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Topics - Letrune

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Story Critique / Pamphlet (ritual contest entry)
« on: 10:23 AM, 09/ 5/18 »
Dear Believer, these rituals will keep you safe and sound. By joining us, you had joined a big, loving family; you started on a road for a pure life, a blissful afterlife, amd helped building our movement.

If you can not do any of these, then report at your nearest temple, and the Clergy will try their best to help you out. If you are surrounded by the Enemy, recall Sermon 11.1

Your items:
1 miniature altar
1 bottle of Vigilance (red)
1 bottle of Vitality (yellow)
2 bottles of blessed water (blue Mark of Faith)
If you require more of these items, you can see the addendum where you can buy one.

Prayers: You must pray every day at 12 and before sleep at your miniature altar, once every fifth day with a group of Believers. You should pray once after every deed breaking the tenets.

Prayer of Protection: Carve a wooden figure of the Enemy, and throw it in a fire. If you can not start a fire, break it with your hands or a tool by your hand. “My faith is my shield and my god is my fortress; with these I shall endure the hardest of times.” - Sermon 4.1
Prayer of Fertility: Light incense before lovemaking, and make your woman be calm for it. If you need, take one Vigilance and drink some blessed water of it. Giving birth should happen with an ordained doctor’s presence, or at home. “Be as of the womb, ready and fruitful; the weeds of the Enemy will never stand in the way of the sickle of Faithful.” - Sermon 23.3
Prayer of Glory: If you would go to combat or need more power, pray before battle and take two Viligances and one Vitality. You will be absolved for any crime done, as the holiness will guide your hands doing this. “As swords and cannons, the hands of Ei Dhun had broke the Enemy, until there was no more.” - Sermon 11.3

Every day before eating, at least once, take one Vitality and drink some wine. It can be done any time. If you are at a foreign land, do not use their water or drinks, unless you filtered them over and had a Clergy member bless it. Best is to avoid the land where the Enemy stepped on, no matter how good it seems, until it is blessed.

Every firstborn is to be given to the Clergy. They will make sure that the Enemy will be at bay, so celebrate their sacrifice, and don’t feel sad for it. Your sons will fight them, and your daughters will perform holy duties under the eyes of the Clergy.

The Enemy and how to defeat it:
The Enemy is easily found out - they deny the divine wisdom of the Clergy and your Faith. True Believers will not consider it, but the Enemy tries to weaken you with lies and evil wordgames. You shall not tolerate it and harden your mind for it. They are often weak willed and resistant, but the truth will liberate their minds if you are Vigilant.

The Enemy spreads their evil propaganda; to elude their delusion, get all your telecommunication devices between 1300 and 3500 KHz. Only listen and follow to information given by members approved by the Clergy. If you find misinformation planted by the Enemy in any news source, alert the Clergy, for theirs is the wisdom. Do not listen to the Enemy, for they bring down all intellect.

The Enemy controls most of institutions, like hospitals and schools - you can not trust them. Nobody of your family should listen to them or use their services, as that is how the Enemy erodes your faith and destroys you.

The Enemy is numerous, and so must you be - every man must father at least two child, and every women must give birth to as many as they can, before their wombs dry. If one man can not father that many, consider calling the Clergy for help in the situation.

If the Enemy noncombatant shows up before your door, fake kindness and invite them in, learn their motives, and then consider if you can turn them towards the truth. If they are violently reacting, or hesitant, get ready for defending yourself.  The Enemy is not human, so you can kill them with abandon, but should avoid their disease-ridden, cursed blood. Their blood is foul, so it is to be burned.

The way of life:
As it is detailed in the Sermons, you should always keep the rules (see Sermon 7.1). You shall fight the Enemy in any way you can, so our god-ordained way of life can survive their relentless attacks. You will be happy and your life plentiful, if you but keep these simple rules:

1. Pray every noon and every night.
2. Do not kill or steal from any Believer.
3. The Clergy is the voice of our god and people.
4. Marry and be plentiful as early as you can.

You are among friends and family and if you got any questions, you can always ask a Clergy member. Never forget - the godly powers are on our side and we will live in harmony, if we win over our Enemies.

Story Critique / Riddles
« on: 04:45 AM, 02/12/18 »
My grandparents had left a small house on me, and i found these weird poems on the sides of a book my grandparents kept in a locked cabinet. I tried my best to transcribe the contents.

In dark nights i wander on old roads,
Search on the roofs and dance with the moons,
I had seen evil and good among the same people,
How a choice changes their very souls.
They never saw me. They never thought of me.
Can you guess what am i?

He saw the man grow and fall. He made and torn down, he freed and slaved. When he got better, he grew worse. Who he may be?

