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CourValant
Feb 25, 2016

Do You Remember Love?

Hexenritter posted:

THE THRESHOLD! TAKE US TO THE THRESHOLD!

"No, Heretic, the Necroverse will forever be denied to you. Whatever it was that you sought with the old ways, know that it has only brought you to the edge of the Fiery Lake, to which I now condemn you. Forever."

"By Fire and Iron may you be cleansed, and by Wood and Water, may your damnation serve to guide others away from the path of the Fallen."

"With the Blood in my veins as witness, by the authority of the Shepherd Council, hereby do I pass final judgement."


Hexenritter posted:

A cadre of Keepers going round hunting necromancers and necro-curious Shepherds sounds both cool and scary, especially if they are trained to use the tools of the enemy.

Indeed. The Spanish Inquisition set in a Post-Apocalypse Western is both awesome and scary.

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Hexenritter
May 20, 2001

Buncha slack-jawed faggots around here

cigaw
Sep 13, 2012


CourValant posted:

for my fellow material science acolyte!

Metallurgy is an interest of mine, specifically, the mysticism, alchemic origins, and outright magical properties folks have attributed to metal working over human history.

More to the point, weíre getting into Prometheus (Greek God, not the movie) level technological knowledge creation story telling here, wherein drawing the Ďsword from the stoneí isnít pulling a literal sword from a rock, rather, itís how do you turn lump of iron ore (stone) into a sword (toolmaking) - think the opening forging scene from the original Conan.

Merlin was in fact a Magister, not a mage.
I remember my first class in Material Science and how awesome it was. I also remember how, when we started talking about Iron-Carbon phases, I was equal parts befuddled and fascinated.

Also, I now want a Smith Clan who talks all about The Riddle of Steel.

CourValant posted:

Something that might not be apparent, unless you really want to get into metallurgy.

Refining, processing, and utilizing heavier and heavier metals is exponentially more resource intensive and damaging to the environment.

Making bronze is something you can do in your backyard. Refining gold, aluminum, platinum, magnesium, nickel, requires a truly mind numbing amount of electricity and support structure.
Gold's not that difficult unless you're really aiming at high purity; I will give you the other ones, though.

Being able to manufacture goods out of aluminum is a very impressive feat for the Old Empire. We didn't really reach cost-effective ways of doing it until early-to-mid 20th century if memory serves. I wonder if the Old Empire recycled aluminum.

Also, it'd be pretty cool if they figured out anodizing. Bri's carriage could be a pretty pink color!

Ice Phisherman posted:

Exciting times.
Exciting indeed! Looking forward to it!

Toughy posted:

I'm thinking if Roy ever needed to stun or distract a living opponent if he could just soul punch the guys still living soul.
That'd be pretty but it really rings a bell...

Hexenritter posted:

Yeah that made me immediately think of the Lord Marshall from Chronicles of Riddick.
THANK YOU! This was driving me crazy.

Deadmeat5150 posted:

Can Roy's spirit arm emerge from anywhere? Can he cockpunch a ghost?
That would also be pretty .

Hexenritter
May 20, 2001

Buncha slack-jawed faggots around here

"I call this one the Bellringer"

CourValant
Feb 25, 2016

Do You Remember Love?

cigaw posted:

I remember my first class in Material Science and how awesome it was. I also remember how, when we started talking about Iron-Carbon phases, I was equal parts befuddled and fascinated.

me when I found out the difference between raw iron, all steel ever created, and cast iron is essentially 2% carbon by weight.

cigaw posted:

Also, I now want a Smith Clan who talks all about The Riddle of Steel.

Riddle of nickel based, magnesium and chromium infused, superalloys, thank you very much.

We're making Roy's next arm out of the same stuff they use to make turbine blades


cigaw posted:

Gold's not that difficult unless you're really aiming at high purity; I will give you the other ones, though.

Who wastes their time to refine low purity gold?

cigaw posted:

Being able to manufacture goods out of aluminum is a very impressive feat for the Old Empire. We didn't really reach cost-effective ways of doing it until early-to-mid 20th century if memory serves. I wonder if the Old Empire recycled aluminum.

That's approximately right, if I recall correctly as well; that breakthrough was what allowed the M113 APC to be 'made from aluminum'.

Also, if they recycled aluminum, then I wonder if they figured out the Riddle of using a pool of molten aluminum as a battery storage device.

Wait, I just figured it out, the Old Empire is just a bunch of German Technocrats Industrialists.

cigaw posted:

Also, it'd be pretty cool if they figured out anodizing. Bri's carriage could be a pretty pink color!

Agreed. We're powder coating Bri's Conestoga Mountbatten Pink, and calling ourselves the Desert Steward Shepherd Rats, or DSSR.

