The first true challenge of Boletaria

It occurs to me that I’ve been adventuring in the kingdom of Boletaria for just over a year now. You’d be surprised how easy it is to lose track of time when you’re dead. The only real proof of time passing is the occasional change in atmosphere here. No one can say what the true cause is - all we know is who chooses to take advantage of it. This change comes in two flavours - good and bad. Will the demons be weaker when you leave the Nexus, or will you be ambushed by a Primeval Demon? It’s anyone’s guess. Typically, these periods last for… at least a week? It’s hard to tell.

        This time, I was determined to take advantage of the change - it was God’s will that I do his work, and I’ve ignored it for too long. Heathens have spread troubling rumours about His true nature, but long… months… spent in prayer here in the Nexus with Saint Urbain have strengthened my resolve to cleanse the demons and their worshippers from Boletaria.

        I first visited the Boletarian Palace, to see which way the winds were blowing. If God had willed me a challenge, it would be best to start small. If the demons were weakened by His divine might, then my greatest enemies should fall in due time. The test I devised was to explore the abandoned gatehouse near the entrance to the Palace. When I began my adventures, during an extended period of change, I was killed by an executioner clearly driven mad by demonic soul power. It was time to revisit her. It seems that she only appears when such extreme atmospheres are present - sometimes she appears in the flesh, and other times she appears as a fearsome Black Phantom. Which I met would determine the current nature of the Kingdom.

        I fought through the Black Phantom dreglings along the way and took a moment to catch my breath before entering the gatehouse. I healed the careless wounds I received from the Black Phantom dreglings, then stepped into the gatehouse. Knowing the executioner, Miralda, would soon follow, I jumped back out into the open. I waited for a few seconds, and when nothing emerged, I took a step towards the door. Suddenly, Miralda surged through the door, her massive axe swinging upwards to meet my chin. Panicking, I turned tail and ran like a coward, only to have Miralda catch me from behind. Her axe crushed my skull in an instant, and I felt my soul sucked back to the Archstone in front of the grand Palace gate.

        Despite the literally crushing defeat, adrenaline surged through my system. God was on my side today - Miralda, the executioner, had appeared in the flesh. I knew that I could finally defeat this mad creature, only one of many in this forsaken kingdom, but any progress is good progress. I ran back, not even bothering with the Black Phantom dreglings. I rolled under their slow lunges, knowing they would not follow me up the stairs towards the gatehouse.

        I ducked into the gatehouse, then emerged and applied Turpentine to my weapon as I waited for Miralda off to the side. I dashed to her right when she began her signature uppercut, and attacked her from behind. Her legs buckled as I brought my mace to bear against the backs of her knees, and I swung it with all of my might at the back of her head. Her ragged clothes ignited briefly, but no screams of pain came from the vile creature. When she attacked again, I thought to block with my Heater Shield, but her axe simply knocked my arm aside.

        I backed off before she could attack again and gathered my stamina to prepare for the next assault. No blocking this time - dodging would bring this one down. In my heavy chain mail armour, rolling was a challenge, but I hoped I could recover before she had time to parry. I waited for her to attack, and jumped to her left. Landing heavily on my shoulder, I rolled and stood as quickly as I could and swung my mace almost without thinking. Once, twice, a third time, and still Miralda stood. I had barely the stamina to swing again, but seeing her turn brought a flood of ice-cold fear through my veins. Enough to give me the strength for one final swing. Enough to fell the first challenge I had met in Boletaria.

        I knew that her only a well-armoured opponent could withstand such an assault from the combined might of my strength and my faith. Despite the appearance of bulk provided by my chain mail armour, I knew that her armour would fit, and would provide a much lighter alternative without sacrificing much strength. I brought it back to the Nexus, and after trying it on, found that years of wearing chain mail armour made it incredibly simple to roll in such light armour. With the increased mobility, I knew I could take on more agile opponents such as the Flamelurker waiting inside the Stonefang Mines.

        Before leaving to take on this next challenge, I paid a visit to Sage Urbain to spend a moment praying for Executioner Miralda.

        Umbasa.

Utopianism Disease

Recently, an epidemic has been clawing its way through our glorious nation of the United Internets of The Web. It began slowly, in an isolated corner of the UItW. But one by one, new cases were discovered, making a clear case for a classification of this contagious new menace to our hearts and minds. Preliminary results are reproduced below, and have been submitted for inclusion in the DSM-V. Researchers around the nation are doing further research as we speak, and it is certain that much more is left to uncover about the disease tentatively titled “Utopianism Disease.” We can only hope that methods of treatment reveal themselves for inclusion in the print release of the DSM-V.