In your dreams you see new worlds and open up yourself. You never felt so free, but then you go back. I miss you my friend
(missing part)sole love.

I was trying to find out the meaning behind these. The handwriting does not match my grandparents'.

With a heavy heart and clouded mind,
Bellepheron had rode out,
With a beaming smile so kind,
Europe waited on.

The dance of his enticed me. Oh such musculature!
It made me try and understand him, the drinker of the black gold,
Who had shown me a new world. What was his name?

Poems and riddles march on the sides of the old tome, papers slid between pages. I want to know who made these.

Slithering, slimy groaning bloodless thing.
Made of ash and wooden splinters.
Belches smoke and tries to choke me,
Yet, you eat him when you falter.

It all shakes my insides with anticipation.

Ah Hades, why you took me? I want to see the sunlight again.
You know he will weep for me please reconsider (this one ends on the bottom of a page)

Wall-builder, wild-tamer, god-slayer, man-maker, lover, hater, worker, ruler, man, king, god, divine. His name?

I get answers to non-existent questions. I feel like I should add some more...

Living in mystery, on the side of a world
Between man and beast,
Never have had a good rest
Between dawn and dusk,
Had been nowhere yet seen all,
Yearning after their love.
What am I?

Story Critique / The first experiment
« on: 12:02 AM, 02/ 1/18 »
(I am sure this story exists out there in a way. If anyone can point out that i unintentionally ripped someone off, please slap my wrists and i will delete this one. I am not wanting to be a copycat or an art thief.)

He did not knew when it all started. One day he just found hmself in nothing.
As in, nothing around ever. He could move as much as he wanted and scream as much, but there was nothing. No colour, no matter, not even echoes of his own functions.
He looked everywhere. He feared he had gone insane. He grew angry and demanded to know his crimes. He sobbed but had no tears. After a long while, he... grew bored. All the time in the world, amd he only could verify his own existence and thoughts.
He tried to find out how he got here but could not recall. He tried to think why he is here - again, nothing. He tried to reason his prison out - no floor he felt, no walls, no light, no sounds. He was not floating - that would require air and there is none.
He was not even sure he had a body any more.

Heis boredom grew as he desperately tried to recall how he came here. Anythig he recalled. He identified as male, no idea why and what sognificance it was to him. Not that he could hold his own body - there wasn't any way to verify. He tried to remember if he had anyone in his life but... did he even had a life? None he had. Not a single detail about himself, not even a name. He tried to come up with one but gave up. Why have any if there is nobody to call your name?

Timeless time went on and he grew beyond suffering. His mind devised plans, what would his life be if he could be free. He played and imagined worlds - he had time to daydream. Time was all he had. In fact, he started to devise ways to measure time, as a desperate and admittedly futile excercise.
He dreamt up a world for himself to be in. Walk, eat, drink, love and be loved. He knew he could do it... just knew it.
So why not try a little experiment? Even if he hadbeen prisoned, as long as one can say they are free, they are, right? It is not like anyone would stop him. Just.. imagine a world... a lovely sunlight, endless oceans, majestic vistas. Fly! Be like air itself, embrace it all. Meet people, amazing creatures, grand flora. He dreamt more and more. He dreamt how his world would be. It ran without him and all he had to do was... to dream it.

And his experiment grew. He knew how  it all would work. Time at his hand, he thought on chances and laws. An entire universe... all from his mind. Just a simple step to enjoying... to live. He felt ready. Gathering all his power and the senses he had, all the power he had, he spoke into the emptyness.
"Let there be light!"

Fleming Storage Units WIPs / Fleming Storage Unit #13
« on: 05:40 PM, 11/ 5/17 »
Working title: Pastiche of Proust
Everything is flexible. Total chaos until I work out what I want to even do here. Lector did not seen it.

Fsu #13
Item - printer/scanner
Word - Branch
Wiki - Cranberry

Back in my girlhood, I had my grandmother in Harve. I had inherited a keyring with a dozen or so keys on it from my grandmother.

Inspector MooMoo’s was just as I remembered…
Asking for some milk and a plate of cookies, i took place at a free seat and looked on the noir “radio drama theatre”. It was… Familiar but as a girl, it flew over my head. Nibbling on the cookies, I felt as how Proust could have with his madeilene(?), as the memories flooded me.
Summer 1984? 85? I don’t know. Granny took me there and she made me sit at a table right in sight of the kitchen, and i got this gigantic plate of cookies. I was just a kid, barely ten, so it seemed huge, and I enjoyed them, just like now. Granny went to swap recipes (her cranberry pies were a taste to behold, even if you, like me, hated any of those greenstuff), and the show was on. I remember I was not really minding it but making up my own misguided mysteries - case of missing cats whom slipped to another world and such. Kid stuff… And i loved it. It inspired me… My Granny and MooMoo had inspired me to be a writer. Not a succesful one… but one at least.

