must," but I've learned some things in the past two days that make me wonder how much of what we think we know is accurate. Look to the past. Don't take it from me: ask the sages and read the legends. I agree with about half the things you say - you're mad, utterly mad, and like most madmen you only know how to speak the truth. Pure heart - you're on the right track there. Gabriel Wind and Jack Willow. Don't show me where I'm wrong, or where you think I'm wrong, or whatever. Look at the history and think about it - that's all I ask. Yami No Sakura told me yesterday, among other things, that a large and curiously independent-acting Shade has been spotted beyond the borders of Necrovion from time to time. So I ask you: whose shade is this?

Many have made this offer, but I'm sure it is appreciated.

Tarquinus

The implication is not lost on me, nor on Lucius Tarquinus. Here's my rejoinder: what do you hope to achieve?

If Paradigma's logic is correct - and I think it is, largely - are you entirely certain the consequences will be what you intend? What is the goal here? Consider: why Marind's Bell was founded. what the Shades told Khalazdad about peace with them. what the Knator Commander has done in the recent past, and the Shades' reaction to it. what was done to Khalazdad, and by whom. Will you convince the armies of Golemus Golemicarum to stand down? What, precisely, have been the consequences of the founding of Sol's alliance? Where do the other alliances stand? If the history of this little world is any indicator, decisive actions will produce the best results. Saying "we want peace!" is not the same as having it.

Tarquinus (the character) tends to conceive Time as tapestry: not a single thread, but an interweaving of uncountable threads. Suppose one "end" of a time-thread is a point of probability and the other "end" is a possible "outcome" of that "beginning". Now suppose all possible points lie at one end of the tapestry and all possible outcomes lie at the other. This is the fabric of Time. If, according to Tarquinus' visions, time (properly understood) is inseparable from space, as it simply provides another axis, the fabric of time is the fabric of space-time. Thus, according to the liche-king, the universe is misnamed: there is not one universe, but infinitely many. Anything violating the laws of one universe is dropped into another, changing its position in space and time. According to this theory, the idea of a "time paradox" is a meaningless exercise. Infinitely many outcomes exist for any thread of probability. No thread can be altered, of itself, but the observer's position on the tapestry can alter quite drastically. Those who seek to understand the liche-king's theory are directed to Roger Zelazny's Chronicles of Amber and Gene Wolfe's considerably more difficult Book of the New Sun. Pivot the four-dimensional tapestry posited above through a hypothetical fifth dimension, and the idea of chronology becomes as academic as the sequence of coordinates along the perimeter of a circle, sphere, or hypersphere. Now you are looking at simultaneity theory (Ursula K. LeGuin's Hainish Cycle), "reincarnation", deja vu, and many other things besides. Manipulation of time is likely to reveal it for what it is: a question of perception. What does the sphere look like if we stand here? What about over there? Can one draw a line between the two points? The Time Principle suggests that one can. The power attainable here is mitigated by the danger of ego loss, which is an omnidirectional cosmic perspective. It might seem like madness to some and like death to others. Yes: time dilation as described by relativity is certainly possible, but what happens to the spatial position and mass of the observer? Unless I very badly misunderstand it (probable, but we're talking Fantasy Physics, here) Loop Quantum Gravity suggests that this is, in fact, what is happening/has happened/will happen in our universe. Tarquinus would say, "You're playing with shells, Logan. Arrange them however you like - the underlying fabric of reality is the same. Only your perspective has changed." It is unwise to encourage him to expand on this subject, as he is likely to begin raving about Ennoia, Mazda, and the Abnormal One (Yog-Sothoth). Whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad...

Tarquinus (the character) not only agrees, but frequently uses this symbol in chat as a point of reference. When discussing things to which time does not apply, he uses parallel tenses. Though he likes to be surly and remark that "all things end," he doesn't really believe it; for a thing to have an ending, it must have a beginning. Hence his use of the circle.

I don't know if this is covered elsewhere, so please forgive me if I duplicate or post in the wrong place. Being a Live Help Operator is consistent with the goals of my MD character as well as my personal inclinations. If any help is needed in this regard, please contact me.