        Utopianism Disease, or UD, has been classified as contagious, as it spreads from those who exhibit the most extreme symptoms to new, impressionable hosts. The symptoms are painted as positive ways to improve quality of life, and the new host seems to realize that they have always been there and put a new level of importance on them. Eventually, the symptoms take over their life, and they too become yet another victim of UD. As the disease progresses, they begin to spread it to their friends and acquaintances. Some even offer the disease to strangers, claiming it will bring enlightenment.

        UD is characterized mainly by abnormalities of emotion and thought. Unlike many traditional diseases, the simple idea of it can spread it to others. No bacteria or germ is involved. It can be spread verbally, or it can be spread through written text. In fact, it can be spread by any form of communication. This is what makes it so terrifyingly effective, and so frightening to contain. No human being can reasonably be detained indefinitely, for the protection of all others. If they need to be guarded, eventually the guards may succumb. Treatment must begin with the worst sufferers and work down to those who hold the idea at arm’s length and avoid further infection.

        Sufferers share no easily defined physical link, and so it must be assumed that no one is immune. No race, gender, or creed is safe. Age does not appear to grant any immunity; however, it seems that young people are especially at risk. This vulnerability makes it even more important than ever to protect our children from online predators. Freedom will only harm them. Glob bless the United Internets of the Web.

        The list of symptoms has not been finalized, as UD seems to manifest in a wide variety of ways. However, a preliminary list follows.

• Excessive introspection, often becoming “lost in thought” - sufferers may find themselves so aware that they are unable to stop themselves from contemplating the deep mysteries of life, or the fact that their eyes are just a little bit too far apart to attract potential mates
• Focusing on self-actualization, at the expense of the steps preceding the tip of Maslow’s widely accepted Hierarchy of Needs
• A desire to manifest change in any way possible - on themselves, their environment, or the people in their lives, they will work towards their ideal state for the things they believe they can change
• Constant feelings of guilt and self-doubt, often traceable back to being too aware of themselves
• A strong belief in the importance of being a “good person” - definitions may vary, but most sufferers will often use phrases like “good person” or “not like everyone else” to describe themselves
• A feeling that they have realized a true inner potential, as if to imply that most people never accomplish such a thing

        It is very important that if you, anyone you know, appears to have any of the above symptoms, you proceed immediately to the highest-paid psychiatric help available in your area. If symptoms have yet to appear, you may still want to consult a well-paid psychiatrist to make sure you have the right medication to keep your family safe. Big Pharma Inc. has promised a vaccine will be available within the next few months, and it is expected to create a full immunity to UD. Waiting lists will soon be available on their website, and it is recommended that you pay by cheque or credit card to make sure you have early access to this life-saving vaccine.

        Glob bless the souls of these poor, poor victims, and long live the glory of the United Internets of the Web.

Post-apocalypse

Before me, gears and cogs and parts for which I have no name turn and click into place as they have every day since I stumbled onto this abandoned warehouse. I haven’t explored every nook and cranny of my newfound sanctuary, but every day I find myself drawn to this room simply to observe this strange machine. I haven’t figured out what it does yet, but so far it’s the only… “living” thing I’ve found here. No people, no animals, nothing but this tireless machine. Maybe the people who live here are hiding in one of the rooms I haven’t found yet. There are supplies enough for a dozen people to live here for months, so it must have been inhabited once. The layer of dust covering those cartons of food and bottled water makes me think it’s been a while since anything  in this building ate or drank, but I’m holding out hope to find some survivors. It’s been a very long time since I last lived with sane human beings.

        It was purely luck that I found this place at all, and damned good luck at that. In the middle of a sandstorm, halfway to dead already, I saw a shape out of the corner of my eye and ran for it. The building has held up pretty well over the years since it was built, and I haven’t found anything that needs repair. Most buildings I find are little more than boards nailed together, shelters built hastily in the last few years since the weather got worse. This place is pre-war, maybe even older. Older than I am, at any rate. No one in my lifetime could possibly have found this much food and water. Nobody I’ve met could built a building this sturdy, since anyone with access to concrete and steel would have to be incredibly rich. Not really my social circle. Not to mention that machine. Few people bother creating actual machines now. Creating tools and re-inventing things to make life easier, sure, but never a machine that works on its own. Such machines are too complicated and time-consuming, and the resources too hard to find. Not to mention that many pre-war machines were designed to take the place of good, old-fashioned human beings. We do most of our own labour now.