I got to the storage unit - 13, my lucky number. It had a few old crates (full of old dresses and shoes - i just had to see if any would fit me), a set of tires, an inflatable elephant, a big locked metal box, and… I had seen some familiar plastic treasure chests… Checking them I found plenty of old toys and books, and took another trip down memory lane.
Here came the dolls, Marie, Julie, Diana, all graceful in their frilly dresses. How you do, ladies? “Oh, we do great, thank you…” The ladies and the plastic/wooden teaset had to come with me. They were my only real friends till high school… I dug in the box more to see if their homemade dresses were still there..

Oh my… Tim the Tiger! I recalled him - he was my favouritest toy! He was just a plush tiger, dime a dozen type, but for me… He was the protector of my dreams, a gentle cat and a real hero! “Who dares to disturb my princess? Roaaar! Away, evildoers!” I giggled, and hugged him, feeling the odd tingle on how those three meters waned into 50 centimetres as I grew up.

Awww, the old books… Golden Books and Illustrated Myths and many many old tomes of fables and stories. Two boxes of my toys and books - no way some random person gets these! Even if i got to carry these myself over the ocean, I will! I mean, there is an airport, so this was just….
...well, this is odd. A printer machine. I never recalled Granny having any computers or something… Maybe my uncle had it and just shoved into the storage unit. Odd and strange. It did not fit… And it clicked like how a detective got the clues. There must be something hidden in it, like the recipe of her cranberry pies! Or a dozen silver coins! Or… I could not think of a third thing, but I had managed to open it to reveal…
...Just a plain old printer. No treasure, no hidden map, no secret for the little girl in my heart. Well, i mean, this is how it works, reality is not a dramatic story…

Grandmother had this locked metal miniature box. It was small, faded silver and had an odd keyhole. It was easy to find which key I needed and coud open it with this satisfying click. I knew in me that this is just another old heirloom, but I was trembling when I saw The Medals.
Grandfather was gone before I could remember. Granny always told how he was a brave man, a soldier we could be proud of as he defended us all from the evils of the world. I was just a kid but I was drinking up her tale, fictional or real, and imagined him like those soldiers on TV - strong body, angled jaw, shining eyes, a cigar in mouth and a two- or three-starred metal helm, fighting the guys in black and gray. In my mind, he was the one who fought from D-Day to Berlin, never thinking about how off i was… But Granny always shown me the medals. One red-yellow, one yellow-blue and one red-white-green. I never understood them but it felt like super important and the way she presented them, like a big secret nobody ever should know, was a big thing.
Then i grew up and learnt about history, the mythical, action-movie inspired soldier fading into the unwilling, young man who fought in battles he never knew the importance off. The evils of the black-and-gray baddies with their cartoonish villain turned into just as terrified and unwilling soldiers, France’ rolling hills became the jungles of Vietnam or the hills of Korea, and the glory of the battle became a simple fight of attrition and a mere chess game between two gigantic powers, whom could have blown the world up. Not even Tim could have saved me from that kind of monster they kept at bay…

But the medals… they meant something. I closed the box as if my gaze would be unworthy of them any more. I just… I just don’t know why I did. Seemed wrong to do it in an old storage unit, under the light of a bare bulb. I had tosee them on a better light I guess.

Story Critique / Trick or treat contest entry
« on: 11:27 AM, 11/ 3/17 »
I wish to know what I could have done better. It could help my further writing, so, please be helpful and I hope you will enjoy it. :3

Good treats: Mental Abuse, Mask(s), Stabbing, and Lucifer
"Meh" snacks: Outer Space, Music, and Wheelchair
Gross candy!: A Pie Fight, edible underwear

An entry from Letrune

“Mind if I smoke?” Uthar asked as he sat down at the table. I shook my head absentmindedly as he lit the cigarette and peeked over the monitoring equipment.
“What is going on with our little research?”
“13 is busy trying to make a mask for herself. Why she picked a man’s face, I don’t know.”
“Wants to be one?”
“No. She is content as she is… At least at home. Thought patterns all nominal.”
Uthar smothered the cig on the ashtray and flicked his monitors on. Some minutes passed, while I could see 13 get on her special wheelchair. The boys from Mechanics made a great job to make one befitting a standard to 13’s unique predicament… I remember what High Command wrote.
“Experiment 13 was stabbed two times in the left rear. Braces could suffice, yet you made a specialized wheelchair. Please explain in clear word what demands this usage of resources.
Note: we won’t accept “she likes it better”. The boys on Nexus 24A had already used it in this quarter and produced an alloy more useless than edible underwear. Despite all our technology, we do not have actual infinite resources.”
We replied with a bio-psychological response of the locals and how the braces restricted her actual movements.

