Oh Jeez it's Tuesday Already?

Sorry for the delay (honestly it's becoming more the standard route than Mondays, innit?). Monday was ... well, I went to bed at 5:30 AM after working on a problem with my Minecraft server all night. Turns out you have to set up build permissions for the Nether specifically even if you have global permissions set all over the place. ._.

If I'd thought about that before 5:30 AM I wouldn't have stayed up that late.

Also blast mining with /fireball is amusing.

So ... hm.

The Nether, why not.

Let's review: Minecraft is a world where there are less than a thousand people or so left alive on the entire planet (which has about eight times the surface area of earth, and gets really weird toward the very edges). That's on the massive servers. In single player, or on smaller servers (like mine, my internet connection can't handle more than like five people), you're looking at less than an average nuclear family remaining ... or even just one dude.

The other humans? Appear to have died and become zombies or skeletons, which coincidentally happen to combust on contact with sunlight.

The only animals to speak of that have remained are pigs, chickens, cows, wolves, and sheep.

There is a creature here that hunts humans, wandering the world endlessly with one goal in mind: to explode, thereby to destroy the last survivor.

This is a world of perpetual fear and suffering, and the main character seems to have survived specifically because he cannot permanently die.

So now picture that world's hell.

Here the stone itself is twisted and brittle, cracking easily under minimal pressure. It burns fantastically, and never quits burning. The sand drags at anyone who sets foot upon it, trying to hold them in place, and lava replaces water. The only lighting comes from an eerily-glowing rock that clings to the ceiling in stalactites ... and the aforementioned lava, spread in massive oceans as far as the eye can see.

There is no day, and there is no night. It is a place outside of time.

There are only two types living things that have survived this place ... for some definition of survival.

The most common creatures one will encounter are the zombie pigmen - tribes of them wander the broken landscape, and though they will watch a human warily, they will not attack you if you do not attack them. If you do foolishly attack a pigman, the rest of his tribe will rip your body to worthless shreds - they hunt in packs and will rarely, if ever, stop attacking.

These are the friendliest creatures the player ever encounters, apart from wolves.

They are also the only source of sustenance naturally found in the Nether - if one of them should die, it is possible to scavenge cooked porkchops from the corpse. Given the most probable cause of death (the player kills them), it will be necessary to eat the meat.

The other kind of creature is an unavoidable monstrosity. It is a massive thing, a floating, white spirit that wanders the Nether aimlessly. Its face is twisted into a pained expression at all times. It never chases the player, exactly ... it just floats, roaming without end. In this place there are waterfalls created from flowing magma, and it bathes in those without being harmed.

Should the player get too close to the Ghast, it will briefly open its eyes to stare at the intruding human. Then, it will loose a blast of flame that explodes on contact, destroying the fragile stone where it hits and sometimes igniting it.

The Ghast cries like a damned child, and there are more than one. Anywhere there is room for a ghast, a new one will eventually spawn.

All in all, the Nether successfully conveys the idea of a hell world, even by Minecraft standards.

BRB MINECRAFT

If I don't make it back, tell my mother I love her.

In the Jungle

Or: Why are people stupid?

So the other day I'm pretty much ecstatic because I've finally pieced together how to run Jungle Nocturne (and not die horribly), which is fantastic, because our team didn't really have a jungler before, and now it does, because I can accomplish that.

So yay. Got a runesheet running (ARP Marks & Quints, Armor Yellows, CDR Blues) for it, a mastery sheet, the whole nine.

And then we don't have a fifth, so we pick up this Nasus.

Now, I'm playing a jungler and the other team does not have one. So I innocently ask who's gonna take the 2v1 lane, since one of the characters who could feasably do it is a newbie I know who'd never even gone solo mid before.

She handled it beautifully.

The Nasus, on the other hand, raged a bit at me, because apparently learning to jungle makes me 'not a team player.'

I kind of take offense at that.

The entire reason I spent so much effort, and so many monster deaths, learning this shit is to make my goddamn team stronger. It pisses me off greatly that someone would say I'm 'not a team player' because I'm not in a lane.