Nothingtoseehere
Nov 11, 2010


Yea, I'm not thinking too hard about real-world aluminium in this story because gently caress knows how the old empire did aluminium if its reak world chemistry in effect.

cigaw
Sep 13, 2012


Nothingtoseehere posted:

Yea, I'm not thinking too hard about real-world aluminium in this story because gently caress knows how the old empire did aluminium if its reak world chemistry in effect.
Well, sure, but we have to pass the time in between updates and conjecture's as good a way as any really. Plus you never know if it'll spark any ideas.

CourValant posted:

1. Who wastes their time to refine low purity gold?

2. Wait, I just figured it out, the Old Empire is just a bunch of German Technocrats Industrialists.
1. Well, depending on available methods, how would you know it's low purity? Plus it's still shiny.

2. That's why they're an evil empire! The Germans strike again!

CourValant
Feb 25, 2016

Do You Remember Love?

cigaw posted:

Well, sure, but we have to pass the time in between updates and conjecture's as good a way as any really. Plus you never know if it'll spark any ideas.

Pretty much, yeah.

cigaw posted:

1. Well, depending on available methods, how would you know it's low purity? Plus it's still shiny.

Eureka!!!

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Archimedes

cigaw
Sep 13, 2012


I would like to be able to say something along the lines of "sure, but first you need to establish a baseline of how sufficiently pure gold behaves which means having to know how to purify it enough and then verifying its purity, creating a possible circular problem. Furthermore, gold has been used in sufficiently pure form - as evidenced by mechanical properties such as ductility and maleability - throughout Antiquity in sheet, billet, leaf and thread form, which would suggest that methods from as far back as 3000 BC are sufficient to produce and work gold, rendering it simple to 19th century technology, however Western-Future-Necro it may be".

But in all honesty, it's not really a circular problem and I forgot all about Archimedes.

CourValant
Feb 25, 2016

Do You Remember Love?

cigaw posted:

But in all honesty, it's not really a circular problem and I forgot all about Archimedes.

Its alright Forum Friend, don't be too hard on yourself, that's what old foggies like me are for!

Based on your posts, I'm guessing you're in your 20's? Look at it this way, in 15 ~ 20 years, when I'm in a retirement home and too decrepit to post, it'll be your turn to remind the youngin' about Archimedes.

cigaw posted:

Furthermore, gold has been used in sufficiently pure form - as evidenced by mechanical properties such as ductility and maleability - throughout Antiquity in sheet, billet, leaf and thread form, which would suggest that methods from as far back as 3000 BC are sufficient to produce and work gold, rendering it simple to 19th century technology, however Western-Future-Necro it may be".

Because I'm actually really enjoying this discussion, I will also say that its just modern gold refining techniques (on an industrial scale with arsenic and cyanide) that is destructive to the environment.

The 'old ways', that of melting in a blast furnace crucible, makes really, really pure gold because of the intense heat involved.

First you burn off all the slag. What doesn't burn off will never burn off, and what you have left in the pot is pure gold that you pure out, and toss away the remaining rock.

Incidentally, as I geek out on these facts, all the gold ever mined through human history would fit inside 3 Olympic sized swimming pools.

https://www.gold.org/about-gold/gol...-has-been-mined

cigaw
Sep 13, 2012


CourValant posted:

Its alright Forum Friend, don't be too hard on yourself, that's what old foggies like me are for!

Based on your posts, I'm guessing you're in your 20's? Look at it this way, in 15 ~ 20 years, when I'm in a retirement home and too decrepit to post, it'll be your turn to remind the youngin' about Archimedes.
[...]
Incidentally, as I geek out on these facts, all the gold ever mined through human history would fit inside 3 Olympic sized swimming pools.

https://www.gold.org/about-gold/gol...-has-been-mined
Nope, 33 winters behind me now. Enough to start -ing at some yungins out there. I will also gladly take up the torch, as I have always been an old codger at heart.

That's a pretty cool link, thanks!

CourValant
Feb 25, 2016

Do You Remember Love?


Hexenritter
May 20, 2001

Buncha slack-jawed faggots around here

Groetgaffel
Oct 30, 2011

Groetgaffel smacked the living shit out of himself doing 297 points of damage.

Nap Ghost

Bunch of old people hanging around here.

Although

cigaw posted:

I have always been an old codger at heart.
I'm much the same. And my 30th is getting pretty close now.

Nothing like being a truck driver to make you feel old and bitter.

Groetgaffel fucked around with this message at May 4, 2018 around 03:06

Ice Phisherman
Apr 12, 2007

We'll always have our memories won't we? Those special memories that Iíll always treasure. You, writhing from the jellyfish sting, me, urinating on the wound.

