Black Soul's Haven

Åh, sosialdemokrater...

2010-10-20T12:44:00.004+02:00

I Storbritannia driver regjeringen nå med å stramme inn det løpske statsbudsjettet - og det beste Labour-leder Ed Milliband klarer å komme med:

"Det finnes alternativer. Det regjeringen burde gjøre er å komme med en plan som reduserer budsjettunderskuddet men også beskytter arbeidsplasser og sikrer vekst."

"Ja takk begge deler," som Ole Brumm ikke sa. Ikke det at det gjør noe forskjell, for de som stemmer Labour er vel uansett så trege at de ikke skjønner hvor svakt dette utsagnet er.

New awesome idea to be ruined - Tudors style!

2010-09-24T11:22:00.003+02:00

Just found out there will be a The Tudorsesque drama about the 15th century Borgia family. If it hadn't been for the fact that they will probably ruin it like they did said series, this would have been ridiculously awesome. Like the Tudors, the Borgia family has a history so incredible it needs no embellishment. Nevertheless, they will add a slew of unnecessary sex scenes and distill the plot into petty domestic conflict more accessible to the average dumb-ass american (and dumb-asses around the world).
Will have Jeremy Irons, though The Tudors had Sam Neil - and it still sucked!

Anmeldelse: Starcraft II

2010-09-01T15:56:00.004+02:00

En kort og noe irritert anmeldelse av årets skuffelse, Starcraft II: Wings of Liberty.

Anmeldelse: Assassin's Creed II, Mass Effect 2 og Bioshock 2

2010-03-04T21:46:00.001+01:00

Et par-tre nye spillanmeldelser på Amaranth Gaming siden sist:

Assassin's Creed II
Mass Effect 2
Bioshock 2

Anmeldelse: Dragon Age: Origins

2009-12-05T14:52:00.002+01:00

De to siste ukene har jeg vært stort sett opptatt med eksamen og Biowares nye datarollespill. I den anledning, her er mine tanker rundt Dragon Age: Origins:

http://z8.invisionfree.com/Amaranth/index.php?showtopic=202&st=0&#last

Valg 2009

2009-09-15T08:58:00.001+02:00

Prekér Polarisering

En ikke videre oppløftende valgnatt er forbi og vi har fortsatt Arbeiderpartiet i regjering – ja, og så de to andre der! Det er selvsagt skuffende at venstre-blokken ikke får noen reel utfordring, men det er andre ting som tegner mer skremmende for framtida. Ved årets valg har vi sett en dramatisk polarisering vekk fra moderate, sindige sentrum og en illevarslende konsolidering av de tre største partiene. En kan spekulere i grunnen til dette, men resultatet er uansett en bevegelse i retning av et politisk landskap der kun tre partier – og de småpartiene disse måtte finne på å strekke ut en "hjelpende hånd" til (jfr. Siv Jensens nedlatende holdning i går) – styrer Norge. Nå er det ikke sånn at Arbeiderpartiet og Høyre er rabiate drittsekker som vil ødelegge Norge (Ap har hatt od tid på seg til nå), men jeg mener begge disse partiene krever samarbeidspartnere som kan holde dem i ørene når storkapitalen og de lokale korrup... fagforeningene beljer som verst. Partier som kan fremme en human velferdspolitikk (KrF), kvi seg fra å blindt bli med i EU (Sp), sette miljø høyere enn kortsiktig økonomisk gevinst (V og SV) og forsvare nordmenns personsikkerhet mot sterke markedsaktører (V). Jeg er skeptisk til hvor lenge et rød-grønt samarbeid kan fortsette når det er klart for SV hvordan det går å sitte i regjering i skyggen av Jens, men regner samtidig med at SVs egen maktkåthet vil holde dem der til de forsvinner helt. Og hvis de eneste motrøstene i norsk politikk skal komme fra Sp (i stor grad fordi de samarbeider så "godt" med Ap) og et tafatt KrF (i stor grad fordi de nekter å samarbeide med Frp), se da har markedskreftene seiret i dette landet. Fint for rikingene, synd for idealistene.

Jens = Da Man?

Joda, Jens er vel utkåret til valgets vinner og blant de store statsministere og så videre. Valgets vinner basert på en frykt for borgerlig side på grunn av Frp. En av de store fordi ingen som verdsetter mennesker høyere enn penger og er ved sine fulle fem vil avgi en stemme som støtter Frp. Problemet er at disse er mye færre enn det en skulle tro etter valget i 2005: Taktiske Høyre-velgere og Venstres egne skaphøyrefolk har flyktet fra partiet fordi Lars Sponheim sa klart i fra at Venstre ikke ville støtte et parti som går imot så godt som alt Venstre står for. Resultatet er at det humane sentrum svinner hen og man blir stående igjen med to valg. Med mindre man er en rendyrket kapitalist* "må" man altså støtte en rød-grønn regjering – og det betyr Arbeiderpartiet, uansett hvor pent du pynter opp samarbeidet på venstre side. Problemet er selvsagt at Kast-penger-på-problemet-partiet ikke er et humant parti, uansett hvor mye de snakker om velferd. De snakker ikke om løsninger på f.eks. Trygdeproblematikken. For Arbeiderpartiet er det mer nestekjærlighet i å bruke mer penger på trygd til de som ikke trenger det (eller, tør jeg si det; fortjener det?) enn å effektivisere ordninger slik at vi har mer penger til de som faktiske trenger det. Arbeiderpartiet minner mye om Høyre og Frp i så måte; de tror penger løser alt. Problemet er at de ikke tenker på hvordan de skal bruke dem!
Dette valget er et resultat av blant annet en blokkmentalitet som har skissert to alternativer: Et humant, velmenende rød-grønt og et kynisk, hardkapitalistisk mørkeblått. Som jeg prøver å hinte til er det selvsagt mye mer nyansert, særlig hvis sentrumspartiene har fått komme med. Men det er vel sånn stemmekveget har sett det.
Ja, jeg skulle gjerne gratulere deg, Jens, men faktum er at du har ikke gjort noe som er verdt å gratulere for. Fortsett likevel gjerne å anklage borgerlig side for å være ubestemte mens du mumler "Ja, jo, nei, kanskje, vent litt..." til Lofotboring. Det funker visst for deg.

*Du trenger ikke være en amoralsk, grådig tølper for å støtte Høyre. Men et Høyre som støtter de grådige tølperne i Framskrittspartiet...? Hmm...

Frp viser sine beste tall og sin verste side

Til sist vil jeg si noen ord om Frp i denne valgkampen. Av og til glemmer jeg meg og tror at Framskrittspartiet er et ordentlig parti, bare med til tider ekstreme høyrevridde holdninger. Så åpner en Frp'er kjeften og minner meg hvorfor Framskrittspartiet er partiet alle oppegående mennesker elsker å hate. Ved dette valget slo det meg virkelig hvor uspiselig Frp egentlig er. I en stadig mer kjepphøy tone peker Siv Jensen ut sentrumspartiene som synderne for hvorfor det ikke blir en borgerlig regjering. La oss glemme det at de utjevningsmandater Venstre mistet stort sett gikk til Høyre og Frp. Det er bra at Lars Sponheim går av og la oss godte oss over at han ikke kommer inn på Stortinget med det samme! Den urokråka ga jo uttrykk for at han ser Framskrittspartiets politikk som det avskyelige falskspillet det er! La oss glemme at Framskrittspartiet i like stor grad har lukket døra for et bredt borgerlig samarbeid ved å føre en ubønnhørlig høyreekstrem politikk alle vet sentrumspartiene ikke kan gå med på uten å gi avkall på all sin integritet og legge fra seg alle sine holdninger.
Det er ikke noe nytt at Framskrittspartiet skylder på andre for sine egne feil, men når alle de andre partilederne preker samarbeid og forsoning og Siv Jensen legger skyld med en side av kjeften og later som hun er tilgivende i en nedsettende tone med den andre, da stikker det seg ut og forsterker min tro på at Framskrittspartiet er et uhyre som ikke har noe sted i det demokratiske Norge.
Til sist gjør det meg litt vondt når Jensen viser til sine tall og sier, gang på gang at "Dette viser at vi har de tøffeste velgerne" og at de som stemmer Frp står på krava og ikke lar seg lure. Nå skal det vel sies at noen må kanskje overbevises med både argumentene "billig sprit!" og "billig bensin!", men når uføretrygdede, lavtlønnede arbeidere og ansatte i velferdssektoren stemmer på Norges libertarianere og med dette stemmer bort sine velferdsgoder, økonomiske trygghet og sikkerhetsnett, ja da, Siv Jensen, da er de lurt trill rundt!

New Land and Egyptian Tales update

2009-07-16T17:32:00.002+02:00

To anyone who might still be lurking around here; I have neglected to inform you that the completed New Land-story and the result of "Egyptian Tales" (The Life and Death of King Teti and Other Pharonic Hijinks) can indeed be found at my deviantArt page.

Belatedly yours,
Jonas

Larsktur Larason - Del 5 er her!

2009-07-15T22:14:00.000+02:00

Huzzah! Endelig er "På Ville Veier" ferdig, og del fem lagt ut! Se link til høyre på siden. Er vel ingen som følger med her lenger, men nå er i alle fall den som måtte ramle innom informert - litt på etterskudd, men dog!

Skal prøve å være flinkere å oppdatere,
Jonas

Witch Hunters Fluff (pt. 17)

2009-07-15T22:10:00.002+02:00

"Well, that was a bit underwhelming," Inquisitor Reitzmann opined in disappointment to the two thugs as their death throes died down and he holstered his plasma pistol/crossbow.
"No need to get overconfident," Alheena warned him, keeping both hands on her laspistol. It remained unused. Reitzmann chuckled.
"Don't you agree that these two gangsters put up a poor fight for psykers?" he eyed one of the chest-bound psy-stakes for emphasis, "Even for someone stupid enough to bring a lasgun to a psy-stake fight – no offence intended."
"None taken," Alheena said, her voice betraying a smile her face did not, "They must have been very weak, I suppose?"
"A reasonable assumption," the Inquisitor agreed hesitatingly.
"You disagree?"
"It is... their minds. They felt drained somehow. I think they might have overtaxed their abilities."
"Against Ter... mister Laphas, you believe?"
"Maybe. Just make sure you are on your guard."
"Don't worry," Alheena chuckled, "I'll leave you to handle the psyker riff-raff."
The two left the room and made their way down a rusty stair, deeper into the bowels of the abandoned factory, the faint, red emergency lighting the only illumination. Water was leaking in through countless cracks and holes, but they were out of the pouring rain, if nothing else.

So bright, the disjointed words of the strange woman's thoughts swam past in Laphas' mind. They seemed distracted. So delectable, so strong. Still bound to the chair, he could not see her anymore, though he presumed she was close, yet dared not open his mind to find out. The Slaver must be blind not to see it. All those ramblings... he wasn't sure anymore; was he or the tongue-woman the mad one here?
You say you need only call out and he will come, the woman's voice sounded disappointed. I haven't said anything, you crazy bitch! Laphas thought angrily, but gritted his teeth and refrained from tapping into the Warp. He wouldn't lead Reitzmann and...his assistant into an ambush. You just keep your thoughts to yourself! he warned.
Such anger, the woman said, almost patronizingly, obviously not intending to keep silent. A flash of emotion. Such forcefulness, she added headily, her thoughts trailing off into the unrecognizable for a moment. Deal with the girl... yes, words fluttered by again, calm you... I will hold you... oh!
Terwohl Laphas decided he had chosen a bad time to play the hero.

Egyptian Tales 2

2009-05-01T19:38:00.004+02:00

Sheer absentmindedness is to blame for me not having uploaded more of this unfinished story. It's not like it has anything to do but lounge around in my harddrive anyway. For your (marginal) enjoyment, here is some more tales from Egypt. As a sidenote, as everyone knows ibises talk in an over-the-top British accent so stereotypical it's a parody of itself. It's a fact.

Meanwhile, an ibis sailed overhead, fluttering its wings slightly before descending and landing next to another of its kind in the shallow waters of the Nile.
“Say, old bean, not much to brag about in the water department, eh?” the first one remarked.
“Great Scott!” the other exclaimed, opening one eye, “Right you are, old chap!”
“Indeed, fascinating, isn’t it?”
“I’d say!” agreed the other, lifting its leg to find the water level quite insufficient, “Indeed, I might be inclined to call it an outrage.”
“There, there,” the newcomer consoled, not aware of the shape sliding through the shallow water beside them. It had just opened its beak to say “old chap” when a set of huge jaws clenched around it, turning it into crocodile dinner.
“Tut, tut,” the remaining bird mused, “I’d say, that is a bother. I’m off.”

“Teti!” a woman’s voice with a slight shrill to it rang out between the columns, “Teti, dear! There are some people here to see you!”
Turning a column, the woman managed to completely miss the pharaoh appearing from a nearby pillar and hiked up her dress, preparing to storm down the aisle when she looked around suspiciously.
“Teti, dear?” she ventured uncertainly.
“What now?” sighed the pharaoh absently, leaning against a column, a stack of papyrus in his hand, but his mind decidedly elsewhere.
“Teti, my dear, where are you?” the woman whispered unsteadily, yet insistently, moving slowly along a column, warily glancing around.
“What?” the pharaoh exclaimed with exasperation, snapped out of his reverie, “I’m right here, woman!”
“Oh, alright,” the woman said relieved and stopped her sliding to look around, “Where?”
“Great Horus grant me strength,” the pharaoh sighed heavily, “I’m…”
Glancing around the endless rows of columns he finished uncertainly:
“…right… here.”
The woman slid around the column, casting a quick glance behind her before shrieking fearfully, shocking the pharaoh, scattering papyrus everywhere, as she bumped into him.
“Ah, there you are,” the woman smiled after both had the chance to catch their breath and the pharaoh had begun collecting his dispersed load.
“We really should redo all this you know,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and abruptly changing the subject while she scanned the forest of columns around them, “this is getting tiresome.”
“Redo it?!” the pharaoh exclaimed, ceasing his papyrus-collecting, “Are you mad?”
“Just smash them up and get some lovely arches in here,” the woman mused, paying no attention to the pharaoh.
“Do you have any idea how much this cost?” the pharaoh said, getting to his feet, “not to mention the limestone roof! Wouldn’t it be enough if we just… put up a few signs or something?”
“Well, coming to think of it,” the woman said thoughtfully looking up, “I think we could use a few slits up here. Natural lighting, dear.”
“These are granite columns, darling,” the pharaoh pleaded, waving his arm at the nearest column, “they come all they way from Nubia. You said it was the height of fashion in Thebes, remember?”
“Right,” the woman said, ceasing her sweeping gesticulations, biting her lip thoughtfully before concluding with, “Signs. Signs are good.”
“Seneptep!” she called with purpose and started to leave, the pharaoh resuming his pondering.
“Oh, and some peasants are whining on the palace steps, dear,” she added offhandedly.
“Well, I have more important things to worry about,” the pharaoh snapped, tapping his chin in thought.
“Exactly, my dear,” the woman said as she left, “I told them to drink date wine instead.”
“Right,” the pharaoh muttered absently, “Now, what is it?”

Review: Valkyrie

2009-03-04T20:53:00.001+01:00

Everyone makes mistakes and I'm prepared to admit that I misjudged Tom Cruise's recent assassination attempt against Hitler.

Somewhat.

This is, of course, still a Hollywood film. It's no Der Untergang or Das Boot. But it's fortunately not entirely Rambo II, either. In either case, it's a nice change of pace to able to review a decent film for a change. With my two earlier I had been tricked to the cinema, but in this case I intended not to waste my money and so missed the opportunity to see Valkyrie on the big screen. I had to chuckle at the idea of Tom Cruise as count von Stauffenberg, but was intrigued when I later took a closer look at the cast, prompted by a TV documentary on the assassination attempt.

Overcoming the initial disappointment when Trondheim Kino incorrectly billed Stephen Fry (who on EARTH would he play?), the cast list at first glance is a little HBO's Rome meets Pirates of the Caribbean (no, not Johnny Depp or Orlando Bloom!*). This I had to see, not least because David Bamber (Cicero) plays Hitler!