But I'm just now getting into the ELO range where people even consider jungling, and it's not the most intuitive idea out there, so it occurred to me that not everyone understands why you want a jungler at all, much less why I'm angry the Nasus was angry.

Why does it help the team to have a jungler?

So, anyone who's played LoL before understands the idea of solo mid. The squishy carry goes there and farms minions to get a massive XP and gold lead on the rest of the team, so by endgame they're obliterating face right, left, and center.

Now, imagine if you could field two solo lanes, while a third member of the team accumulates almost that much XP basically unbothered for the first six or so levels.

Guess what: you can.

Now imagine that someone on your team can roam around to all lanes - because it is their job to do so - and violate anyone they get close to, then melt back into the forest before retaliation can happen. Terrifying, isn't it?

Guess what? You can have that, too!

Jungling provides a massive XP boost to 2-3 members of your team, while placing a certain pressure on the enemy team. It can force them to play defensively and hug their towers even when you're nowhere near them, and it can easily, easily boost your team to victory. On the other hand, the jungler can easily, easily fall behind on experience and has to be the single most attentive player on the map, since they're effectively invested in saving every lane that goes badly at all times. The jungler will cover lanes when one or both occupants need to go to base for whatever reason, and the jungler should also help out the support with warding, which means potentially lost gold.

In short, learning to jungle is one of the single best things you can do for your team apart from learning to tank or support (and kudos to a tank or support who can do the job well), and doing it well is probably the single most team-oriented thing you can do.

I'm a team player, goddammit.

( This guide here helped me immensely and will help just about any other jungler, though you'll have to adapt the specific skills to your needs.

Jungling to excess for the lulz:

Why Not Bilgewater

Zum came home! I spent basically all of yesterday (except for the parts where I went shopping) playing with my friends and poking around with Fraps, which I bought and downloaded. It was a good day.

Have some writings.

---

Why Not Bilgewater


She looked around, feeling rather self-conscious in her rather plain black skirt. The short-sleeved top seemed a bit too tight - though, glancing at the other inhabitants of the bar, she knew it was actually quite conservative and loose. Even in such light clothing, it was hot and sticky inside the bar, though that might just be the various unidentifiable stains on the walls, ceiling, and floor. There were patches she'd swear had been replaced because the alcohol had eaten through the floorboards.

Here, surrounded by raucous pirates devoted to having a good time, she wasn't the summoner Nekhs, removed from the conflict yet reveling in it. Instead, she was just Neiomi, a pale, fragile little redhead who got shoved around if she tried to navigate the crowd. She didn't drink because it made her dizzy, and a dizzy mage was generally a bad thing. Despite all that, there was a lot - almost too much - to distract her from her nervousness, but her mind kept coming back to one simple fact: the other, older summoner hadn't arrived and probably wasn't coming. He'd stood her up. She sighed, wishing she'd had the courage to ask Zum out. The Ionian was nice, and even if he said no, he'd probably be nice about it and explain why not, rather than this.

She sighed slightly, leaning on a patch of wall that didn't seem too sticky, and reached up to rub one of her sensitive ears. The music was just barely louder than the pirates, and she could barely hear herself think.

"What's this, then?" The man somehow managed to be even louder than everything else in here, his words slightly slurred. He was tall, wearing a slightly lopsided hat, and very, very drunk. His open jacket also revealed what looked to be a very angry patch of untamed fur that someone had then proceeded to pour alcohol all over. "I don' think th'li'l lass is havin' a good time, d'you?" He looked back at the other pirates, probably members of his crew.

The sword and pistol hanging from his belt did not escape her attention. How had she gained his?

"C'mere, my pretty. Give ol' Gangplank a kiss." He leered down at her, one eye glowing an evil red, and she felt herself shrink back against the wall.

"I- I'drathernotthanks." Her voice was tiny, and she tried to project confidence into it that she didn't feel.