So, she got on the thing we call wheelchair - two frames around the legs, padded on the inside, with the wheels being three metal balls for maximized movement potential. She only needed one but the two made her able to strafe if required. She seemed busy checking herself in the mirror and trying on the mask.
“Why the mask?” Uthar asked. “Did i missed something?”
“Some local tradition. They go around their area and ask for some kind of a pie, made from whatever they eat.”
“13 wants to go native.”
“Kind of.”
Some silence as we seen her leave the quarters and go into the late afternoon. One of the suns were on the low equatorial cycle, while the other one was setting.
“Reminds me of that Fifth Worlder tradition I read of.” I said, only to make conversation while we followed 13 via the cameras and security drones. “That is about… Uh… I am sure I say it wrong. Lux Iferis, the Lightbringer. People left some incense offering on an altar, and that became some sort of a party later, where people grab an electric torch and walk around the unlit areas. I only remember that it is often combined with a treasure hunt for the kids.”
“I got no idea of my own World’s cultural heritage, let alone other’s.” Uthar muttered. “Coffee? You seem to be on a vigil.”
“I’m good. She stops anywhere?”
“Not as i see. Can we get audio transcripts?”
I kicked myself to the other side of the room and grabbed the coiling transcript tape.
“Let’s see… Oh.” Uthar hummed in a questioning tone. “They tell her to get lost in various ways.”
“Should I send a secdrone?”
“No, it is all verbal so far. They seem to talk down on her and her outer space friend.”
“The f--”
“No, not our drones. The night time singing one.”
“...The fact that she sings is a problem now? These shri-- locals all communicate with singing and membrane colourization!”
“She is closer to us than to them. That is enough.”
Silence. Uthar broke it after a while.
“So… She stopped somewhere. Locals do something.”
“They call her to their doorstep but say she can not step on.”
We looked on the monitors, seeing how she started to balance on her wheels. Her spine was in an uncomfortable angle, but she managed to balance herself and roll to the doorstep.
“Clever girl.” Uthar said and lit another cigarette. “Well, she got a pie! Seems pr-”
We sat in a sudden silence as they slammed the pie in 13’s face. Something like a laugh wanted to start in me, but they slammed more and more pies in her face and threw some on her. Uthar grabbed the translator’s transcript.
“They call this a music of joy?  Tricking her into some stupid task and---”
He stopped and we seen her stumbling away, mask left behind.
“Are we authorized to command secdrones in non-physical abuse?” I said, somehow containing the anger.
“Sadly, we are not… But I will file a report.”

13 ran home, closed the door and slumped down. For a few moments, she seemed very human, despite the biological differences.  She mewled her song towards the “Outer Space Friend”, stumbling across words and trailing off.
“Well… Uthar, I get Command. You do your stuff.”
“One divine intervention coming up.” he said, moving to the soundproofed booth. I sent the data to Command and listened in on the situation… Well, more like read the translation. Uthar had used his Third Worlder accent very well, even if he had to produce a singing groan and chimes with his voice. He assured 13 that “it” had still cared for her and that pain strengthens the will. “It” was listening and knew all, and as such, got her a compensation ready. All she had to do was to remain in her room and not to look out, no matter what.
All she knew was that she suddenly got a divine voice speak into her ears, both literally and figuratively. We did it often, to reassure her, make her feel better, or just to make her care for herself.
Only once we had to punish her, when she tried to chew off her hurt leg. After a dosage of painkillers, she still tried, so Uthar shouted in her ear. She seemed to be afraid of “it’s” anger, so never did anything we told her not to do.

Uthar walked out.
“Well, the Great and Powerful wizard did it once again.” I said, and he smiled.
“You should get some proper sleep. Caffeine and meds make you awake but you will be older.”
“That is not true.”
“Crankier, then. Besides, who heard of an outer space voice in the medbay?”
“And who heard of an outer space voice with a chain smoking problem?”
“I can’t argue with that… Say. Can we try to include that… Lux Iferis at some time. I am thinking a ball of light.”
“Gustavus at Engineering could make something.”