Brianna

Brianna came back to her senses. It was a feeling like waking up, but all at once. There was no slow return to consciousness and no warmth of a blanket and bedroll to ease the transition. Suddenly one moment she felt like she was asleep and then the other she was awake. It was jarring and slightly horrifying, as usual. Then she staggered, but not for that reason. Blessedly, she was already sitting down. The second feeling, of being drunk, hit her just after the feeling of waking up. She straddled the very edge of control and the abyss of a total blackout. Her breath smelled heavily of the Tequila Carmine and she could feel its power coursing through her veins. The Horse Maiden had filled her to the absolute top of what her petite body could stand in terms of alcohol tolerance. Even a single swallow more of the stuff would tip her over from in control to out of control, from having power over men to men having power over her. This was a parting gift from the Horse Maiden, whose body she shared with Brianna.

"You really can't just leave me sober, can you?" she asked.

Since the Horse Maiden was not here she couldn't respond. How could she be when Brianna was here? So Brianna heard nothing. She sat alone in the stone building that was the shrine of the Horse Maiden. Incense perfumed the place, small offerings of dark red blankets, tequila and food were brought before her. Brianna would eat the food, as was her right, but she needed to change out of her regalia first. The oversize horse hide clothing she wore was awkward to wear as it was meant for someone far larger than herself. Not in height, more in body type. She staggered out of the shrine past the horse bone wind chimes, past the preserved hides and furs of cattle, sheep, goats and gazelles and past the stone tables and chairs to the outside.

Brianna meandered towards her wagon with all the dignity she could muster, not that anyone would say anything about her state of dress or being. Instead people would notice and say nothing, so she carried herself as best she could. However, she made sure not to step in the horse dung that was here and there on the small streets of the town of Esfuerzo. It took her a full minute to get into her wagon as she almost lacked the dexterity to get in, but she was careful so she wouldn't fall and was soon inside. She grabbed some simple but well made clothing: A white blouse, a long blue skirt, a wide brimmed, white Stetson hat, a simple brown traveling boots as well as some new underclothes. She went back inside of the stone shrine which looked little different from the outside when compared to the rest of the adobe dwellings, save that it was slightly bigger and made of the colorful stone of the badlands rather than the light brown of adobe.

She changed out of her horse hide regalia and fumbled into her clothing, very careful to put on her blouse in the correct way. For no one would tell her if she wore it backwards as she had in the past when she was drunk enough to be distracted. She decided not to braid her hair to keep it out of the way, but let it hang loose as any braid she would make would be messy. Then she went to the offerings of food and picked up a stone bowl of pozole as it was still steaming. She gave it a sniff and groaned in pleasure. Carefully she walked to the stone table and sat down. Pozole, a traditional soup of the Horse Clan, was made with the coarse corn called hominy, pork, shredded cabbage, Chile peppers, onions, radishes, avocado, garlic and lime. She ate of the traditional soup, enjoyed the taste that delighted her tongue and warmth that filled her belly. Those feelings of taste and warmth did a lot to ground her in her own body, for merely coming back to her body wasn't enough for her to feel real. She knew she was real, but having the memories of three deities rattling around in her skull along with feeling different feelings and thinking different thoughts was often disturbing and on rare occasions, completely overwhelming.

Some time later she paused with her mouth open, soup half eaten and dropped the spoon as she realized something. Brianna remembered the Horse Maiden's "blessing" upon Roy. The goddess of the Horse Clan was messing with him. Testing him, a few members of the clan and the clan in general. She swore and groped for the correct alcohol soaked memories of a goddess whom she shared a body with to remember what had been done to everyone through Roy.

"Cinnamon and...Strawberry?" she haltingly slurred. "Really? Personal power, passion and fertility? Here? Knowing who he is?"

She heard the memory of the Horse Maiden's resonant chuckles almost as if she were here and Brianna grunted disapprovingly. Suddenly, she was very glad that she was as drunk as she was. Tequila Carmine gave her power over men and she'd be drunk enough that she'd be drunk for most of the rest of the day and well into the night. It was what she needed to resist the "blessing" that her new companion received. She looked down at her bowl of soup no longer as a hot meal to enjoy in order to remind her of who she was, but as fuel to keep her going. No longer enjoying herself, she ate mechanically instead of relishing the meal in order to finish it quickly.

After finishing her meal she walked out of the shrine and towards Tina's dry goods store. She walked in through the door and spied Tina who was busy with her knitting behind the adobe counter. Tina was like a fixture. When Tina was young she'd done the same thing, sat behind that same counter and worked on her knitting.

"Welcome!" exclaimed Tina.

She looked up from her knitting and spied Brianna. Tina, a woman not used to moving quickly anymore, did so as Brianna walked into her store. The older woman clasped her hands and bowed to her.

"Honored steward," she said, reverently. "How may I help you?"

