Man Suddenly Remembers One Day He May Not Exist
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Man Suddenly Remembers One Day He May Not Exist
Gustav the Lumbering Librarian Cultivated in one of Valavia's military greenhouses, Gustav was deployed in the frontlines as shock troop during the Two Hundred Day War like the rest of his harvest. Though, unlike his seaweed foetus compatriots, Gustav seemed to not inherently understand his duties as a soldier, often tilting his head at obvious commands such as formations, different stances and weapon swings. The captain that managed his batch chalked it up to the well-known developmental randomness that afflicted fresh soldiers, a fair assumption, and decided not to think much of it. Gustav had no problem acting as pack mule, which seaweed soldiers excel at, but usually avoid doing, for his unit's equipment. When it came to actual combat however, he seemed completely incapable. There was no doubt Gustav had all the strength and agility necessary to cleave an enemy combatant in two and navigate the battlefield, as his growth was far above the average for his ilk, as well as the intelligence to understand these commands, being notably capable of understand written language, extremely rare for a seaweed foetus.
The problem was that, regardless of the situation, Gustav would simply not fight. No matter what weapon, no matter the stakes, even if it meant severe punishment after each battle, the massive soldier would simply hold the weapon strangely, and wander into the frontlines with a certain naivety and confusion. Finally on his seventy fourth day of deployment, Gustav was purposely forced into a position where he had to fight for his own life against a lesser enemy seaweed foetus. All his platoon thought Gustav was simply selfish and afraid, and that in direct combat, he would certainly use his attributes to defend his own life, especially against a smaller combatant than himself. They all observed from afar with a certain disdain. To their surprise, Gustav just stood, unchanged, taking blows repeatedly, staring at his enemy with his usual odd demeanor. Eventually, after severely injuring Gustav, his foe suddenly stopped and stared back at him. No one knows what exactly the foolish giant said then, as all the witnesses were too far to hear it, but the result of the exchange was the enemy, panicked and confused, turned and ran away, instead of killing Gustav.
By all of Valavia's laws of frontline conduct, Gustav should have simply been executed on the spot. Perhaps some of his strangeness rubbed on the captain, one Alexei Barnabé, that on a whim, decided he should instead be treated, wasting precious medical resources, and relieved of his duties. Gustav was crippled by the encounter, and after a few negotiations, was given to a noble in the region in exchange for rations and a few horses, a horrible deal for the noble even for a healthy seaweed foetus. Gustav took quickly to his new duties as a servant, helped by his intelligence, which only grew as he aged. His favorite thing to do is to sort the sir's books, something which takes him a long period of time due to his limp, but longer yet because he often finds himself reading new and old favorites as he organizes the shelves. Gustav is the only surviving seaweed foetus from his harvest, all the rest having died during the siege and burning of the town of Mgrye, which marked the end of the conflict.
Scourge of the Metallurgy, Irredeemable Foe
OFF/Mortis Ghost tribute sketchbook drawings. Did these to commemorate replaying the game after a very long time. Last time was probably when it got popular during the Homestuck gigapause. Think of these as a drawthrough (drawing + playthrough) of the game. They are all in A5 with Nº2 graphite pencils and 0.5 and 0.05 archival ink pens, plus digital coloring through limited color palettes in Aseprite. Just as with the Yume Nikki post, I'd love to know: What's your favorite?
Still pretty happy with these, felt like the culmination of thinking about the game for a decade in a way.
Did you play AD&D? I can't remember how old you are, so hopefully that's not too offensive. If so, was a typical game really as hostile as people say it was?
That's one of those question where the answer hovers somewhere between "no, with a couple of massive caveats" and "yes, but not in the way most people think".
A lot of AD&D 1st Edition's GMing practices are pretty hardass by modern standards; however, they need to be understood in the context that the game's authors were writing for a target audience who mainly played the game in college wargaming clubs, where players would frequently transfer between groups and group sizes tended to be very large – six players per GM was considered a bare minimum, and up to a dozen player characters in a single party was by no means unheard of!