All in all, acting is above what I have come to expect in Hollywood movies, but good actors** and a good director helps a long way. Bryan Singer proves that he knows what he's doing by creating a suspenseful story, even if we all know the ending. I'm not easy to please when it comes to thrillers, but this film does the trick in the suspense department. Of course, it's not perfect; sometimes the film takes a few leaps in order to fit a rather complicated story, but I won't complain (too much) since it's not done in order to squeeze in unnecessarily long romantic scenes.

A few artistic licences can be forgiven, though the initial Africa scene was awfully short and ahistorically "heroic" in a way***. Other than that, Valkyrie seems pretty accurate, especially for a Hollywood film.

All in all, I will just say that this is the kind of film Hollywood used to make. You know, before they started churning out retarded superhero and spy crap? Valkyrie is good in a Hollywood kind of way: It's (appropriately) fast paced and cool and that's it. It's good craftsmanship, but not exactly art. It's not a a weird indie film shuffling along in its own brand of artistic madness.

Bryan Singer just got added to my very, very short list of directors I think I can trust with a film.

Also, I guess Tom Cruise got a jot more credibility: Congratulations.

4.5/6

*Here's a hideous thought: Keira Knightley as Nina von Stauffenberg!
**Not necessarily Tom Cruise, but he nevertheless does a good job.
***Stauffenberg was simply blown up while driving in real life. As a sidenote, Bernhard Hill gets far too little screen time.

Egyptian Tales

2009-02-26T19:29:00.001+01:00

The beginning of a short story that isn't done yet (like, oh, every other story I've ever written?). I know what will happen, just haven't gone around to getting there just yet... So, take a little trip to ancient Egypt.

The land of Egypt; a fertile oasis in the scorching desert, home to great temples and even greater tombs to deceased kings: The greatest buildings in the world, built by its greatest civilization – all made possible by the annual flooding of Egypt’s life-giving artery: The Nile. Each year, the great river would bring new life to the dry lands in the form of water and fertile soil from beyond Nubia. Each year, except this one. This year, the Nile was but a trickle; a drop in a thirsty man’s throat, the parched land around it yearning for denied release. An utter failure of the yearly flood spelled famine and death; the future of the entire kingdom rested on the shoulders of one man…

That man was currently relieving himself in a hole in the ground. In his hands was an unfolded scroll of papyrus, it’s title identifying itself as Ineb Hedj Times, but the man paid it little mind.
What is it? he wondered, mentally scratching his head. The thought had nagged him for some time today and to be honest, he was fed up with it.
“By the Indestructibles, what in Ra’s name is it?” he shouted, throwing his arms up in exasperation, but scanning the clear blue sky, the only thing swimming in that great sea was the sun. Weary with all this remembering bother, the Pharaoh rolled together the Ineb Hedj Times and wiped himself.

Witch Hunters Fluff (pt. 16)

2009-02-13T09:09:00.001+01:00

The thoughts of Terwohl Laphas was a stream of desperate expletives as every muscle in his body struggled to avoid the mad woman straddling him, his face in her vice-like grip.
There, there, she comforted, forcefully petting his cheek, her other hand firmly about his jaw, pressing his head backwards into the chair he was bound to. All the while, the woman's tongue slithered about his upper body as if it had a life of its own. The woman's hand clenching around him a little tighter, it apparently decided to make its way up his neck, slowly inching its way to his mouth.
Damn! Damn, damn, damn!
Oh yes, came the woman's thoughts as her tongue slid down his throat. It felt chitinous, but smooth as it carefully probed its way down.
I'm not getting out of this one, am I? Thought the more rational part of Laphas' mind. A sudden pain wracked his brain, his body constricting in a violent spasm, pressing into the woman's bony frame.
Yes, you are strong, came the woman's triumphant voice before trailing of into a roiling sea of emotion and hunger.
Nonsense! He forced through the pain. He knew where he was. He would come...
Laphas' body slumped violently as the pain suddenly subsided. He could feel the intruding tongue making a hasty retreat as the woman relinquished her grip on him.
Who do you speak of? She demanded angrily, her multicoloured eyes boring into his own.
What? He thought to himself before realizing that he had let his mind slip during the mind torture.
"No one," he stated with what confidence he could muster, trying to stem the tide of thoughts gushing forth now that the pain had subsided.
Who is this Reitzmann? The woman continued, apparently oblivious to his attempt at subterfuge.
Damn she's good.
He is strong of mind? She said, only halfway a question, your words speak it.
"He is a strong psyker," Laphas admitted, hesitating before adding in his mind: I can bring him to you.
He could feel her psychic tendrils seeping into his mind. Laphas cast about after something harmless to focus his thoughts around. He mentally arched an eyebrow as his thoughts landed on Reitzmann's vicious assistant. It would have to do.
He will come here, the woman stated confidently after a few moments.
And the girl, she added menacingly. He wasn't sure if it should give him goosebumps.

"It would seem our good friend mister Laphas has become one with the Warp," Inquisitor Reitzmann said to the dead end alley, holstering the Auspex in his hands.
"That," he bent over and held up a small metal object, "or he dropped his tracker."
"Or someone took it from him?" Alheena ventured, sarcastically, as she scanned the ground with her flashlight.
"Obviously." the Inquisitor said kindly, nonchalantly looking up and down the wall in front of him.
"He seems to have vanished," he mused, noticing rising hope or possibly dread in his companion, "Unless..."
"What is it?"
"I think we got him." Reitzmann turned promptly and left the alley without another word, Alheena doing her best to keep up with his pace.

Witch Hunters Fluff (pt. 15)

2009-02-12T08:45:00.003+01:00

He opened his eyes, but darkness still surrounded Terwohl Laphas. He could try to switch sight, but what if he was being...
Watched?
Damn, he had forgotten to watch his mind.
No matter, the intruder in his head whispered gently, we are all family here. We nned not keep secrets.
His wrists seemed to be locked in handcuffs behind his back. By Terra, he had been careless this time. Well, this time as well. Still, chained in the subterranean lair of some crazy chaos cult; he hadn't been this deep in the Ogryn stew before. And it actually smells kind of like that, too. Wait, his feet were chained as well?
Don't worry, came the voice again, an ethereal hand gently stroking his mind, I will take care of you. I take care of all my lost children. You are safe now, little sparrow. The black ships will not take you from me now.
Well, that was a comforting thought; he had gotten on one willingly and look were it got him! Still, a sparrow? Surely he must be something like an eagle? The voice didn't seem to care about that, however.
They took eleven of them, you know? And now we are all hungry, so hungry..., the voice again trailed off into half-emotion, no-one is strong enough, oh no. Yet, the smell... you..
Now what in the Warp? His reaction was more resignation than surprise. Wait! A door opening? Laphas was blinded by a sudden light, his eyes blinking to make out what was happening. In the brilliance, the naked body of a young woman appeared, angelic in the searing light. She glided slowly towards him and as sight returned to him, he could see a slow, faint pulsation of light beneath skin that hung loosely on her meagre frame. Her silver hair, unkempt and long flew gently behind her, hands spread idly about her body. She slid up to Laphas' face and he caught sight of her eyes; black orbs with pupils of sparkling constellations of purple, silver and fire. The woman's hair enveloped them and she let her long tongue slide over his neck as it struggled to escape the tentacle-like protuberance.
Oh yes, we are so very hungry.

Tales From Aramantia: New Land part 9

2009-02-09T11:06:00.000+01:00

The following morning Lanyrene waked sluggishly, yawning loudly to the carpet-dressed room. She took a sip from one of the many mugs surrounding the bed only to find it empty. Shaking it upside down for a while, she then swung her legs out of the bed and scratched her belly before reaching out for her night gown. Following her hand, she glanced up to her violet and white dress.
Damn seawater, she cursed in her mind. Maybe she should send the dress to her seamstress back on the ship and have it let out.
Wait, what is that incessant mumbling?
Lanyrene slipped into the gown in her hand and wrapped herself in her robe as she made her way to the entrance.
If I catch those proletarians gossiping outside my...
She wouldn't finish the thought before she tore away the canvas and her mind was bewildered into silence. Outside, two natives on their hands and knees were chanting in hushed tones. Between them stood another and in his outstretched hands was a glinting gold necklace inlaid with a huge turquoise, amber and black gem Lanyrene had never seen the like of.
"To... honoured... lady," he struggled, with an accent so heavy it could crush bones.
Lanyrene's eyes sparkled with the gem's image, greed written plainly on her face.
"I..." she began as if she was struggling with the Marean language herself, "I am pleased at your token of affection."
A hint of understanding in the man's eyes went unknown by the now obsessed Marean who hungrily picked up the necklace and held it around her neck.
"Dis calls for, ah, celebration?" Helyna asked, though she probably knew the answer. Lanyrene just turned around and strode back into the tent, her forgotten robe slipping gradually from her shoulders.
"So, I'm guessing de, ah, sailors are not invited?" the Sealander presumed to no-one in particular.

Tales From Aramantia: New Land part 8

2009-02-08T15:17:00.000+01:00

Work continued over the next few days and soon the camp was moved up to the nook at the jungle's edge, overlooking the beach. A basin was erected in order to dam the brook running down the hillside and likewise, a simple storehouse. The lady's cottage stood in the innermost part of the camp, reed mats making up the walls and her tent its entrance.
Just as the foreigners moved, one of the natives returned. With him was a strange animal; some sort of mix between a pig and a donkey. He paraded it through the camp until he reached Lanyrene who was overseeing the moving of the last of her belongings. When he had her attention, the little man gestured towards the animal who itself was staring dumbly at the men struggling with the lady's bed.
"Pig." she stated, as confidently as the strange aberration allowed itself to be classified.
"Peeg," imitated the man, smiling. He then fell to his knees, slammed his palms in the dust and began chanting. Lanyrene was left holding the pig-donkey's leash, looking quite perplexed.
Helyna ceased her shouting and came over from where the sailors were working.
"I see dinner has arrived, mi lady," she said and snapped up the animal's leash, "might I suggest sausage di Trentzia?"
The prostrate man soon left, and when he came back, he would not be alone.

Each day, some of the natives would return to the campsite. They were never more than three each visit, usually less. No longer were they just bringing gifts; in addition they remained in camp for a while. No doubt this was allowed because of the utmost respect and utter deference they would show the Lady ax Trastasia. There was no regularity to the visits, but the foreigners would eventually remember a few individuals from group to group. With interest and curiosity the visitors would mingle with the foreigners as another bout of Helyna's cussing sent sailors with their heads bowed to their task. At first, the sailors would try to coax the natives to tell them their words for tent, boots and the like, but the small ones would steadfastly refuse and eventually the foreigners were cheerfully labelling odds and ends around the camp, happy for any diversion from the monotony.
"Mistress Helyna!" The lady Lanyrene ax Trastasia poked her head out of her tent entrance and, when no Helyna was apparent, yelled again, louder this time.
"Yeesh mi lady?" the Sealander called as she hurried up the small incline from the main part of the camp.
"I do not want the savages consorting with the servants," Lanyrene stated bluntly.
"Dey are only teaching de savages our language, mi lady."
"Exactly," Lanyrene's words lunged at the other woman, "they are learning the disparate tongues of the Sealands! No, I would have them learn only proper Imperial speech, and you will see to that."
"I will do mi best, mi lady," Helyna curtsied and left Lanyrene, who just realized she was standing halfway out of the tent with only her night gown on.
Let's just hope they don't take after the accent too much, she thought as she made her way back to bed. Now, was there any more of that brown stuff left?

Tales From Aramantia: New Land part 7

2009-02-07T12:23:00.001+01:00

If they squinted, they could make out the green speck that supposedly was 'the New Land' bulging out of the sparkling sea. For four days, it was the closest they had come to this promised far off land; as Marean citizens, the eight soldiers on board had thus far been forced to remain on the ship. They were not pleased at all. Apparently, some commotion had taken place onshore; two men had been locked up in the hold, but the soldiers had remained idle. What ere they paid for, anyway?
"I wonder what is going on over there," mumbled the oldest of them as he studied the board game in front of him.
"Gold and exotic spices, no doubt," his opponent grumbled, "The lady is nothing if not... enterprising."
"Enterprising? Yeah." The Veteran let a lopsided smile appear for a moment and picked up a caravan piece. "Seven-four, then. You still out of money, Lajoh?"

On land, three days had passed since the natives showed up. Now they were nowhere to be seen, and the sailors had been forbidden to search for them. Still, each morning a collection of fruits, nuts and jugs of the brown drink would appear. Finely woven fabrics had also come on the second day. No-one saw the savages approach, and the 'forest people theory' still held some support in the camp.
With little else to do, the sailors had begun cutting down the jungle trees in order to make a more comfortable abode for her ladyship. Work was well under way in the nook overlooking the shore and the sound of hammers were heard all the way down to Lanyrene's tent.
"Apparentlee some, ah, reed mats and quilts arrived dis morning, mi lady," Helyna said conversationally, "I sent dem up to de building site."
"Nothing else?" Lanyrene's response was more pleading than she intended.
"De usual, mi lady," the other answered and produced a leaf bundle she proceeded to unpack.
"Is this all?" Lanyrene eyed the unpacked bundle suspiciously.
"De men had some for deir midday meal, mi lady. Dey say building is hard work."
Lanyrene sniffed loudly and looked up.
"I'm not sharing my meal with commoners, mistress Helyna. They took your share."
The Sealander simply continued pouring hot water into the washbasin.
"Very well, mi lady," she complied, "it will not happen again."

Tales From Aramantia: New Land part 6

2009-02-06T09:04:00.000+01:00

"And, ah, what about de two still on de ship, mi lady?" Helyna ventured, studying a strange, hairy fruit just as her lady bit down on a more juicy variant.
"What of them?" Lanyrene answered absently, switching her fruit for a curious yellow one. As if to answer her question, the agonized scream of the savage left behind along with several strange nuts and fruits rang out.
"Well, where would they be going now, anyway?" she shrugged as she discarded yet another fruit and snatched the Sealander's fruit from her hands. Lanyrene studied it intently from every angle before continuing.
"Besides, I'm sure they are guilty somehow," she stated matter-of-factly as she bit down on the giant nut's rock hard shell.

"I will have them drawn and quartered, burnt and nailed to the ship's mast!" Lanyrene mumbled indignantly, nursing her bruised ego and aching tooth.
"We shall see to eet tomorrow," Helyna agreed non-committally and, pleased with the texture of the bowl of fruit she was mashing, handed it over to the Marean.
"Hmph," Lanyrene snorted and tentatively eased a spoonful into her mouth, "I will hunt down every last one of them and roast them alive while their children are watching and..."
"All alone, mi lady?" the Sealander in her let slip an amused tone.
"...then..." she lost her train of thought, shot a vicious glance at Helyna and pouted into her fruit bowl.
"Yeesh, ah, speeking of de natives," Helyna began as she folded her ladyship's dress. Lanyrene's servant had remained aboard the ship, and she wasn't about to trust a filthy sailor with her laundry. "A few of dem were back here dis morning, with dis here."
"What is it?" Lanyrene demanded angrily, eyeing the pot the Sealander had produced.
"Oh, some sort of stew, I think." Helyna put a finger into the liquid.
"Poison, surely!" Lanyrene scoffed.
"Maybe..." the Sealander voice trailed off and she licked her dripping finger.
"Now?"
"I... do not fink it is poison," came the answer, languidly, "mi lady."
"What? Give it here!" Lanyrene demanded and grabbed the container. She gave it a distrustful look before raising it and taking a large mouthful of the brownish drink. Her tooth forgotten, she eyed the sloshing liquid, mouth slightly open.
"Well, should I get de soldeers ashore for, ah, some savage hunting den, mi lady?"
"I don't think we are in any hurry, mistress Helyna," Lanyrene answered softly and took another sip.

Tales From Aramantia: New Land part 5

2009-02-05T08:03:00.001+01:00

"Mi lady..."
Sunlight flowed into Lanyrene's eyes, and she found herself blinking at Helyna gently rocking her shoulder.
"Mi lady, you have to see dis."