"Hello Tina," said Brianna. "Do you know where the new Shepherd went?"

Tina tried and failed not to make a face, but Brianna noted the attempt. The older woman wet her lips with in nervous gesture.

"He decided to judge the spirits of the dead rather than heal the horse trader's son, Manuel," said Tina.

Brianna frowned at this.

"You disapprove?" she asked.

Tina smiled nervously and shook her head.

"No, Steward!" she exclaimed. "As long as he sees to his duties then I approve."

"Good," said Brianna.

"Might I say, Steward, that your lips are very dark," she said, hesitantly. "The Horse Maiden has blessed you?"

The Tequila Carmine stained the lips a red. The more that was consumed the darker they'd become. Brianna's normally pale, pink lips were so dark a red that they were almost as black as her hair. Brianna felt herself wobble and masked it by leaning against the adobe counter. She concentrated on not slurring her speech as much. Not doing so was impossible, but she could at least try.

"Yes," said Brianna, slowly. "Which of the men did you send to guide him?"

Tina's gaze dropped and she looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"None of the men," said Tina, nervously. "I sent my daughter."

Brianna turned her head and squinted one eye at her.

"This was the Horse Maiden's day for women," said Brianna, coolly. "You know this. Did your daughter see the Horse Maiden before she left?"

Tina hesitated before she shook her head no.

"Why?" asked Brianna.

Tina sighed. Without raising her gaze she looked away in shame.

"My daughter has been too free with her words and is often riding when I need her to do chores," said Tina.

"So you punished her by sending her with the new Shepherd and caused her to miss speaking to the Horse Maiden. Is that right?" asked Brianna.

Brianna leaned a little closer and the older woman leaned back. Brianna wasn't doing this to intimidate Tina, but because keeping her feet was difficult.

"It's..." she began, but then set her jaw, "Yes. I was wrong. I will accept any punishment that the Horse Maiden requires of me."

Brianna snorted and shook her head at the implications.

"Good! I'm glad that you feel that way," said Brianna, her tone flat, "Shepherd Roy Whitaker has received a blessing from the Horse Maiden. A mixed blessing. I came here to warn you for when he comes back, but I can't go out and warn your daughter."

Tina lifted her gaze, eyes suddenly wide, mouth open, hands clutched over her chest. The look of horror and terror for her child was plain to see on her face. The look of a mother suddenly afraid for their child. Brianna knew that feeling all too well.

"The Shepherd has been blessed with personal power, passion and fertility. The blessing was complicated and I am too drunk to understand it right now," complained Brianna. "You need to drink before he arrives so that blessing doesn't overwhelm you."

"I..." she began. "I need to go to her."

Tina began to shift herself, but Brianna slapped the adobe counter top.

"No!" exclaimed Brianna.

Tina cringed and crumpled into her chair, openly horrified.

"If you interfere you will only make it worse," explained Brianna. "The Horse Maiden rarely does one thing at a time. The Shepherd is also being blessed, punished and tested. You will not interfere. You will not blame him or her for anything that happens. You could have sent one of the men and he would have been fine. You didn't. For what it's worth, though I've only traveled with him for a short time, the new Shepherd seems like a decent person and the taboo of touching him or him touching others is strong."

Tina was moved to silent tears and they streaked down her face. Brianna sighed, she'd overdone it. She was drunk and tequila made her quick to anger.

"She'll probably be fine," said Brianna, who tried to reassure her. "But what's done is done. Unload the town's share of supplies from the wagon. A gift from The One Tree. Inform the women of the town and all the women who come tomorrow to drink a safe amount of tequila tonight, but not too much in order to protect themselves. It won't be hard to convince them with all of the men coming back. The Shepherd will sleep in the shrine tonight with me. I will watch over him to make sure he stays out of trouble."

Tina's nod was brittle, but she did understand.

"Yes, Steward," she whispered.

"Good," sighed Brianna. "I'm sorry, Tina. Everything will be as the Horse Maiden wills it. I doubt any punishment will be too severe. I didn't sense any true malice or anger in her works. Have faith."

"Faith, yes. Yes, I shall have faith," whispered Tina. "Please excuse me, Steward. I need to pray before I speak to anyone."

Brianna nodded. There was nothing more to be said. Tina exited through the back of her shop to her home and Brianna left towards the blacksmith's forge.

Brianna

Brianna drunkenly wended her way out of town and towards the blacksmith's shop. It was downwind of the town so the smell of coal was minimal, but still present. She knew she was approaching iron and so she was wary as she always was, but this was part of her duty. The sounds of metal clanging against metal and the vague feeling of rising temperature hit her. The familiar feeling comforted her, for if pressed, she might admit to missing the town's blacksmith despite his profession.

"Anselmo!" she exclaimed. "It's Brianna!"

