Here is my final machinima project: the more or less true story of rabid fans making life difficult for Let’s Players. This imitation Let’s Play was made using Audacity, YouTube editor, and the free RPG game, Ib. Check the credits for more info, and I hope you enjoy!

Here is the link.

(If you can’t see it yet, it’s because silly YouTube has imploded in its attempt to process the video. All 20 minutes of it. Fear not! It should finish in a few minutes.)

He still speaks to me sometimes, from shadows or from the bright, bleary patches of data where level data has become corrupted . In the early days we used to meet by lakesides and campfires, quiet, familiar places the Rig composed for us to meet face to face. But his data is old for a Persona- nearly 3 years – and he never stops moving now. Maybe he’s ashamed to show his deteriorating patterning. Maybe he’s afraid that when his image stops, so will the program running it. Whatever his reasons, he’s always rounding the corner just as I sight him, and the only things I can catch are his parting words.

Parameters, he says. It’s all about parameters. I set a great many when I first purchased my Rig, but clarity was not one of them, so I know better than to ask him what he means. He couldn’t explain himself if he tried, or even lift his voice too far above the nightly babble of other uploaded content. Instead, he leads me step by step, with silence or simple questions. He’s been working at it for a very long time – impressively long for such a simply generated Persona.

Plenty of Rig users prefer to download dreams containing both levels and Personas, arguing that there’s not much point to a world if it isn’t populated. But I’ve always found it’s like listening to music. Sometimes, putting the instrumentals and vocals together detracts from the quality of both. People get lazy. So on my first night I set level to random, content to experience snippets of content billions of other users had uploaded for me. The only input I made was to set the three parameters for this little Persona.

He would be loyal, I decided, accompanying me on my nightly adventures through the Rig uncomplainingly, and without question. Where I’d go, he’d go, like a dog at my heels.

He would be protective, playing the part of guardian against other, hostile level Personas and guiding me away from the more disturbing content.

Lastly and most importantly, he would be a friend. This was the last and most important parameter I set . I didn’t want a pet, or a servant, or even a bodyguard. I just wanted someone to share the Rig with – but even after the technology became a lifestyle, and sleep became life rather than a respite from it, REM remained what it was. You can access the same upload, share the same data, and even communicate through the Hub (the central level of the Rig.) But you can never inhabit the same instance. This Persona was the nearest I could manage to a friend.

And this has to figure into it somehow, I know. He could not disobey these rules and still be the same Persona. It all works out, and all I have to do is understand. By running from me, by leading me to the patchwork data of the Rig’s edge with his crippled, cryptic words, he’s helping me still. Leading me to…something.

Or leading me away.

Though it’s at the bottom of the world, the landscape of Antarctica as shown on Google Earth seems as close to the sky as one can get. Here and there, the Britannia Range crests in small rocky spurs, notching the horizon but never daring to fully intrude into the open air. The faint blue streaks that marr the ice give the slightest, uneasy sense of depth, but never clear or close enough to matter. It’s beyond our reach, beyond our caring, and however far down and away the mountains spread is a mystery. We see only the eroded peaks of them

The snow fans out around this modest cluster in every direction, smooth and white as new paper. There is nothing to say about this place – nothing Google Maps finds worthy of mention. But zooming close over the snowfields,you can see the faintest, sweeping shapes where the wind and jagged ice carved light currents over the surface, maps of current too faint us to notice.

It’s hard to speak of here and there when it’s all the same sky overhead, flat and featureless, and the same bleak ground. But where the Britannia Range wrinkles over the surface, the ice crumples and bunches like a cloth as it’s through the pass. What are the spiritless peaks of the Range to this pattern of currents written into the ice? The tracks of its movement seem to send the very sky rushing faster out to the sea. livening the blank sky and the meaningless plain into something starkly poignant.

Here, where the ice passes between the peaks, the two planes seem to mirror each other, the deeper blues fading into hard whites, blending into each other until the only distinction between them is the hard line of the horizon. The snow sweeps in cloud-like curves out to the sea while the sky presses down bare and cold as ice. It is a world of mirrors and subtlety and contradiction.