When she finally left her tent, Lanyrene was relieved that she had decided this sounded like the thing you went to see in your next best outfit and your hair untangled after an uneasy night's sleep. She had sleepily changed into her finely cut captain's jacket and tunic before plunging her face into her washbasin. That hadn't worked, but she was certainly awake now.
The beach in front of her tent was a congregation on surprises, each one vying for her attention. Helyna, seemingly at loss for what to do? Who were these half a dozen bronze-skinned people that... Wait! Her dress and robe! One of the short folk was kneeling at the front of the crowd, holding a bundle of expensive cloth over his head. Behind him, flanking a staff-wielding man in a feather headdress inset with semi-precious stones, stood two rows of three more natives. Like the two others, they wore nothing but a simple loincloth – even the women! – and were holding bundles of giant leaves. Some had their straight, black hair in a topknot, others had a sort of bowl cut and some wore their hair long.
And I thought the Maisentansi were savage! Lanyrene exclaimed silently.
Raising his hand, the man in the headdress called out in some absurd language, and with a promptness that startled her, the savages to his side fell prostrate, leaf packages held prominently in the air. Holding his staff in the air, the man moved towards her and the kneeling savage. As he did, the other native offered up the clothes, bowing his head even more. With her face still a stiff mask of surprise and disbelief, Lanyrene waved her hand and a Helyna hesitantly took the bundle, tucking it brusquely under her arm and hurrying away. She twitched in surprise when the feather-wearing savage suddenly lashed out against the kneeling man, landing a strong backhand blow that left the other barely standing.
"Awou-gwai!" the man scoffed vehemently.
"Criminal," Lanyrene offered, helpfully, a vicious smirk touching her lips.

Tales From Aramantia: New Land part 4

2009-02-04T08:12:00.001+01:00

It wasn't quite like the bed back in Maisentans, but at least it wasn't rocking about anymore. Glad to be out of her clothes and enveloped in silk and down, Lanyrene ax Trastasia was enjoying her first night of good sleep in weeks when suddenly a roaring voice penetrated even her deep sleep.
"...hel ferdavo kant hebmeer! Mek vabimo! Mek havita andeek?"
Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, Lanyrene slipped clumsily into her shift, cursing whatever was causing this commotion as she put on her sandals.
As she emerged from her tent, blanket thrown about her shoulders, the small figure of Helyna, its features concealed by the light of the fire, but voice quite distinct as she hurled obscenities at the sailor looming over her.
"What in the world is going on here?" Lanyrene demanded during a short lull in the foreign cursing. The furious Sealander was taken aback for a moment, but was composed when she answered.
"Nothing you need, ah, concern yourseelf with, mi lady."
"It has disturbed my sleep and is now of my concern," Lanyrene retorted angrily as she came over to the two by the fire, "Now, what seems to be the problem?"
"Dis man is a fief, mi lady."
"Oh, is he really, now?" the noblewoman's expression darkened as she turned her gaze towards the man.
"Mi lady..." the man implored, before turning pleadingly towards Helyna, "Amro, hanhusa..."
With a nod from Lanryene, Helyna allowed the distressed sailor to continue.
"Now?"
"He sez it is de forest people dat has spirited away her ladyship's clothing, mi lady."
"The forest people?"
"Elfs, mi lady," the Sealander explained, helpfully.
"So he suggests there are..." the Marean's tone was mocking until she cut herself off, "Wait! My clothing!?"
"Dis fief has stolen dem, he was de one on watch when..."
"My dress!?" Lanyrene was hovering over the Sealander on her toes now, arms outstretched in disbelief.
"My lady!" a dark-haired Marean with a pony-tail shot out of the gathered crowd around them and kneeled deeply before continuing, "How could this man be responsible? Has he buried the dress in the sand with me and Tolhemo watching from the fire here? Has he thrown it into the jungle out of spite? Where are his ill-gotten gains now?"
"Now, you listen here," Lanyrene's words curled viciously off her tongue, "you are obviously not a slave or serf, so what you are doing here, I don't think I wish to imagine, but I think you are fully aware that I have been the target of theft. And I will have someone punished for it!"
"Helyna! Have these two criminals locked up and put under heavy guard!" She made a dramatic turn, throwing the blanket over her shoulder, "I will adjudicate this in the morning!"
And with that, she returned to her tent.

Tales From Aramantia: New Land part 3

2009-02-02T11:35:00.001+01:00

Just as the longboat glided onto the golden sands, one of the rowers jumped up and made ready to jump off to help her ladyship. Instead, he was yanked back so hard, he almost crashed head first into the thworts.
"I think you will find me quite capable of disembarking on my own, young man," Lanyrene hissed poisonously. He was in his late twenties, just as herself, of course, but she found that nobility granted a selective seniority over commoners.
"Forgive me, my lady," he offered curtly as he got his bearings. Lanyrene sniffed indignantly. She wasn't about to be robbed of this honour by some low-born scoundrel. Oh, how she hated it when servants made themselves apparent!
"After you, mi lady," Helyna's Sealand heritage betrayed a tiny speck of joyous anticipation in her voice. But Lanyrene was already in the air. She landed heavily in the waves, the greenish water soaking her robes. Collecting herself and her garb, she waded the last feet unto dry land.
"In the name of our beloved Empress Avila, I, lady Lanyrene ax Trastasia of Marea, claim this land for our most glorious Empire by the grace of Marelya Vixtralaya!"
Her wet robes and the tiresome journey forgotten, Lanyrene imagined herself cutting quite a striking figure; her dark hair flowing in the wind, sun bathing her fair complexion and Helyna and the rowers filing out beside her. With her sharp nose and high cheekbones she had to like the Goddess herself right now! Oh, things were really looking up!

"De cartographer beegs you to allow him to accompanee your ladyship," Helyna explained as she returned with the longboat and supplies from the ship, "He raves on about, ah, his duty."
"Let him," Lanyrene breathed disinterestedly, "I will not have anyone but you and me here when we discover this land's riches."
"And, ah, de sailors?" Helyna wondered.
"Well, obviously!" the Marean exclaimed, "Now, did you bring my chest?"
"Of course, mi Lady."
"Good." she stated and handed over her robes, "have my tent set up immediately."
Half an eye blink later, the beach was filled with orders and expletives in roaring Sealander, sending sailors scurrying everywhere.

Tales From Aramantia: New Land part 2

2009-02-01T12:01:00.001+01:00

Perhaps I should have him keelhauled, Lanyrene mused. It was rather extreme, but he had seen the New Land before she would, and she was a Marean noble. And after all, it was she who had brought them farther than Nuut and Kawash. Perhaps if she had his eyes put out...
"Mi lady!" Helyna's thick Sealander accent woke Lanyrene from her thoughts, "You called for me?"
Even the way she dragged out the vowels of her speech, even more than usual, suggested the Sealander was far from enthusiastic.
Good, the worm knows to keep his mouth shut. Blinding it is, then.
"Ah, Mistress Helyna," Lanyrene offered a rare smile as she turned around stiffly. Even the Nuuti mattress couldn't ensure a good night's sleep in that horrible bed!
"Good news?" The Sealander sounded doubtful.
"I should think so."
"We go alone?" Helyna ventured, more afraid to be left on-board than concerning their company.
"Of course."

Lanyrene ax Trastasia stood proudly in the longboat, a blindfolded Pashari covering her from the baking sun with an embroidered umbrella. The heat made her feel like a freshly served Zetsian rabbit in her expansive, and expensive, robes, but betrayed no discomfort. If she was to encounter any natives, it would be in her best dress. Even if the dark red silk and mink robe covered most of it.
Towards the back of the boat, Helyna betrayed no emotion, surrounded by hunched rowers, watching their every move, sun gleaming on her honey-coloured hair. Slowly, the irregularly shaped bump on the horizon grew into low hills, and lush vegetation blended into an expansive, undulating green mass.
New Land.

Tales From Aramantia: New Land

2009-01-31T14:15:00.003+01:00

The sound of waves breaking against the ship's hull had been a constant and sole companion in the soundscape for more days than Lanyrene cared to remember. As she stood on the aft deck, scanning the scurrying sailors with disinterest, the crushing of the waves were joined by the sound of vomiting.. Awakened by the slightest distraction from the monotony, Lanyrene looked upon a fellow Marean hanging limply over the side.
No, Imperials didn't take well to the sea, Lanyrene thought, echoing Helyna's constant reminder. Speaking of which, she was surprised the Sealander wasn't already tanning the man's hide already. The journey must have tempered even the Storm Hag of Trentzia; perhaps she was still in her cabin?
Do I have to take care of everything around here? Lanyrene sighed in her mind and promptly didn't. Instead she turned back to her mildly observant reverie when...
"Capian!"
One of the crew? Lanyrene snapped her head toward the voice. The excited Sealander in the crow's nest called out again, before falling silent at the captain's gaze. Hurriedly, he started on his way down.
"Mi lady capian," he whispered loudly when he had climbed up to her vantage point, "land, mi lady!"
"Wipe that grin of your face!" Lanyrene hissed back, "Inform Mistress Helyna and ready the longboat."
The sailor's face sobered suddenly and, bowing deeply, he scurried away.
"And do it quietly!"

Twillight Review

2009-01-16T16:15:00.001+01:00

"I'm getting the feeling I'm not the target audience here,"

And that's the first thing I thought when I sat down in a cinema populated almost exclusively by teenage girls. I already had my worries, of course, since the film is based on some sort of wildly popular book series. And that never bodes well. So, was I in for the surprise of a lifetime (that a wildly popular book can become a good film and that teenage girls have taste) or not?

Well, yes and no. The story is pretty much as can be expected in these circumstances, same with the production and acting. But somehow it's all worse. Let me elaborate...

For a short recap of the plot, for those who are fortunate enough to be ignorant of it: A girl who is supposed to be "sorta outcast", only she's not, moves to a new place and by miraculous circumstances happen to get a seat in Science class next to this supposedly supersexy vampire, who just so happens to be very understanding and incredibly wealth, yet deeply troubled. Because of his hairdo and clown make up, I would suspect. And wouldn't you know that this girl also happens to have some sort of supernatural connection with him, unlike any other person he's met since 1918?

And that he's not really such a bad guy at all. Here I really have to digress. I would put up with the film's inane portrayal of vampires if this Edward (the vampire boyfriend) didn't constantly remind us that he's 'a monster' and that you really, really don't want to be one – all the while jumping and running to show off his awesomeness. Why the hell? This sure isn't Bram Stoker's Dracula, hell, it isn't even True Blood (but not by much)! Vampires are as slick as always, but with the added benefit of being jetplane fast, Incredible Hulk strong and having a smattering of various other powers (when did fortune telling become a traditional vampire power? I think someone mixed up Nosferatu and that stoned painter guy from Heroes somewhere along the way...). And they don't have any weaknesses (except the aforementioned clown make up). Edward finally shows his reckless girlfriend what a monster he really is, when he is in direct sunlight: He glitters! Sure, it's gay, but a weakness? Apparently not*. Of course, these vampires don't drink human blood, either – they are your friendly neighbourhood nocturnal terrors of the night.

One of the powerful aspects of the vampire myth is their curse; they drink the blood of their former kind and have to live outside the society they once belonged to. They are immensely mighty and deadly, but ultimately to be pitied. This is what makes a lot of vampire fiction great. This is just humans in retarded make up.

Back to the story, our heroine "sorta falls in love" with the vampire guy and... well, that's basically it. Vampires jump around, misusing their powers for kicks and general shenanigans, because a century or more of being dead doesn't make you grow up. Vegetarian meals are ordered**. Vampire myths are milked for more than their worth and awkward moments are experienced.

That's it. Production-wise, some of the dialogue sounds almost as if it was recited into a laptop microphone, and the pacing is very off; a lot of drawn out sequences with nothing but staring compared to showing how not-after-her-for-her-body Edward is by showing a short montage of the two lovebirds talking. A more balanced approach might make the non-fangirl(/boy?) audience sympathize a little more with the characters. Not that it would make up for how contrived the story is and how wooden the two main characters are.

Don't go watch this movie; I would almost recommend Underworld over it, but Twillight does have a periodically nice soundtrack, so I won't.

Also, vampires have ice cold skin, but are still very nice to cuddle with. Apparently.

1.5/6 (for bad production and sheer stupidity)

*As in, 'he probably still gets laid'.

**In a perfect world, bad films should not be allowed to be made, but even in this world, the shouldn't be allowed to be preachy. Oh-so-deep indie films may present the attitudes of the director (or whoever), but standard Hollywood fare has no business doing so. Of course, with standard Hollywood ham fistedness, we are told, directly, that we should all be vegetarians. Otherwise our spouses will leave us and our children will run away with Hanna Barbera vampires.

Comics to look for 2

2008-12-02T15:16:00.005+01:00

I finally got my computer back from the tech boyz (it was the harddrive, of course!) and would like to use the opportunity to showcase two more webcomics worth taking a look at:

Intragalactic

The latest creation of the wonderfully crazy and lineart-talented artist currently known as Steph Cherrywell. This comic keeps the whimsy and cleverness of the artist's former comics, like Muertitos and Gorgeous Princess Creamy Beamy while promising not to go so far out, perhaps. And it is in full colour, oh yes. For clever humour, you just can't go wrong with Intragalactic. And I wouldn't be surprised if one sees a little hilarious social commentary in the future...

And, remember: Don't run; strafe!

Darths & Droids

Yup, it's a kinda' silly name. However, it is the title of one of the most hilariously funny webcomics out there. Doubly so if you have played roleplaying games and, by the same token, quadruply so if you like Star Wars as well. Using quality screencaps from Episode I, the writers stage the movie as a roleplaying campaign, but with some quite interesting plot twists. In keeping with roleplaying conventions it is comical at times, but actually has a much better story than the actual movie; this one ain't just laughs. Of course, reading the annotations can be just as much fun as the strips themselves and helpfully explain roleplaying terms to the uninitiated and help you waste time on the TV Tropes website.

Anmeldelse: Crysis: Warhead

2008-10-22T16:38:00.001+02:00

En kort anmeldelse av Crysis: Warhead, oppfølgeren til det beste skytespillet EVARRR på Amaranths forum.

http://z8.invisionfree.com/Amaranth/index.php?showtopic=160

Witch Hunters Fluff (pt.14)

2008-10-02T19:11:00.005+02:00

You, sir, are a Warp-damned fool.
I beg to differ, Laphas answered himself as he left the flickering lights of the run down cantina and stepped into the soft drizzle on the wet streets of Anoria Prime.
This is suicide. And what do I get out of this?
He stopped at the gaping darkness of an empty alley in a few quick steps, dodging soaked durastyrene and plascard with each of them
“Oh, this and that,” he smiled into the seemingly deserted alley. He scanned the nothingness briefly and straightened his left glove.
“Let’s see what we have here,” he muttered, closing his eyes.
Let’s, came a voice in his head. It was not his own.

The water was running down Reitzmann’s hood in miniature rivers now. His face, still unmoving, was determined, even as stream diverted its course unto his nose.
“What makes this evening so auspicious, my lord,” asked a soaked Alheena underneath a decrepit transit shelter, “that we have to wander out in the rain?”
“That no one else does, my dear,” the Inquisitor explained, wiping the water from his face with the back of his hand, “Speaking of which – I think it is high time we wandered further.”
“I’m not arguing with the man who stands outside the shelter in a torrent,” the woman stated, throwing her rain cloak about her shoulders, “but…”

What’s the hurry? slithered the voice in his head. He hadn’t realized he had increased his pace. It’s raining, he thought, as much to his own benefit as for the mysterious voice. His own sight lent him little aid in the unlit back alley, but he wasn’t about try anything now – who else might be watching?
Oh, do come inside, then. The voice coiled itself around his mind with a cold wetness. He paid it as little heed he could, concentrating all his effort on trying not to stumble in the refuse.
It’s so lonely here. It was as much sudden sensation as words; no slippery movement, just a flash. His mind fell silent, but the feeling came pulsing back: Vulnerable. Alone. All cut way with a searing lash: Why are you here!?
Thank you, he smirked in his mind. The world faded into a bright shade of grey.
“Hello, hello,” he smiled, letting the flashing whirlpool fade from his eyes. He fumbled along the walls, knocking over a pile of collapsed boxes. A firm hand helped him regain his balance.
Damn.

