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It is good to see that you are all too busy writing your contributions to squander precious moments posting in this thread.   Good.

Only one week left!

[[BUMP!]]

[BUMP!]

There are currently rumours circulating that this game will be released within the week!  Can it be true!  Is the agonizing wait soon to be over!  I guess we'll just have to wait and see!

In the meantime, here's more teaser art:

[Midnight Thursday April 17]

Greetings fellow writers,



       Ever wonder at the supply-chain behind the wine cellar kept by Tokein's wood-elves?  Where did all of Mr. Baggin's dishes come from, anyway?  Where do you buy those magnificent wizard hats that Gandalf wears around?  Your challenge this fortnight is to create a short story around a fanciful business idea of yore.  Maybe your main character will be undertaking an historically plausible enterprise before its time, like stringing hammocks between mammoth tusks, or maybe your business idea is just pure fantasy, like salvaging scrap-iron from Dragon poop.  The only strict requirement is that your character be an entrepreneur who actually believes that his idea might change the world, or at least make him a quick buck.

       All entries are to be submitted by Midnight Thursday April 17, with voting to start sometime on the 18th (to accommodate stragglers along the international date line submitting at the last possible moment ).  Write short and prosper -go!

  Thanks folks!
     As mentioned previously, I had actually abandoned several attempts at this theme.  The furthest I got was with, like, this valley girl, who was like this totally air-headed bimbo?  And it was like so painful to read?  And I like so totally thought to myself, "Like, what on Earth are you doing?  Nobody's ever going to vote for this."  So I strategically created a story that was actually exciting (for me at least), but featured an unstoppable super-human character that I personally find bland and tiresome (i.e. he can't fail, so what's the point?).  I'm just mentioning that so that no one thinks I hate medieval fantasy, which I quite enjoy.
     Having mentioned that, when you consider the theme by itself I think Sinitrena was clearly the winner: 5 votes to my zero!  So hats off to you, Sini!  I also really enjoyed the other two stories.  @janosbiro: I definitely concur with my fellow writers that the language barrier is not so insurmountable as you might think.  Every bit of practice makes you better, and 5/6 of the categories are more concerned with ideas than the precise use of words anyway.  Keep up the good work!
      So give me a day or so to muse on themes and then I'll get the next competition up and running.  Hope to see you all out again!

So... Is there some place where I can go to sign up, or should I just post my credit card info here?

Best Debut Game: "Best AGS game created largely by a game maker (or group of game makers) who has not previously been a major contributor to a substantial released game."
Breakthrough of the Year: "Best AGS game created largely by a game maker (or group of game makers) who has not previously made a game of comparable ambition."

+1 to this.

Ha ha!  Nice try, Mr. Fitz!  It's actually your one constitutional function, kind of like the American vice-president: you must vote in the event of a tie!   So let's see your thoughts on the six categories.

OoooooO!  Nice theme!
      I'm sorely tempted.  But I'm busy.  But still tempted....  Maybe someone wants to go habsies on this one?  Remember, "we know what we are, but we know not what we may be."  Or something like that ...my Shakespeare's a little rusty.  Bring the lube.

[Best Character:]

Best Character: Sinitrena for Emily.  I liked Ponch's Ellie, but he borrowed her from some sort of non-adventure [game?].  I didn't really like Emily, but that was the point, and she was definitely the more realistic teenage girl.
Best Plot: Ponch.  I'd never heard of the Lost of Us before, but he organized his story well enough to bring me up to speed without an obvious info dump.  I was on the edge of my seat the whole time as well -surely the sign of some good writing.
Best Atmosphere: Sinitrena perfectly captures the vibe of a dysfunctional household.
Best Setting: Again, since Ponch borrowed his world if not the particular location of his story, I'm going to have to go with janosbiro on this one.  Not so much for the asylum but for the landscape inside the serial-killer's head.
Best Word Choice/Style: Ponch for his lube rant.
Not My Cup of Tea, Either, BUT... : Although I would consider myself a fan of teen-moralizing fiction , I definitely think Sinitrena wins this theme.

Quest for Ascension

   Marisoo crouched in the rain-soaked trench, letting the arrows and catapult balls fly harmlessly overhead.  A few wet snowflakes flew by with them on the bitter wind, causing an audible groan to rise up from the troops.  The man to his left shivered, and Marisoo reflexively dodged the droplets flung from the end of his nose.  The man to his right coughed into his armpit.  It was cold and wretched in the trench, but Marisoo didn't feel it.  There was a hot anger that burned inside him, giving him warmth where there was nothing but desperate misery in his comrades-in-arms. 

   â€œWe'll catch our death of this cold before even meet the enemy!” a man down the line complained.  Marisoo looked to the sergeant to disavow him of his defeatism, but the sergeant just stared with hollow eyes, nursing the stub of a cigar for heat against the driving rain.

