Archive for the 'Writing' Category
November 13th, 2008 by Kyle Maxwell
When a player starts a new character, the creative process sits somewhere on a spectrum between designing a fleshed-out background and creating a skeleton to ‘discover’ the character over time.
As an example, I preferred the latter for Joron, a character in Star Wars Galaxies. When I originally created him as a throwaway character to explore a new server, I decided I wanted a smuggler from Nar Shaddaa. In order to avoid the standard “my parents are dead” syndrome, I decided he was raised by a single mother who did a spectacularly poor job. Then I figured out why he was on Tatooine, and since I was much newer to RP then, I used the old new player tutorial where you got rescued by the Empire, ran around on their ship, and dumped in Eisley. Everything else developed naturally over time, whether via RP or cooperating with other folks looking for hooks for their own characters.
Conversely, with Kudon in EVE Online, I got very detailed. I started with the focus I wanted: a Minmatar combat pilot. From there, I looked at the background that fit him during the character creation, wrote a story or two that defined how he got his start, and directed his skills towards his concept. The process was far less organic and far more engineered. While I enjoyed the time I spent writing, planning, and fusing, he didn’t stick with me as much as a character that developed “on his own” over time.
Even if a player lets his character develop, usually he has some sort of concept in mind, be it nebulous or detailed. Sometimes that comes from some other famous character or person, or what seems to fit the class / profession that the player wants to use, or from the player himself.
Much like in writing, the overall process likely varies tremendously from player to player (and even from character to character). Sharing our approaches can lead to more interesting, deeper characters and greater immersion.
November 12th, 2008 by Kyle Maxwell
NB: As I was thinking about the upcoming Walking in Stations in EVE Online and what it can mean for roleplay, this story nearly wrote itself. I don’t believe that we can reflect this directly in the game, but this does represent the flavor I hope to see. Story continues after the break.
Casi felt like an insect high on boosters. All those facets of the eye… they had to be something like this. She’d already tapped into the surveillance camera drones slowly swarming around the joint. Not much security on them, certainly not for somebody who’d been doing this out in the deep. With their feeds all registered with her implant; she closed her eyes and let herself float in twelve places at once, watching the vaguely erotic holo-projections of sinuous shapes on the walls. Hovering wait-carts bobbed slightly in the air currents as the desperate looked for their last chance at companionship for the night, whether human or chemical.
Continue reading ‘Casiella: Running the Threads’
November 12th, 2008 by Kyle Maxwell
Forums essentially descend directly from the “ancient” bulletin board systems, in many ways the original social networking applications (other than email). But most of them don’t take full advantage of everything we’ve learned or implement common features from other social applications.
I spend a lot of time on a specific community that primarily uses a forum (SMF in this particular case) for almost everything. Many communities use these applications as sot of a “poor man’s CMS”, particularly as the community organizers and leaders don’t necessarily have a great deal of expertise in web applications or system administration. While a number of applications (bbpress, Google Groups, etc.) do have support for some of these mechanisms, I’d particularly appreciate a third-party indexer that builds upon existing sites, maybe through scraping.
The mechanisms I want to see
- Share out comments I’ve written into my lifestream. Some of my posts on forums I frequent really don’t have a lot of value, but some of them took a lot of thought and concern.
- Follow comments from my friends. Other indivdual posters frequently have intelligent, thoughtful posts in threads or sub-forums I don’t normally read, and I’d like to subscribe to their posts.
- Find other forums where my friends participate; after all, if we spend a lot of time interacting with them in one context, we likely share interests and potential friends.
- Search across forums similar to how Google enables us to search across blogs. Currently, forum posts do get indexed but a special “forum search” would help lead to #2 and #3 (particularly if it had an API).
March 19th, 2008 by Kyle Maxwell
PRESENT DAY - ON KASHYYYK
Pups played in the village, paying no heed as Grozchiir meandered through to clear his head from the nightmares he had faced for years. The day had dawned clear and bright, bringing a soft morning breeze through the trees. Soft wind chimes tinkled as he passed the shaman’s hut. A gravelly old voice spoke his name.