Silence again, minutes pass as we see 13 dress down and slump on the bed, humming the tune for her only friend.
“Think she could accept that the divine voice is actually a few socio-cultural scientists?” I asked.
“You are too tired.” Uthar replied with a playful tone. “I think none could fathom how different we run things. Might break them more than anything.”
“At times, I wonder… Are we doing any good? These locals were at each others’ throat and our machines stopped them from killing each other. Two sapient species on one planet… And we force them to accept each other.”
Uthar looked on me and sighed.
“Just get some sleep already. You are dozing off between your words.”
I got up and walked to the sleeping room. We exchanged our goodnights and I could see Mevlak, my night-time operator, jumping up from her cot.
“I thought you do a double shift and they pay me to be bored…” she giggles and patted me on my shoulder. “You should take care of yourself, all right?”
“Nah, I thought I will take your job too. Imagine, twice the reports!”
We laughed as Mevlak went to the observation area and I laid down. Music started from the other direction - someone else might have got bored too. I plugged my phones in to listen to my tunes and slowly drifted to sleep. One thought came to me, washing off the feelings of the day: It is not easy being gods.

"Hello, Artist Games Customer Service, I’m Alex, how can I help?”

“Hello, my name is Mia, I got this game from your company… Haunted Mansion 2. It does something odd. Not sure how to say.”

“Was there any problem with the installation?”

“No, it starts fine. I mean in-game I go into the mansion and collect the items, but the ghost never appears.”

“That sounds odd, the ghost should be there. Had you tried the microphone?”

“Yes, but nothing really happens. I did the incantation from the notes I found and even did a reinstall. Can it be that the ghost is bugged?”

“All of our spirits are trained professionals… Okay, let us try a debug. Are you in the game?”

“Moment… Yes.”

“Press zero, write hmdebug1, enter and write locate(ghostactor).”

“Done. Nothing… Wait, a note was added. It reads…

'I got a better job offer at Davis. So long, you losers.'”

“I see… You can trade the copy in at the retail store, and I will do a call myself. Thank you for noticing us and we are sorry for the inconvinience.”

Hello, George… Alex from Custom. Yes, John Lewits from HM2. He was one of our best actors.

Hey! Don’t shoot the messenger!

Customer said he wrote a note that he left to work at Davis’ game company.

I don’t know, he wants to play a talking red puppy or something?

But hey, he had this job for ten years.

Maybe he wants a fine role before he starts again or just a vacation.

Listen, George, I get that he was your brother a while ago but seriously, would you want to play Hamlet for ten years? Maybe he just got fed up. Internet is a fine way to get a fresh new job.

Ummm… Maybe make a code for a stand-in…? I don’t know. I will call them.


Story Critique / Conditioned to accept
« on: 02:01 AM, 09/19/17 »
(I wrote while my bad dream was fresh. Draft so far)

Imagine the scariest monster you can. Imagine it well and look over it, like a sculptor admires the masterwork or a writer the magnum opus.
How it looks like? Too many limbs? Dead eyes? Huge claws? Amorphous blob?
How it behaves? It kills to eat or for fun? Multiple victims? Always persistent?
Where it can be found? Forests, old houses? Bustling metropolises? Alien worlds?

Now... think on how it would be to have this monster everywhere. Not for real, but as media. Newspaper articles, radioplays, internet, major blockbusters, memes, plushes, lunchboxes, comics, fanfictions- everywhere. You are conditioned to accept the monster as a big deal.

Then you meet your monster for real.
How would it behave now? Would try to claim it's just percentage? Go insane? Would it still be a monster, or became something else?

Now... Imagine the monster again, clearly. Imagine it more... Human. Fine, your huge blob might look silly in a suit, or you would be shocked to see a many-limbed pants on TV as the new sensation... but just imagine it with me. What would happen to your monster?

(Might need a bridge?)
Now... Imagine a tyrant. For simplicity's sake, a male one. He ruled with an iron fist and his words moved millions to be worse that they ever would have been. He was defeated and people started to mock him. He became a joke, a farce, a dummy. Cartoons had frickled his nose, comedians mocked his style and speeches, movies had him as an ineffectual villain, internet videos mock him to this day. You are conditioned to accept him as a caricature of evil.

Then the  tyrant returns. Now, he looks different - voice, hair, face, pose, style, all changed, but the way he charmed humans and enthralled them to be monsters is the same. The old tyrant is still mocked by the world while the new tyrant is applauded. His voice reaches billions. People willingly join him.

You probably imagined a famous tyrant. I couls guess who is he or she.
Now... imagine the above statements being true. People are willingly accept your monster and merchandise it. What would stop the tyrant from doing the same? He is clever and ruthless - moreso than your monster. And people applaud, can not believe that this joke could happen to them.
But it does. And they cheer and march and push the odd feeling aside - that person on the podium, he is not a joke, he is a real visionary! He just does what nobody dares.

Your monster can get followers by being cool and odd and scary.
The tyrant can get followers by being awe-inspiring and strong and pragmatic.

Let the monster and the tyrant stand next to each other.

Aren't they alike? Of course not. You are conditioned to accept tyrants.