I appreciate what you and Sacosphilz are saying on this subject, and I have this to say: any game is improved by courteous behavior. I tend to stay in-character most of the time, but I will answer direct questions honestly. I do enjoy playing off people out-of-character from time to time, usually for laughs. I try to have fun, and if possible, make the game fun for others. Someone who won't drop out of character on request is being rude. I am no evangelist; I do not think anyone should be forced to roleplay. That said, when one shows up at a roleplaying game and then expresses disinterest in the roleplaying part, my sympathy - and courtesy - extends only so far. If people are having fun being dorky and in character all the time, let them. If you aren't having fun and can't get a straight answer, or worse, if you suffer some systemic penalty for not "playing along" - well, I think there is something wrong with that. But the game is still in alpha, it is still very unbalanced (and in some places just broken), and the kinks are very far from being ironed out.

So, if you say it enough times, it will sink in?

You make it difficult to sympathize with you. "Here I am! Entertain me" is not a persuasive stance. You ask, "why should I have to bring something to the game," and you are apparently satisfied with having no obligation to provide entertainment for anyone else, to make the gameplay or story richer. I don't belong to an alliance and probably never will. If you think the game is all about alliances and the adventure log, I feel sorry for you - these things are almost wholly irrelevant to my character. If you are a cow, you have chosen to be: and then you say it is not much fun.

You might consider taking it upon yourself to add to the story. Start a guild of your own. Be a villain, or a martyr. Make enemies. Start a rumor. Tell lies. Say things you wish were true, and see if anybody else wishes the same thing. Do something interesting. The game's in alpha. It's up to us, as players, to bring something to the table. If you're interesting enough, people will take notice of you and the devs will catch up when they can.

Those who would tell don't know, and those who know usually also know better than to tell.

Many happy returns, Calyx. What are you - 29?

No, I don't think you're wrong. And it's not that I am neutral or don't care; I'm still learning my way around the forums. I'm not dissatisfied with the game, and here's why: it's the most insane original thing I've seen in a long, long time. Fantasy is meant to be one of the more "wide open" genres of literature, gaming, and film, but in all categories it seems to want, or worse, need to default to formulaic settings and stories of the very worst sort. I could point fingers at certain writers and game-systems, but I don't think I need to. We all know who the usual suspects are. I am somewhat sympathetic to your view that escapism can only be realistic to a certain point before it stops becoming fun. I am not at all persuaded by the argument that MD needs realism of any sort: quite the reverse, I think. MD's power derives largely from how unrealistic it is. Take the sun that never sets: huh? Impossible. And really cool. But here's the catch: it's on the Internet, and it's free. Sethrynn paid $40... how awesome. I intend to do something similar as soon as I can. I don't want any recognition. I don't want special privileges. I would not be paying for an off-the-shelf, polished, big-budget video game in which I am The Big Hero (or Villain) of the Universe. I don't really care if Tarquinus the ex-liche-lord-with-a-serious-attitude-problem affects this world one way or the other. I just want to help Manu - and the other devs - do that voodoo that he does so well. Donating money to MD is not buying a game. It's a donation. And you're absolutely right: if you don't like it, walk away. Again, I think your points are valid. Certain mechanics are unfair and some of the RPCs seem to serve little purpose. There is a definite "in crowd" here, as there always will be. Sometimes I find it tedious. People on the Internet very frequently seem to think their relative anonymity gives them carte blanche to be jerks with minimal repercussions. Some people seem to feel that my RP is getting in the way of their MMOG. MagicDuel gives me what I want, which is something I can't get anywhere else. And I have fun because I have decided to have fun. It's as simple as that. I watch, I listen, and sometimes I try to stop role-playing long enough to solve puzzles, learn effective dueling techniques, or use other means to get systemic rewards, which honestly don't much interest me. I've carved out a small part of someone else's fantasy and made it my own... and that's not only enough for me, it's big enough for a few other players to share. And I think that's marvelous.

Thanks, Blackthorn! Top-notch stuff.

Sorry, couldn't resist.