“Grozchiir. Come inside, yes, yes! We are to speak!”
The young Wookiee paused only briefly before ducking through the entrance. The light aroma of herbs, burning candles, and a thousand other scents tickled his nose. As sensitive to smell as any of his people, Grozchiir chuckled and felt himself a wide-eyed pup once more. He remembered those early misconceptions, common to all youth, in which he believed that shamans could do anything. The years and tragedies he had suffered created a hint of nostalgia for those days, wishing that shamans could in fact bring back the dead and banish nightmares.
The ancient Wookiee settled into his carved chair. “These old bones… don’t laugh at me, young one! Your day will come.” He peered more closely and pushed back the hood of his robes. “You have not slept well since you arrived in this village,” he growled.
Grozchiir laughed bitterly, then shook his head as his voice rumbled from deep in his chest. “Far longer than that, Elder Drywarr. Since I left this place with Shoryyytaal…” His voice trailed off, and the elderly Wookiee nodded sympathetically.
“Do you see that jar next to your head? No, the other one, not the ground mandibles. Yes…” The jar looked to contain some sort of off-white ooze, tinged with brown and an unhealthy-looking green. Grozchiir opened it and sniffed it cautiously before re-capping it quickly as he swallowed down his retching.
“Hee hee! The forest spirits guard you well, but apply that salve to your eyes each night and they will guard you from the hauntings.”
Grozchiir blinked in disbelief. Put this on his eyes? And be blinded, or worse? But one did not address an elder shaman in that manner. Old and feeble he might be, but traditions of honor and respect were stronger than any weapon forged. Instead, he chuckled slightly. “Perhaps the odor will frighten away the ghosts, Elder Drywarr.”
The only response he received was a quick bark, perhaps admonishing him. Hanging his head slightly, he murmured an apology, then paused and looked up again. Drywarr had replaced his hood and was making as if to stand and head to a back room. Not wishing to be dismissed so quickly, he snapped out the question that had burned in his heart for many moons.
“Wait! Elder, I—my destiny is darkness. Where can I find light?”
The shaman stopped in his tracks. Hunched over, he pivoted slowly on his walking stick. His eyes, did they glow? A trick of the candles, Grozchiir thought, though with an uneasy lack of confidence. Drywarr had lived many centuries and was certainly powerful. It was whispered that he de-materialized into a dust spirit at night and swept through the village to learn its secrets, though of course the younger Wookiee always laughed at such stories.
Until now, anyway; the hissing noise that sounded in the room came from everywhere and nowhere at once, and the dust that lay over everything seemed to crackle.
“Wish you for a new destiny, Grozchiir of Narookia? A dark path you have followed. If you truly wish this, you must be suffering anguish indeed.”
Grozchiir froze. He had never seen nor heard Drywarr speak in this manner, and that noise was increasing slightly. A basket of bones near his feet rattled just loud enough to be heard. Unable to speak, a mute nod was all he could offer.
“Very well then. For too long have you hidden from yourself, behind a mask. For too long have you ignored sage wisdom. For too long have you bubbled, burned, and boiled inside your soul. For too long, despite your travels, have you stayed in this village in your heart, unwilling to see others as your brothers. And for too long have you fought without weapons or armor… madclaw.”
The hissing increased dramatically, and several candles flickered out. Dust swirled around Grozchiir, and he grasped his own head in his massive paws. The shaman knew? How could he know of these things, of his true nightmares? Banishment to the Shadowlands surely awaited him.
“You are not to be banished forever. You are to cleanse yourself. You are to set out on this quest, to find those things that will bring you peace. You are to live far from here until then. Only then can you truly take your place among the honored of Narookia. Now go. Go!”
Grozchiir fled the hut; small pups stood outside, wide-eyed and silent, parting only to allow the massive fighter to pass through without trampling them. A tendril of dust from the hut followed him, floating through the air.
By the time Grozchiir had reached the nearest Rebel pickup beacon, it had disappeared in the forest. Trembling with fear and shame, he entered his emergency code.