His expression shifted for the worse, and she realized belatedly that a captain was probably not used to being refused, even - maybe especially - by pretty little redheads. She tried to think, but he was far, far too close for comfort. Instead, as he made a humorless grin down at her, showing far too many teeth, she aimed a kick for his shin.

It wasn't really very effective, so she took a second option: she called a tiny, insignificant pinch of magic to her.

The scene shifted. She was suddenly outside, though the air was still heavy and humid. She took a deep breath, resting her forehead against the outer wall of the building. "There's no place like home," she muttered to herself, summoning a slightly larger pinch of magic. Blue light rolled and churned at her feet as she pictured her small apartment, exactly as she'd left it. She just wanted to go home.

The pirate appeared to her left. Flash was such a short-range spell. "Found you, lass!" He laughed, loudly, pointing the gun at her. "Nobody makes a fool of ol' Gangplank, love. Nobody." She stared at him, eyes wide, mouth moving without sound.

There's no place like home.

The bullet whizzed through the place where she'd been only seconds before.

I got distracted

H'okiday, so I'm seeing all the things going on in the blogs I'm following and I'm once again quite happy I decided to keep my nose more-or-less out of it, all the same.

I don't much care for parties when they're not the sort of thing you get murdered at.

So, what'd I get distracted by, if not all that?

Well, a five-year-old game, of course!

I had a revelation about the entire video game industry yesterday. You can release a buggy game that's sloppy around the edges, and people may buy it. But the way to keep people buying it is to give them the tools to fix what's broken. There is a vertiable army of modders out there, so if the product is good at its core, they will twist and tweak at it to their hearts' content and fix every little thing you never did - provided, of course, you give them the tools to do so. That's how a game that's five years old is still relevant to anything, and how there's still interest in the franchise five years later for the release of the fifth entry in the series.

Apparently Blizzard isn't the only group who firmly believes in the "when it's done" policy of game releases.

Let me explain: the game in question is The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion. Now, there are still people who play The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, though I never took to it myself. I have a copy somewhere, I just never really got into it.

The game is solid at its core, it really is. It's got a standard 'save the world' style plot, but it's got so many sidequests and so much to do that even at basegame, it's a very worthwhile offering. The thing that makes it a gem, though, is the Construction Set. People have built entire games out of the Construction Set for Oblivion. Seriously. I have, myself, downloaded a little over a hundred plugins all told, including the ten official mods.

Let me pick at what's wrong with it, because 'it's a solid game' seems a little bit underwhelming in the face of the fact that I've done so much to my version of it that it hardly resembles the game that came in the box (or the copy I have for XBOX, for that matter).

The leveling system irks me. There are no two ways around it, the leveling system irks me. Until I did away with it entirely - and put something new in its place - I never thought too much about the sheer amount of grinding I did to no purpose in a single player game. The reason? Everything levels with you. While that sounds fine in theory - in theory only, mind - two important problems arise from doing it that way. One: although the enemies do keep up with you, make it a challenge, like, they're also never any stronger than you. There's never really any sense of progress, when everything is on par with you always. Two (and even worse than the first): If you don't fixate on your combat skills, you'll slide behind all the enemies who are keeping up with your stated levels. Even if you do, if you do it wrong, you'll still slide behind, and then all the curbstomp battles are on your skull, and you'll be lucky if they let you run away alive. So, in short, no real progress (unless you plan to lose your soul to, again, the grind in a single player game and become like unto a robot), only regress. Not good.

That's actually just about everyone's major gripe with the game, and it's almost impossible to swing a cat without hitting someone who's got a mod for it, although the biggest mods seem to have gotten it right overall. Check Oscuro's Oblivion Overhaul for the biggest enemy deleveler, and I'm currently poking around with Oblivion XP to undermine the stupid grind. I spend enough time on the game, thank you.

So, onto some of the other gripes with the game. Loading screens. It's a very resource intensive game, so sure, I'll accept that on a lot of rigs they're necessary, but on mine they really aren't, not always. (I play League of Legends just fine with Oblivion paused in the background, even with the resource-hogging mods I've plugged in.) Better Cities addresses this one nicely, by making the cities bigger, better, and more open. Actually, just better in general. I'm pretty sure it's added a ton of new places and people, but they blend nicely, so I'm only pretty sure.

