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[You can get this crisp, clean, pristine THING, all just for nine-ninety-nine, which INCLUDES six thingiebobs and nine, count 'em, NINE dinglehoppers!]

You can get this crisp, clean, pristine THING, all just for nine-ninety-nine, which INCLUDES six thingiebobs and nine, count 'em, NINE dinglehoppers!


Since I feel the Fortnightly Writing competition needs more competitors and voters, I think we need to appoint someone to run an ad campaign for the competition to boost its image. But how to determine the best advertiser?
Well, by writing a story about advertisements, of course!

Rules

Your story must depict the design of, creation of, production of, delivery of or the reaction to and ADVERTISEMENT.
Is it a TV spot? A newspaper ad? A wandering snake-oil salesman with an operatic bend? A giant blimp? An otter with a tiny little sign? Something else entirely?

You decide!

Deadline
26th of May 2019 - 23:59 UTC

[ton]

I lov eyou man.

I love you too, ol' buddy, ol' pal!
Now lay off the booze 'fore so you're all nice and crisp and sober for the next fortnightly!

At the end of the day I didn't understand how this competition worked... 

_

If ever in doubt, ask away! 
I'm sure any of us in this thread will be happy to help out in figuring out how to participate, vote etc.
The threads of past Fortnightly Writing competitions can also help figure things out, and they contain a ton of cool little stories, in case you're in the reading mood.

I wish we had more non-participants voting in these.

As the voting deadline has closed, unless we do get more voters in before Baron calls the competition officially, I will open up the next fortnightly on Monday. That is, if nobody has anything against it.
I think Baron might have started his weekend a bit early, and might not sober up 'til Monday anyway. 

The only thing I missed was a bit more of a description how the heat of the volcano felt and what the dance looked like - stuff like that.

I really struggled on how to describe a dance, to be honest. I've never danced, I had no idea how to properly describe the motions of the human body in an interesting way. With the dance being such a key part of the story here, I feel it didn't get nearly enough attention.

I agree with Judas that I'm not exactly a fan of the wy you named the characters. It felt a bit too stereotypical (to avoid the word racist - It is of course possible that a culture uses naming conventiones like that, no matter how confusing they might become easily, but they just really remind me of old movies/books where Native Americans were called stuff like that to make them seem more exotic or stranger and also to create a us vs. them mentallity.).

This naming convention was actually a stolen idea. I've been playing the Sunless Sea and Sunless Skies games a lot recently, and those almost never use actual names (even though characters have real names) but descriptors such as: Fortunate Navigator, Reckless Driver, Useless Cat, Fatalistic Signalman etc.

I wanted to try my hand at conveying the character's key trait in their name, so that the name itself features the characters most striking feature, but I guess it kind of fell flat.

To the both of you: thanks for the many positive comments! To hear that you found the characters interesting enough to care for them, and the story as having enough suspense to keep you reading, is the highest praise I could hope for!

[Sinitrena]

All my votes go to Sinitrena this time around, despite my struggling to really follow the conversation or comprehend what it tried to imply. Somehow I felt like the story needed some more closure, a resolution beyond what was now delivered. There were a couple small typos, though with the deadline looming, those are pretty much unavoidable. Not enough to flip the best writing point to JudasFm this time, though.

Best Character: Sinitrena
Best Plot: Sinitrena
Best Writing: Sinitrena
Best Use of Theme: Sinitrena

As for JudasFm's little story, it kind of fell flat for me, I'm afraid. Mostly just due to having so little space to flesh out characters, and because the theme barely seemed to connect to the story, being relegated more to a single line that I also failed to really grasp the meaning of. It reads as if the theme sentence is spoken outside of the context of the characters presented, something said to some unseen and unknown third party, without much of a reveal or payoff.

Make it count, Sinitrena! With the extra time allotted, I expect only the best! 

GNRBLEX now has a trailer video on its store page:
https://store.steampowered.com/app/1060560/GNRBLEX/

Go check it out!

[...dancing on top of an erupting volcano...]

@WHAM: ...dancing on top of an erupting volcano...
(Prompt provided by Sinitrena)


What is gained without a price paid, is of no worth

What is gained without a price paid, is of no worth.