If the shaman gave him this destiny, there was no choice but to accept it. Could he truly erase who he had been and rebuild himself? Could anyone?
March 19th, 2008 by Kyle Maxwell
PRESENT DAY - ON KASHYYYK
Nighttime on Kashyyyk, traditionally considered dangerous by Wookiees, filled Grozchiir with a renewed sense of life. No one expected his people to move at night, but doing the unexpected was really the only reason he was still alive. He grinned to himself as he heard some small creatures twittering off into the night as he approached, astride his bantha.
Chief Narookia had wanted to be certain that the Rebels received their payment before leaving the planet. Although Grozchiir intended to stay home a little longer, when the Chief spoke, he listened. A few days alone to re-acquaint himself with the homeland as he journeyed to their hidden landing site would do him good and allow him a bit more time to think, in any case.
Gwwaaarr snorted beneath him and moved uncertainly along the trail. The wind carried a note of… what was that? Smoke, but of an unfamiliar sort. And just past the tree line, something glowed. Perhaps reassuring to those gathered around, but Grozchiir had long since learned that if he didn’t recognize something, it was probably a threat. He slid silently off his mount, landing on the ground on all fours. Holding his palm down for a moment to tell the beast to stay, he leapt into a nearby tree and made his way through the branches a few meters above the ground.
There. Intruders. A small camp of Imperials, nothing too large. A small squad slept in the open, an officer nearby, and a sentry squatted low to the ground. From the angle of his head, though, it seemed that he was only watching ground-level, never giving any indication of noticing the Wookiee clinging to a tree. Their speeder bikes were off to the side; in any case, they were of little use in the thick underbrush of the forest. While they did have a thumper to scare away the smaller wildlife, the subsonic vibrations made Grozchiir’s hair stand slightly on end.
Or was that the anticipation?
Carefully, he headed back to the beast and removed his shotgun and a few grenades from the saddlebags. A murmured prayer for the death of his enemies — though not necessarily his own survival — calmed Gwwaaarr, whose animal instincts told him something was about to happen. Grozchiir led him a little further until the camp was just in view.
The big Wookiee took his time, trusting that the sleepy trooper on watch was more interested in whatever might come out of the trees than what was still in them. He stretched for a moment and took a deep breath, allowing the anxiousness for battle to spread throughout his body. That tension kept him prepared, he’d always felt.
The sentry suddenly stood and shook his head, trying to stay awake. He paced for a minute, then decided to circle the perimeter of their small camp, never suspecting that death awaited him a few meters away. The time was now.
Smacking Gwwaaarr on the haunch, Grozchiir hefted a grenade in his hand. The sentry turned at the sound of a stampeding bantha, but it was too late as he was trampled. Shouts echoed through the clearing, joined by the grunts and calls of the beast wreaking havoc among them. Groz lobbed the grenade straight into the parked speeder bikes and began to run even before it exploded.
The officer shrieked and fled in sheer terror of the nightmare that was stomping and goring his squad, not seeing the Wookiee. Grozchiir crouched for a moment in the grass, laying in wait for his enemy with bared fangs.
However, the human paused for a moment to turn back to the camp. Raising his sidearm, he fired above the camp in a futile attempt to scare off the bantha. Groz was patient, though, and… wait. In the camp. What was that? He lifted an electro-monocular instinctively to his eye so that he could inspect a shape on the ground.
The image that burned itself into his retina made him retch. It might once have resembled the body of a Wookiee pup, but whatever that mess of fur and blood was now, it could no longer be classified as a “body”.
Rapid footsteps headed towards his left told him that the officer was running again. Quick as a flash, he extended his left arm and clotheslined the Imperial officer, who fell to the ground. Snarling at his enemy, he lifted him from the ground by the lower jaw. The smell of blood filled his nostrils… the acid taste in his mouth since he’d seen the remains of an atrocity a few moments ago… flashes of disruptor bolts and dying Wookiee commandos… the sound of sneering Imperials in the hell that had been his prison…
Groz took a deep breath and refocused his eyes on the Imperial. Something didn’t look right, though. The neck was at an odd angle and had visibly darkened. It took the Wookiee a moment or two to realize his claws were extended.