What else ... oh, I know. Vampirism. Who ever heard of starving yourself for power? Anorexic models. I don't want to play an anorexic model anymore than I want to sparkle in the sunlight. So there's a mod to flip that about (actually most of the vampire overhaul mods do a whole hell of a lot more than that, but I'm just a simple thing, see), and another to get the disease by sleeping in disreputable places and getting bit, and another to add a major quest of sorts to the game just for the vampires.

Honestly, most of my mods I picked up for realism, not necessity. The only one I pick up for necessity is the alternate leveling system, because otherwise I'll be up to my eyeballs in Daedra too tough to take out (difficulty slider aside, anyway).

Sorry for the ... odd ... slant to my writing, by the by. I sunk my teeth into a lovely book, and the main character talks thusly. I'll be over it in time for Wednesday, probably. I'd like to do a proper review on some of the mods I added.

Over all, though, I have to say, Oblivion is not a bad game, even at base game. It's got an interesting enough plot, and most of the shiny that can still tax a newer system is inherent. The combat system is pretty fun and streamlined, the magic's all right. The main complaint I can think of is the bird-brained level system and the fact that AI is a crapshoot, so the ambient conversations are generally rather inane - which, most conversations among real people tend to be a bit inane. So meh. It's got grand, epic quests if you're into that, and enough other things to do that you'll be quite content if you want no part of those.

If you like RPGs and haven't yet tried it, pick it up. If you don't, well, don't.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to playing. (And I promise, I'm actually working on this here again, too.) They release Skyrim in November.

The Circle of Magic

Eh, why not. Not a whole lot else to write on today, and I didn't get down to the river like I'd planned.

The Circle of Magic by Tamora Pierce is one of the book series' I've been reading at work to keep me from going absolutely nuts. So far, it covers two quartets and two individual books that are a bit more loosely linked together. Technically, it's classified as juvenile fantasy, though in all honesty, it's one of those series that ... well, let me put it this way: children die in this series with some frequency. There was at least one story that included the death of a baby, and war and death are described in some detail.

So yeah, a children's series. Totally.

The first quartet opens on a series of highly unlikely coincidences: four remarkable children are each rescued from miserable - even life-threatening - circumstances by a mysterious benefactor named Niklaren Goldeye (who happens to be a seer), and brought to the quiet temple community of Winding Circle. Two things rapidly become apparent: the children are not fitting in well with their peers, and they have some skill at magecraft. They are brought to live together at Discipline Cottage, where together, they face off against bullies, earthquakes, pirates, forest fires, and plague, even traveling to death's door and back. Along the way, they find powerful teachers, learn life lessons, and squeeze in all the education they can handle, not to mention working incredible feats of magic, the most important of which being a simple thread circle that wove their four lives - and magics - together as one.

I've always rather enjoyed this series, partially because of the fantastic-yet-down-to-earth setting, partially because of the relatable characters, and partially because I'm a bit of a sucker for strong female leads - of which there are three in the first quartet, with strong supporting women as well. I also like how magic is handled in it - with magic, nothing useful can be gained without good, hard work, and mages are honestly mostly just another stripe of craftsperson, even when they aren't actually craftspeople as well. The schism between 'academic' mages (the traditional book-learning, rune-shaping, spellcasters) and 'ambient' mages (people who work magic through arts, crafts, and nature) is also rather believable and interesting.

Over all, a good fantasy series if you're into that kind of thing, and a series of solid coming-of-age stories told from four unique perspectives if you're into that kind of thing.

Just remember: despite all the murder and disaster and such, it's a kids' series.

Really.

This Space Reserved For Fanart

Pretty picture drawn in M$Paint at work. So bored. Brain is shutting down.

Still not drowned. Flooding hasn't reached my area yet.

First Summoning

She glanced at the other two hooded figures in the dim-lit summoning chamber, reaching up to adjust her own hood, nervously.