In particular, players would often bring their character sheets with them when hopping between groups, and it was considered a faux pas for a GM to reject an incoming player's existing character or request any substantive changes be made, so managing expectations could be quite challenging; even as late as 2nd Edition, the Dungeon Master's Guide contains extensive discussion of how to gracefully handle players bringing existing characters with them who aren't necessarily a good fit for the present game's tone or resource economy.
The upshot is that the culture of play these iterations of Dungeons & Dragons are targeting inherently obliges the GM to take a much firmer hand to keep things on track than a pickup game that draws players exclusively from within the GM's established friend group might – and to be sure, some GMs abused these expectations to act like petty tyrants, but some contemporary GMs do that, too.
A big part of the modern perception that 1E and 2E were extraordinarily player hostile, meanwhile, has nothing to do with the previously discussed GMing practices; rather, it emerges from the transition away from that culture of play in a slightly unexpected way.
In brief, back when D&D was mainly played by wargaming clubs, it was fashionable to run pre-written adventure modules competitively at conventions; the competition wasn't between players, but between parties, with multiple groups running the same adventure in parallel to contend for prizes. Tournament play sometimes chose its winners based on the fastest real-time completion of the module in question, or set specific objectives within the module which would award points when completed, a bit like speed-running or achievement-hunting in a video game (though neither practice existed yet at the time).
It was the survival module, however, that quickly emerged as the most popular tournament format. In a survival tournament, each player would provide or was furnished with a binder containing a fixed number of pre-generated character sheets, switching to the next character sheet in the set as each preceding character died; the winning group was the one whose last surviving character's corpse hit the dirt furthest from the dungeon entrance.
Many of 1E's most popular adventure modules, including the infamous Tomb of Horrors, were originally written as survival modules to be run at tournaments in conventions. As such, they were designed to kill off player characters both quickly and efficiently, so as to reduce the likelihood that the tournament would run overtime and get kicked out of the convention venue. When they were later cleanup and repackaged as commercial adventure modules, their text rarely bothered to explain any of this – who doesn't recognise a survival module when they see one?
The answer to that question, of course, is kids who didn't come up through the mentorship system of the college wargaming clubs, but taught themselves how to play D&D from first principles using books they bought at their local hobby stores – and when D&D's popularity unexpectedly exploded in the early 1980s, there were suddenly rather a lot of them!
These kids purchased the repackaged survival modules along with all their other D&D books; having no frame of reference, they assumed that these represented what a "standard" D&D adventure was supposed to look like – and since they weren't experienced players with whole binders full of pre-generated backup characters at their fingertips, the result was a lot of seemingly unfair total party kills, and a lot of kids concluding that the previous generation's GMs must have been objectively insane.
There is an additional amusing point of order here, which is the answer to the following two questions. I once had a discussion with someone in Gary Gygax's gaming group, who was involved in early TSR work a bit. Allow me to paraphrase my questions and his answers.
Why publish survival modules as your primary format of published adventure?
"Because that's what we had -- they were already laid out for publication. Why not publish them and make some money off it?"
Did it ever occur to you at the time that publishing adventures like these would shape the larger D&D culture's expectations of what play was supposed to look like?
"No, why would it?"
One of my favorite anecdotes about early D&D, from Blog of Holding:
"It’s hard to get that context just from reading the original Dungeons and Dragons books. If nine groups learned D&D from the books, they’d end up playing nine different games.
"Mornard told us about an early D&D tournament game – possibly in the first Gen Con in Parkside in 1978? Gary Gygax was DMing nine tournament teams successively through the same module, and whoever got the furthest in the dungeon would win. You’d expect this to take all day, and so Mike was surprised to see Gary, looking shaken, wandering through the hallways at about 2 PM. Mike bought Gary a beer and asked him what had happened – wasn’t he supposed to be DMing right now?
“It’s over!” replied a stunned Gary Gygax.
"Gary described how the first group had fared. Walking down the first staircase into the dungeon, the first rank of fighters suddenly disappeared through a black wall. There was a quiet whoosh, and a quiet thud. The players conferred, and then they sent the second rank forward, who disappeared too. The rest of the players followed.
"The same thing happened to the next tournament team, and the next. Players filed into the unknown, one after another. And they were all killed. The wall was an illusion, and behind it was a pit. Eight out of the nine groups had thrown themselves like lemmings over a cliff; only one group had thought to tap around with a ten foot pole. That group passed the first obstacle, so they won the tournament.