Story Critique / The Tale of a Dreamer
« on: 12:53 PM, 09/ 2/17 »
(This is a rough draft I did in one sitting. I will post the newer ones below this one, maybe keeping them in this same post. I just wish to hear what you think, or if it fits.)

Once, a Dreamer visited a town. The people welcomed her, as their town was not big or rich enough for their own arts, and it was rare to find someone who was willing to work for a small room and some meals.
Each day, she had gathered around the people who wished the Dream, and woven them what they wished for. A small forest walk, a nice time, a tale of love. She woven the dreams to make people happy, so they could wake up with a smile, making the town a happier and kinder place.

Soon, more joined, and she Dreamt for them all. She heard their wishes and made a banquet. It was a small one, realistic as they wished, and soon, they wished more, so she Dreamt them more. The banquet grew, it became bigger, more lavish, with better food, nicer dresses and more people, until the town, all who could sleep then, joined the Dream in the lavish hall of marble and gold, where the trays were always full and everyone was beautiful, as they wished to see themselves and had the love of their loves, the same one multiple times if they wanted. They enjoyed themselves, but the Dreamer grew tired of always Dreaming the same thing.
She made the next Dream to be a journey in a grand forest, to see the rays of light between the gigantic trees and listen to the birds sing. Many enjoyed, but some wished to be in the banquet again. With some slight protest, she made the banquet hall again and let them enjoy themselves, sitting at a corner.
After a week, she grew tired. She did not Dreamt the banquet for them again, instead made them a new place to enjoy their food, drinks and dances. She made them a different style, but a few protested loudly, demanding the banquet hall back. They demanded her to give them more and more, to be new but the same they want. She tried but they made her more and more tired, until one day she refused to Dream with them.

The people broke down the door and threw her before a judge. People were angry of her, even if they had no problem with her - they only knew that the angry people were louder than them. The judge, as kind as he was, had no way but to punish the Dreamer, giving her a few days to get herself together.
She had collected all who wished to dream of the banquet again, and then let them have their banquet. She kept Dreaming, until the people felt the rising sun and woke up, with the feeling that she had given them what they wished, only to find themselves in a town without anyone. Whenever two dreaming townspeople were about to met, they only saw a tired, broken person.
Then they woke up for real. The people whom demanded their banquet found out that the others, whom was fine with the Dream anyway had a good sleep, while they had barely any. They felt they got cheated from their sleep.

The banquet came again, but for even less people - the ones whom demanded it the loudest. It ended in a few minutes, only to find out they had to leave soon. They left and found themselves lost in the parking lot. They had the Dream all night about how everyone tried to find their own car.
A very small portion of the town were tired and angry, even jealous on how some had the lovely Dreams. The people who could have a good dream spoke of taking flight without wings and machines. They told of the grand exploration they had. They told on how exotic, how amazing their time was...

The loud people were angry and found the Dreamer at her home. They broke some furniture and threatened her to deliver them their good dreams, or else. She woven them the Dream they wanted - a banquet that did not ended. It just kept on going until they had to wake up.
The angry people took the Dreamer to the judge again, who had better dreams than the few. There were no crowd now, but they all heard it on the social networks, and saw that the people there were threatening the Dreamer and even spit on her. They wished to help the Dreamer, but they had no time as their day was busy.

Then, the Dreamer left. Everyone but the angriest people had a good dream. They don't know what Dream she woven specifically for the angry people, but they were scared and angrier than before. They demanded their good dreams, but found out they can not have any.

Story Critique / A modest ritual
« on: 02:36 AM, 07/16/17 »
Hi guys. I got you a ritual to be done and I presume you all will love it. I know how much you all love rituals… Without further ado, let’s see!

The moment you start this ritual, you can not stop it.
Do not record it.
Do not use any electronics.
Do not use cheap substitutes.
Do not start it if you are believing in a few specific things. These are: slavic gods, celtic myths, cajun and polynesian gods, hollow Earth and suffragettes.
You have to perform the ritual every year.
You have to keep tabs on your possessions during the ritual!

If anyone else feels that after the ritual they are unable to move their index fingers or such random, seemingly unrelated punishment, it is because of these rules were ignored.

Items you need:
Mechanical clock
Candles and matches (maybe some lighter works as well).
Water, bread.
Something you believe in.

The ritual
Get a mechanical clock. When it strikes twelve, start packing candles around your house’s corners, and light one every hour.
When you got all rooms lit by candles, get another one and move into a room darkened. It should be done at 11:45 PM, in your local time. If there are windows, board them, and securely lock a door. You can have bread and water with yourself but nothing else!

Keep a mirror close and some jam handy. If you feel like the ritual failed, throw some jam at the mirror. If it sticks, you had failed. You may try to remain in the room and light as many candles as you can, but if you can not hear the clock striking two, it is over.