There was no immediate response. Metal kept on striking metal as the sounds of the industrious man continued. She turned the corner to find the metal forge and smelter. Carefully she peaked around the corner of the adobe building and was relieved to see that the blacksmith had put his iron away like normal save for the anvil and smelter, which were too big to move. Those were okay as they were stationary objects, not weapons. The town's blacksmith nodded at her in acknowledgement from behind his black face shield.

"Hey Bri!" he exclaimed with a cheery wave. "I've been doing some piecework since I knew you were coming. Can you wait a few minutes?"

He didn't stop his work, he only continued to shape the piece of metal he was creating. It looked like some sort of brass tube.

"Yeah, that's fine," she said.

"Good, good," said Anselmo, who shot her a look. "Just making some fittings for the Rivers Clan. I also have some supply pipes for you to take to them. All of a sudden they want stuff that can last and lots of it. Times are changing. You look good by the way. Stay back so you don't catch all of that pretty hair on fire."

Brianna snorted derisively, but kept back from the forge anyway. She sat down on a nearby chair and watched him work, happy that the world now spun just a little less.

Anselmo the blacksmith was not much to look at. He was a big man, made to look bigger by the heavy leather apron and gloves that he wore. His face shield was made from steel, though blackened from coal smoke. His hair was dark and shaved close on one side and a burn scar kept hair from growing on the rest. He was fairly common looking as blacksmiths went with a thick neck, large chest, big arms and less muscular legs.

Brianna watched him make the piece for ten more minutes as he finished. She basked in the warmth of the forge for a time before Anselmo finally quenched the small piece he was working on and set it aside. He lifted his face shield and grinned at her. His one, dark brown eye sparkled with amusement, for the other side of his face was covered with an old, ugly burn scar that reached from his neck to his scalp on one side. He looked like a powerfully built man in his late middle years. He stood up long enough to sit down next to her and she could smell the powerful scents of sweat and coal smoke on him. Brianna reveled in that smell. For all of how horrible he smelled, he still smelled familiar.

"Hey Bri. How're things?" he asked, gruffly.

"Oh, you know," she said, drunkenly. "Scaring old ladies and feeling bad about it. Hauling stuff from here to there. Breaking in a new Shepherd. The usual."

"That's my Bri," he said, fondly.

He looked her up and down and whistled low.

"You didn't have to get all pretty for me you know," he teased.

"Neither did you," she shot back.

They both had a laugh at that, then they embraced in a hug, only made awkward by the fact that they were both sitting down.

"You're too young for me, anyway," she said.

"Everyone is too young for you," he quipped.

She shot him a dirty look and he shot her one right back. If she wanted to, she could bend him to her will like he'd bent metal to his. Such was the power of the tequila, but he was her friend. One of very few.

"Heard about Mo," said Anselmo, quietly. "A shame. I'll wrap a black ribbon over my door for her. It's supposed to be for family, but you know..."

Brianna's cheery smile faded into something sadder and more honest.

"Want to help me put it up?" he asked, gently.

She thought about it for a time and eventually nodded.

"I think that I might be drunk enough for that, yeah," she whispered, hoarsely.

"I'll go get it," he said, gently.

He left her alone with her thoughts for a few minutes, which she did not like. When he returned he came back with a hammer, a nail and a, small black ribbon.

"The nail is silver. Made it special," he said, hoarsely. "The hammer is steel since you don't like iron. I don't have anything to hang the ribbon on, so it goes into the house."

"Thanks," she said, quietly.

He hefted a small, aluminum ladder and Brianna followed him toward the front of his house. She held the ladder and he gently pounded the silver nail into the black ribbon and deeper into the adobe. It took a while as the adobe was strong. Once he was done they held hands together and stared up at the ribbon as it blew in the wind.

"Got any words?" he asked.

"I've already said them," she said, quietly.

"Right," he said. "Mind if I say mine?"

She shook her head and he cleared his throat.

"drat fine woman. drat fine Shepherd," he said, quietly. "She'll be missed."

And that was all. Brianna squeezed his hand and he squeezed his in return. She didn't cry. Not because she wasn't heartbroken. She was. She was just too numb and too tired to feel anything even in an unguarded moment. Anselmo mopped at his one eye with a handkerchief and sniffed.

"You getting along okay? Eating right? Sleeping right?" he asked.

Both of them stared up at the ribbon.

"Eating okay," said Brianna.

"Sleeping?" he prodded.

She shook her head.

"Are you getting some at least?" he asked.

She shook her head again.

"Not really. I don't get bags under my eyes, but I can feel them anyway," she whispered.

"Can you try?" he asked.

"I've been trying," she responded.

He took a deep breath and nodded.

"Right. Is the new Shepherd treating you right?" he asked.