It had happened again. He was a madclaw, unable to restrain himself from reverting to their ancient and feral ways. What he’d just seen in the camp didn’t matter; this was dishonor. And not just the neck; this intruder’s face was now practically unrecognizable as a face in general, much less of the individual who struggled for only a few more seconds before finally hanging limp.
The screams from the camp had ceased and Gwwaaarr was nosing through the supplies, looking for food. Breathing heavily, adrenaline racing through his system, Grozchiir struggled to think of a solution. In the morning, scouts would inevitably come across the camp and investigate, and a mauled body like this would raise alarm.
He had to dispose of the body somehow, had to get it far away from this carnage. Just as he had to stuff his shame down deep inside, he did the same with the corpse into a bag he found in the camp. Tying it down behind the saddle, he jumped aboard and urged his bantha on.
Sometime later, in that deep darkness where sunrise rarely reached, a katarn jumped from his nest as something landed with a wet thud from the cliff above. Meal time.
March 19th, 2008 by Kyle Maxwell
PRESENT DAY - ON KASHYYYK
The young bantha murmured to itself as Grozchiir groomed its mane. The Kashyyykian night sky glowed softly, bringing back memories of other, less peaceful nights, nights marked by violence and death and struggle. The last night he’d spent on Kashyyyk had ended in a slaver’s net, and the years afterward in Imperial captivity fed his desire to see Life Day on Kashyyyk once more.
But tonight was different. Returning home to his village after so much time as a prisoner, Grozchiir allowed himself to relax and contemplate what this all really meant. He’d long since processed the guilt from being the only survivor of the raid that ended in his slavery, finally accepting that those who’d been killed had not suffered the indignities he had. Now, though, it all came flooding back to him. The screams, the explosions, the disruptor flashes. His people were hunted and killed or captured, and he’d been one of them. Grunting quietly, he blinked back what were certainly not tears.
After so many murmured prayers to celebrate the next Life Day on Kashyyyk, the homeland was still occupied. Little villages like this were all that remained of their proud cities among the trees. Even so, Grozchiir was pleased that there were still pups in the village that had only known freedom. Freedom of a sorts, as it was really the liberty to live in fear, but they’d not yet suffered the lash of an angry Trandoshan slavemaster. Someday, Life Day would mean even more than it did now, when no one had to live in fear of the galaxy taking note of their celebration. For so long, he’d only been able to mark Life Day with his own prayers in a cell of steel and concrete, hoping that somewhere, someone still remembered him and that they, at least, would be among trees and tribe.
His reverie with the bantha at his side was only slightly interrupted by the soft sound of approaching footsteps and a gentle voice behind him.
“Groz, it’s almost time for the Joining. The Orb is glowing and everyone’s there; are you coming?”
He smiled a bit and responded without turning, rumbling low in his throat. “Too many years, too much distance. Is it even…?” His voice trailed off as he repressed those unwanted memories.
A feminine chuckle preceded the prodding: “Yes, too many years. But you need to reconnect now; come to the Orb and be part of us again.”
Slowly, so as not to disturb the now-sleeping bantha, Grozchiir turned and looked into her sparkling green eyes. What did he see there? Gratitude, yes, but was there anything more? He’d returned to his homeland, once again free, only to find that so much had changed. For him, for his village, for his people.
The flickering torches around the village danced in her eyes as she awaited his response.
Squaring his shoulders, he finally spoke after a long moment.
“I always was.”
March 19th, 2008 by Kyle Maxwell
PRESENT DAY - ON KASHYYYK
The wind shifted suddenly out of the south, rattling branches and sending the jyykle vultures scrambling. Grozchiir hunched down expectantly, fearing what this sudden change might signal. He’d managed to swing an assignment on a smuggler’s ship to Kashyyyk delivering weapons to the local resistance. The CO in his unit had understood it was time for him to go back for a while, as much for the Alliance as for his own desire to celebrate Life Day properly, and so granted his request for the special assignment.