        The more I think on it, the more I dislike that machine. Whoever once lived here seems to be long gone, and yet it’s still working for whatever unknown purpose. It has outlived its original purpose, outlived its true masters. Outlived the people who knew what it really did. I wonder if it might be the last of its kind, even more alone than I am. At least I know there are others somewhere. Does it find comfort knowing that it may still have brethren elsewhere, working towards the same strange goal? Or does it relish being one of a kind? Perhaps it doesn’t think at all. Perhaps it was built before thinking machines, or maybe it was built afterwards and specifically designed to avoid the pitfalls of those unholy creations. At any rate, it tolerates my presence here, and for that I’m grudgingly thankful. Or perhaps it can do nothing to stop the only intruder it has seen in years. Maybe the defense mechanisms only start when I steal from the supplies. My own supplies have held up so far, but if I stay here much longer I will have to take from the unused supplies of whoever once lived here.

        The sun is going down now, so I’ve returning to the machine room to see if I can understand it with closer examination. Looking around now, there’s a large wrench behind the machine itself. None of the parts I can see signify any particular purpose, and in fact the machine is contained solely in this room. If it were important for the survival of whoever lived here, there would be pipes connecting it to the other rooms  to transfer whatever it was creating. If there had been pipes, I might have thought it was a furnace or a carbon dioxide processor for maintaining the air supply. As far as I can tell, whatever it does is limited to this room. Except there’s nothing else in this room. Not even a power supply. What makes it run? There’s no electricity in this building that I can see, and it emits nothing to suggest fossil fuels or steam as its power source. The more I examine it, the more I think there’s no reason for this machine to run at all. I’ve never seen anything similar, and I don’t believe I’ve ever needed one. Whatever it once did must have been a luxury affordable only by someone who could afford all the food stored here.

        As I pick up the wrench from the far corner, I’m looking for obvious weak points in the machine. Places vulnerable enough to be smashed or cracked. One glass or plastic tube in particular loops from the crown of the machine to its base, and this is my first target. After a couple of swings, it shatters. Nothing comes from the broken end of the tube, as if nothing circulated through it at all. There was small burst of light when it broke, but nothing else. Looking around the machine now, the exposed gears seem to be the most vulnerable places. An old phrase my father heard from his grandfather comes to mind, and yes, I will be placing a literal wrench in the gears. I’m hoping to pry one loose or perhaps stop it long enough for pressure to build and destroy one of the many parts depending on its motion. After fitting the head of the wrench around an appropriately sized gear, I use all of my weight to try to dislodge the gear. With a grinding, sickening crack, the gear comes flying into the room and only narrowly avoids taking off my right ear. The flash of light nearly blind me this time, but somehow the machine seems to function without that piece. The walls around me look alien and strange in the flickering light that must be coming from within the machine, but I don’t feel threatened by it. I don’t think this is a fragile machine about to self-destruct. Circling the machine again, I see a plume of smoke rising from a crack in the side. It looks vulnerable enough to smash with my wrench.

        Upon breaking through the outer shell of the machine, there was a flash of light so bright that I was blinded for over a minute. When I open my eyes, I’m no longer in a room on the left side of a warehouse. The walls, so strange a moment ago, have disappeared completely. I’m in a bare room with white-washed walls, and before me is a ruined machine nothing like the one I just destroyed. I leave the room, but the warehouse is no longer a sturdy sanctuary. It’s much smaller than what I remember, and rather than concrete and steel, I see only white-washed wooden walls. The crates of food and water have been replaced by empty cardboard boxes. In many of the rooms dead bodies lie abandoned, dead from starvation or thirst. The other victims of this cruel oasis. It would seem that machine was integral to the building I saw after all. As if it provides any comfort, no other travellers will fall prey to this holographic stronghold. Perhaps my damned luck will help others more than it helped me, when they pass this building in search of better shelter.

        After a while, I found a room with no other unfortunate fools inside. I closed the door and sat down to finish off my supplies of food and water and wait for the inevitable.