   â€œThe general thinks we'll hold the line better if our feet are frozen in place!” another whimpered.  This generated a few laughs and a few more nods, and soon a chorus of mumbles and complaints began rising like a Sunday choir.  Marisoo could feel the morale of the men plunging faster than the temperature.

   â€œThere's lots of heat over the top,” he called out.  The trench was instantly quiet once more, but he wasn't done.  “Remember the enemy's oil bladders with their burning fuses?  One hit on your shield and the flames will warm you to the bone!”  He drew his sword and lowered his helmet's visor as if ready for battle.  “Who's with me?!  Who wants to feel the heat?!?”

   The men just stared with empty eyes.  Whether they met the enemy or not this day, they were already defeated.

   â€œKneel!” came the call down the trench, and the men turned wide-eyed to face the Spirit-Speaker who was suddenly splashing down the trench.  Every warrior in the trench was knee-deep in mud, and caked in the stuff in most other places, but the Spirit-Speaker was immaculate in his white fur-trimmed robes.  “Kneel, for thy gods call ye to worship!”

   Slowly the men sunk into the chilly mud.  Marisoo was reluctant as well, not because of the wet and cold, which he did not feel, but because of the disgrace that such arrogant preachers were to the Cult of the Invincibles.  Sure, they could talk up the merits of the Quest for Ascension, but did they lead the charge into the fray where such a prize could be won?  No.  They would spout their flowery condescension from behind the battle lines, safe in the comfortable wealth that came with access to the cult tithes.  No, the purest (and somewhat heretical) interpretation of the faith prized nothing but the serenity of victory in battle.  Any verbal embellishment of the basic carnal scream of battle was superfluous comfort.

   But the hierarchy of Spirit-Speakers had appended their own rules to the glorious Cult, and there were penalties for defiance.  Marisoo swallowed his spite and sank to his knees to receive the sermon.

   â€œAll Powerful Invincibles!” the Spirit-Speaker cried, his head arched heavenward.  “Turn your immortal eyes hither and see the gallantry in the souls of these, your humble servants!  Lend unto them the strength of your irresistible will!  Deliver them from the wretched condition of fear and cowardice!  Grant them the privilege of winning their own spot in the Pantheon of Glory!  Amen!”

   The men mumbled in echoed unison, and with that the Spirit-Speaker sulked off down the line to repeat his words to the next company.  Marisoo shrugged: for once the sermon was blessedly short.  Secretly he prayed to Florvath, the Invincible of Storms, to send such wretched weather more often.

   Marisoo turned back to the rim of the trench, cautiously peeking over to survey the conditions beyond.  Through the flying snowflakes and the occasional flaming arrow he could see nothing but corpses and desolate ruins.  Somewhere out there was the enemy, though.  And his Enemy.  Marisoo squinted into the snowy mists.  He was out there, somewhere, in the enemy lines.  He could feel his moustachioed presence.  The why or how of it was beyond his understanding, but it was there, a feeling, right next to deep hatred in the core of his soul.  Or perhaps they were one and the same thing? 

   A rumble of thunder peeled over the battlefield.  Marisoo frowned: Florvath the Invincible of Storms rarely mixed snow and thunder.  Perhaps it was a sign?  Or maybe it wasn't thunder at all, but the sound of a mass of armed men moving in surreal unison?  Marisoo listened through the wispy howl of the wind for another clue.

   A whistle blew, and then the sergeant's voice was suddenly reanimated.  By the fiery beard of Saravyn, Invincible of Flame!  They were going to fight on this miserable day after all!  Marisoo scampered back down into the trench to take his place in the line of battle, catching a glimpse of the Spirit-Speaker scuttling off to safety behind the lines as he did so.  Let the rats flee the ship, he thought to himself.  One less competitor for a place in the Pantheon of Glory.

   Marisoo surveyed his comrades-in-arms to his right and left once more.  They tenaciously held their swords and shields at the ready for the signal to advance up out of the trench, but their eyes betrayed the hopelessness of their cause.  One man down the line whined a prayer to Gorrow the Unpierceable, as if the Invincible would listen to such drivel.  Another stepped behind the line to vomit into the mud soaked trench.  They would die this day.  Marisoo was sure of it.  But it made his heart surge with excitement, for only in a warrior's final battle, when the end was nigh and death was certain, would the Invincibles judge his merrits for Ascension.  Soon.  So soon....

   In the mean time he had the comfort of his hatred, his constant companion on this long campaign.  Usually he kept it tightly in check, letting its warming glow heat his body and power his stride on the long marches, but keeping its intoxicating fumes from his mind.  The passion of his hatred for his Enemy, the man who had slain his family, knew no mortal bounds.  Once he unleashed it, it would consume his sanity in a deranged rage.  From that point, there would be no going back.  The die would soon be cast.  Soon....