Witch Hunters Fluff (pt.13)

2008-09-10T21:12:00.001+02:00

“Nothing?” the thin man stammered from within his generous uniform, his grip firmly on his belt.
“The Inquisitorial Tribunal has assessed no threat to Anoria at present, Lord High Proctor,” Inquisitor Reitzmann explained in a formal tone from where he stood behind his desk.
“But what of…” the aging High Proctor was cut short as Reitzmann leaned over the desk, face unchanged.
“That is all, my Lord.”
Giving a stiff nod of acceptance, the old man walked out the door in a stately manner as Alheena opened it before she closed it and turned towards the Inquisitor.
“It was ‘High Lord Proctor’, wasn’t it?” he sighed as he collected his papers.
“And the rest of the Inquisitorial Tribunal,” some irritation seeped into her speech, “are they aware of this assessment?”
“All these titles…” the Inquisitor mused to himself as he straightened his stack of papers. Alheena crossed her arms in anticipation, but Reitzmann simply strode past her before turning.
“Oh, and by the way,” he exclaimed, almost absentmindedly, “by the time the Tribunal becomes aware of this assessment,” he looked up from his papers, “I’m hoping it will prove to be correct.”

Witch Hunters Fluff (pt.12)

2008-08-28T13:36:00.001+02:00

“What!?” Alheena screamed, snapping up from the couch, shocked face leaning over the table, “You brought him here?”
“Well, someone has to prepare the food,” Inquisitor Reitzmann said, unphased by the outburst.
“Prepare the food? You hardly eat anything but Imperial field rations!” she continued, in exasperation.
“Still, I think you can agree that he now has come in handy.”
“But this is an Inquisitorial Tribunal and he is an unsanctioned psyker!” The rage had given way to a pleading desperation.
“And I’m an Imperial Inquisitor and I need to get to the bottom of this.”
Alheena slumped back on the couch with a sigh.
“It’s too risky,” she said in a low voice, “we should make use of informants and then flush out the heretics.”
“Unless this is something worse than common heresy and standard procedures may be too slow? Innocents will die needlessly.”
Guilt from the last comment and amusement from the notion that the Inquisitor should actually care combined in an uneasy chuckle.
“And if the plan fails?” she retorted.
“Regrettably, mister Laphas may have to be terminated,” Reitzmann explained with mock graveness and put a hand on Alheena’s shoulder.
“When do we start?” she smiled.

Witch Hunters Fluff (pt.11)

2008-07-11T12:45:00.001+02:00

“Discounting the fact that this time he was right,” Inquisitor Reitzmann said in an explanatory manner, “you should at all times keep your…”
The woman kept her mask of vague resentfulness as he spoke, keeping abreast with him down the corridor.
“…a low profile around Inquisitors,” he finished.
“Is that so?” Alheena muttered.
“Come now, I can’t believe your reading hasn’t uncovered this concept called respect?”
More stony silence.
“Good, you agree, then,” he stated, matter-of-factly, opening a door at the end of the hall, “And if you will snap out of that sour face, we have work to do.”
Gesturing towards the corner couch surrounding half of a simple plastic table, he seated himself on the edge of the bed next to it. The woman sat down, stiffly, relaxing slightly as she was seated.
“Resistance is futile,” Reitzmann commented as he drew out two glasses from the cupboard, “that’s the comfortable couch.”
Alheena grunted a grudging assent and Reitzmann began pouring a green, slightly viscous liquid in the glasses.
“Arbora,” he explained, inclining his head towards the half-empty bottle, “sooths the soul, they say.”
No interest was evident from the woman opposite.
“Not so much a hurt ego, I’m afraid,” he finished and took a sip, letting Alheena take her time trying the potion. After several silent moments and a few tentative sips of the Arbora later, Reitzmann stood up from the bedside, looking straight at her.
“Right, enough of this,” he stated brusquely, “I hope you have had time to cool off; we have work to do.”
Alheena’s lips narrowed, her face screwing up in a mixture of eagerness, curiosity and bitterness.
“So, not only does an apparent non-psyker turn out to be quite susceptible to psy-stakes, but an entire cell block worth of informants, on closer inspection, are actually low-level psykers as well,” Reitzmann summed up, “An interesting coincidence, don’t you think?”
“You know very well it couldn’t have been a coincidence,” Alheena sniffed, taking a short sip of Arbora.
“Exactly,” Reitzmann agreed, “but not everyone was subjected to secondary testing, isn’t that correct?”
“That,” Alheena put down her empty glass, “is correct, my lord.”
“Ah! Straight and to the point – I knew there was a good reason I hired you!” Reitzmann offered a smile and put off by the sudden display of mirth, Alheena could not help herself from laughing, the tension evaporating from the room with each chuckle.
“By all means,” he said, nodding towards the bottle. She poured herself another glass.
“As we have established, some of the fresh corpses outside might indeed have been psykers, lowlife enough to escape the primary screenings.”
“Records show screenings were conducted two standard years ago, by planetary authorities,” Alheena explained.
“There you have it,” Reitzmann offered a mock sniff of dissatisfaction, “planetary authorities.”
“Still, the rest exhibited no psychic ability – that is, until during the tribunal.”
“I know you carried out the necessary tests; what is important now is how we should act next.”
“Very well,” she accepted, sipping her glass, “so what is our intended course of action?”
“What seems to be the underlying theme here?”
“Good-for-nothing scum?”
“And psykers,” Reitzmann added, taking a step towards the table.
“So, what do you want me to do concering lowlife psyker scum? Spy in seedy taverns?” Alheena ventured, puzzled, as she emptied her glass.
“I think, perhaps, you should just keep the bottle.”

Tanker rundt Age of Conan

2008-07-08T22:13:00.002+02:00

For de som er interessert i en norskspråklig anmeldelse av Age of Conan som ikke er litt svada og "instant sekser"; her er mine tanker rundt MMOen til Funcom:

Anmeldelse av Age of Conan på Amaranth Gaming Forum.

Making fun of Webcomics

2008-07-03T15:09:00.004+02:00

So, I've been making fun of webcomics earlier, with my short 'how to'-series. Here's another take at Webcomic-bashing, which is actually pretty good and sums up many of my feelings on the matter - once you take away all the over-the-top piss, shit and choking to death on porridge stuff.

Watch it...

Top hats, eh?

(edit: link actually works now)

Witch Hunters Fluff (pt.10)

2008-06-05T13:50:00.005+02:00

”This is outrageous!” the old man protested loudly. His hand went through the last long strands of greying hair on his head as he staggered off his pew, leaning heavily on his cane. Behind him was Inquisitor Reitzmann, not betraying any of his thoughts on the proceedings, his hands behind his trench coat.
“I agree!” Inquisitor Vargas shouted back.
Riefel stopped before him, perplexed, Reitzmann a few paces back, a head taller than the stooped, old Inquisitor.
“Who is responsible for allowing an unsanctioned psyker into an Inquisitorial Tribunal without proper wards?”
“Psyker!” Inquisitor Riefel exclaimed, “There was nothing in the briefing about psykers!”
“No, but here we are,” Vargas said sourly, “I ask again; who is responsible?”
“No one!” came a thin voice and Vargas and Riefel turned to face the newcomer. Reitzmann didn’t look at her, but allowed himself an amused smile. Inquisitor Vargas’ eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
“Procedure has been followed; there was no indication that any of the witnesses were psykers,” Alheena explained, annoyance bleeding through in every word.
“You see, Imoel,” Riefel said, satisfied with the explanation, “the screenings don’t lie.”
“And psy-stakes don’t affect non-psykers,” Vargas remarked acidly.
“You hit him in the chest,” Alheena retorted, “Who wouldn’t be convulsing?”
“When I want the opinions of acolytes, I ask,” Inquisitor Vargas growled menacingly, “girl.”
Eyes glinting with anger, the woman opened her mouth to speak back, but was interrupted by Reitzmann’s stern voice.
“Enough,” he sighed; he had moved over to the witness stand. Taking a firm grasp on the dead man’s collar, he hauled him upright. Staring at them were two burnt-out sockets, pus dripping lazily from the holes.
“How…” Riefel stammered, “how did you know?”
“Witches,” Vargas sniffed contemptuously, “I smell them.”

Dark Angels Fluff Pt. 6

2008-06-03T10:08:00.000+02:00

“Show yourself, Traitor!” Brother Amiel roared, spinning around, chainsword whirring angrily in his hand. No answer. Suddenly something caught his eye coming out of the tunnel before him. Blind grenade, he cursed to himself just as his autosenses overloaded. It took them but a moment to readjust, but a moment was all his opponent needed. When he got his sight back, Amiel found himself face to face with a large figure swathed in heavy robes. Robes hiding black power armour, he knew. The hum from the traitor’s power sword was gentle, but menacing as they circled each other. An honourable duel.
“I have come to show you the folly of your ways,” Amiel cautioned, but without malice. The other raised his sword slightly.
“How noble of you,” he said, noting Amiel’s tone, “I thought you came here to die.”
His opponent lashing out, Amiel dodged, narrowly escaping the humming sword. An inconvenient situation, he concluded. The chainsword was made for the brutality of mass combat, not duelling. The power sword would make short work of it anyway. He had to think fast – and move faster.
“It matters not, for you will meet your end nevertheless,” Amiel warned him, “lest you repent!”
“Ah, so sure of your ways!” the other sighed, but made no further attacks.
“This world is consigned to Exterminatus – you will die with it!”
“And so will you,” the other observed.
“I die in the service of the Immortal Emperor!” Amiel shouted, striking his chainsword downwards. The Fallen stepped aside, but only just. “It would be yet another death on your hands.”
“Or on the hands of your glorious Emperor, perhaps?” asked the other, spinning around with his sword.
“You know nothing!” Amiel retorted and sidestepped badly, barely getting his chainsword in the power weapon’s path. It sliced cleanly through the machinery, teeth and chains exploding outwards, before striking Amiel’s chest eagle. Even with lessened impact, the sword cut through his power armour. Pain flared for a moment before painkillers coursed through his body. The pain dulled, he could still feel the wound. It was deep.

Dark Angels Fluff Pt. 5

2008-05-02T17:56:00.001+02:00

Inclining his head to pass under a toppled drilling rig, Amiel checked his bolt pistol again. Be prepared in mind, body and soul, he quoted, moving carefully. His helmet’s autosenses compensated for the darkness, but rocky debris and skeletal mining equipment could obscure an entire squad of Fallen in each corridor. Caution, he told himself, moving along the mine wall as the tunnel opened into a larger chamber. A quick glance revealed three or four tunnels leaving the room at his level. Taking two steps into the open, Amiel looked up at a complex scaffolding to his left allowing for access to tunnels several levels up.
Too little time, Amiel muttered in his mind. He dropped to one knee and began scanning the ground. A hissing sound of machinery made him look up, bolter at the ready, trying to discern its source. Darting towards the wall on his side, Amiel was soon on the flight of stairs leading up the scaffolding, servos trying their best to soften his footsteps. Time seemed agonizingly slow as he carefully made his way upwards, but not alerting his quarry took priority.
Duty above all, he reminded himself as he turned another corner, making his to the fifth floor, duty in all. The last stair opened unto a small platform, cavern walls dotted with vidscreens. A surveillance station. The equipment seemed aging and all the chairs were tangled upon the floor.
Deserted? Amiel felt a twinge of uncertainty. No, it had to be here. One more tunnel, he told himself. Still moving slowly, he passed by one of the abandoned consoles.
On. With a sudden movement, he spun around, training his bolt pistol on the closest tunnel.
He turned again, surveying the room, backing towards the stairs, bolter held outright.
“Looking for something?” a mocking voice called out of nowhere.
Brother Amiel’s chainsword roared to life in his hand.

Dark Angels Fluff Pt. 4

2008-04-26T12:20:00.001+02:00

The dying rays of Borsa fell through rusting girders and hollow towers. Pools of yellowish liquid gathered inside prefabricated habitation units, the termination points for trickling streams of the stuff running down from the main complex. With an uncompromising roar, brother Amiel manoeuvred his bike around the remains of a Rhino-sized excavation machine.
This was abandoned long before the Orks came. The evidence should prove right pointing him to this place. Amiel halted his bike in front of the plascrete entrance to the mine itself, picking up his faulty Auspex. Offering a short prayer to the Machine-God as he thumbed the switch, his small heresy was answered only by a small shower of sparks.
Filthy Orks, he fumed in his mind, stepping off the bike. Readying his bolt pistol and chainsword, Amiel made his way into the darkness. Emperor guide me, it has to be the right place.

“My brothers are preparing to return as we speak, Inquisitor,” came the deep voice articulated in the vox unit of captain Zenon’s Terminator armour. The suit’s helmet was unnecessary here onboard the Divine Vigilance, but more he distanced himself from the man in front of him, the better. The Inquisitor thinks too highly of himself.
“Then everything is set to continue as scheduled?” the solid man turned in his multi-layered leather robes, pointing his burning eyes at the Terminator suit’s lenses, refusing to be dwarfed by the hulking Space Marine.
“Of course,” Zenon answered brusquely.
“Everything?” The Inquisitor’s eyes squinted slightly, but only the faintest trace of suspicion lined his voice.
“Do not presume I do not know my work,” Zenon thundered angrily, “Inquisitor Darion”
“Exactly. And as Inquisitor, it is my work to presume a great many things.”
The Terminator Marine stood motionless on the battleship’s bridge.
“Very well,” Darion broke the silence, turning to face the captain of the Divine Vigilance, who had wisely shrunk back the moment the Inquisitor had taken command of the vessel, “you may plot final firing solutions.”

Dark Angels Fluff Pt. 3

2008-04-23T20:12:00.001+02:00

Winds whipped across the devastated badlands, stirring muddy water in numerous craters. The howling of the wind remained the only sound on the desolate scene until roars of engines ripped through the silence just as sturdy wheels slashed through the mud.
The wind snapping at his robes and running through his hair somehow felt soothing to Brother Amiel. Even the mud splattering the hem of his robe as he raced across made him feel… free? His duties had kept him away for far too long; this was his place; the wind in his face, roaring across the wastes. And hunting my Brothers?
What a foolish notion! They were no more his Brothers than any other Traitor. Still, he felt more contempt than hatred for them. To be led so blindly into damnation. Fortunately, he had the Emperor’s light to guide him. The mud-spattered bike left the ground as he speeded over the edge of an enormous crater and plunged into the bloodied pools below. It skidded to a halt in the sludge. Amiel checked his auspex against the bike’s own navigation system. In the corner of his eye he saw flecks of blood and muck on his robes and armour.
The face betrays the soul, he thought absent-mindedly and decided he had to clean his power armour the minute he returned from…
The mission. Blaming his absentmindedness on the tedious cross-country journey, he slammed down the pedal and started reciting a prayer.
“I give my life to the Emperor, may His light shine on me and His wisdom guide me. Emperor protect my soul as I protect His flesh. His resolve be my own…”

He heard them before he saw them; the thunderous roar of engines mixed with guttural jeers and obscenities. Risking a short glance backwards, Brother Amiel confirmed his suspicions: Three crazed greenskins on exhaust-spewing metal steeds waving tyre irons, hooked chains and improvised banners. Preparing to turn his bike around, Brother Amiel glanced up at the setting sun and pushed his bike even faster. Seeing their prey eluding them, the Ork bikers howled in frustration, unloading their guns in a vain attempt to stop him. The lead Ork slamming his fist into a big red button, his bike suddenly erupted in flames, propelling it forward like an Ork-manned hunter killer missile. Catching a look backwards and noticing the speeding greenskin gaining on him, Brother Amiel activated his chainsword and slammed down the brakes. Skidding to a halt, he extended his arm, chainsword whirring in his hand, jerking it back as the force of the huge Ork slammed into it. Ahead of him, the biker lost control, smashing into the burnt out remains of a Chimera, showering the battlefield in white-hot fragments as the makeshift afterburner exploded.
Filthy Orks, Amiel thought, taking another look at the sun. And turned his bike around towards the approaching bikers.

Dark Angels Fluff Pt. 2

2008-04-18T19:49:00.000+02:00

Another run so soon? captain Sturma thought over the ringing in his ears.
“Damn Orks!” he spat when he had regained some measure of his senses. Across the crater, the guardsman lay in awe. Paying him no heed, Sturma checked his energy pack and rose to meet the green tide, but the hissing of ancient hydraulics behind him caught his attention. Turning to face a dark structure, towering over 20 feet over him, Sturma could not help but stare as four leaf-like doors fell open. Huge, robed figures filed out of the drop pod, boltguns at the ready.
“Look, sir! Space Marines!” the guardsman yelled, voice broken in half, “Praise the Emperor!”