She'd just purchased the right to use the Eternal Nightmare in her League matches, and this was to be her first session with it. The summoners standing near her were her friends and classmates, long-time companions who wouldn't care if she made a fool of herself.

It was only a simulation anyway. Save their three champions, they would be sparring with pre-programmed constructs. They couldn't respond as people did, wouldn't talk or laugh or think as people did. Useful training dummies, but ultimately non-sentient. They wouldn't laugh as people did, and she was sure that she was going to make a fool of herself for this first match.

She always did, when trying out a new Champion.

The countdown began after all three of them made their selections. She wondered how people like Katarina felt, being dragged in to trial matches like this. What about Twisted Fate?

She might ask that of them directly, if she ever scraped together the influence to purchase the right to their presence.

Reaching for Nocturne, she steadied her own mind, calling to his unique signature. "Embrace the darkness ..." His voice murmured in her ear, tingling in the back of her mind. Calling ....

She pushed her mind outward, speaking the words of summoning. Every Summoner's ritual was at least slightly different, because every Summoner was different. It naturally took some Summoners longer than others to complete their rituals. She liked to keep hers short and to the point. It was almost effortless, flinging her mind outward like this - for her, the trick was keeping an "eye" on her physical body.

"Welcome to Summoner's Rift."

It had no legs. Odd that that should be her first disoriented thought, as she examined it - it floated, almost incorporeal, heavy blades hanging from its 'arms.' "Do I scare you, summoner?" She gave a headshake that only it could perceive, stretching her mind to try and fill the space it occupied. It was foreign, strange, but not any more so than Cho'Gath. She had mastered the Void Terror, and she would master this Nightmare.

 - awash with blood, the body in pieces, manic, dizzy laughter -

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to.

She covered her physical mouth, almost thrown out of the link. Her left hand held steady on the glowing image before her, holding its edge physically to reinforce it.

"You arrigh'?" One of the other Summoners asked it, gently, his mind pressing the words into hers. She responded with a sense of affirmation, tamping down the nausea.

"Drip, drop, the sound of blood ..." The Nightmare taunted, her full attention upon it again. She directed him, wordlessly, to collect the basic necessities - she'd done a bit of research on how to use his abilities properly. Dark 'hands' closed around the scythe purchased from the merchant. Just a symbol.

The scythe glowed brilliant for a moment, then evaporated, strengthening the Nightmare's own weapons. Its attacks would steal the very life from the constructs they would be fighting today.

"Yesss ... bring me more fleshbags to slice up." Anticipation, raw and eager, filled her mind, mingling with its. No - the other way around ... wasn't it?

The announcer's voice called out, dragging her attention to the upcoming match. "Thirty seconds until minions spawn."

"You comin'?"

"Solo mid?" She asked, distractedly.

"If you wan'." Three Summoners in a link - it was easy to forget who was talking. Easy to lose herself to the link. "Sure y'can handle it?"

"It's bots. I'll be fine." She waved a hand, dismissively, sending reassurance his way as well.

It came to rest just in front of the blue tower, staring at the human female just across the way. Images came unbidden in her mind - the female in pieces, just how He was going to end her pitiful life. Given His choice, it would be slow and painful. It would take days of unending nightmares. She'd heal up, in the dream, but only so that He could cut her open again. He would take any hope of escape and slowly rip it away - with his bare talons, even. Only in this world had He any need of true blades, after all - and those formed of His will.

It took a long moment to realize that the woman they were examining was a child - Annie. Annie had always been one of her favorite Champions, and she was briefly glad that this version was just a construct, with no Summoner behind it.

Amusement at her discomforted realization, a sinister laugh. "Weather forecast for tonight: dark, with a chance of pain."

She snorted a little bit at the joke, even as the Nightmare filled her mind with more images of death and dismemberment, sending back: "Only a chance? I had been given to understand you were better than that." Even minions felt pain. The constructs that wore Champion skins were little different.

"Minions have spawned!" The announcement cut off any possible response.

