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A screenshot and a sprite sheet from a game I'm currently working on:



[imgzoom]http://www.barnrunner.com/pics/misc/Dream_Cycle_Sprite_Sheet_2.png[/imgzoom]

More details to come as the game slowly comes together.

Looks very cool so far, but your art table setup makes my back hurt just looking at it. How do you plan to sit bent over like that for 24 hours?

Lies and also lies!

you can't get proper haggis here...

Then how do you explain... THIS!

Haggis in a can, just the way your dear old mother made!

you can't get Shreddies or proper bacon here either.

You demented fool. This isn't Canada! You can't just go to the supermarket and buy a pack of bacon and a bag of milk -- not if the FDA has its way! They've been mandating blandness since the 50s! And sadly, unlike haggis, there's no good bacon available in a can. I get mine from a local butcher. He cuts it as thick or as thin as I like it and it's seasoned to perfection. As for Shreddies, I was too old for toys when the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles came out so you're on your own with that one.

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Ponch hurry up!

I'm trying! I'm working double shifts all week! I have half of a story and I'll try to finish it tomorrow.

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EDIT!
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Shelby hated the dark. Cramped, small spaces were bad enough for him, but turn out the lights and he'd panic every time. The other boys would tease or torment him by shoving him in closets or cabinets and then throwing their weight against the door, trapping him inside. Often it took several boys working together to hold that door shut. On more than one occasion, by the time the other boys decided to let him out, Shelby had wet himself.

When Shelby was six, he and his mom had been trapped together in a collapsed building during one of the early "liberation" attacks. Too small to get pinned but too weak to dig his way out, he had listened to his mother slowly die in that darkness. It took days, he'd said. After that, he could never get past the fear that he too would die, trapped and unable to move in a suffocating blackness.

He died ten years later, during one of the last liberation strikes, gasping vainly for breath with useless, perforated lungs, in a big, open field on a bright and sunny day.

Ask and ye shall receive, I guess.

Venn's dad had been the one who dug little Shelby out of the rubble. The Old Man had stank of alcohol, like always, but that day he was hailed as a hero and Venn was almost able to admire him. Most of the men in town had bought him drinks that night. The booze kept on flowing right up until the Old Man starting swinging and relieved a few of his new friends of their excess teeth. When he came home later that night, bruised and swollen from the beating he taken at the hands of those ungrateful bums, he took out the rest of his victory celebration on Venn.

The Old Man had hoped Shelby and me could be friends, Venn mused. But I could never stand that little shit. Crybaby pussy for the first half of his life and then once he got a good growth spurt and learned how to throw a punch, a big bully that picked on all the little kids and butchered all the pets in the neighborhood. Fucking idiot.

What sort of jackass joins the very same group of revolutionaries that killed his own mom?

Shelby didn't give a shit about their politics, Venn thought to himself. He was just looking for an excuse to hurt people and get away with it. Anything to get even with the world.

In the smothering confines of the long unused water pipe, lit by the guttering flame of his cigarette lighter, Venn Cody studied the corpse wedged in the tunnel just ahead of him.

Just the sort of death Shelby was always so damn afraid of.

Practically mummified. Been here a long time. Maybe even from back before the invasion, back when this world was still run by us. An old shotgun, lightly speckled with rust, was still clutched in the dead man's hand. The other arm look to be broken. A set of keys was stuffed into a dry rotted pocket. A notepad. A pencil. Some old money, the kind the national government used to issue, back when there was one. A dead flashlight lay next to him. Like the man, its light had gone out a long time ago.

Maybe he died during the invasion? The thought of it made Venn shudder. Bad enough to bite it hiding and cramped up in a pipe like this. But this poor son of a bitch must have thought the whole world was coming to an end out there.

Not the whole world. Just most of it. But not the places they couldn't use. Those they left for us.

"PUBLIC WORKS... WATER & SANI-" Venn whispered the words softly, reading them from the back of the dead man's fading coveralls. The rest of it, whatever it might say, was hidden. Obscured by the way the body was twisted up and pressed against the walls of the pipe.

Must have been in a lot of pain when he died. Bad way to go. I almost wish Shelby was here. He'd shit himself at the sight of you, buddy. And what the hell was "public works" anyway? What sort of work could be public? Made no damn sense.

Behind him, back the way he'd came, soft skittering noises carried up to him, echoing slightly with a metallic ring.

Probably found the bike parked outside by now. Not like I had any way to hide it. Can't be helped now. Won't take 'em long to figure out I came in here. They may be vermin (or so everyone told him), but those things were damned smart sometimes.

Venn's hand drifted towards the pistol in his belt, but he remembered it was empty and stopped himself. He reached out instead for the shotgun. With any luck, this guy still had some ammo left when he crawled in here to die.

"Let's hope you didn't go down fighting, buddy..."

The weather we get here in Colorado...

Colorado?! B-but your kilt... the haggis... HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN LIVING A LIE!?!

So how was the storm?

[all]

Like when Ponch releases an OROW game. His style is so unique and familiar that it's known to everyone who's game it is. We all try our best to not vote his games because of this. 

Thank you, Ryan. 

Ok, I just removed a bunch of posts that ignored the warning I posted like less than 24 hours ago.

Really guys, respect the topic of the thread.

If you don't enjoy discussing religion, there's no f-ing reason to barge in and tell everyone about it. Just pick another discussion to take part of.

I thought my post drawing a parallel between a person's particular religious faith and brand loyalty was clever and funny. Apparently, it was neither.

I assume we're still free to make a RON or OSD game if we choose, as long as all materials are created during that week?

I like the way you think!

for next time I ever get host.

Icey, your grasp of teh English never fails to make me smile.

How indeed, Spidey.

I'll put together a couple of screenshots of my next game for this thread in a day or two.

I think there should be at least a rule to exclude... OSD.

It's because he's gay, right? Shame on you, Cat. I thought you were more open-minded than that.

I think templates like the verb coin should be fine, but pre-made characters or backgrounds (and similar things) shouldn't be allowed. Just my two cents.

AGS can't do amazing third person triple-A shooters with grey grit.

I trust you'll begin work on that module soon?

You won Solitaire! Hooray! \o/


Seriously, what am I looking at, Monsieur?

I got Amazon Chicken of Might and Magic.

I'm in!

This is the sort of stuff Art Bell used to talk about on his show. I always assumed it was silly (and entertaining) conspiracy stuff. Now I have to wonder if there really are aliens in a hangar in Area 51. Thanks, NSA, for proving the kooks right.

Ryan, you feel like someone is watching you because I'm watching you. Right now. Through the window behind the sofa. I'm covering myself in Famous Dave's Sweet N' Sassy sauce as I type this.

Apparently the first post has been updated with the mathematically dubious results.   

Indeed. Woot and so forth, old bean.

But everything I've ever said in a negative way was ALL directed at Ponch.

Keep going with that attitude, mister, and I won't be stalking you across the wilds of Canada any more.

Just to be clear, my comment wasn't aimed at you, Monkey.