Despite the omen, a few minutes of waiting seemed to indicate nothing out of the ordinary. No new smells in the air, no sounds. He continued to work his way across the canopy as he had for several nights. Narookia lay ahead, and he knew it would only be a short time until he was once again home…
After the tearful greetings and hugs and such were complete, it was time to visit the chief and pay his respects. Grozchiir’s family had a long, proud tradition of serving as soldiers and fighters in defense of the village, and in fact he had once served as Blood Hunter of the village until the coming of the Empire.
A small child stopped him, tugging forlornly on his fur. As Grozchiir looked down at him, it was clear something was wrong.
“Are you here to find Taroo?”
The large Wookiee frowned down at the child and grumbled. “Taroo is missing?”
With widening eyes, the child stepped back. “She was taken… Chief knows! Ask him, ask him!”
This appeared to be an inauspicious time after all. Groz squared his shoulders and continued on to the Chief’s hut, this time with a stronger sense of purpose.
March 19th, 2008 by Kyle Maxwell
PRESENT DAY
A HIDDEN ALLIANCE BASE
The counselor smiled across the room at Grozchiir. “It must have been very difficult for you.”
After stumbling through some pirate-controlled systems, he’d managed to find an Alliance-held base on a small moon. Despite the initial tensions, the fact that a Wookiee was flying an Imperial shuttle was of enough interest that they’d not shot him down immediately.
He’d done his best to clean things up, spacing the bodies and trying to wash out as much of the blood as possible from the deck and his own fur. The sight of a disheveled Wookiee coming off the shuttle and all that that implied was enough to disperse the guards who’d surrounded the vessel once it landed as a normal precautionary measure.
Welcoming him into their ranks, he’d been assigned to the Rehabilitation Office for debriefing and therapy before being sent into a regular unit. As nervous as this made him — what would happen if they discovered how he’d mauled that guard? — he recognized it was his only way back into the fight. And at least they’d been sensitive enough to assign another Wookiee to talk to him.
Groz shook his head and grunted. He’d agreed to meet with the counselor but he’d never agreed to tell her much, something she hadn’t yet accepted.
“Maybe we could start a little earlier. I see you’ve been listed as missing for a number of years. Would you like to tell me about your service before that?”
As much as he’d resisted responding thus far, to ignore that question would be to dishonor the memories of the fallen. He’d done enough on the shuttle to bring reproach on his clan and thus wouldn’t add to it now…
APPROXIMATELY 10 BBY
SOMEWHERE ON KASHYYYKThe day dawned bright and clear. The squad leader, Shoryyytaal, addressed them in grave tones. “Our scouts have reported on a new landing facility being built not far from here. The markings on the construction droids indicate that they belong to the Empire, though traffic analysis points to their being on loan to the Trandoshans.”A rumble could be heard in the small hut. Their two most hated enemies, the Empire and Trandoshan slavers, had forged an unholy alliance. Never shrinking from a fight, the Wookiees’ inner fire drove them to resist. This small unit was tasked with locating and destroying any nearby facilities that would support their operations.”We have little information on what defenses may surround the facility. The scouts were discovered by a patrol and chose to return with their informatoin as quickly as possible.” Grunts and nods followed; the resistance had learned the hard way that sometimes data was more valuable to their cause than fighting at every encounter with the enemy.
Handing out specific assignments, Shoryyytaal next indicated Grozchiir. “Your job is the same as normal procedure. Find the communications array and destroy it immediately before the facility can report on our raid. We believe it to be in the center of the facility, but you may need to follow the signal emissions indicator to be more precise.”
A Wookiee of few words, Grozchiir only growled in response. Once the briefing was complete and equipment inspected, the squad filtered quietly out of the hut and down the trees to the darkened forest floor.
Just outside the facility perimeter, the squad halted. Robacca was on point and had indicated no contact with any patrols or other defenses. Perhaps they’d arrived before any of those could be established, though given the local wildlife that seemed surprising. Shoryyytaal had pondered this news, then quietly responded that fate was with them that night.