Early morning: My teeth were stolen from under my nose last night, as well as my watch. I returned, frantically, to the house I found yesterday, and found them only after half an hour spent searching. Thankfully, it was not compromised before I left. The watch wasn’t worth nearly as much. Once that was done, I was on the road again, all by my lonesome. I thought as I walked, to help pass the time. I thought that maybe some people are just destined to be alone, because of the truths they think no one will believe… when, in fact, we all have similar things to hide. It’s fairly common to open up to someone, only to find they’ve had a similar experience or can relate for one reason or another. I walked for a few hours, and stopped in a diner around noon.

        Noon: As I ate my lunch, an old man came to sit with me. I had never met this man before in my life, yet instantly I felt as though I should trust him. He watched me silently for nearly twenty minutes as I ate, looking into my eyes and seeming to read deep into my soul. When I finished, he reached out and took hold of my wrist. He put his index and middle fingers there, as though feeling for a pulse. Then he nodded, folding his hands on his lap.

        “Young man,” he said, “I don’t pretend to know what you’ve been through. I don’t know who, or what, you’ve lost in your incredibly short life. Nor do I know the extent of your pain. Nor do I have some mystical reason for such unjust things happening to perfectly good people. The one thing I do know is that your heart yet beats. It is wounded, but strong. You’ll live.”

        He smiled as if this was all I needed to hear, and nothing else he could say would be of any further use to me. Then he left the diner entirely, and when I followed him to watch him leave, he was already gone. I returned inside and paid for my meal before returning to the lonely road.

        Late evening: A young man, clearly wealthy and with fabulous hair, drove me the rest of the way to my destination. We spoke about life, and I told him about my encounter with the old man. He told me he’d use that line for sure when trying to get a girl on rebound. I nodded absently and spent the rest of the long drive watching the grass fly by.

        After arriving at my destination, I watched my contact conduct a symphony of destruction. It was equal parts the most beautiful and terrifying thing I’ve ever seen. The sounds and sights were glorious, and the screams of fear and pain seemed to only amplify the beauty of the song. Yet as he played, tears streamed down his cheeks. I wanted to touch his shoulder, to comfort him, but I was afraid I would throw off the music. What he was doing would wound his soul, and no one can talk that hurt away. Yet it was necessary. Entirely necessary. For the greater good, fitting sacrifices must be made. A sheep is born a sheep because it is not meant to be a wolf, and like the wolf, it must play its parts in the food chain.

        Finally, the symphony ended. Our work was finished for the night. Good. The future won’t plan itself, after all.

        (italics courtesy of Mortal Coils by Eric Nylund, a book I would totally recommend as a fun read)

10:23 PM: Stuck in the primitive wilderness, with only my dog and mosquitoes for company. My Friend Peggy is also nearby, but her loyalty is dubious. My family members, certainly, can no longer be trusted. My grandfather, my grandmother, my brother, and even my own mother… Surely they conspired together to trap me here. There is no internet, and the only functioning television needs rabbit ears to get any kind of signal. The water has yet to be tested, but assume it is not fit to drink. Washing is safe. Game is plentiful, but there are no hookups available. Food is also freely available, but I glance nervously at the oversized oven from time to time. No one would buy such a thing simply for ornamentation.

        10:34 PM: A wild dog tried to breach the front door. I snuck as close as I dared and whispered that it should escape while it can, and it clearly misunderstood. Behind me, a seemingly benign voice called out and gently told it to shoo, calling it “Chester.” Then I was led back to the living room. I am glad someone managed to escape.

        5:45 AM: Light streams aggressively through the window near my makeshift bed. Without doubt a bad omen. My head aches, and I wonder about the water I used last night. I took the time to shave as an excuse to be alone, but perhaps the water is worse than I thought… At any rate, the mosquitoes and the dog are ever vigilant by my side.

        6:10 AM: My brother is complaining of an ear-infection, or some other such nonesense. Perhaps he drank some of the water as well. Yet this emergency could be to my advantage…

        6:25 AM: I escaped the vehicle and ran. I just ran. My legs collapsed as I reached a large, abandoned looking house. A large boat sits outside, proof that no one has been here since the beginning of the summer, else they would have taken it with them. The first door was unlocked, but the second had to be broken in. I managed to guess the code for the alarm on my second try.

        6:53 AM: I found an antique computer. Stained white CRT monitor matches aging mouse and keyboard. No USB ports, so my suite of portable tools is useless. I bring you this message at great danger to myself.

        7:19 AM: The show must go on. All efforts shall be made to adhere to the agreed upon course of action. Arrival may be slightly delayed as hitchhiking and bartering will be needed to traverse such a great distance. However, I have faith in our plan. It is glorious.