White robes fluttered around dark power armour as the newly arrived Space Marines took up positions. Utterly ignoring the surprised guardsmen, one of them gently put down a foot tall device, tapping it with a power armoured finger. Only a soft glow betrayed its operation. The Marine hurriedly hefted his bolter and took up his position alongside his battle brothers.
Facing the Orkish flood, captain Sturma was once again distracted, this time by an intense crackling sound. A sharp smell attacked his nostrils as a wave of heat washed over him. In the fading bursts of energy, five hulking shapes in ashen white appeared before his eyes. Without hesitation, the five raised their storm bolters and plodded towards the oncoming Orks. Hot on their heels, captain Sturma found his laspistol intact. Blowing off dirt from the gun’s lens he located the confused guardsman.
“Get up, boy,” he growled, though without much menace, “We’re not done yet.”
The two turned towards the Orks, guns at the ready as a dozen more drop pods descended towards the scarred surface. The Space Marines intoned a silent prayer over their boltguns, readying themselves as the random voices of the Orks joined together in a mighty “Waaagh!”

“The Emperor watches over us!” roared interrogator-chaplain Zabiel trough the grinning skull beneath his hood, “Do not shame him!”
He didn’t notice the small pair taking up positions between the Marines, but instead raised his crozius, energy playing angrily on its finely carved surface. Bolter rounds propelled themselves towards the Orks with furious hisses, met by metal slugs and stones from the greenskins.
That counts for you as well, Amiel, the chaplain thought a moment before his badge of office crashed deep into an Ork head.

Witch Hunters Fluff (pt.9)

2008-04-08T09:51:00.001+02:00

”A most interesting hair colour you have there, mister Farian,” Inquisitor Imoel Vargas reflected aloud for the gathering’s benefit as he turned around to face the witness once more. The two other Inquisitors in the room shot him enquiring looks. Most of the acolytes knew to keep their thoughts to themselves. The man seated in front of the Tribunal glanced around the dimly lit room, keeping his attention on the exquisite woodwork of the surrounding lecterns and benches, rather than meet anyone’s gaze. He knew better now. Vargas paced in front of the stand for a moment before catching Farian’s attention and fixing him with an insistent look.
“Ah,” the man stammered, “uhm, yes.”
A calm sensation blanketed Farian’s mind, thin as a plasilk sheet, but enough to let him collect his thoughts.
“Ah ‘ad it coloured,” he explained, briefly wondering why.
“I see,” the Inquisitor mused, “and why would you do such a thing?”
“It looks nice?” Farian ventured, noticing how out of place it sounded in this formal gathering.
“Because it looks nice,” the Inquisitor mocked, the ridicule lost on the man before him.
“Aye.”
“My Lord,” he added.
“Tell me, mister Farian; is mankind not touched by divinity?”
“Ah guess so…”
“Is the human form not the vessel of His will?”
“Aye,” he answered, suspecting an Ecclesial trap.
“And would the God-Emperor, in his wisdom, empower a faulty instrument to do His bidding?”
“Uhm,” Farian gulped, trying to make head and tail of the Inquisitor’s question.
“’Betrayal of the flesh heralds deliverance from the Empyrean’, mister Farian,” Vargas explained, his voice raised. When understanding seemed forthcoming he added with acidic politeness, “And that was not a blessing.”
“You cannot imagine the heretics I have ended, mister Farian,” the Inquisitor continued, “but seldom are they foolish enough to wear their corruption this openly.”
He touched the man’s brightly coloured clothing briefly with his cane and turned away in disgust.
“Dear Imoel, this hardly seems necessary,” protested an old man’s voice, but Vargas didn’t reply and instead deftly slid a psy-bolt into his combi-weapon.
“On the contrary, it is far to mild,” he said grimly as he turned back and extended his weapon towards the witness stand. A cry rose from the assembly as he pulled the trigger, the crossbow bolt flying true to Farian’s chest. Reaching towards the stake embedded in his chest, he had barely moved his hands before sudden convulsions wracked his body, his eyes glazing over. As the smell of ozone rose from the body as it fell on the floor, Inquisitor Vargas turned and holstered his gun.
“Very well, Riefel,” he said grimly, “your witness.”

Dark Angels Fluff Pt. 1

2008-04-01T14:50:00.001+02:00

”I don’t care if Gazghkull himself has popped over to say ‘hi’!” captain Sturma bellowed into the vox-caster, his voice straining to outdo the deafening noise of exploding ‘bomms’, “You just see to it that no puss-brained greenskin gets into that trench!”
As if on cue, the captain was showered with dirt and debris, knocked to the ground by the nearby blast. Quickly determining he was, in fact, not dead, Sturma shook of the rubble and looked around. Around him his command squad lay dying, only their muffled moans betraying any hint of life.
“Get up, Arno!” he barked at a body buried beneath vox-caster, dirt and debris. No answer came. Bending over the fallen soldier, he instinctively reached for his laspistol when he saw a figure coming towards him in the corner of his eye. Quickly turning around, he deftly trained it on a terrified guardsman climbing over a crater edge.
“Sir!”
The newcomer didn’t sound as scared as Sturma thought he would. Before he could continue, however, the man stopped to look intently at the captain. Sturma prompted the guardsman to speak with a piercing glare.
“Sir, your arm!”
Looking down at the bloodied remains of his left arm, captain Sturma wondered silently why he hadn’t noticed that before. It hurt like hell. Just like the rest of his body.
“Forget it!” he snarled and waved his laspistol for emphasis, “Speak your piece, soldier!”
“Communications are down, sir,” the guardsman shouted, even though the shelling had subsided.
“Tell me about it,” Sturma answered in a sour tone, pointing his laspistol at the dead vox-operator, “Any word from Lieutenant Barko?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Damn him!” the captain yelled, slamming his boot into the broken vox-caster, “And damn this putrid pit of worthless…”
The guardsman looked dumbfounded at the captain’s sudden long-windedness, such as it was, and let him spout obscenities for a little while longer.
“Get your gear, soldier,” he commanded, unnecessarily, when he had finished cursing the world and its inhabitants, “we have to round up as many we can from 21st Platoon before the Orks reach the centre!”
“Uh, sir…” the guardsman ventured, “I think they’re here.”
Furiously, captain Sturma turned to face the soldier and caught a glimpse of the green torrent rushing towards them. A countless mass surged across no-man’s land, crude slugthrowers firing wildly in the air. Only sporadic lasfire could be seen here and there. The captain reached for the icon he had not worn in more than a decade.
“Emperor preserve us.”
His whisper had barely left his lips when a thunderous explosion behind him sent captain Sturm sprawled, face first in the dirt.

Witch Hunters Fluff (pt.8)

2008-03-23T16:41:00.000+01:00

A faint sound got his attention, but Inquisitor Reitzmann kept to his work, shunting a sheet of paper to the side of his desk, his eyes already scanning the page underneath. A calm and polite knock at the door.
“Do enter, Alheena,” he called with a trace of mock resignation continuing as the door began to open, “you know I will notify you in advance should I think to perform diabolical rites I don’t want you…”
He stopped, looking up in surprise that the woman was already at his desk. Unusual. He was even more taken aback that her thin mouth was as narrow as a Monodominant’s tolerance, her eyes uncharacteristically hard. Reitzmann looked back calmly.
“Is there anything I can help you with, my dear?”
“Don’t you ‘my dear’ me,” she growled, a mode of verbal conversation Reitzmann had thought the girl incapable of, “What is it you think you are doing?”
“Trying to make heads and tails of Werner Riefel’s investigation?” he ventured with exaggerated puzzlement. Alheena swallowed hard and shook her head.
“I cannot believe you have taken in an unsanctioned psyker without noticing…” she said, calmer now, but acid anger still lingering in her voice.
“Ah, mister Laphas,” the Inquisitor said, going back to his work now that the pieces were falling into shape.
“I don’t care what its name is!” Alheena protested, angered by the Inquisitor’s dismissing attitude, “What are you thinking?”
“‘Fear therefore the untrained Psyker, the ignorant Wytch through which the Horrores and Daimons of the Empyrean haunt our world,’” she quoted for emphasis while waiting for Reitzmann’s acknowledgment. The Inquisitor made her wait for an answer.
“Trabar?” he ventured, but did not wait for confirmation before continuing, “Isn’t that a little pedestrian?”
“Are you even listening?” Alheena sighed, her anger faltering. Reitzmann made no reply, his eyes still in the report.
“Do you ever listen?”
The Inquisitor glanced up, looking her squarely in the eye.
“Things are under control.”
Alheena threw her arms up from the edge of the desk as she turned and walked briskly out of the room. Reitzmann was still looking up as the door closed with a gentle thud that echoed through his office.
“Things are under control,” he muttered into Werner Riefel’s report.

Witch Hunters Fluff (pt.7)

2008-03-06T15:52:00.000+01:00

“My lord Inquisitor,” the smooth voice called, marred only by the desk vox’ static, “there is a man here to see you.”
“Does he have an appointment?” It wasn’t really a question. This wasn’t a Medicae office.
“It’s about the vacancy,” she answered off-handily before cutting him off.
“You must be jesting,” Inquisitor Reitzmann muttered into the silent vox. He put away the Riefel report and reached for the top drawer of his desk. Touching the handle, he changed his mind and began leafing through the paper stack to find where he had left off. Putting his finger on a headline in the dim promethium torchlight, he was interrupted by a polite knock on the door.
“God-Emperor,” he muttered, looking up from the report, “this had better be good.”
Waiting for a few moments, eyes fixed on the door, he finally called for the visitor to enter. In came a young man in his late twenties, dirty blond hair drawn into a ponytail, well-built, if a little lanky and wearing faded, but clean trousers and a dark-grey jacket. He reached out his hand over the desk in an agreeable gesture. Reitzmann remained unmoving. Withdrawing the hand, the man seated himself on a nearby chair. Silence was thundering from the Inquisitor, forcing the newcomer to submit to it before he could get his bearings. Reitzmann leaned back and glanced over the discarded paperwork.
“My lord,” the man began, tentatively, “I’m here for the job vacancy.”
Once again looking up from the report, Reitzmann cast him a dubious look.
“That is.” he continued, “I understand you are a sensible man…”
“I’m beginning to suspect you understand precious little,” the Inquisitor interjected, putting down his papers. The other man looked hurt for half a moment, but quickly composed himself.
“Ah, you should just allow me but a moment of your time and I can show you my expertise.”
“Really now, mister…”
“Laphas, sir,” the man shot in before Reitzmann could continue, “Terwohl Laphas.”
“Very well, mister Laphas, but I don’t make a habit out of meddling in the hiring of servants.”
“Right. Of course.” Laphas smiled falsely, “still, I think you should find me a more than adequate cook.”
“I have no doubt, young man. Too bad we are looking for a scribe.”
For a moment, Terwohl Laphas was at loss for words.
“I think you will come to understand that lack of involvement doesn’t equal ignorance,” Reitzmann explained, impatiently, as he stood up, leaning over his desk. Quickly gathering his wits, Laphas looked into the Inquisitor’s eyes.
Don’t be hasty. My lord. His mouth did not move except to display a satisfied smile. It stayed for a split second, before turning into a nauseous frown. Rolling of the chair, he fell sprawled to the floor. Inquisitor Reitzmann stepped in front of the dark wooden desk, one hand on its carved surface.
And perhaps you shouldn’t be too hasty to think the mind of an Inquisitor in His service as defenceless as that of a young clerk?
Terwohl Laphas moaned slightly. He probably got the gist of it.
“I think the kitchen will suit you nicely.”

R.I.P. E. Gary Gygax

2008-03-05T10:14:00.003+01:00

Some people aren't supposed to die. They do great things and they have been around for what seems like forever. Yet they do. It doesn't ease the pain to look at what they have accomplished and that they would be pleased with their lives. It feels wrong. I haven't met him. I haven't played the game he created (D&D 3+ for me). I haven't even made a particular effort to see what he was doing these days. Still, there is a Gary Gygax-shaped hole in my world now. Keep this up and reality will come off as a Swiss cheese.

You were a visionary; a great man who founded a great tradition. Rest in peace, Gary Gygax. You've earned it.

-Jonas

500 points of Witch Hunters

2008-03-02T16:11:00.001+01:00

So, being almost done with my 500 point Sisters of Battle force, here it is in all it's almost painted glory. Oh yes.

Almost gloriously yours,
Jonas

Larsktur Larason - in English???

2008-02-29T16:25:00.004+01:00

For all the poor people who cannot read Norwegian, not that there could be many frequenting this site, here is a brief excerpt of the first part of the first saga in the grand epic that is Larsktur Larason's Saga translated into English!

The Saga of Larsktur Larason Excerpt

Translatingly yours,
Jonas

Witch Hunters Fluff (prelude)

2008-02-24T22:44:00.001+01:00

A little glimpse into what has passed before... or something...

“Have you eaten?” the woman’s voice jostled Reitzmann out of deep thought. In the darkened hall, he lowered the data slate in the glowglobe’s dim light.
“Yes…” he muttered, barely inclining his head from the heavy wooden desk.
“Today?” the woman inquired sharply. A short silence.
“Have you eaten?” the Inquisitor retorted. The woman didn’t answer. Reitzmann stretched his aching muscles and took a deep breath.
“Today?” came the answer after some deliberation, but in a light tone. He allowed himself a tired smile and let go of the slate.
“By the Throne,” he sighed, “what day is it?”
Behind him, the woman fidgeted and he turned around to look at her. She was focussing on the fingers fiddling with the ruffled lace on her dress. He tried to catch her attention with a smile, but gave up.
“My dear!” he exclaimed, suppressing his fatigue, “Forget these volumes! A higher calling beckons us.”
Looking up in mild shock from his apparent enthusiasm and change of heart, the woman ceased her tampering and stared in surprise, her eyes wide over her black-rimmed glasses, mouth open in disbelief.
“A… a,” she struggled for words, “at… of course, my lord Inquisitor.”
“First, and of most urgency,” he explained, rising from his chair and casting his eyes about for his cloak, “we shall have to get our hands on a damned chronometer.”
Her face a mixture of the former mask of surprise and uncertain amusement, the young woman simply watched the Inquisitor put on his cloak.
“And then,” he said, placing an arm over her shoulders as he began to walk, “we shall see if all they eat in this place is dust and oil.”

Witch Hunters Fluff (pt.6)

2008-02-19T20:02:00.002+01:00

Was ist loss? Two updates in one day? Oh yes!

“We are setting course for Ayela V,” Reitzmann explained as he sat down in front of his vid console.
“My Lord Inquisitor?” came a woman’s voice from behind him, “Standard procedure five-oh-two for Rediscovery and Reintegration recommends thorough registration of possible deviations prior to initiating the reintegration process. Shouldn’t we check if the Order has diverged…”
Having turned to face the woman, Reitzmann patiently gave her a look. She was slight of build and had a round, bespectacled face, the dress hanging awkwardly of her body looking as ancient as the tome she clutched tightly in the corner of her arm.
“Oh, I already knew they had,” he blithely assured her and turned back to activate the vid screen.
A short silence followed, the Inquisitor accessing his logs, the woman shuffling her feet slightly, looking at the book in her hands. Reitzmann smiled ever so slightly, and began the day’s log.
“You sound certain,” the woman said grudgingly, “why did you come here if you already knew?”
“Yes, I knew,” the Inquisitor turned his head in her direction, “but I had to make sure they knew that I knew.”
“My, aren’t you the clever one,” the woman said, with a tone of playful sarcasm to it.
“Everyone cannot be a prodigy,” Reitzmann explained and rose from his chair, “Some of us have to resort to being clever.”
Yet again giving in to silence, Reitzmann unfastened his cloak and crossed the room, the woman’s eyes trailing him cautiously. Sitting down again, he pulled off a polished boot.
“I take it your meeting with the Canoness went well, then?” the woman broke the silence once more. Reitzmann pulled of his other boot.
“That’s Canoness Superior, actually,” he pointed out, “And yes, I think she is adequately convinced.”
“Good,” the woman concluded and kept silent for some time before continuing, “Was she pretty?”
Glancing up at her as he unfastened the holster for his sidearm, the Inquisitor chuckled lightly.
“You know? I seem to have had my mind on other things back there!” he exclaimed in mock amazement.
“Forgive me, Lord Inquisitor,” the woman muttered, fixing her eyes on her book, “I was being silly.”
“Do not trouble yourself with that,” he said, cheerfully, “You didn’t think I hired you for your incredible intelligence and astonishing learning capacity now, did you?”
“I…” she began timidly, “As you wish.”
“I suggest you take a break,” he sighed with a smile, “Go down to the mess hall before they close up.”
She turned promptly to leave him, her head still bowed.
“Without the book.”