The Silver Haired Chief raised his hand, the dark-brown skin of his palm wrinkled, the aching old joints swollen. He drew a deep breath, the air bitter and hot in his lungs, and made a broad gesture at the mountain that loomed above and ahead. His withered frame cast a long, twisting shadow on the rocky path. Behind him came the men carrying torches, illuminating the path that snaked its way up the mountainside. Despite the flickering flames, the light struggled to fend off the darkness enveloping the land like a heavy shroud. The ring finger of the chiefs right hand was missing. The price he'd paid to become chief so very long ago, so that he'd never forget the one single rule that had bound together the tribes of the lush valley.

As the chief marched forth, standing as tall as his old age would permit him, the others followed. One hundred and one souls in total climbed up to the Smouldering Mountain, to the prepared ritual site. Ten chiefs of the ten tribes, and with them a companion for each finger in their hands. Some of the chiefs had many daughters with them. Others had many sons. Those without strode forth with their most sharp-witted and wise, their wealthiest traders or their bravest warriors. Beneath their feet they could feel the vibrations that signalled the fresh, burning wrath of the Smouldering Mountain.

The good times were at an end, the fish had fled the rivers and the birds of the trees had fallen silent. A new price had to be paid for them to return once more.

The Emerald Eyed Youth walked behind her father, the Silver Haired Chief, her mind turning this way and that, like an animal in a cage frantically seeking a way out. She knew precisely what this ceremony would hold. She knew the fate of the one soul too many, the price to be paid to soothe the angered spirit of the Smouldering Mountain. She looked to her left and saw the stoic face of her brother, the Silent Scholar, a young boy of ebony skin. His head was shaved clean as payment for the three scrolls of wisdom carried upon his chest to mark his learning. She looked to her right and saw her mother, the Wise Matriarch. Despite her years and wispy gray hair, the Matriarch remained proud and noble, her eyes the same bright emerald that her daughter had inherited. Around her neck and on her arms shimmered the clasps and rings of gold, contrasting brightly with the umber tone of her body. The cold metal marks of her status as the wife of the chief. The price she'd paid for the marriage was the eldest brother of the Emerald Eyed Youth, living in another tribe now, with no knowledge of his true mother. Among them, the Emerald Eyed Youth felt small and insignificant, her youthful face narrow, her emerald eyes bright, her raven-black hair long and smooth as it cascaded down her shoulders. She was clad in the dyed dress of blue and creamy white that were the colours of her family. No insignia of rank or learning or wealth was upon her. She had paid no price, and so she had little. Her place in this world was unknown and uncertain. It was only by birth she was here this night.

Soon the gathered crowd could see the platform, steps of stone and carved wood rising up to its edge. The tall structure stood as close to the lip of the fiery pit of the Smouldering Mountain's core as the slave-workers had dared make it. The ten chiefs took their positions, their companions gathering around them until only one soul stood apart from the rest.

The Tiger Souled Warrior.

The look in his eyes was fierce and bold, his jaw clenched and brow furrowed with determination. He'd wrapped the skin of the orange-and-black striped hunter around his shoulders. Its great claws hung on his broad chest, their razor-sharp tips caressing the old scars he'd accumulated in the two wars he'd fought and won. The scars were his stripes, and earned him the right to take such a skin, and the name. Pure white cloth, held by a polished strap of leather at his waist, hung down to his knees, leaving his strong calves and bare feet visible. His hair was black as the night and cut to the length of his thumb, his skin darker than the darkest wood gathered in the deep jungle. As he took the first step up onto the platform his muscles could be seen rippling beneath his taut skin, which shimmered in the light of the many small fires carried by the gathered crowd.

As the warrior rose higher and higher, the Emerald Eyed Youth looked on, wanting nothing more than for the man to turn back. The animal that was her mind rattled its cage, screaming for her to speak, to move, to act! It clawed at the insides of her skull so hard it hurt. Instead she squinted her eyes and silenced it, clutching the fabric over her chest so hard her fingers shook. To escape the now, The Emerald Eyed youth sought refuge in her memories. The fiery air of the mountain seeming a little more bearable as she recalled the cool river waters.

As the Tiger Souled Warrior reached the top of the platform he turned around, noble and strong and fierce, and silently addressed the crowd. Was it her imagination, or had his eyes lingered on the Emerald Eyed Youth for a second or two? Her heart skipped a beat. As she looked up to him she recalled the night he went to war for the first time. Recalled so very vividly how she'd waved to him and shouted words of worship and admiration, knowing well they would be safely lost in the cheer and song of the warband marching on.