"So far he is," whispered Brianna.

"He?" asked Anselmo.

Brianna looked at him and he looked at her, his one eye betraying his suspicion. His eye darted from her dark red lips to her long hair.

"Not for him," she said, then paused. "Well sort of, but not like you think. The Horse Maiden was handing out blessings and punishments today. He got caught up in it. So did Tina's daughter. As will everyone else if I'm not careful. I think it's going to last until we leave. I'll watch over him to make sure everything is okay."

His face lost its suspicion and he smirked as his gaze returned to the ribbon.

"He's going to make it to the festival then?" asked Anselmo.

"Probably," said Brianna. "Blessings are weird like that. If I try to interfere too much I'll just make it worse. I'm just there to contain the damage. Are you going to be there?"

Anselmo chuckled softly and nodded.

"Last year I saw Eliseo eat three grilled calf penises back to back," he said, mirthfully. "Six daughters and he wanted a son so desperately that he was thinking about eating a fourth. Funniest thing I've seen since Cecilio got so drunk that he proposed to his horse instead of Esperanza."

"I bet she still gives him grief about that," she supplied.

"Wouldn't know. They don't talk to me much," he said. "Hey, does them eating that stuff really do anything? You know, like the tequila?"

Brianna shot him a neutral look, but Anselmo knew her well enough to read her.

"The Horse Maiden has a crude sense of humor," he mused.

Brianna sighed and shook her head.

"She really does," admitted Brianna. "The women try to tell the men each year, but they don't listen. They think it's part of the ritual. It just makes them eat more."

"What was that?" joked Anselmo. "Sorry, I wasn't listening."

Brianna shot him a dirty look, but she broke into a fit of giggles. Anselmo the blacksmith laughed with her. She drunkenly leaned against his side and for a while, Brianna forgot about her worries.

"You know, Maureen would want us to have a good time," he said, cautiously.

Brianna's laughter died on her lips and she shot him an angry glare.

"That is too much," she snarled, drunkenly.

Anselmo winced, but he didn't look away.

"Sorry, Bri," he said.

He squeezed her hand and after some hesitation, she squeezed back. Her glare turned sad. She sighed and felt guilty for her harsh words.

"Sorry...I just...I'm sorry too, Anselmo" she whispered. "Iím sorry too."

CYOA Time

What is Brianna's second trouble?

Ice Phisherman fucked around with this message at May 4, 2018 around 03:18

Ice Phisherman
Apr 12, 2007

We'll always have our memories won't we? Those special memories that Iíll always treasure. You, writhing from the jellyfish sting, me, urinating on the wound.

Apologies for the wait. I had some writer's block. I tend not to force it because if I do my writer's block only deepens. I figured out a way through it. We'll get back to Roy with the next update.

Hexenritter
May 20, 2001

Buncha slack-jawed faggots around here

Just remember nobody here is going to pressure you, give it time and let it flow as and when it wants to. That was worth the wait. I'm going to let other people spitball ideas for her second trouble for now, but drat if it doesn't feel like she's got some deep seated trust or intimacy issues.

Ice Phisherman
Apr 12, 2007

We'll always have our memories won't we? Those special memories that Iíll always treasure. You, writhing from the jellyfish sting, me, urinating on the wound.

Hexenritter posted:

Just remember nobody here is going to pressure you, give it time and let it flow as and when it wants to. That was worth the wait.

I don't really force myself nor did I feel forced. When I have writer's block I feel like I'm just listening to myself when I say that I'm approaching something wrong. I rarely run out of ideas, but not all of those ideas are good. And not all of the good ideas fit into the narrative.

I just feel like I was focusing on Roy for too long. That was my problem. I'll switch back to him after this update until Roy and Brianna can meet up again.

Hexenritter
May 20, 2001

Buncha slack-jawed faggots around here

My problem is I think all my ideas are good ideas and finagle ways to make them fit.

Ice Phisherman
Apr 12, 2007

We'll always have our memories won't we? Those special memories that Iíll always treasure. You, writhing from the jellyfish sting, me, urinating on the wound.

Hexenritter posted:

My problem is I think all my ideas are good ideas and finagle ways to make them fit.

I do the opposite. If my ideas don't fit I don't include them. Instead I save them for later. It means that I come back to locations that I've already established and I get to reveal more cool stuff later on. It also means that I leave a lot of good ideas on the cutting room floor.

I try my best for my ideas to serve the narrative. Not the other way around. That said, whatever you write, however you write can be valid so long as you make something entertaining. Writing as a style is pretty restrictively taught. This method just doesn't work for me.