She drew first blood, the blades an extension of Their arms as They destroyed the golem in the image of a young girl. "Annie" screamed her agony, blood staining her stuffed bear as her golem was sliced in two. A blast of energy slammed into Nocturne's all-but-incorporeal back, pushing him toward the ground as they slid through a shroud of darkness, phasing through minions, into the woods, and out of the tower's wrath.

"Worth it." She grinned to herself. They hadn't even died this time.

Twenty-eight kills later - better than Katarina's twenty-seven! - and having sliced through an entire army of minions, her companions finally destroyed the constructs' Nexus just to end her fun. She found herself disappointed, pouting a little bit as she stared through his 'eyes' at the enemy's Soraka longingly. They hovered inches away from the kill, one blade pinning the ex-goddess to the destroyed inhibitor. The other hovered, magically paralyzed, just above her navel.

"That's right ... people are flames to be blotted out." His voice was soothing, contented from the slaughter, and she found herself nodding in agreement as she pulled away, finding her true body had fallen to its knees without her attention on it, an almost-lifeless ragdoll.

They both knew she'd be back.

Manic, Manic

There's a chemical in your brain
It's pouring sunshine and rage ...

Driving in the car.

You knew it was coming, could feel it building. Inopportune timing.

SHUT the FUCK up hate the sound of your voice don't talk don't say anything I hate you so much you and everyone you're so FUCKING stupid shut up shut up shut up - (we don't end up talking at all)

You aren't alone in the car, so you have no outlet.

Must drive safely.

Can't do anything.

But it's clawing up. You dig short, blunt claws into the steering wheel and barely notice.

Keep calm.

Keep control.

Every set of oncoming lights aggrivates it. Bright light RIGHT IN THE FUCKING EYES, FUCK.

(can she tell? I'm sorry about what I said before -)

NO I'M NOT DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING STUPID BITCH STUPID STUPID STUPID

Distracted as you pass road crews, the flickering lights at the tops of their trucks holding your eyes, until you catch your car in an unsafe swerve.

Keep calm. (she noticed that one. sorry.)

Keep control.

Every sound drags it to the fore. Everything grates.

HATE EVERYTHING.

There is a train in your path. You've pushed IT back enough to plan an alternate route, since the train ISN'T MOVING FUCK but that route takes you through Downtown. (where all the lights are bright)

STUPID WHORES HANG DRUNK OFF THEIR STUPID FUCKING MEN LIKE FASHIONABLE ACCESSORIES.

Stumbling across the road in loose adherence to traffic law are crowds of people in twos and fours. Friday night. Time to fucking par-tay. (we trade vague disgusted words at this)

She's gone. Wishes you good-night and walks inside her own house.

Somehow you manage to make it home.

FUCKING CHILDREN HANGING OUT OF DADDY'S CAR. HOPE YOU FUCKING CRASH YOU DRUNK BITCHES (I don't mean that ...)

You want to scream your incoherent rage, but by this point it's turned in on yourself. You don't scream, furthermore. A strangled, shrill noise rips itself from your throat, you claw at the foam roof, slam your palms into it, into the steering wheel. You claw your own scalp, trying to regain control.

It's not really a noisy tantrum, for all that. You don't make a lot of noise. Rarely talk unless necessary, pride yourself on moving silently. You don't laugh, sob, or groan out loud - it all catches in your throat. Always has.

It passes.

Eventually.

Walk inside. Food's ready.

(Mom noticed something wrong. sorry Mom.)

Hit a wall for the noise it makes on the way to the kitchen.

Calm enough to function.

Words come in the wrong order and I can't focus and I need to do SOMETHING but I don't know what.

(I think there's something wrong with me.)

Driving

TL;DR: Rant about people being stupid in cars. Typed Saturday. Still not dead. Woo, triumph.

Driving.

Who came up with this idea? Really? "Let's put two tons of fast-moving death in the hands of every irresponsible idiot who can answer a multiple choice test correctly. That'll end well!" Seriously.