But then, they say there’s nothing here for us to see. The only thing they bothered naming was a huddle of wind-worn stones, no more than sooty spots on the map. There’s no mention of mirrored worlds or currents in the ice. Just a blank spot.

(Sorry, having some issues with the gallery. I can’t get rid of the doubles >_< )

At first glance, League of Legends–a competitive online game that pits players against each other in team deathmatches–appears to be a game designed specifically to cater to the killer player type. You are rewarded with gold for killing players and destroying enemy fortifications and minions. Your overall success rate is translated into your ranking, which is then displayed to other players, who will fear and respect you accordingly. However, as you move into more advanced gameplay, the greatest rewards are given not to the killers, but to the social players. As a team game, only the teams with the best coordination and communication succeed. Players whose styles mesh particularly well tend to group up into permant teams–an act which facilitates simple socializing in addition to competitive games. Thus while many ‘killers’ can be found in the game, it is the cooperative or social

As the game has developed over the last two years, the developers have become increasingly supportive of the social playerbase. During this transition, the 5 moral elements become increasingly evident. Fairness is a huge issue in the game, as players are forced to play premade characters. The developers go to great lengths to ensure that the options are available are all balanced, so that players aren’t frustrated by unfair chances.

Loyalty is an incredibly important factor of the game, to the point where victory hinges on your ability to form a coordinated team. Often, certain players are designated as ‘support’ and encouraged to sacrifice for the more offense members of the team. Even out of game, this loyalty is encouraged through an extensive friend’s list and chat features.

The game offers little form of authoritative structure to players, allowing them to form their own hierarchies. While everyone is expected to be a respectful players, there is little way for the company to actively enforce this aside from the typical multiplayer “report” option. Tempers often flare, or independent players may bicker among themselves over matters of personal pride. Due to the high concentration of killer-type players and the high stress, competitive environment, respect is a notoriously difficult thing to find in the game–to the point where the company has implemented honor as a secondary currency, both adding goals for achievement oriented players and rewarding the relatively small population of respectful players.

While respect in League of Legends is rare, sanctity is almost nonexistent. While every player eventually finds characters they favor, the developers regularly release new content. Consequently, every two weeks marks the release of a new game patch, which buffs (strengthens) certain aspects of the game and nerfs (weakens) others for the sake of balance. As such, no aspect of the game is considered safe, and the players’ perception of the game and style of play is constantly in flux.

Considering the aggressive, black and white nature of the game, it’s surprising that so many of the morals are even present at all. It is possible that even in game scenarios, regardless of what behavior is encouraged and rewarded by the game developers, a certain level of real world morals carry over into the game. Alternatively, these morals could be a result of the killer behavior. As players who specialize in hunting other players, it is likely that a worthy rival would merit a certain level of respect and admiration, resulting in killers working together to teach each other, hone their skills, and develop their own codes of honor translating to the morals we see in game.

The Iliad is generally known as the story detailing a portion of the Trojan war. Everyone knows the story of the arrow shot into the heel of the otherwise invincible Achilles. What comes to the minds of most is the bloodshed, glory, and general concepts associated with large scale warfare.

This excerpt from Book I of the Iliad, however, paints a different story than the condensed version typically portrayed to the Cliffnotes reader. For those more aware of ancient Greek culture as well as the social function of the Iliad at the time, it becomes apparent that these selected words reveal the truer message of the Iliad–more than the violence most people remember.

Note the high concentration of personal pronouns, as well as names of gods and high profile characters. This is more than your ordinary utilization of names. A great deal of the story revolves around individual possession and rank. While the story itself details large scale warfare, the heart of the Iliad’s message revolves around individual conduct, and the expected code of behavior. It is understandable why gods and heroes, the paragons of these qualities, would comprise the second most recurring words in these categories.

While the language is not that of the original text, the message remains the same. Words like “with,” “my,” “that,” “son,” and “have,” show that the Iliad was not the story of the battle, but of the individual–detailing not war, but the relations between men. 

While this photo has been uploaded under Tess’s name, closer inspection reveals that her room has been unoccupied for at least several days. Although details are still unclear, it is believed that she disappeared shortly after returning to her room from class last Thursday–the last time she was seen by classmates.