Hexenritter
May 20, 2001

Buncha slack-jawed faggots around here

Maybe one day I'll have the time to take your advice and write something myself

JesterOfAmerica
Sep 11, 2015


I not too sure on this but I think the second trouble is Brianna's Guilt from Maureen's Death.

malbogio
Jan 19, 2015


JesterOfAmerica posted:

I not too sure on this but I think the second trouble is Brianna's Guilt from Maureen's Death.

Agreed guilt/self-loathing can be a very dangerous thing as it leads one to take unnecessary risks both to stay busy & distracted from your own thoughts, and because you maybe think you deserve some suffering.

Deadmeat5150
Nov 21, 2005

OLD MAN YELLS AT CLAN


Groetgaffel posted:

Bunch of old people hanging around here.

Although

I'm much the same. And my 30th is getting pretty close now.

Nothing like being a truck driver to make you feel old and bitter.

You and me both, truckbuddy.

Groetgaffel
Oct 30, 2011

Groetgaffel smacked the living shit out of himself doing 297 points of damage.

Nap Ghost

Deadmeat5150 posted:

You and me both, truckbuddy.

cigaw
Sep 13, 2012


Ice Phisherman posted:

CYOA Time

What is Brianna's second trouble?
I like the guilt suggestion, but I'm leaning the other way. Love. Not necessarily the romantic kind or being easily smitten, but that deep-seated love of a parent, a sibling or a childhood best-friend. When Brianna likes someone she gives herself fully to the relationship. Unfortunately, few can return that level of commitment. Mo was one of them, and the grief of her loss has been all the more horrific because of it.

Groetgaffel posted:

Nothing like being a truck driver to make you feel old and bitter.

Deadmeat5150 posted:

You and me both, truckbuddy.
I once drove a Uhaul long enough to get unreasonably pissed off at how other people drive around vehicles that can crumple their cars like a soda can. Can I be an honorary member of the Old Fogies Trucker Club? I can bring pizza and beer!

Toughy
Nov 29, 2004

KAVODEL! KAVODEL!


cigaw posted:

I like the guilt suggestion, but I'm leaning the other way. Love. Not necessarily the romantic kind or being easily smitten, but that deep-seated love of a parent, a sibling or a childhood best-friend. When Brianna likes someone she gives herself fully to the relationship. Unfortunately, few can return that level of commitment. Mo was one of them, and the grief of her loss has been all the more horrific because of it.


I once drove a Uhaul long enough to get unreasonably pissed off at how other people drive around vehicles that can crumple their cars like a soda can. Can I be an honorary member of the Old Fogies Trucker Club? I can bring pizza and beer!

I agree with cigaw's love trouble

Also I drive a box truck for a living, no trailers of cross country hauls but still technically a truck driver.

RickVoid
Oct 21, 2010


She's An Immortal that Loves. When she feels things she feels them wholly, and deeply, loving without reservation. She can't help it, her big heart does what it does. But she's an Immortal, so she will outlive every relationship she will ever have, inevitably. While many would react to this by withdrawing from the world and connections to others, she simply can't.

CourValant
Feb 25, 2016

Do You Remember Love?




Groetgaffel posted:

I'm much the same. And my 30th is getting pretty close now.

Whippersnapper.

Ice Phisherman posted:

Pozole, a traditional soup of the Horse Clan, was made with the coarse corn called hominy, pork, shredded cabbage, Chile peppers, onions, radishes, avocado, garlic and lime.

I do love me some good old fashioned Azteca stew. Comfort food is comfort food, no matter the culture.

Ice Phisherman posted:

She knew she was real, but having the memories of three deities rattling around in her skull along with feeling different feelings and thinking different thoughts was often disturbing and on rare occasions, completely overwhelming.

Three Deities? Sheís the Vessel for all 3 Clans? I suppose that makes sense, if thereís only one Steward in One Tree County? Does she get 3 times the perks for her troubles?

Ice Phisherman posted:

The goddess of the Horse Clan was messing with him. Testing him, a few members of the clan and the clan in general. She swore and groped for the correct alcohol soaked memories of a goddess whom she shared a body with to remember what had been done to everyone through Roy.

I hope yaíll make a note of this. Ice is good enough to take joke votes and turn them into major plot turning events. Roy being the center of attention just got elevated to being a test of honor for the whole bloody clan.

Ice Phisherman posted:

"It's..." she began, but then set her jaw, "Yes. I was wrong. I will accept any punishment that the Horse Maiden requires of me."

Ice, wonderful way to tie this into the storytelling, really shows that Horse Maiden is the Keeper of the Clan, and her will is mysterious and unknowable as it must.

Ice Phisherman posted:

She was drunk and tequila made her quick to anger.

You ainít lying girl, that tequila angers up the blood something fierce.

Ice Phisherman posted:

Such was the power of the tequila, but he was her friend. One of very few.

Huh. Interesting.