Two Desert Eagle Marines

2008-02-19T14:19:00.003+01:00

Two Space Marines of the Desert Eagles chapter fight off the Xenos hordes.

Exaggeratingly yours,
Jonas

Canoness on a Throne

2008-02-14T15:58:00.003+01:00

Oh my, am I productive these days...!

Especially pleased with the flames because they look so good compared to how long it took to do them. "Det enkle er ofte det beste!"

Simply yours,
Jonas

Fuckbook

2008-02-13T16:06:00.001+01:00

And that's all I have to say about that :)

Sisters of Battle Rhino and Immolator

2008-02-11T17:26:00.001+01:00

Yes, the Immolator is missing its blast shield (for now), but otherwise, these two babes are ready to roll (and flame heretics!). Now, for some Sisters to ride in them... *sigh*

Twin Heavy Flamingly yours,
Jonas

Larsktur Larason på Ville Veier - del 4 is here!

2008-02-05T13:35:00.000+01:00

Da vil æ anbefal alle som kainn å læs norsk (bokmål, no less) å kikk på lista over Larsktur Larasons ville ferder for å finn del 4 av den pågående sagaen. Ingen fare, det hele e ikke over enda - og dokker ska sikkert få lov te å vent i et halvår på den neste delen óg!

Lettet hilsen,
Jonas

Witch Hunters Fluff (pt.5)

2008-02-04T10:57:00.000+01:00

Sparing a moment to glance at the handmaidens, Inquisitor Lord Reitzmann felt some measure of satisfaction from the confused faces. It’s best that no one expects the Imperial Inquisition, he thought to himself. Waiting for acknowledgment from the Canoness Superior that never materialized, he decided to take the matter into his own hands and stood up.
“Forgive my intrusion, Canoness Superior,” he said as humbly as he could manage. Sometimes you had to play people by their own tune.
“I have business of urgency to attend to.”
The enthroned woman did not answer him, but looked behind the Inquisitor and gazed upon the newly arrived Mother Superior.
“What is the meaning of this, Sister?” she inquired sharply, emphasizing her own rank.
Reitzmann could feel the woman behind him glow with barely controlled resentment and smiled slightly to himself.
“The revered Lord Inquisitor had urgent matters to discuss with her Eminence,” the Mother Superior explained, “I thought it wise not to let him wait.”
Really, now.
“Then cease your thinking!” the Canoness bellowed before calming herself, as if she just remembered Reitzmann’s presence.
“Do forgive us these misunderstandings,” she turned her face to him and smiled sweetly.
“Our good Mother Superior; her love for the Emperor sometimes makes her forget her place,” she added with a glance toward the Superior.
“I understand,” Reitzmann answered without much conviction, “Our faith in the Emperor is sometimes stronger than our will.”
“Just so,” the Canoness Superior eyed him warily, “Now, your business here on Urda?”
“Of course,” he said softly and straightened his gloves, “I think my work here is done most satisfactorily.”
The Canoness, intensifying rather than dropping her suspicious attitude, tightened her grip on her cloak.
“If you will excuse me,” Reitzmann bowed slightly as he turned to face the Mother Superior, “I think I will find my way to the shuttle.”

WIP Sisters of Battle

2008-01-31T19:42:00.001+01:00

A complete collection of all the Sisters I have, at least, assembled (sans the lone Seraphim).

Immolator <3

Witch Hunters Fluff (pt.4)

2008-01-26T18:04:00.000+01:00

”Give us but a moment,” the Mother Superior implored, awkwardly gathering her robes in order to catch up with the Inquisitor.
“I think you will find me most miserly with my moments, Mother Superior,” he threw back at the pursuing Sister and turned towards a set of massive crystal double doors. The footsteps behind him stopped.
“Futile, my lord,” the Mother Superior explained with a measure of confidence, “You have been denied entry.”
Reitzmann came to a halt and could easily visualize the woman’s smug expression. Mischievously indulging his spite, he remained silent for a moment, giving the Mother Superior a short time to cement her satisfaction.
“Thank you, Mother Superior,” he said, breaking the silence with a hint of resignation in his voice before continuing in his regular tone, “I was not entirely certain.”
Outside his mind, the Mother Superior was apparently covering up her uncertainty with yet another lecture, but Inquisitor Reitzmann ignored it and instead reached out to touch the mind he felt on the other side of the portal. He let out an inaudible sigh of disgust as he touched upon the soggy mind of a servitor, pliable, but utterly repulsive. Abandoning his gentle prodding, the Inquisitor yanked at the wretched wit and immediately released his hold. Straightening his gloves, he still felt a prick of relief as the crystal swung open to allow him entry. And it would seem he had silenced the Mother Superior as well.

Stepping through the yawning opening and into the gentle glow of the chamber inside, Inquisitor Reitzmann allowed himself a moment to survey the sanctum. Shadows played between spindly basalt supports crisscrossing the vaulted ceiling and the walls, obscuring the full extent of the cavernous room. Switching focus from his less than satisfactory survey, he laid eyes upon the raised throne in the centre of the room. The darks-skinned forms of a handful of serving girls shuffled uncomfortably in their linen shifts as his gaze grazed them. Upon the throne, the Canoness Superior wrapped her bulk in an expansive red cloak, looking furiously upon the newcomer.
“Intrusion!” she called out, her voice forced and stiff.
“Eminence,” Reitzmann said softly and, touching the hilt of his power sword, fell to his knees. He could hear trepidation in each step as the Mother Superior came up behind him.

Uncertainly yours,
Jonas

The Golden Compass Review

2008-01-17T21:31:00.000+01:00

Sloppy.

That, unfortunately, pretty much sums up the entire movie. It doesn’t make for a particularly interesting review, however, so I should probably elaborate some. Right away I can say that I haven’t read any of the books (and probably never will) so take this critique for what it is: A movie review, no treatise on the books.

We are introduced to a world much similar to our own – only “fantasticer”. Oh, and everyone have their own animal guardian, ‘cause you know, animals are ceeewt. Harry Potter has personal animals, so it must be good. They have a connection with their humans (but often seem quite opposite, but what do I know) and go around being talking animals. But all is not well in… does the world have a name? I think they might have forgotten to tell me. Oh, well. The New World Order badguys, the Magis… Magistr… Magisomething are trying to mess things up, evil old control freaks that they are. The “Oh we must’nt have funny magical things around making people all frolicking”-theme is a bit old, but it’s okay. The “Old conservative by-the-book-people trying to repress happy people” is a bit too blatant, though.

So, the story isn’t that full of clichés, really. It more or less is a cliché. The chosen one, who happens to be a kid, must go about, making a lot of friends and then overthrow evil. It doesn’t sound so bad, but I wouldn’t want to spoil the movie for those who are going to see it. The bottom line is that The Golden Compass is a bit too much Harry Potter with a bit too much Star Wars (*cough* Luke, soy tu padre *cough*).

That said clichés need not spell the doom of a story, and I certainly didn’t dismiss it outright. I might chuckle a bit, certainly, but people have come clean with stuff like this before (yes, Mr. Lucas, I’m looking at you). I really like the Star Wars films (original trilogy, duh!) and they are throwing out clichés like they’re going out of season. The answer here is quality. Those movies have a certain feel of thoroughness and thoughtfulness to them. Of course there are more things, but what is important is that The Golden Compass doesn’t have that feel at all. Everything seems very rushed. There are several cases of B-movie omniscience where people know things they haven’t been told anything about. Now, they might have in the book, but it’s not apparent from the movies. I am also keen to know why the paddles on the magical (?) ships are barely touching the water? Oh, all right - that’s splitting a pretty frayed hair.

So, except the clichés (usurped heirs, suppressed gypsies, Aryan bad guy soldiers, the mystery revealed at the end, etc.) is The Golden Compass any good? It could have been. It has the “Wow, cool”-factor one expects from a fantasy movie (big bear battles (BBB), evil Russian henchmen with wolves, etc.) even if it might be a little short on the ‘grandiose’ side, but that’s more of a saving grace. The start of the movie is also very promising with a good introduction of the main character and a perhaps a little hasty introduction of “everything else”. It would seem that The Golden Compass is at it’s best when it is allowed to tell the tale of a resourceful girl and her cowardly “familiar” – it gets stuck in too many clichés when it goes big.

This is one of very few movies where I actually like the main character. Instead of muddling through the story by doing stupid things (yes, J.K. Rowlin’, Rowlin’, Rowlin’, I’m looking at you. And several others) she gets by with a bit cunning, a bit courage and a bit compassion. I love it!

In the end, I would have loved to give this movie a good score, if it had stuck with what it did well instead of stumbling around with half-baked clichés (they should be in the oven for about 20 minutes!) and unnecessary mistakes. If nothing else, the western-guy was cool…

…and Christopher “Motherf’n” Lee.

3/6 (for the potential and good main character…

…and Christopher Lee.)

Sloppily yours,
Jonas

WIP Canoness

2008-01-13T13:45:00.000+01:00

A quick shot of one of my many current projects just before my camera decided to call it a day. In the end, perhaps it's for the better, the poor quality of the picture masking the poor quality of the sculpting (Tamiya, I'm looking at you...).

Throne of Judgmentingly yours,
Jonas

EDIT: Oh, and happy new year!

Tales from Aramantia

2007-12-26T14:53:00.000+01:00

Glancing around, the lone man in the circular granite receiving chamber made no attempt to conceal his boredom. Gloved fingers drummed on the elegantly carved oak arm rests and the man looked at a portrait of an ancient queen he had looked upon too many times already.
Interesting hands, he thought, inclining his head slightly, the curve on her…
“I hope you have not been kept waiting for too long?” A woman’s voice entered the room, betraying little actual concern.
“Oh, not at all,” the man answered, turning to face a tall, thin woman. Pale blond hair fell around her shoulders, a strict manner not unlike her own posture, framing a pale face, a sharp, slightly hooked nose finding company in an equally pointed chin. Only a faint layer of red on her cheeks made her look alive. With her was that foolish page with a tongue guarded as well as a courtesan’s virtue.
A sycophant with a loose tongue. He would have disliked him even more if the boy hadn’t been so ably incompetent.
“I trust Evano has filled you in adequately?” the woman continued as she sat down, barely recognizing either man’s existence.
“I think I got the gist of it,” he explained as diplomatically as he could.
“Do not think this is a simple caravan job, Lalir,” she said and looked sternly at him.
Am I a schoolboy now? he thought, but kept his mouth shut.
“How confident are you of successfully enter a royal residence unnoticed?”
“Do not force me to commit innuendo in the Lavagema’s presence,” he warned with mock seriousness. Evano the page chuckled before he was silenced with an icy stare.
“Laer ax Sathna,” the Lavagema said menacingly, the stress on his renounced title probably made to remind him of his theoretical station, “cease wagging your tongue or…”
“A thousand apologies,” he smiled, “most ladies seem to find that most…”
“…or I shall cut it out.”
The page dared another chuckle.
“I fear you would find a revolt by half the ladies of the Empire on your hands,” the page warned with bemused seriousness.
The Lavagema ignored them utterly, but her mouth had turned into little more than a narrow line beneath eyes crackling with Thal-an’s fury.
“I take it you mean to succeed, then?” she asked, straining to sound composed.
“I’m Insenya ax Sathna,” the man said, straightening his tunic as he rose to leave, “I will leave you most satisfied.”

Sleazily yours,
Jonas

Her Holiness, the Pope

2007-12-21T16:58:00.000+01:00

Just thought I should throw this up, not because it's that special (in Medieval II, anyway), but because it has bankrupted my poor Venice. Well, at least I have made the world a better place for the poor Ventrue who may feed exclusively on female popes. We'll have to see about those who prefer female, pregnant popes, I guess...

Unorthodoxly yours,
Jonas

Card acquisition strategies - part 3

2007-12-12T14:34:00.000+01:00

Singles
Finally, you can buy cards as ‘singles’; that is, buying specific (though not necessarily a single copy of) cards. The deal here is that, like with a starter, you know what you are getting – no element of chance here. You also save yourself from paying for two copies of six vampires you already have too many of or four more Wake With Evening’s Freshness for your “Wake Bin”. So, it’s, in other words perfect, non? Of course not.

First of all, it can be very expensive, especially if we are talking hard-to-find cards (and those are the ones you will most likely be looking for, right?). It can certainly take a little more effort to hunt down the cards you want and at a reasonable price than to pick up your sixth Assamite Starter (for Dragonbound, duh!). However, when (or if) you find that card dirt cheap (on ebay. Of course) you just saved yourself a good deal of money and crap you don’t want, need or can trade away.

Secondly, you obviously need to know exactly what you want. If you are a new player, for example, it doesn’t matter if you can get NSA Trio for nothing if you don’t even know the card exists! Also, simply buying a lot of different cards in order to flesh out a skinny collection isn’t that different from buying boosters (especially from base sets). In fact, you might miss out on some interesting cards that might pop up in one of your boosters (oh, the power of serendipity!).

Final words on the Holy Trinity of Booster, Starter and Single
Basically, there is a general rule as to how you should go about getting more cards. If you need a lot (of different cards), buy boosters. If you need a select few, see if you can find an appropriate starter. Need that one card? Find it as a single.

And follow your gut feeling. As long as it’s right.

Singularly yours,
Jonas

Card acquisition strategies - part 2

2007-12-05T12:49:00.000+01:00

Starters
Just about every trading card game has boxes of several random or fixed cards that are, card-for-card, a lot cheaper than boosters. This is because, for the most part, the cards in them generally suck. Still, it can be a great way to add staple cards to a budding card collection. Yes, there is a reason it’s called a ‘starter’.

The starter boxes in Vampire: The Eternal Struggle differ from those found in some other games in that there are no random starters, only pre-constructed decks. You will, just like with a random starter, end up with a ton of common cards, however. The ‘when’ and ‘which’ to buy when it comes to starter decks is highly dependent on the ‘why’. Generally there are two reasons: You want to start out with/add cards to a specific clan or you seek to add cards to your collection.

In the former case, it’s obviously a good idea to buy a starter; you will be able to use most of the cards and it will be much cheaper than getting those specific cards in boosters. In addition, White Wolf has begun releasing certain clan-specific cards in starters only (Legacies of Blood hunting grounds and some Lords of the Night vampires, for example). Buying an extra starter deck need not be a bad idea, either. Sure, you end up with a double crypt (or, as in Lords of the Night, a quadruple crypt – damn!), but you’re certain to get enough of the cards you need.

If, on the other hand, you’re a veritable card baron and just need to flesh out your card selection a little it might not seem like such a good idea to buy a starter. You will probably end up with a lot of cards you don’t need or have to many of already. The trick is to look up the content of each starter and see what cards you can. The trick is to determine what is cheapest: Getting those cards from the starter or as singles. A good example is Freak Drive, a card you must be prepared to shell out some 4$+ for. The new Ravnos includes a single copy of it. If you are looking to add that card to your Ventrue deck, the Ravnos starter doesn’t come off as a particularly good deal; you pay 10$ for a single card and a smattering of Fortitude combat cards you might find useful, but that are still cheaper to get in other ways. The Ravnos starter is far too heavy on Chimerstry and Ravnos-only cards that only a Ravnos could love. On the other hand, the old Ventrue starter (which is sadly out-of-print) not only includes two Freak Drives, but also far fewer cards only a Ventrue player would be interested in. This box is a good addition for anyone interested in Freak Drives and politics, Presence or Dominate – a large number of players.

As you can see, there are starter decks and then there are starter decks. Each is a good starting point for trying out a new clan, but sometimes they can also be nice for expanding your collection – you know what you get unlike with boosters. If you are all alone and have no-one to draft with, buying cards by the starter can save you a lot of unexpected crap you don’t need. It will, however, also give you fourteen Uptown Hunting Grounds you can’t find use for. Check out each deck’s content to determine the best deal for you (i.e. most cards you can use) and whether or not buying singles will be cheaper. Or just buy ‘em for the Freak Drives.