   And then there was the whistle again, and the order to advance.  The troops surged out of trench, only to be cut down by the arrows and flaming oil-bladders.  But the tattered remnants charged forward to meet their destiny, for now there was no going back. 

   Marisoo released the hatred, and raced ahead of the line.  The sergeant barked at him to hold the line, but the line was a hopeless cause.  Your own side would cut you down if you fell behind, but there was no law for those who charged ahead.  The army had got him this far, but now Marisoo had to make his lunge for personal glory.  A primal scream erupted from his lungs as he skipped over the blood soaked ruins through the blinding snow.

   And then suddenly he fell upon the enemy, massed in martial discipline row-on-row.  Even Faeolyn the Invincible of Wind was on their side, driving the snowflakes into his eyes.  But now was not the time for excuses: now was the time to prove his worth as a warrior.  Now was the time for vengeance. 

   Marisoo parried the outstretched spears from the battle line and drove his shoulder with the full momentum of his sprint into the shield of the nearest warrior.  The force of the collision bowled him over, which had a domino effect on the tightly packed ranks around him.  Shocked at the human battering ram that had suddenly appeared from the ghostly ether of whiteness, the warriors scrambled to recover their line of battle, but Marisoo deprived them of the opportunity.  Madly he swung and chopped, cutting his way through their ranks, bathing in their blood and terror. 

   Behind him his own side had finally engaged the enemy line, but forewarned of their approach they fared less well than he.  For a moment the enemy lines recoiled, but in an instant they surged forward and now the tide carried Marisoo back as well.  An axe dented his helmet and a blade took the end of his finger, but still he fought a rearguard action.  There were so very few men left on his own side now.  Some had even turned to run, the wind speeding their departure as it sped the arrows into their backs.  But still Marisoo fought on.

   And now they were back at the cusp of the trench, and here Marisoo made his stand.  A warrior to his left lunged his sword towards Marisoo's flank, but Marisoo was faster with his parry.  He grabbed the man with his shield hand and ran him through with his sword, letting his momentum carry him forward into the trench.  Instantly another man was on him, but Marisoo's shield found his face while his sword cut open his middle.  That man, too, filled the trench with his dying corpse.  As did the next, and the next.  Soon the surge of men pushed Marisoo over the edge of the trench, but stepping quickly he was able to cross a bridge of corpses to the other side.  Then, the advantage was his, as the enemy tried to climb the slippery mud of the other side.  Gleefully Marisoo ran back and forth hacking off limbs and heads. 

   But now he was alone, for the entirety of his side had now been slain and judged unworthy by the Invincibles.  Beyond the range of his own wrath the enemy had conquered the muddy slope and were slowly drawing the noose around him.  Reluctantly he retreated into the ruins of an old watch-tower, fighting his way backwards and leaving two corpses for every step he yielded.  And then finally he was out of steps, on the parapet itself, slaying who he could and driving who he couldn't off the edge.  Arrows sailed around him like hail, and several pierced his body, but still he fought, slaying anyone who avoided their own side's arrows.  Around the tower the snow lifted, revealing the swarming army all around.  But now Marisoo's body began to fail him, and the hatred began to drain from his soul.  The warrior in front of him caught him in the face with his gauntlet, shattering his jaw, but Marisoo repaid him by cutting him open from thigh to chin.  Wordlessly Marisoo screamed, tossing off his helmet and desperately summoning his hatred to rejoin him in this glorious last stand against an entire army.

   The next man caught the butt of Marisoo's sword over the head, but managed to slice Marisoo's achilles tendon on his way over the edge of the watch tower.  The next man caught  him in the shoulder with a crossbow bolt, but Marisoo was still able to twist his core to swing his now useless sword-arm forward to slit the surprised man's throat.  Marisoo sank to his knees, the last of his power-giving hatred now spent.  A sense of peace now overwhelmed him.

   And then his Enemy was before him, with his twisted moustache and blood dripping mace, his face twisted into a smile as he recognized the helpless victim now before him.  Slowly, dramatically, he swung the mace in a long arc.  Time seemed to slow as Marisoo stared blankly at its bent and dented surface, wondering idly if it was the broken stud on the left that had taken his wife's life.  And then the hatred surged back all at once, driving him to his feet.  He raised his shield to deflect the blow, but it bounced higher than he expected and took off what was left of his jaw. 

   The man with the twirly moustache laughed, bringing the mace up again.  Marisoo twisted his body to bring his useless sword arm around again, but another man emerged from behind his moustachioed nemesis and sliced the arm off below the elbow.  Desperately Marisoo sprayed blood from the severed limb in the man's face and pushed him over the edge with his shield, but the mace then came down, crushing the bones in that arm too. 