Ice Phisherman posted:

"She really does," admitted Brianna. "The women try to tell the men each year, but they don't listen. They think it's part of the ritual. It just makes them eat more."

Yeah, we really donít listen do we? Especially when ritual and tradition is involved.

Ice Phisherman posted:

Apologies for the wait. I had some writer's block. I tend not to force it because if I do my writer's block only deepens. I figured out a way through it. We'll get back to Roy with the next update.

Hexenritter posted:

Just remember nobody here is going to pressure you, give it time and let it flow as and when it wants to. That was worth the wait. I'm going to let other people spitball ideas for her second trouble for now, but drat if it doesn't feel like she's got some deep seated trust or intimacy issues.

What he said. Never apologize dude, weíre all here for ya!

Ice Phisherman posted:

CYOA Time

What is Brianna's second trouble?

cigaw posted:

I like the guilt suggestion, but I'm leaning the other way. Love.

This. I like this, as I prefer to go positive as opposed to negative, not that one is less troublesome than the other.

Few can relate to Bri on her terms, that being an immortal vessel for the spirits of this land. So when she finds those rare gems, like Mo or Anselmo, she clings on too tight, loves too fiercely, accepts any sacrifice.

ďI love you too much to let you die, for you shall not leave me.Ē

RickVoid posted:

She's An Immortal that Loves.

There can only be one?

Groetgaffel
Oct 30, 2011

Groetgaffel smacked the living shit out of himself doing 297 points of damage.

Nap Ghost

cigaw posted:

I once drove a Uhaul long enough to get unreasonably pissed off at how other people drive around vehicles that can crumple their cars like a soda can. Can I be an honorary member of the Old Fogies Trucker Club? I can bring pizza and beer!
I drive an extra long trailer, that obviously requires extra space, and let me tell you, some people are just asking to get crushed.




Back on topic, I like this a lot.

cigaw posted:

I like the guilt suggestion, but I'm leaning the other way. Love. Not necessarily the romantic kind or being easily smitten, but that deep-seated love of a parent, a sibling or a childhood best-friend. When Brianna likes someone she gives herself fully to the relationship. Unfortunately, few can return that level of commitment. Mo was one of them, and the grief of her loss has been all the more horrific because of it.

CourValant
Feb 25, 2016

Do You Remember Love?

Groetgaffel posted:

I drive an extra long trailer, that obviously requires extra space, and let me tell you, some people are just asking to get crushed.

So, what's the monthly allowance for hitchhikers you get to run over?

Groetgaffel
Oct 30, 2011

Groetgaffel smacked the living shit out of himself doing 297 points of damage.

Nap Ghost

I can't even remember the last time I saw a hitchhiker.

It's mostly stressed office people placing their dumb cars way too close in intersections. None run over yet, but plenty of angry glares and move or get moved honking.

RickVoid
Oct 21, 2010


CourValant posted:

There can only be one?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ypyvcfnu4Gg

Looking back this show is cheesy as hell, but they absolutely knew how to write The World Weary Immortal.

JUST MAKING CHILI
Feb 14, 2008


Ice Phisherman posted:


CYOA Time

What is Brianna's second trouble?

Visiting the Horse Clan first.

She's the vessel for three deities, and the clans don't like to wait to see their tiny god. She's tried to keep her rotation fair, but there's always consequences for how she does her rounds.

Toughy
Nov 29, 2004

KAVODEL! KAVODEL!


Groetgaffel posted:

I can't even remember the last time I saw a hitchhiker.

It's mostly stressed office people placing their dumb cars way too close in intersections. None run over yet, but plenty of angry glares and move or get moved honking.

Amen to that.

Deadmeat5150
Nov 21, 2005

OLD MAN YELLS AT CLAN


Remember you aren't a real trucker till you've hit a hitchhiker with your piss bottle.

CourValant
Feb 25, 2016

Do You Remember Love?

Deadmeat5150 posted:

Remember you aren't a real trucker till you've hit a hitchhiker with your piss bottle.

Hexenritter
May 20, 2001

Buncha slack-jawed faggots around here

Deadmeat5150 posted:

Remember you aren't a real trucker till you've hit a hitchhiker with your piss bottle.

Ice Phisherman
Apr 12, 2007

We'll always have our memories won't we? Those special memories that Iíll always treasure. You, writhing from the jellyfish sting, me, urinating on the wound.

All right. It looks like Brianna is an immortal who loves people. As she's been doing this for about thirty years now and looks as if she's barely aged, that's a problem.

Old age isn't a fight as much as it's a massacre. Writing now.

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CourValant
Feb 25, 2016

Do You Remember Love?

Ice Phisherman posted:

Old age isn't a fight as much as it's a massacre. Writing now.

Thanks buddy, what a wonderful, cheerful thought for us older doggies on Friday night.

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