"What? They're sixteen years old and their wee brains haven't yet fully developed (see 'coz that happens by the time you're twenty-five), so they're reckless and end up killing themselves and other people on the way to go get drunk at an underage party and/or on the way from getting drunk at an underage party? I don't understand how that could happen!" It's not that I don't have sympathy or anything, but seriously, this whole thing sounds like an accident (or several thousand) waiting to happen.

I bring this up because I have a half an hour drive to my work place, one-way, which means in practice I spend my share of time driving, which means I get to witness all kinds of stupid people behind the wheel. Especially since the people around here don't fully understand how to do the thing they're doing.

For an example: what the hell happened to signalling before changing lanes? I nearly got in a wreck today because this guy completely failed to signal that he was going to dive between me and the car in front of him. Not warning people what you're about to do is rarely a good thing, especially when it's going to be exceedingly dangerous to yourself and other people. Courting death in a major car accident on the highway is excessively dangerous, yes.

And this other guy, in a white van, did signal ... that he was going to drift across two lanes of traffic and nearly sideswipe me to get into my lane. Which is the only thing that kept me from getting into a wreck again, and that only because I deliberately gave him enough room to complete the lane change. I don't want to get crushed in a vehicular homicide, after all. This same fellow then went on to make a left turn from the wrong lane.

Am I the only person on the road who paid attention during driver's education?

Why are people stupid?

Gah.

Dragon Mage: Origins

Entry #1

My first night in the Circle Tower as a full mage. I finally understand why my - no, our - confinement is deemed necessary.

I still feel it. As though the demon hovers over me, waiting to seize control again no - not again, it was never ... my thoughts are my own, my mind is my own. I cannot sleep at all - worry I may never sleep again. In the darkness of my bath this evening, I imagined I could see its eyes above me, watching ... waiting. Waiting for my guard to slip even an inch.

Jowan was there, when I woke from my Harrowing. He wanted to know what it was like. He's been on edge for days now, and I suspect this didn't help any. He said he wanted to speak with me, said it was important. I can't imagine why, truly. He knows I cannot tell him of the Harrowing. Maybe it's his "secret lover." Ha. Jowan is my friend, but sometimes I think he gets jealous of me. How easily I take to magic, how the First Enchanter himself has taken an interest in my learning. I never knew my parents. Sometimes, I suspect Irving thinks of me as the daughter he never had. I'd like that, I think. He is like the father that I never had, as well.

Oh! Two odd things happened today, besides my Harrowing, that is. I nearly forgot.

There is a Gray Warden staying here at the Circle, a man named Duncan. He seems like a good and upright fellow. I think I expected him to be ... bigger.

Astride a Griffon, perhaps?

Also, there is a Templar here who seems to have taken a shine to me. Edgar ... Edwin? Cullen, anyway. A Templar and a mage ... how silly.

Best not dwell on it.

"Hero"

Decided to poke through my phone's music player until I landed on something meaningful to write about (the Nom Nom Song being right out), and it landed on Nickelback's "Hero."

Fair 'nuff.

An' they say that a hero will save us, I'm not gonna stand here an' wait ....

So, herein we define hero.

• a man distinguished by exceptional courage and nobility and strength; "RAF pilots were the heroes of the Battle of Britain"
• the principal character in a play or movie or novel or poem
• champion: someone who fights for a cause
• Greek mathematician and inventor who devised a way to determine the area of a triangle and who described various mechanical devices (first century)
• (classical mythology) a being of great strength and courage celebrated for bold exploits; often the offspring of a mortal and a god
• (Greek mythology) priestess of Aphrodite who killed herself when her lover Leander drowned while trying to swim the Hellespont to see her
• bomber: a large sandwich made of a long crusty roll split lengthwise and filled with meats and cheese (and tomato and onion and lettuce and condiments); different names are used in different sections of the United States

According to Professor Google.

Huh, I lived on a Leander street once.

Why the hell should anybody wait for a hero? 'm sure it's great that they're marked by strength and courage and shit, but that doesn't mean other folk can't be courageous or strong. Lotta people're courageous 'n' strong 'n' ... yeah. This ain't workin'.