Scanning the facility, Grozchiir lay prone inside the treeline. There was an antenna… yes. A prefab metal hut was attached to it with several dishes on top of it and blinking lights inside, a telltale of human-built equipment.
With a roar, the squad leader lept into the clearing. At this signal, the commandos opened up on the facility. Bowcaster bolts flew through the night as droids exploded in showers of sparks. Paying the return fire little heed, Grozchiir ran, low to the ground, towards the hut. One battle droid stood inside, its metal frame groaning as the Wookiee pulled it apart.
Charges set, timers enabled. Time to leave. Grozchiir exited the hut but was immediately knocked back against it. The shock wave from an explosion had caught him off-guard, and there in the sky were nightmarish visions of shrieking close-air patrol fighters. Imperial gunships had begun to lay down suppressing fire, and the night wind brought the unmistakable stench of Trandoshans.
He struggled to his feet and he raced for the treeline. Fallen comrades were everywhere, but there! Shoryyytaal was alive, lifting a Trandoshan off his feet by his throat. Roaring, Grozchiir lept off the ground towards the slaver’s body.
He never reached it. The body exploded with a brilliant flash, vaporizing the squad leader and sending Groz flipping backwards and into the dirt.
He lifted his head only to find blaster rifles pointed at his head. The hissing and grinning of the Trandoshans around him infuriated the commando, but his arms strangely did not respond. A fine mesh began to glow over his fur, and he knew himself then, not just for a survivor, but for a slave.
March 19th, 2008 by Kyle Maxwell
PRESENT DAY
CORPORATE SECTOR - IN SPACE
The hum of the shuttle could be felt throughout the ship. Grozchiir sat in his cell, glaring at the walls out of sheer spite. For the last decade, he’d endured one indignity after another at the Imperial School for Exotic Languages, and this unannounced transfer just infuriated him more. When they’d tranquilized him in his cell back on the asteroid base, he’d woken on board this ship with no information as to where they were headed. He was just an animal, after all.
The SHOOSH! of the door into the cell area announced the entry of the caretaker. He might be an animal, but he was worth something and so they at least kept him fed; the caretakers back at the School were very precise and efficient at every aspect of their job. A low growl in his throat elicited the briefest of grins from the old human.
“You’ll not threaten me, beast. Time for your feeding and supplements.” Inserting his rank cylinder into the control panel, the cell door opened… and Groz saw one chance. Clearly this human wasn’t accustomed to guarding a Wookiee — he’d left both doors open and his hands were full of equipment.
Snarling, the striped Wookiee leapt forward. The cuffs on his wrists did nothing to restrain his claws, and the guard gurgled on the blood surging out of his throat. The pain in his eyes brought no sympathy from Groz as he fumbled with the cylinder to unlock his cuffs. Noticing that the guard was still struggling to breathe, the Wookiee smote him in the chest, caving it in and ending the officer’s attempt to live.
Only a few moments remained before someone from the small crew on the shuttle came back to investigate the noise. Casting about frantically for something useful, Grozchiir found nothing and thus rushed out of the cell block without so much as a glance behind him.
The cockpit door was sealed, but with his newfound tool, he found that it presented no difficulty. With their backs to him, the two pilots and the communications operator never had a chance. Detaching the arms from one of the pilots, he flailed about wildly. After a few moments, the three humans lay on the deck, victims of the madclaw’s rage.
Grozchiir attempted to insert himself into the provided seats to no avail, as they had not been engineered for beings of his size. Ripping one out of the deck, he cast it aside and ignored the sparking from the now-severed control connections.
Many years of captivity had passed since he’d last been at the controls of a ship, and piloting was never his forte. Still, he’d acquired enough understanding of written Basic to interpret the controls and managed to set a course for the Outer Rim. He’d not concede his newfound freedom easily.
March 19th, 2008 by Kyle Maxwell
Grozchiir is a relatively young Wookiee commando; I roleplay him as a character in Star Wars Galaxies, but the vignettes I write for him generally do not occur in the game. Instead, I use them to understand his character a little more and perhaps drive events that then get roleplayed out.
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