Actually, it can't. Normally, I'd shrug and say, 'ok,' but you've activated the classicist, the Scot, and the Lovecraft scholar in me, so I cannot help but retort. The use of the root nomos as in 'name, law' is erroneous when subjecting the name to etymological analysis: From http://www.geocities.com/soho/9879/necname.htm My Latin is far stronger than my Greek, but I believe S.T. Joshi puts the matter, as it were, to its final rest.

This is a plausible if unsupported assertion. Present your sources, if you like. The book Necronomicon, as usually presented, is an inferior Latin translation (by Olaus Wormius) of the Greek translation (by Theodorus Philetas, who gave the book the name "Necronomicon," which roughly means "Book of the Dead"), itself an inferior translation of the Kitab al-Azif written by Abd'al-Hazred. With respect, you appear to have conflated Yog-Sothoth with Y'golonac. The attested physical incarnations of Yog-Sothoth include a blinding light (Aforgomon, Clark Ashton Smith), a collection of iridescent spheres (August Derleth), and a massive, horrible collection of entrails and organs (implicit in the description of Wilbur Whateley's brother, the eponymous Dunwich Horror; cf. the famous illustration by Erol Otus [my link won't work, but if you run a Google image search for Erol Otus and Yog-Sothoth it is the first hit]). Yog-Sothoth is said to be the Key and Guardian of the Gate, and to be coterminous with all space and time. I quote the following passage from "Through the Gates of the Silver Key": He is also associated with a more benign avatar, 'Umr at-Tawil (the Prolonged of Life), who is said to help sorcerers in the process of dimensional travel; in the same story quoted above, he is described as the silhouette of a man (Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the Fandango no no no that's not right) behind a shimmering veil. Exactly right. Robert Shea and Robert Anton Wilson identified him with the Eater of Souls in their Illuminatus! trilogy, but one has only to read "The Dunwich Horror" to know messing with Yog-Sothoth is unwise in the extreme. Tarquinus, my MD character, claims that 'Yog-Sothoth' is a transcriptional error, and seems to identify Yog-Sothoth with Ialdabaoth, Achamoth, and Crystalman. He refers to Yog-Sothoth as "The Abnormal One" and calls the god his sworn enemy. If you consider that Yog-Sothoth is coterminous with all space and time, you might realize how crazy Tarquinus really is. Tarquinus (the character) would say: "It says that someone has played us for fools."

I just found this in the Local Legends section, so I have to make it clear that some of the events described above are what Manu calls 'fantasy events.' I added them to provide some context for the character of Tarquinus. For the record, I was unaware of Manu's ruling on this, but did not intend to describe things other than in-game events from this point forward. I hope the audience will forgive if I embellish the words of certain players for the sake of legibility and entertainment.