   One last time the moustachioed man raised the mace, this time high over his head.  Again Marisoo heard the thunder, and he threw himself forward, head-butting the man in the face.  He stumbled backwards, shocked at Marisoo's tenacity.  And then there was a blinding flash from the heavens.

   Stunned, Marisoo looked down.  His limbs were restored, but with a gleaming metallic sheen.  He brought his new hand to his face to feel the cold, metallic jaw that was now set there.  Slowly he looked up to see the charred form of his Enemy weeping in pain.  Maybe it was from the burn, or maybe it was from the realization that it was Marisoo of all men who had just been judged worthy to join the Invincibles.  Marisoo's new jaw twisted into a smile as the mustachioed man's eyes revealed an indescribable terror.  Summoning his new powers, Marisoo prepared to extract his revenge.   

Courtesans!  COURTESANS!!!!

Even Lancy likes courtesans!  

Congrats guys & gals!

I personally would never trust a Canadian with money.  Not with so many doughnut shops and hockey pools around this time of year -temptation is everywhere!

> Interview courtesans.  Lots of courtesans....

After three false starts, I think I've got an idea I can roll with.  Stand by.

[1. Should we separate commercial games from freeware games? If so, how?]

1. Should we separate commercial games from freeware games? If so, how?
III, IV.  I agree with Andail that just because a game is commercial doesn't mean the developer necessarily has a large team or vast resources to throw at it, but at the same time it does imply that the developer at least put more time into the project than a freeware developer would be able to justify.  With an increasing list of commercial titles each year I think a "Best Freeware" category is valid, but should only be awarded if the "Best Game" is not freeware (i.e. the freeware runner up, so we'd still just be voting on best game but those votes might result in two awards instead of one).  This means that sometimes the nominations might have to be tweaked to ensure that there are two slots reserved for freeware games (not an issue now, but it could be down the road).   I don't see limiting commercial games to one category or separate commercial/freeware awards for all categories as viable.


2-I Should we trim the awards categories? We could... (non-exclusive)
c,b,d,a  -Although, reflecting on this further, could we maybe consider a "Best Voice Actor" category?


2-II ...merge Original Story/Dialogue into Best Writing.
b} Leave things as they are.

2-III ...merge ________ into Best Artwork:
d) Leave things as they are.

2-IV ...merge ________ into Best Game Design:
a, d, b, c

2-V ...drop best Player Character/Non-Player Character:
c) Leave things as they are.  Adventure games are so character driven that I think both awards have merit and should be retained.

3. Should we add more categories? -I'm big on this, in most cases:
        Best Horror +1   
        Best Comedy +1
        Best Drama   +1                       
        Best Science Fiction +1
        Best Setting/Gameworld -I like this idea!                             
        Best Atmosphere -I think this could be merged with the above topic
        Best Experimental Game +1                             
        Best Resource +1
        Best Newcomer Almost impossible to define fairly                                     
        Best Puzzle (single Puzzle) -I like this, as it makes voters think about specifically what they liked about a game
        Best Game in Communal Series -as opposed to a proprietary series (Barn Runner, Blackwell, etc.), +1               
        Most Daring Interface +1
        Most Thought Provoking Experience +1 
        Best User Interface I agree with Radiant on this one, it would be so hard to define what "best" meant
        Best Voice Actor -(+)rewards acting, instead of the designer who merely solicited the lines; (-) might not be community member....

1. Tabata
2. Citizen Paragon
3. Arj0n

>Once again thank Broomhilde for her offer and tell her that we will indeed think her proposal over. Afterwards summon Jester and Lancelot and ask them what they know about the Yesteryear family.

+1

Although I'm disappointed she didn't indulge us much with the wine: these Yesteryears play with their cards close to their chests....  Maybe Hirschel could whip up a bit of a love potion, just to see what would happen.  Of course first we'd have to fend off the taste-tester first....

I remember lots of empty or empty-ish slots in Radiant's SCI Font Editor and am now wondering what keys/symbols I'd have to type to trigger them.  Are some of these reserved for accented characters?  Is there a map of what script/symbol/code triggers what slot, outside of the obvious A-Z, a-z, 0-9, and punctuation?  Unless they are actually standard accent codes it's probably not worth the hassle for translations, but it might be handy if you want to add your own accents/symbols without replacing underused punctuation as I've always done (Who ever uses a "tilde" in-game, anyway? )

Well, it's not my blue cup of tea....  But it'll be fun to try something different.  Except I usually write fun stuff, so maybe I'd have to get serious, which wouldn't be very fun at all....   Hmmmmm.  Some more thought is clearly necessary, but challenge accepted.