Drivingly yours,
Jonas

Card acquisition strategies

2007-12-03T12:56:00.000+01:00

If you play any collectable card game (CCG), or any other collectable game, you will probably want (or ”need” as some say in order to justify spending something akin to Moldovia’s national budget on a silly game) more cards. You need (there’s that word again) them to play the game. Certainly not to fuel your addiction for weirdo’s poker. But why isn’t important here - you gotta have them cards – the question is how you are going to get them!

This “Buying CCG Cards for Dummies” will, as my earlier “scrub”-article, concentrate on Vampire: The Eternal Struggle since it’s the game I have the most experience with, but again the advice given is quite general. So where was I? Oh, yes, how to get your cards.

Now, as many astute readers (yes, both of you!) might realize, getting your hands on trading cards isn’t exactly a matter of trudging across barren wastes and killing vicious Booster Displays with your bare hands and rummaging through the hive of the highly poisonous Singles Wasps. Anyone can get his or her grubby hands on trading cards these days (damn kids!), so obviously I won’t be talking about the basics here. This is about how you can best acquire your cards. First, an overview of the different ways to buy* cards.

Boosters
In most card games, a booster is a randomized selection of between 11 to 15 cards. For some reason**, there are almost always 1 rare card and 3 uncommon ones. The rest are common or what you call ‘staple’ or ‘rubbish’ depending on the game system and card expansion.

Taking a look at V:tES, when should you buy boosters? The simple answer is ‘never’. But, since there is no such thing as a simple answer, you will have to read a few more lines. There are a few factors you need to consider. The type of set, what cards you need, how many cards you have and, most importantly, how much money you have. Some sets are more booster-friendly than others, that is they are less prone to give you a ton of crap you don’t need. If you need only a few cards from a given set you are likely to end up with a lot of baggage you’ll never use, especially if you have quite a few cards already. Of course if you do, chances are money isn’t that much of an issue.

Basically buying cards by the booster is useful when you don’t really look for anything specific and don’t have a lot of cards already. Many sets can help you round out a poor card collection, especially Camarilla Edition and Third Edition (see part… later…). If possible you should buy boosters from sets that cover as many areas (clans and disciplines, mainly) you and your gaming group are interested. You are very likely to end up with a significant amount of stuff you don’t really want, so it’s good if someone else might be interested in it instead. If you are on the lookout for Auspex, Celerity and Presence (the Toreador disciplines) you might be just as well off buying Third Edition rather than Camarilla Edition (the latter is, of course, just about impossible to get nowadays, but consider it a hypothetical situation) if your buddies play Gangrel (Protean) and Lasombra!

Try to arrange drafts, even without actually playing. Not only is it great fun to do, (grabbing that perfect Brujah is much more satisfactory when you might loose him if you don’t) but it makes dividing cards evenly among those who want/need them easier; you can’t hold on to all those cards you might need, because, well, you can’t!

If you choose to buy boosters, always buy Displays and look around on the Internet to see how cheap you can get them. Even if you have to pay for shipping and sales tax, it might be cheaper! The reason to buy in bulk is that it’s cheaper and if your situation suggests you should buy boosters you will probably get more from it.

*Is see no reason to include ‘getting cards for free’, because it’s sort of ‘best’ by default.
**Well, it isn’t really that weird. Three words: Magic: The Gathering.

Damn, that was longer than I had expected, so this will probably run for more than the intended two parts. Expect more card acquiring strategies next - don't go blow all you money on booster displays just yet!

Strategizingly yours,
Jonas

We need no steenking 4dventure*!

2007-11-28T10:08:00.001+01:00

The latest developments in the RPG industry have had me worried for some time with a gradual dumbing down (WoD 2.0 - I'm looking at you!), substance replaced only by glossier covers and a ton of unnecessary sourcebooks. No surprise then that Wizards' latest money grab has me scared stiff. Those insane hobos aren't just the leading RPG publisher - they're bigger than everyone else combined! As we know from international politics, the smaller fishes obey meekly when the big 'un throws its weight around (yes, big warmongering superpower, I'm looking at you!). So when Wizards goes for blings and gigabytes in their new crazy scheme, the whole industry either follows them (down the drain) or withers away in a dark corner of their own.
It's all pretty obvious, but imagine my surprise when, lo and behold, people seem to agree with me! It's not that I consider D&D 3.5 to be the game to end all games (it most assuredly is not!), but I'd rather have grapple rules (Oh! Those are sooo complicated! I mean, seriously, I pity the fools that find the grapple rules a problem) than glossy sourcebooks without content and interactive... something. They call it interactive content, but we all know there wouldn't be any. So I'm going to settle on porn. Ugh!

See! I'm not alone!

4dventuringly yours,
Jonas

*What's up with that? First Gleemax and now this? It makes the "insane hobo" remark that much less sarcastic...

Rettskriving: It's there for a reason

2007-11-26T12:48:00.000+01:00

Det er vel ikke noe tvil om at norskferdighetene til folk flest er høyst bekymringsverdige, men særlig irriterende er det i offentlig tilgjengelige annonser. Her er vel internett den største synderen som XXL.no så hyggelig viser oss.

Allsidig trening, indeed...

Fuckingly yours,
Jonas

Witch Hunters Fluff (pt.3)

2007-11-20T15:18:00.000+01:00

”This is an utter travesty! A mockery of our…”
“Desire to hide from the eyes of the Emperor?” a second voice interjected, firm, but with soft hint to it.
“Am I to be lectured in the tradition and honour of the Aeliites?” the first woman continued unabated, sniffing condescendingly before continuing, “At least it will be a mercifully short suffering.”
“Indeed?” wondered Inquisitor Reitzmann as he entered the circular receiving chamber, apparently paying more attention to the vaulted ceiling than the two women in its centre, “Sounds interesting.”
“I assure you that it is not at all,” the Mother Superior assured him hurriedly.
“Oh, I don’t know,” the Inquisitor mused as he studied the worn stone columns, “I’m certain anything at all would interest Terra and Ophelia greatly now that we have finally found your illustrious Order. After its mysterious disappearance and all that.”
“A subject much clouded in legend even within these walls,” the Mother Superior explained.
“Yes,” Reitzmann agreed and turned to the women after giving the room a final look, “much seems to be here.”
The Mother Superior looked even surlier than earlier, but the taller woman at her side seemed unconcerned. Even here she was clad in the traditional power armour of the Adepta Sororitas, a huge, curved blade hanging at her side. Reitzmann was dwarfed as he addressed her.
“Greetings, revered… Canoness Commander, I presume?” he ventured.
“Just so, my Lord Inquisitor,” she smiled slightly.
“I see. From what I have gathered your command structure seems to have evolved rather… intriguingly,” the Inquisitor explained and, catching a glimpse of the Mother Superior’s suspicious look, added, “Which is of course a common occurrence in isolated Imperial Chapters.”
“I would not regard our order as a very fascinating research subject,” the Commander Superior said and added with another faint smile, “but you are welcome to try.”
“Yes,” the Mother Superior suddenly exclaimed, “perhaps the good Lord Inquisitor would like to peruse our library?”
“Excellent idea, Mother Superior,” Reitzmann conceded, “I will do so immediately…”
“Good,” she said, forcing herself to perform a poor attempt at a smile.
“…after I have discussed matters with her Illustrious Holiness,” the Inquisitor finished and immediately left the two women.
“Ah, but Lord Inquisitor,” the Mother Superior ventured, trying in vain to out-pace the hurried Inquisitor. Farther back, the Canoness Commander followed at a more leisurely pace.

At least he was apparently going the right way.

Vampire: The Eternal Struggle Draft

2007-11-18T15:39:00.001+01:00

So we had a little Vampire: The Eternal Struggle draft tournament yesterday. Despite a few no-shows it was great fun and I think everyone enjoyed themselves. Of course, I now realize I was supposed to take pictures. Damn. In any event I managed to get myself to the top despite not getting a single decent !Tremere in the draft, so I guess I'm pretty pleased anyway.

Well, I really look forward to our next event - whenever that may be!

Bleedingly yours,
Jonas

Still alive

2007-11-09T13:33:00.000+01:00

Just calling in to remind you all that I'm still alive. And that exams suck. And that I have apparently mixed up my clothes with a rather famous guy. I guess that whole fig leaf-thing was just temporary, then...

...and why am I folding clothes when I should be making updates here? Because I have nothing to say. Other than that, yes, I have been playing Portal and it's damn short considered I've managed to play through it and make time for my assignments (note: make). Luckily for my grades, HL2: Episode One & Two are almost as short ;)

Prioritizingly yours,
Jonas

Sister of Battle

2007-10-31T19:39:00.001+01:00

Oh yes, it's true, a FINISHED model. In truth I only put on the finishing touches, she's been nearly finished for some time. Stupid exam-thingy leaves no (well, less, in any event) time to paint. And a host of other reasons, no doubt, but this isn't so bloggy that I will rant on about every miniscule hardship known to man. I do, however reserve the right to rant on about doing so. ;)
Anyway, meet Sister Alyssa* (that seems to be a popular Sororita name, for some reason) and her flamer. Still needs some basework and a few touches here and there. And the lighting makes her look like some black-haired vampire. Strange.

Devoutly yours,
Jonas

Standing up for the little man: In defence of non-hardcore gamers

2007-10-29T18:44:00.001+01:00

This is in effect a response to the large number of articles concerning the trading card game Vampire: The Eternal Struggle that take an almost hostile view on people who don't play to win. However, this is found in numerous games (WAACers vs. "fluffies" in Warhammer, anyone?) even if VtES is notorious for it.

First of all, just because you don't play to win doesn't mean you are playing the game wrong or somehow get less enjoyment from it. It certainly doesn't mean that you ruin the game for others! I understand that some people have invested so much of their time, not to mention money, into the game that they have to justify this by inflating the importance of the game, but ultimately it is a leisure activity - you do it to have fun. I think this falsely elevated status some give the game they play makes it, in their minds, too serious not to play to win. After all, the Axis and Allies didn't fight because it was a fun and relaxing activity - oh no! When it's that serious, you play to win! But I think we can all agree, once we clear our heads of any delusions of grandeur that any game is about nothing more (or less!) than a recreational activity. Yes that goes for football too, you hooligans!

Having established this, are the scrubs (stealing this from an article on Street Fighter. A 'scrub' is a player that doesn't play to win, apparently.) enjoying the game? Well, they are playing aren't they? So barring enforced playing ("come over for a game or the bunny gets it!") it can't be all bad. The hardcore gamers cannot see how anyone can have fun if they are not winning, exploiting every piece of card text/special rule/loopholes in the process. However, the scrub can enjoy the game on a level lost to the decadent elite. Some are indeed mechanical (that is, based in the game system), but take on a more qualitative character. Seeing a cool, but hard to play, effect actually enter play will feel more rewarding if it isn't an integral part of your deck design: The hardcore gamer will have designed his deck so that it should always succeeds and if it doesn't it will ruin his game, because his chances of winning will have been diminished and that is what matters.

The scrub actually has a unique insight in his ignorance of the game. The hardcore gamers once possessed it too, but most do not remember and even those that do cannot shake of their understanding of the game to regain it. This is a phenomenon not exclusive to games, but all parts of life. What differentiates the scrub from the hardcore gamer in this regard is the type of insight they employ.
The hardcore gamer sees the game almost as a computer's 1s and 0s. He is acutely aware of the chances that his opponent will have a given card to use against his intended course of action and how many actions he will have to perform to win before his opponents do. He knows the powerful combinations. In short, he knows the nuts and bolts of the game.
On the other hand, the scrub sees the chassis and the paint job (What? This sounds like some sort of car analogy. Unthinkable!) of the game. But one should not think that he doesn't know about tactics or that he is stupid. It doesn't necessarily mean he chooses vampires for their portraits or miniatures for their looks (unless they are semi-nude hawt chixx with Epic mammaries, duh!). But his view on tactics will be more sensational in nature. It is more of a "Wait a minute, that card/model/piece/rocket propelled grenade would be perfect to augment my deck/defend against Brittany's Haxxmeister/use against a bishop/blow shit up!" rather than "...and if I then play that he will be unable to that so I can do this while already doing that! Ahahahahahahaaaa! Ha!"
The scrub retains the outlook of a player new to the game while gaining more knowledge about the game. Sooner or later, however, most succumb to peer pressure and becomes assimilated, probably unknowingly. Resistance is futile. His ambition becomes to win. to do this, he will have to be merciless, because otherwise he will loose most of the time - a few victories here and there are not enough to a hardcore gamer. The problem is that once you go down that path, the marvels of the game is lost. A newly converted hardcore player doesn't necessarily try to win because it is particularly rewarding - it is now her only source of reward in the game, because its marvels are lost to her. This in turn forces her to to her utmost to win because otherwise she will not enjoy the game. Sometimes she will change gender pronoun in the middle of an article. In time, she will adopt a mindset like the one outlined at the beginning of this article.

The bottom line is: Everyone play the game to enjoy themselves. Yes, even those that play to win - it is simply their only way to enjoy it.

In closing, one should not forget the social element of any game. It alone can also contribute to the enjoyment of the participants. Hardcore gamers that do not are not exactly uncommon, however.

Witch Hunters Fluff (pt.2)

2007-10-23T22:07:00.000+02:00

”What an unexpected and blessed surprise, Lord Inquisitor!” said a strained woman’s voice. Inquisitor Reitzmann stood still for a moment before turning slowly towards the woman, clothed in a deep red ceremonial robe and weighed down by numerous relics of bronze, gold, silver and probably far rarer materials. Most prominent of them was a large fleur-de-lis of blackened gold in a chain around her neck, but Reitzmann put more notice in the drop of blood in its centre – seemingly alive with motion. His glowing red artificial right eye shifted its gaze back to the woman. She looked as if she was in her early fifties, knowing the Adepta Sororitas, she was probably far older, though. Still even here, without the formidable power armour of the Sisters, she betrayed a body trained for holy war in the name of the Emperor.
“Likewise,” Reitzmann replied in a civil tone, “I am most honoured that the Mother Superior sees fit to greet me here instead of in the receiving chamber. It makes business with you that much more… expedient.”
The stern-faced Mother Superior lost none of her composure, but continued in a more polite tone.
“Of course, Lord Inquisitor. I shall make sure you may attend your business in an effective manner.”
“Much obliged,” the Inquisitor smiled slightly as he straightened his left glove, “had the matter at hand concerned you. I am here on Urda to meet with the Canoness Superior.”
“Surely, your business is with the Order of the Fiery Heart, my Lord Inquisitor, not its servants?” the Mother Superior protested indignantly.
“My concern is indeed with the Order, Mother Superior,” Reitzmann said intently, “and it’s Heart. I seek an audience with the Canoness Superior.”
“Then in your concern you must surely be aware that the Canoness is in prayer and may not be disturbed.”
“And she requires the entire Convent for her communions?” the Inquisitor ventured before being interrupted.
“You know well that her Holiness is not alone in this convent!” the woman snapped, as if Reitzmann had suggested an Eldar to look after a young child.
“Ah, then I shall file an update to the High Library on Terra immediately upon my return,” he said, almost apologetically, “I had been misled to believe your illustrious order numbered less than a hundred.”
The Mother Superior’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, but she said nothing.
“Certainly, the Order must have prospered prodigiously to fill the entire Convent, forcing its voice to receive visitors outside its premises!” the Inquisitor continued with a trace of mock awe.
“Quite so, Lord Inquisitor, quite so,” the Mother Superior agreed with an inaudible sigh, but the same harsh voice, “However, I am certain that you must be in a hurry to leave for Holy Terra, Lord Inquisitor.”
“Yes, indeed, Mother Superior,” Reitzmann answered, his face returning to its overbearing countenance, “so unfortunately I have no more time for your games. I would have loved to outwit you over the course of days, but I’m a busy man. Believe me when ‘By the authority of the Holy Emperor of Mankind’, I request an audience with the Canoness Superior.”
The Mother Superior gasped with barely controlled fury, before falling silent. A few moments later, she bowed deeply.
“As you will, Lord Inquisitor.”