The Silver Haired Chief shouted, and the Tiger Souled Warrior responded in kind. The mountain answered too, the ground shuddering beneath the feet of the gathered crowd, causing the platform to waver. Far off in the distance, the sound of rumbling and crashing rock echoed over the trees and hills. The ceremony had commenced. Atop the great platform the warrior bowed his head, then his body, and turned. His feet moved like those of the great feline beast his name was given after, as he began to move. To one corner of the platform he went, then another, crossing the narrow space and measuring it with his every step. His body glistened with sweat from the oppressive heat rising up from within the mountain. The air stank of smoke and sulfur and bitter anticipation. As he neared the far edge, the orange glow of the mountains fiery insides shimmered around him. The furthest corners of the platform were already emitting tendrils of smoke, like venomous snakes ready to strike, as he finally began his dance.

The Tiger Souled Warrior bowed and rose and moved across again, his arms wide one moment, then joined in a fierce clap that echoed off the mountainside the next. The Emerald Eyed Youth recalled another moment. She'd watched the warriors at practice, engaging in mock duels, wresting spears from one another's hands and slamming their shields. As they exchanged bruises, the air filled with laughter and good-natured jokes alike. She recalled how her heart fluttered as she stood there with a skin of fresh water from the well, waiting for her turn to give it to him. Another warrior snatched the skin from her hand with a playful, well-intentioned grin as he mistook her for another. His apologies were genuine, but as he left to refill the waterskin, it was already too late. The Emerald Eyed Youth had stood there, empty-handed, when the Tiger Souled Warrior ended his practice for that day.

The warriors gathered around the ceremonial platform stomped their feet and raised their voices in song, as the Tiger Souled Warrior spun his body in wild turns. He leapt up into the air like a spinning top, then landed on his heels with a mighty thump to begin anew. The heat around his body was so great that the sweat turned to vapor in seconds. Flames licked the edge of the platform, forming a fluttering backdrop of smoke for the performance, upon which the twisting shadow of the Tiger Souled Warrior was cast. The song of the warriors rose higher and higher. The Silver Haired Chief joined in with his croaking voice, as did the other chiefs, recalling their own youth in the moment. The Emerald Eyed Youth looked up and saw that the Tiger Souled Warrior did indeed look upon her! With every sweeping motion of his body he was turning his neck so that he could see her, and she could see him. Eye to eye. As her vision of him blurred with tears of regret, she wondered if his blurred too, or if the heat made the tears disappear as well, leaving behind only bitter salt.

She blinked and shook her head, and saw that none stood near her. As if afraid that her emotion might spread like a disease, even her own family stood an arms length away from her now. But, atop the platform, the Tiger Souled Warrior danced on and smiled to her.

She recalled that smile, too. It was the same smile from that night a mere two full moons ago, from when she had sat by the fire alone with him during the darkest hour of the darkest night. Her mind had been full of unanswered question, unspoken confessions and promises that she would now never have the opportunity to keep. As she'd struggled to speak on that night, as she's fought so hard to force herself to voice the words, the Tiger Souled Warrior had filled the silence with song instead. Hed sung and smiled to her to make the silence go away, gesturing for her to sing the song of the warriors with him. She could say no, and with a smile on her lips the Emerald Eyed Youth had sung, too. Afterwards they had drank, and sung and laughed and forgotten all else, sure that more nights would come, that there was time.

Then the mountain had come alive with smoke and fire, and the old rituals had been called for. The strongest warrior for the mercy of the mountain.

What is gained without a price paid, is of no worth.

The Emerald Eyed Youth wanted to look away, to run away, but she couldn't abandon him. She blinked away the tears as fast as she could so she could look upon him and remember always the smile and the motion of his limbs. The Tiger Souled Warrior danced frantically, twisting his body flawlessly to the precise choreography, even as the fur of the animal skin he wore smouldered about his chest. It was clear to see that the smoke was choking him with each ragged breath. The Emerald Eyed Youth was burning too, on the inside. If she dared look down, she was sure she'd only see a smouldering hole where her heart had once been.

The song of the warriors ended. They stomped their feet one more time and the Tiger Souled Warrior did so too. He gritted his teeth, shut his eyes and stepped back toward the billowing wall of smoke. He cast his arms wide and flung himself backwards through the smoke and fire, into the pit beyond.

As the price of the mountain was paid, surely bringing calm and good harvest for many years to come, one soul paid a price higher than any could comprehend.

The scream of pain and loss and regret, that echoed down the mountain, through the woods and to the ears of the villagers below, was not his.

Please don't donate for the restoration of a fucking *roof* when dirtbag billionaires all over the world already fell over themselves to pay for it, probably several times over.
There's so so many much more worthy causes.