After you got in the room, get a secure and comfortable place in it somewhere. Be careful not to burn yourself or the furniture - a concrete room without furniture works best. Ventillation may be needed.

After the clock strikes midnight, every step is crucial. When the striking stops, light a candle and hold it above a platter. The wax should land in a shape of something you and only you recognize. When the candle is burned halfway, put it down and do not move it.
Start to hum the tune you feel the most appropiate. It is important. If the tune stops, you may not hear anything and that of the sign of great tragedy.

Get the most powerful idol in your life ready. It can be a photocopy of it, the real deal, home made, it does not matters, your belief does. Keep humming while you kiss it or rub your face to it.
The clock should strike half past midnight. Stop anything you do and remain so until the clock strikes one. If you absolutely have to move, repeat the humming forst forward, then in reverse or start licking the idol. Maybe not “or” but “and”. We got to be careful!

If you performed this part well, test if the ritual worked with the jam. It should slide off the mirror and reveal a different world in it.
If it does not happens, hum in reverse, hop on one leg four times, then try to sing “I’m a little teapot”. It may sound stupid but it surely works - if anyone else finds a better solution to negate all negative effects, note me.

If it worked, you can see a different world in the mirror. It should show you an odd version of the room you are in and an alien version of you. Kiss the mirror, then put it on the floor, stand on it or, if you are too heavy, sit down next to it and keep it down. It is crucial that now you keep it facing down.

The clock should strike two soon. You can eat or drink and maybe even go to a bathroom break but the mirror should face down. After the clock strikes, you made it!

Now you only got to clean up after yourself.

The dangers
If you failed at any time or deliberately ignored the rules, you may start noticing your life changing. Erratic behaviour, stress, bile, being depressed - all are signs of the Wrong Choice. You will go down a horrible road that leads to your life being totally ruined. After this, a sudden cold feeling, coughing fits and dry throat happens most usually, but some had heat strokes. Their mood worsens and they may become very aggressive.
Usually, this is where you get stuck and wish at times you would be already dead. It is a phase only - you will wish death on others soon. Some may even do so if they get the chance… US citizens go on shooting spree, but less gun-filled spaces have stabbings, chokings, even hangings with belts and I heard once that someone did ritual sacrifices to appease some unrelated demon. Of course it failed.

There won’t be a way out,  unless you manage to do the ritual well.

You can keep your life. You may live for a year or so without issues from that direction, and that is a good way. Be happy you got that.

(I wonder how many would try...)

I wish to know if you got a memory of something, that when it happened to you, was a very scary thing, but today, it is funny at least.

I once had to do a very important card. The bureau I went to asked for my birth certificate, which I photocopied before and presented. They checked it - being from 1988, it was printed back in the final years of the Hungarian People's Republic, therefore, it had that as birth country's full description. Official checked it and given back, saying that I should fix my birth certificate. "There's no such thing as Hungarian People's Republic." The guy on the other side of the window was older than I am.
I had to go to a different bureau to stamp that I am actually myself; they demanded me to present the actual birth certificate. I went home, got that, went back, did that. They sent me away.

Two weeks later, they sent a mail that they need me. Nothing else written in it. I was afraid they managed to lose it, because it is a bureaucratic nightmare! Went, managed to get back HALF of the papers I gave in. THe second bit, the ID included in the birth certificate, was nowhere. I asked where it is.
"We don't know. Please take a number." SO I did, waited the usual half hour or more, and then they said "no idea, come back later."
I was going away when they said they sent it back to the first bureau as I was there. They just did not attached the other half of my birth certificate....
Going back. Waiting. They call my number, I present the papers, they take it... Then the process works! Hurray!

Two weeks later, they send me the card... Born: 1898. I went back to ask for a fix on the card.
"The card is in order!" the woman says. "Go and fix your ID papers!" I asked her if I seem like someone who survived two world wars, to which she replied "STOP BEING FUNNY AND JUST FIX THAT DAMN PAPER!". So... I went to the main guys again. The local lady there went back, asked me to wait, and managed to find one of the only normal person in the building who managed to recognize that my papers are in order, except the ID card they printed. I got the proper birth date in (gasp) two days later!

Back then, I felt like my blood is boiling and was so afraid and angry that I felt my heart skips some beats. Now... It is a little story i tell to people this way:
Did you knew I am more than a hundred years old? They said that I was born in 1898, so... They may be right! Or i am a time traveller from the past!

Story Critique / The programmer's plight
« on: 06:44 AM, 07/ 3/17 »
Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Scariest game ever


I had been trying to do what you had asked for, but I will need some help. I made some points about the issues I had.