From the ledge overhead, a lone figure turned around and disappeared.

---------------------------------------
Oh, yes, the nameless Inquisitor is nameless no longer. Now what will happen next - and who will be next in line for naming??

Inquisitively yours,
Jonas

What Roman Civil War character would you have been?

2007-10-18T20:35:00.000+02:00

Yep, it's been silent for a while, but hey! I bring to you now the ability to see who you would have been if you had been a prominent Roman in Caesar's Civil War!

Do so Here

Veni, vidi, vici,
Jonasus

WIP Sisters of Battle

2007-10-12T16:53:00.000+02:00

Oh yes, ANOTHER work in progress - this time some paintin' to be done. The models are mostly black at the moment, so not much to see except the hands down awesomest troops models for Warhammer 40,000! And those girls are from 2nd edition - wow!
Also, the trial of fire (well, not really) for Vallejo's red model colour. It doesn't cover completely in one go, which is to say that it is about twice as good as Citadel's - and it's thinner. So, while it isn't exactly Foundation Paints it's simply amazing. Yeah.

Now I'm just contemplating whether using Brilliant (i.e. Shiny) Black is a good choice for the power armour...

Go, go, nuns with guns,
Jonas

WIP Seraphim

2007-10-10T17:00:00.000+02:00

Yet another work in progress, with a rather decent photo quality as I discovered über-1337-haxx-mode on my camera (by combining the über, 1337 and haxx modes, duh!). And when will you see a finished product at all? The 31st of February in two-thousand-and-never, you gullible fools! Ahahaha!

But seriously... nothing fancy here, just some Eldar Swooping Hawk wings elegantly kept in place with some yellow stuff (no, I don't know how brown and white become yellow, either...). As a side-note - praise be to blue-tac! That stuff is a life-saver when converting... I know my Seraphim thanks me for using it.

Tackily your,
Jonas

Announcement!

2007-10-07T13:50:00.000+02:00

Yes, unregistered users may now comment on this blog. So, you poor hapless fools who have not been assimilated into the glorious... eh, whatever... may leave your mark upon this illustrious site!

All hail!
Jonas...

WIP Plasma Reactors

2007-10-07T13:46:00.000+02:00

A wargame needs scenery - and what better place to start than random packaging materials! So, here are two plasma reactors currently under construction on the local hive world. Any suggestions are most welcome!

With much white hot plasma,
Jonas

Webcomic interlude

2007-10-05T16:47:00.000+02:00

Waiting for the bus, and one of those sudden thoughts that leaves you questioning how much you have actually been playing lately - which is surprisingly little, but still, heavy artillery... mmh!

Not being a homicidal video game junky, I of course did not do it. I mean, I would get caught in the blast! So I opted for a laser guided bomb and ran for cover. Still caught the bus, though! Eyh!

Tactically yours,
Jonas

Emperor's Holy Po** Stash!

2007-10-04T10:46:00.000+02:00

One of the things that produce a chuckle early in the morning... Now, I can't find any reference to Divine Pr0n in the Witch Hunter Codex, but that's probably just as well...

Filthily yours,
Jonas

Dark Elf Noble

2007-10-03T16:13:00.000+02:00

Realizing that a Noble would come in handy for my Dark Elf army (if it ever gets fielded, that is) I have painted up this guy to either ride in a chariot (preferred) or assist my hapless spearelves. As you can see, he has the fashion sense to use the army's colour scheme - you can, of course also see that my camera has two settings: 'Suck with artificial lighting' and 'suck with flash'. I need the patience to experiment myself to a proper background...

Land of Chillingly yours,
Jonas

Larsktur Larason update

2007-10-01T14:38:00.000+02:00

Statusrapport!

Om noen skulle være interessert i å vite hvordan det går med Larsktur Larasons Saga for øyeblikket. Sannheten er at det gjør den ikke. Gått har ikke den siste sagaen gjort på noen måneder nå. Det betyr ikke at jeg ikke har gjort noe på den - den er bare ikke kommet nærmere ferdigstilling. Det er vel her jeg sier at skolearbeid hindrer meg i å fortsette eller jeg legger ut om hvordan private anliggender gjør meg ute av stand til å skrive. Men så enkelt er det ikke, og jeg akter ikke å gjøre denne siden til et sutresenter eller et sted jeg vagt hinter til ting som er galt eller hva det nå måtte være. Faktum er at jeg har skrivesperre og irriterer meg gul (...å blå!) av å ikke kunne gi dere neste bit av det episke dramaet som er Larsktur Larasons Saga. Så mye, faktisk, at jeg skriver dette på bokmål (ye gawds!) så jeg har nok tørna helt. Regn med pastellgrønne langskip, tohodete beltedyr og kjøttetende kolibrier når sagaen omsider blir ferdig...

...men in all seriousness, Larsktur lives og forhåpentligvis slår inspirasjonen til snart. Har du litt inspirasjon til overs står du fritt til å sende litt denne veien, bare for å hjelpe naturen litt på vei!

Inspirasjonsløs hilsen fra,
Jonas

WIP Inquisitor

2007-09-29T09:18:00.000+02:00

Yep, so much for an update a day, eh? I blame the weekend! In fact, I was going to do this little update yesterday, but my camera sucked on me, so. And still does.

But, anyway, here is my work in progress Inquisitor after some gentle (and not so gentle) treatment with a pair of clippers, so off goes the funky Manga-style hair and ribbon, which of course is more of a pain in the a... to deal with. Now, all there is to it is a little touch up and some green (well, brown) stuffing and this baby (well...) is ready to purge witches!

So, sorry for the really crappy picture (hence only one), but I really don't have time to mess around with the camera until it actually takes a half-decent picture.

The guide to making webcomics 5

2007-09-27T16:41:00.000+02:00

Jedi-Drow-Ninja-Dragon-Wolverine-Bounty Hunter-Mentat-Inquisitor-Wizard-Samurai-Janissary-US Marine-Vampire-Supermanly yours,
Jonas

The guide to making webcomics 4

2007-09-26T13:44:00.000+02:00

And with a new layout for the comic (ye gawds!) and, yes actually one update a day for some time now - damn. I sure hope someone's actually reading this...?

pwningly yours,
Jonas

EDIT: Hah! Just shows i did this 6 in the morning! It is, of course, supposed to be '...might want some plot...', but let this be a lesson: No second-rate webcomic is worthy without a few stupid errors (but primarily spelling errors, of course)

Comics to look for

2007-09-25T14:33:00.000+02:00

In between my webcomic-bashing I will show you some of the online comics you should not avoid. I'm talking here about those comics that are so hilarious and thought out you have to pinch yourself to believe its on the Internet. But, oh, they do exist, and here are two to check out:

Order of the Stick

With a band of dysfunctional adventurers stumbling through a fantasy world full of hilarity and one of the greatest villains of all time, Xykon the Lich (see above) the Order of the Stick is the stick-figure masterpiece of Richard Burlew. Great for humour with a story to it as well as psychopathic halflings and stupid bards*!
*well, one of each, but still...

Irregular Webcomic

A diverse comic strip with a lot of LEGO. Most strips come with interesting annotations just as great to read as the actual comic strips. The only webcomic I have seen that always updates, each and every day and with the research that goes into many of the strips - that's no mean feat! A must for those who love A) LEGO (and, come on, who doesn't?), B)Humour, C)Wikipedia or D)Insanely Powerful Fireballs (tm?)

The guide to making webcomics 3

2007-09-24T07:01:00.000+02:00

Megalomaniacly yours,
Jonas

Vallejo > Citadel

2007-09-23T13:54:00.000+02:00

Etter å ha skjedd flere hylle akrylmalinga te Acrylicos Vallejo fant æ ut at istedet for å kjøp halvt inntørka Citadel-maling fra Outland kunna det kanskje vær en idé å prøv ut den her "vidundermalinga". Og etter å ha funne ut at Kristiansand tydligvis e my længer unna enn æ hadd trudd (æ mene, 80 kr. i frakt for tre flaska maling? Det hadd vært billiger å fly det fra USA! Med Airforce 1 eller nå... :P) kun æ fryd mæ over tre høye, rare malingsflaska (i forhold te dæm stutt-tjukke GW-boksan) fra det gale* Spania. Så da va det bare å skje om det e nå hold i lovprisinga den artigluktende malinga har fått. Først og fremst e det ganske hendig med den spruteflaska malinga kjæm i: Du slipp søl, særlig når du ska rist malinga (and believe me, you will) og så tørke visstnok ikke jævel'n så fort. Når det gjeld det siste så e også Vallejo my tynner enn den te tider nokså viskøse Citadel-malinga. Så æ va nok litt bekymra for at den ikke skull dekk særlig bra - bare skje på lys maling fra Citadel, og den e my tjukker. Kall mæ overraska når æ oppdage at den veldig lyse (bleached bone-ish) Carne Muerta (høhø) dekke som en drøm! Æ ska itj uttal mæ for all malinga dæmmers, men den her va i alle fall nær perfeksjon. To strøk, I think not!

No ska æ prøv mæ fram litt mer med Vallejo, så får vi skje i hvilken grad dæm artige flaskan skyve vekk dæm godslige Citadel-boksan (nå som vil ta nånn år, så læng dæm itj tørke ut...) æ har ståanes. Det eneste negative e det at æ enda ikke har funne nånn som føre Vallejo i nærheten...

...og ikke snakk om at æ tar sjansen på å la nånn kjipe Sørlendinga håndter malingshandelen min!

*Æ har i alle fall ikke vært borti malingstynner som lukte sitrondrops før...

Me gusta mucho,
Jonas

The guide to making webcomics 2

2007-09-22T12:20:00.000+02:00

And now, for something completely different...

Derailing the ”Let’s bash Christianity” bandwagon

2007-09-21T13:20:00.000+02:00

No, I’m not a Christian.

Belief, however, has little to do with this post. It is a way to vent my frustration with the phenomena mentioned above and hopefully to enlighten a few “bandwagoners” or bandwagoners-to-be. It is also not a defence in favour of the brainwashed sheep grazing along, vehemently denying evolution without having thought about the subject.

This is about those that see the Church (because I think we all can agree that this is Christianity’s face to the world) simply as a corrupt organization suppressing freedom and hampering progress. I put emphasis on the last part, because this is the main subject of this post. It is also one of the most common arguments when you are going to pick on the Church. First of all, I would like to point out that, from this point on I will mainly discuss the institution, that is the Christian Church (by extent, mainly the Roman Catholic Church, because of its prominence in history) and not the Christian belief as such. The above title is still valid, however, since many seem to denounce Christianity itself based on arguments against the Church. I mean, come on…

According to some, the Roman Catholic Church is something that suppressed freedom of speech and belief during medieval times and held the European continent down in a dark age until heroic free thinkers and empiricist scientists (with help from the Protestant-Catholic split, no doubt*) freed us all from the tyranny of Christian dogma and made Europe a place of progress and freedom (which we apparently should push on other people, but that’s another debate). One can, if one is not blinded by conviction, begin to wonder how Europe then actually became more advanced than the rest of the world? Was it superior natural resources? Well, why would later colonization seem so lucrative, then? Was it superior numbers? Superior intellect, as racist as it sounds? Possibly, but ultimately they were not the only causes. This is because, if you look at the other parts of the world, many had similar advantages, the key is in the exploitation of those advantages.

This is, however, beginning to become far too broad, so let’s narrow it down to science and progress again. We have the resources to make progress, so why are we better at it? The answer lies in stability. Those witch trials (Which were no worse than being ripped to pieces by an angry mob, I think!), excommunications and possibly even religious wars (though through the principle, certainly not directly) all solidified the Catholic faith and prevented fragmentation. Why don’t we have any famous philosophers or inventors from Sub-Saharan Africa before the colonial period? Because they were dumb or because its too hot to think properly**? No, it was because they lived in separated villages with little concerted effort and contact outside their tribe. The Catholic faith was important in tying together Europe, across boundaries and language barriers***. It also helped prevent constant political turmoil (though it would be ignorant to claim that there was no wars) allowing those with the inclination to do so to do their experiments (when that caught on) in peace. As long as they didn’t fool around with “matters of the faith”, of course…

Ah, well, I think that’s the short of it. This is getting far too serious and quite frankly, I should probably at least try to do my philosophy-report-thingy. That, at least, will have consequences if I fail to do properly! So, eh…

Making little sense,
Jonas

*Possibly ironic then, that the country with the most unhealthy (if I may use that expression) relationship to faith is a Protestant nation?

**Well, that might actually be an explanation…

***So that one would have to break them by learning foreign languages. Nowadays, English is usually battering ram enough for this…

The guide to making webcomics

2007-09-20T10:53:00.000+02:00

Yep, you can all be web comic artists if you like... you've got the POWER!

Warhammer 40,000 Witch Hunters Fluff

2007-09-17T19:46:00.000+02:00

A lone figure stood pitifully awaiting the descending shuttle on the basalt platform. Huddling against the sheer rock wall, it made a futile attempt to shield itself from rain fleeing the craft’s two roaring engines. Unwillingly, it approached the now grounded space shuttle, hesitating until a hiss from the landing ramp prompted it to fall to its knees. From its crouched position it could glimpse a polished black boot tread on the volcanic rock’s most holy surface.

“My Lord Inquisitor,” the servitor grovelled in its half-human voice, glancing up into ceramite armour; companions of the boots in hue and as elegant as any courtier’s outfit, had it had the eye for such subtleties.

The newcomer put up the hood of his cloak against the rain and straightened his gloves, but made no obvious attempt at a greeting, his cool eyes calmly ignoring the servitor.

“We are most delighted with your visit, my Lord Inquisitor,” it said mechanically, bionic eyes averted in submission, “the Mother Superior awaits your pleasure.”

Inclining his head slightly, as if waiting for someone from behind him, the Inquisitor simply folded his hands, saying nothing. Glancing behind his flowing robes to catch a glimpse of whatever he was waiting for, the servitor opened its mouth to speak, but its vocalizer was cut short by a silencing finger. It consigned itself to wait quietly.

As the muted roar from the shuttle’s engines stilled in the rainy night, the Inquisitor once again folded his hands and turned his head towards the servitor’s general vicinity again.

“If you will excuse my hearing, I think I must be mistaken,” he said coldly and without any real humility, “from what I recall, surely the Canoness Superior is head of the Order Militant, not the Mother Superior?”

Failing to notice the sarcasm, the servitor hurriedly answered:

“Your visit was unannounced and we have had no time to prepare, the Canoness is, ah, resting, my Lord Inquisitor.”

“The Adepta Sororitas is ever vigilant, you ignorant wretch,” the Inquisitor retorted, with less malice than the words suggested, “I am sure the Mother Superior would tell you that.”

A slight smile formed on the Inquisitor’s shadowed lips, but it was lost on the servitor, who stood in obvious discomfort, wrestling with its own bionical mind.

“I will announce your arrival to the Canoness,” it stated curtly after a while, turning towards the foreboding spires of the convent.”

“Good,” the Inquisitor muttered to himself, “we wouldn’t want anyone to be suspicious of the Canoness Superior, would we?”

I'm a-blogging!

2007-09-16T12:56:00.000+02:00

Jadda! Da har æ satt opp min egen blogg (træng dog et bedre ord. Det e silly!) som en slags erstatning for hjemmesia mi som itj e oppdatert siden tidenes morgen (ikke veit æ, vel...). Det eneste æ træng e selvsagt nå å *host* "blogge" *kremt* om. Mest sannsynlig kjæm æ vel te å si litt bullshit om ting som skjer å ikke? Eh, høres ut som en billig egotripp! Nei, æ må nok bruk det her te nå mer fornuftig... Tenke æ si litt om ka æ tenke for tida, snakke litt intelligent skit og si "det her e bra"/"det her sug " eller nåkka. Kom med forslag, om dokker bryr dokker (kæm no enn "dokker" blir. Ei sie med innlegg skrevve på trøndersk - ikke akkurat internasjonal, eh?) eller føle for å kom med kommentara læll...

...æ burde ha et eller ainna talent æ hadd kunna vist fram her... Sånn "zomg! æ tegne skit å lægg ut" eller "sjå, mamma, æ kainn skriv tåpelige historia om tullate viki..."

...point taken.

More like a-rambling,
Jonas