"Gary and his players couldn’t believe that the tournament players had been so incautious. But, to be fair, none of those tournament groups had played in Gary Gygax’s game. They had learned the rules of D&D, but they had no experience of the milieu in which the book was written. Of those nine groups that had learned D&D from a book, only one played sufficiently like Gary’s group to survive thirty seconds in his dungeon."
Descent, Impulse, Stabilize, Reset
The final set of custom skills! Thank you everyone!
Appel du Vide
Treasured nothingness. Inner darkness stirs. Find meaning in oblivion.
Good for existential-absurdists, navel-gazers, those brushed up against by death.
The Call of the Void. The inner yearning to return to nothingness that's often prominent in those touched by the Pale.
When you find yourself teetering on the edge of tall buildings, or staring up at the sky at midnight, Appel du Vide wraps its slender fingers around your lungs and asks if you really want to take the plunge into complete silence. It makes you ask yourself why. It makes you understand.
It is the deepest look into oneself. Strip away the masks, even the one you wear for yourself, stare at what lies beneath, and ask yourself if it is harder to face than oblivion.
At its best, Appel du Vide allows you to recognize someone staring into the inner abyss and gently steer them away. At its worst, it overwhelms with the sense that nothing matters, and you may find yourself to be the one staring into the abyss instead, begging it to just let you fall.
A bit of my thought process when considering AdV's concept:
I wanted the focal point to be the gap in the torso -- a visualization of that "sinking feeling" that often comes with the call. I also wanted the figure to look like it's almost cradling that emptiness. Initially, I had proposed a downturned face with a solemn, forlorn expression, but Fai swapping that for the hair was a much better move. Kudos there, my man; definitely communicates the idea more effectively.
I once read an idea that intrusive thoughts, and the choice of whether or not to act on them, are the brain's attempt to recalibrate itself. Like an internal psychological audit, almost. Although AdV is foreboding, it isn't inherently malicious.
In a way, it's almost like an "anti-Shivers," acting as its equal and opposite; the other side of the coin. Rather than a force impacting someone from the outside in, it's a force impacting someone from the inside out.
All in all, I'm VERY satisfied with how it came out, and I'm glad to have been part of this final collage of the mind's vibrancy.
The final set of custom skills! Thank you everyone!
Appel du Vide
Treasured nothingness. Inner darkness stirs. Find meaning in oblivion.
Good for existential-absurdists, navel-gazers, those brushed up against by death.
The Call of the Void. The inner yearning to return to nothingness that's often prominent in those touched by the Pale.
When you find yourself teetering on the edge of tall buildings, or staring up at the sky at midnight, Appel du Vide wraps its slender fingers around your lungs and asks if you really want to take the plunge into complete silence. It makes you ask yourself why. It makes you understand.
It is the deepest look into oneself. Strip away the masks, even the one you wear for yourself, stare at what lies beneath, and ask yourself if it is harder to face than oblivion.
At its best, Appel du Vide allows you to recognize someone staring into the inner abyss and gently steer them away. At its worst, it overwhelms with the sense that nothing matters, and you may find yourself to be the one staring into the abyss instead, begging it to just let you fall.
Let's rebuild society from scratch, the way we make fire is wrong
Raghheahu more more more ghuagheaaafffg I mean Tenth set of custom disco skills.
empathy
POV your partner finally believes you about those 24 voices in your head but somehow it still doesn't absolve you of responsibility, damn it
Interfacing about to fuck shit up
The title caught my eye-- and--
Coincidence or deliberate reference?
(I genuinely don't know. Was this ever discussed somewhere?)
Ninth set of Disco skills!
Elenchus actually was done way back when I first opened these commissions, but I was ghosted by the commissioner and it never got paid for. I'm happy to finally be able to share it thanks to @some-trash-pigeon offering to pay for it in place of the original commissioner! I always was really sad I felt I couldn't really share it.
Nicky
Golem
Eighth set of custom Disco skills.
These were all commissioned by the same person to complete their own personal set, together with Lore Meister, Freq Out, Intolerance and Hare Trigger from this set. It was very nice to work with their concepts and sketches, thank you.