I'm aware. Typin' out a slur 'ssa habit from bein' all ... y'know. -ey.  Roleplay. That'n'. 'ssa good indication of being all ... unfocused. Fuzzy. Fuzzled. MR. FUZZEMS. (The terrible.)

So tired. Feel like I'm fuckin' drunk.

ANYWAY, yeah. Waitin' on a hero seems silly. Guilty pleasure here, I read romance books sometimes 'coz they're cheap, not too brainy, and often fun. Thing that pisses me the fuck off in those books is about half the time, the woman's some helpless incompetent bitch who can't even fuckin' tie her shoes without a MAN standing there helping her out. It's like ... half the reason I quit goin'a church, right? 'coz they wouldn't recognize a family that didn' have a man in it. I ain't got nothin' against men, y'know? Just, don't fucking tell me I need to have one. Fuck you an' your fuckin' "religion" bullshit keepin' good folk from doin' shit with themselves, 'coz they ain't chained to a goddamn bed.

'less they're inta that, y'know.

'n' the hero always gettin' mixed up with the protagonist. What'cha mean, the noble dragon's up there gettin' slaughtered by the wicked knight?

Honestly, though, most stories now days have their heroic sociopath bases covered.

... I think I'm pretty much 'onna have to cut this short t'say simply: Do what the fuck's right, and who gives a goddamn shit if it ain't appropriate or lawful or if you ain't the strongest or bravest person.

An' don't forget, if you do have a hero type person: they ain't fuckin' infallible. Nobody is.

Punch 'em in the fuckin' gut if they can't remember what "right" actually is.

Oh. And not every hero has t'die. There's that, too.

On Beauty

Technically still Wednesday.

So, the other day, a man I've barely gotten around to meeting claimed I was beautiful.

And now he's suggested I define that word.

Beauty.

Huh.

Above all else, it's subjective. "In the eyes of the beholder," goes the old saying, while another, more modern interpretation twists it to, "beer-holder," because after all, like in all subjective things, inebriation alters perception.

So, to put it simply, I am certainly not 'beautiful,' or 'pretty,' at least not to my mind, in part because I'm not a narcissist. Honestly, I rarely think about how pretty anything is, much less my own body. When I draw, it is not an ode to beauty, it is merely the act of recording a thought. Likewise, on the rare occasion that I take a photograph, it is not how beautiful the subject is, but merely that it exists. Technical imperfections may mar a piece, but it is always better that the record exists than that the moment is lost forever.

Beauty, though, is supposed to be more than simple existence, isn't it?

I think the dictionary definition would go something like, "aesthetically pleasing," or "pleasing to witness/behold."

Again, subjective.

I'm not particularly enraptured by the way blood spurts from a severed artery, but a psychopathic serial killer might well find such beautiful. Likewise, I'm pretty sure a burn victim would not share my enthusiasm for fire.

Physical beauty is also a fleeting, transient thing, especially in humans. Even the strongest statue will erode under the constant pressures of time and the masterless elements. While some people may age more gracefully than others, they still age, still wither, still die.

And truly, at that point, it takes a lot of perservatives and either the very most discerning of beholders, or the very least to find a dessicated corpse beautiful.

Rare jewels, with their brilliant colors and their inner fire are almost universally considered valuable, but a desperate junkie would likely trade a fistful of diamonds for its equal in drugs, without even the first hint of hesitation.

Beauty is also not particularly necessary. No human has ever died for want of a painting as they have for want of sustenance or shelter. Despite this, humankind is quick to attach beauty to things of dire necessity. A man in a desert would find an oasis glorious. Humanity also regularly seeks out things they do not need, creating decorations with no other purpose than to appeal to the ever-changing senses.

What is beauty then?

It is transitory, and it is fleeting; a lie perpetrated by our minds to persuade us to enjoy the sensations we experience. It's a lie to break up the dull monotony of continued existence. Many humans spend their whole lives in its pursuit. But then, humans do so often devote their entire fleeting, transitory lives to pointless minutiae.