1.   I am working with a 16bit engine. You sent me 32bit pictures and 8bit pictures. You also sent me three photos and a two minute video with a high-definition camera, and I can not put them in without degrading the pixel ratio. Could you send me either sources that work on this system or ones that keep a somewhat coherent style?
2.   You wish me to tap into the sources of the user. I can do that on basic folders, say, the Pictures folder on a Windows system, or the installation path of the game, perhaps other folders if the game is given a free reign in the file system and not gets stamped immediately as a virus or malware by the user. Are you sure you want to place ten gigabytes of text files in the System32 folder?
3.   Speaking of which, you want to crash the user’s computer on startup? Why? I tell you, that is not okay. Especially not in tandem of the idea above! Would you trust a random thing floating on the internet just messing with your entire OS, potentially deleting things?
4.   Sound42.mp3 is ten minutes of loud screeching. I would get it, this being a “creepy game”, but you did not included how and why it is relevant, where it goes or what triggers it.
5.   You keep using the word “hyperrealistic”. Please refer to point 1.
6.   You wanted me your game print out a doll of your monster, but not a lot of people got 3D printers, I decided to try and make their attached printers print a simple image if possible, or if not, just put one on their desktop. I am not sure how I could include the blood and gore things you wanted, because, again, not many people have 3D printers as of today, (2017. 05. 23.).
7.   No, I am still unable to make the computer magically open up a web browser, log in the user’s email account and email the game to all the user’s friend without messing with the entire system or relying on their pre-saved passwords.
8.   You sent me a certain file that is, if I recall correctly, pretty much not fitting this “happy game turns into a creepy thing” story. Also, I am not really interested in that kind of stuff.

So, please, try to solve the things above and work a little more on the sources, make sure you attach the proper files, and please, stop using “hyperrealistic” when you are using straight photographs. I suggested to you a designer friend of mine a while ago, did you talked to her?

Looking forward for your reply, and please, please, PLEASE, refer to point 8!

Story Critique / Morning routine
« on: 08:56 AM, 06/28/17 »
    Robert woke up and yawned, another day starting with the early dawn reflecting from his ceiling. He got out of bed, shook himself awake in the futile attempt to remove the unfitting heaviness from his chest, and went to wash his face. The one-room apartment was small enough that he could rely on pure muscle memory to walk around, getting the daily things started. He washed his face, combed his shoulder-long blonde hair, brushed his teeth and removed a stray eyelash that was sitting on his left upper eyelid.

    Going to the kitchen/living room/working place, he started microwaving some leftovers, then went to dress himself. Pulling on some boxers and tank top, checking himself in the mirror to see if he wants to show this version of himself to the world, or should he pick a different look. The low ding made him ignore these for a moment and he went to take the food from the microwave, eating it while reading the news. Seems like everything was in order in the world, so, he could return to his dressing-himself-up chore… And stopped at the mirror.

    He hated what he saw, the tumours on his chest. He turned to walk to the kitchen and grab a knife, slice those off, but he stopped himself. It is not the proper way, not the normal way. It would just cause him more pain and more suffering… So, not today. Maybe a doctor could help. Necessity won over his own choices, so he got on that hated undergarment, a green top and jeans, stepped in the sneakers and stopped at the door, to check his looks.

    All the world’s a stage, they say... He got to play her role.

Spooky Images & Websites / Photoes from The Great War
« on: 09:40 AM, 06/27/17 »
A bit more than a hundred years ago, the Great War ravaged first Europe, then the world. It was the first armed combat between industrial powers that did not ended after a few skirmishes, resulting in about twenty million presumed dead, little less than ten million men permanently crippled, and an unknown number of broken people who either died by their own hands or went on a killing spree afterwards. The four years of the war brought forward so much horror that an entire art form was made because of it: dada art, an art form that said "culture is dead, why try making art any more?". It later made a counter-movement called superrealism, which was inspired by photographs, but were available to anyone with a pencil, later breaking into the forms of surrealism and hyperrealism.

After the war, even the victor had major losses - if not a major loss of life, colonies or civil peace, then political swings towards the extremists, isolationists or interventionists, left or right. Some movements demanded dismantling what the war brought in - female representation, worker's rights, even the reestablishment of slavery in some nations. The losing nations each had casus belli manufactures, so strong that some are going around even today!

So, I would like to move you back a bit, to the horror what mankind made, and I wish to make you all remember: humanity got better. So... Strap on your helmets, keep the shovel close and try not to think on that just the U.K. lost an average weekly 50.000 people.

The end of the world:

What kind of weird things are these?

Plaster masks made after the Great War, to cover up the various mangled and broken faces of survivors.


After the storm.

Some interactive ones...

An additional horror - people today seem not to consciously recognize the word "second" in the name of the more famous sequel...

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