Yeah, this is one of those really iffy cases of prioritization, and I'm not surprised to see the Yellow Vests are flipping their lids over it as well.
There are countless aid programmes for various worthwhile causes that are struggling to function day to day, but the Notre Dame restoration got million in a day. Sure, I appreciate history and its preservation, but as is often the case, there are more pressing concerns than this.

If there is one silver lining to this tragedy, at least the 180.000 bees living in the beehives on top of Notre Dame survived the fire.
https://www.theguardian.com/world/2019/apr/19/bees-survive-notre-dame-fire

Huzzah for the bees!

@WHAM: ...dancing on top of an erupting volcano...

Oh goddammit, Sinitrena!

"It's over, Anakin! I HAVE THE HIGH GROUND!"
(For the record, this was not my entry.)

Is this the concept, or a line that has to be included? 

Could be either, could be both. Hell, it could be the name of a show featured in the story.

I've also heard some experts worrying that the fire may have damaged the construction on a more fundamental level, given that heat can crack stone. Parts of the cathedral were already crumbling, which is why there was an ongoing restoration in the first place.

The thing is ancient and already in a state of disrepair, so this will likely be a concern for the near future. You can only do so much to maintain a structure without starting to replace it stone by stone, or by creating a permanent support structure that would pretty much ruin the aesthetic of such a historical structure.
Hell, I'm impressed a structure so vast and old is standing to begin with!

Another rather optimistic take on the outcome of the Notre Dame fire, this one by an Englishman:

Since it's quiet so far:


@JudasFm: "Wait, what do you mean this isn't a reality TV show?"

Good thing is that the damage to the interior was very limited. From what I've read and seen, the stone ceiling held up fine, except for a small section where the spire collapsed in. The fire inside was limited, however, and thus the damage minimal in that area.
A lot of the wooden artwork inside was spared destruction and damage.

Must have been a hell of a day for the fire crews, though, and I'd imagine a lot of places will look at this and start to reconsider the fire safety of other national monuments, at least for a while.

I would hereby like to declare myself intent on entering this contest of keyboards!

Yeah, the name itself was originally an in-joke about being a word that was impossible to pronounce correctly, so it's not very marketable.

GNRBLEX is finally up on steam, with a release date planned for 26th of July 2019!
https://store.steampowered.com/app/1060560/GNRBLEX/

Solution: I dug up the region settings of my Windows 10 and under the advanced settings set my region as "English UK" and disabled the "BETA: Use Unicode UTF-8 for worldwide language support" -checkbox. Reboot, and the issue seems to have been resolved, with the nordic characters appearing correctly both in editor and in-game.

Sorry for the pointless thread, I left my original post below in case anyone else encounters this sort of issue.

Spoiler

I'm facing a minor issue and was wondering if anyone else has encountered this.
I have a set of several .ttf fonts that SHOULD support nordic characters such as äöÃ,,Ö. I have these fonts installed into Windows and they display these characters without issue in other applications such as Word and Excel.

However, when I import these fonts into AGS, these same characters are corrupted when drawn into GUI labels or in speech bubbles.

When I view the font in the AGS editor, I can see the nordic characters correctly.

Is there something obvious I am missing here?

EDIT:
Upon further testing I think this is something to do with the encoding of the text displayed in the AGS editor. If I copy "äöÃ,,Ö" from Word to the AGS editor, the characters get corrupted when I hit paste.
If I write "äöÃ,,Ö" into the AGS editor and copy those into Word, they get corrupted upon pasting the text.

Font as seen in the AGS editors Font view:
https://i.imgur.com/p6GBpGW.png

Another EDIT:
Looks like the AGS editor window is using ANSI encoding and the rest of my windows is working with UTF-8.
The reason I find this odd is that I distinctly recall entering nordic characters into my AGS code before, long ago, and having it work just fine.

[close]

Needs more cores, I think. Have you considered quad-SLI graphics cards?

I wanted to keep some of the original feel. Sadly most publishers don't care at all for that, or rather actively speak against it.
They mostly care about not having repetition of words. Which is funny, when the text is Lovecraft, but it's not my decision 

Yeah, I can imagine that being a challenge nowadays. A lot of work by Lovecraft would need to be cleaned up and condensed to fit modern publishing standards, but that kind of defeats the point of a translation, and can turn the work into more of an adaptation.
Still, as they say in R'lyeh: "Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn. Iä! Iä! Cthulhu fhtagn!"