The path winds ahead of him, leading him to a house filled with scrolls. He sidles through the door, noting with amusement several others, mostly pale of complexion, looking bewildered and somewhat embarrassed by their nakedness. He marvels at strange hair colors and pale eyes, shaven faces, even a woman curiously tonsored under her arms and on her legs: repulsive. Some moron has left a large scroll atop a table, unfurled and hanging down on the floor. He gingerly lifts the strange papyrus and rolls it back into place. One of the pale-skins gawks at him. "Are you Zeus?' Tarquinus flicks his eyes up from the table. Zeus... the name sounds familiar. The hill-country savages across the sea... a god of thunder. In the language of his ancient slaves... "Zeus?" Tarquinus demands. The pale-skin steps back, alarmed by his tone. "Jupiter? That idiot? Do you have any idea..." But the northman clearly does not. Tarquinus shakes his head. "Stupid name," he murmurs, half to himself. "No. I am not that one. I am pleased to declare no divinity." "Sorry, dude. You look like a statue I've seen, with like a curly beard." Tarquinus runs his hands through his beard. Yes. This is a problem. "Do not call me 'dude,'" he says, pushing past the northman. His eyes range over the woman's body, and she shies away. "I mean you no harm," he assures her with a tight smile, and makes his way out of the strange house. "The beard must go," he announces to no one. He walks further along the plain, an eyebrow cocked toward the sun. Some distance away lie wrecked chariots, strange, broken weapons. He walks, for how long he cannot tell, and comes to where a summoned god stands alongside the road. Strange armor, stranger runes - and the mark of women's magic. "Do I know you?" Tarquinus asks. The god hisses but makes no other reply. "You'd better stand guard, then," Tarquinus advises. "If the northmen behind me pay you homage, you should know they belong to some insane barber's cult. Might want to speak to them about that." A man in a brown robe, evidently an acolyte, approaches, but Tarquinus simply shoves him aside. "Go light a fire," Tarquinus tells the man, jerking his head at the god by the road. "He'll be wanting the smoke of a sacrifice, soon." Further along, the road dead-ends into another. An all-too-familiar pentacle hangs over the gateway at the road's end, and agonized wails and moans ring faintly in his ears as though from a great distance. He reaches up, but a voice booms, "This way is closed to you, mortal. Only gods may pass." Tarquinus pauses, his hand in the air, and slowly starts to laugh. "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you? For me to be a god, for me to be as confined as you are? This is not your world, Samael," he says to the gate. "Do they believe you? Do they know the Sign keeps you in, and not them out?" He glares silently at the gate. After a pause, he says, "Get your lackey - the crawling clown - master-of-a-thousand-guises-and-interesting-in-none-of-them - to tell your lies, then. It is, as we both know, the only thing he does with any competence. And as for you, well, I admit I thought you'd finished me when you tricked Arthur into striking me down with the Axis of Woe." He spreads his arms, still clutching the green stone in his left hand. "Well - here I am." His face breaks into a nasty smile. "I do hope you've forced yourself on some hapless mortal woman, as is your habit, so I can relieve the cosmos of the embarrassment of another of your progeny. You long to be what you are not, Abnormal One... and you never will be." He decides to take the right-hand path away from the gate, chuckling as he goes.

Tarquinus stands at the crossroads, frowning. He has no dial, but the shadows of the nearby copse of trees have not moved. 'The flow of time is stopped, or the earth of this place does not turn,' he mutters, squinting at the sun and flicking a bead of sweat from the tip of his nose. He sees a glittering object in the road ahead of him. After standing - for how long he knows not, whether moments or hours - he resolves to approach it. He glances at his hands in wonder as he walks, notes the thick muscle of his forearms. 'Flesh restored, and youth, with it. Or so it seems. If this is a trick,' he raises his voice, scowling upward at the cloudless sky, 'you will pay for it, Shaper. You know me.' The glittering object is a large, cut and polished stone with many facets, green and translucent, possibly a thing of great value. 'Surely not an emerald.' As he gazes into it, he remembers... a magic box of wood... confinement... darkness... a painted fool... a girl, much like his own daughter, so many centuries dead, and like her a ghost. A murder. He tosses the stone up a short distance and catches it, and then begins to stride down the road. Someone with a cane is hobbling toward him, disturbing a whisper of dust: an old woman, bent, tattooed, a shawl covering her head. She smiles at him, looking surprised at his scarlet kilt, his sandals, his bare chest, his massive beard, his crown of velvet, his earrings of gold. 'Another visitor,' she says in a quavering voice. Extending a hand she adds, 'Let me say your sooth.' Tarquinus shifts the stone to his left hand and holds out his right. The crone squints, smiling, at his palm... and suddenly her face falls even as she drops his hand. 'What - what are you?' she gasps, starting to back away. Tarquinus moves swiftly and cracks her head with the stone. She collapses, trembling a moment, and is still. He squats beside her, dipping his right index finger into the old woman's blood, and traces a mystic symbol upon the shocked features of her face, frozen forever in death. 'Never ask that question,' he growls. Raising his face skyward once more, he adds, 'And here, whatever gods rule this place, is your sacrifice. Tempt me not. I have fought against Crystalman, old Achamoth Himself, I have witnessed the unsheathing of the Axis of Woe, and I have contended even against the Archons. All things must end, do you hear me?' He rises, whipping off his kilt and crown, wiping his hands clean, and casts the garments into the dry grass by the side of the road. He continues down the path, naked but for his earrings and sandals, carrying the green stone in his left hand and eyeing the unmoving sun suspiciously as he goes.

This one would be honored to assist your cause... if he could get into bloody LoreRoot. Well, back to being pummeled by the guardians after I finish meditating for 8,000 years.