Her floor is noticeably spotless, as in its abandoned state, there is no one available to create any kind of mess. The laptop appears to have been only partially unpacked, as it lacks its power cord for any kind of long term use. Moreover, the laptop placed oddly on the table–one end dangling over empty space as though it were jostled, or pull. The used towel still lying on the bed also indicates that the student was interrupted mid-action, raising alarming questions as to her disappearance. Certain out of place details such as the iron on top of the dresser and the pillow placed on the wrong end of the bed indicate attempts from an unknown source to clean up the room after the student’s disappearance. The most noticeable indication of abduction is the fact that the bed is made. No college student makes the bed. Foul play is strongly suspected.

CNN Sept 11, 2001 (12:00am EDT)

Basic information about the event has been displayed, but things are still very much in disarray. The video at this point is relying on an earlier footage of the Towers, possibly due to evacuations and restrictions set in place, so there is still some confusion as to what is going on at the present time. The station appears to have leapt to the worst conclusion, posting still incoming information (the second lost flight) beneath the distressing headline”America Under Attack.” Moving beyond visual information and observation though, the anchor has begun to question government response. The chaos of the situation is still evident, as he is unable to even get in contact with the White House correspondent for some time.

CNN Sept 17, 2001 (12:00pm EDT)

All information regarding 9/11 has been thoroughly covered, as the station is not even bothering to recap. The CNN hotline number supports this fact, as it creates a forum situation for the exchange of OPINIONS rather than information. Everyone is expected to know the full details of what happened already, although this hotline allows for further details to come to light if possible. Note that the new headline is “America’s New War,” indicating leaders have already recovered from the initial shock of the event and made their response. Comparing the two headlines shows general opinion of the event. Rather than seen as an attack by individuals or a small group, the enemy is seen on a larger, nationwide scale.

Iraq Sept 11, 2001 (2pm EDT)

One of the guest speakers is a professor in political science, already setting the tone of political tension. Little information as to the actual event itself is given in the introduction, and no images are shown. All speakers are subdued, again referring back to said tension. While they refer vaguely to the attack and deplore the event, they do not go into specific details, and skirt around summarizing anything.

Iraq Sept 17, 2011 (2pm EDT)

The tone here is much more defensive, while still acknowledging 9/11. The speaker is more assertive and plain loud in his speech. While he doesn’t deny or seek to undermine the events that took place, he seems understandably focused on averting a national conflict, discussing alternate terms. It would seem that Iraq’s mind has already been decided, as there are no longer political advisers assisting the speaker.

There are three aspects of a person to consider: how others see them, how they see themselves, and how they really are.

I would first describe myself in social context, including basic personal information such as date of birth, family, race and locations of historical interest such as schools and colleges attended. A link to Facebook or a self-made biography page would suffice. Updates or a secondary site would be required if I used Facebook. It could always go the way of MySpace.

I tend to personify traits, issues, and personalities through drawing or short pieces of writing. Thus, to illustrate how I see myself, I would post images and documents of these, complete with written interpretations and explanations (if necessary.)

The last aspect is most difficult, but I would approach it by linking readers to my digital footprint. Frequented sites, screenshots, significant past user/nicknames, and posts would all be included. All favorite sites with large amounts of time logged, ranging from webcomics read or written to deviantart accounts would be included. In addition, I would include an archive of personally valued objects throughout my lifetime. Again, each would include a short description of the object along with its information and personal value.

A spray of gravel clattered down from the ridge above, and I flattened myself to earth, hackles rising. The creature lifted its head as if to scent the air, lipless teeth parting in a silent snarl. I dug my claws into the grey soil, sending a soft snarl of my own after it as it lurched away over the rise. Where I came from, I was the monster. These pathetic rotting things should run from me. I gripped my daggers tighter, tail lashing as if to strike the creature’s head from its rotting shoulders.
I could do it. This place was paradise for a necromancer. The whispers of the dead permeated the air, and their bloated forms clogged the shallow waterways. Even the salt stench of the sea couldn’t mask the smell of rot. I tensed, claws tracing the form of a summoning circle. The ground pulsed like a heartbeat; the air chattered with the skittering of tiny insects as they fled their reanimated host. My flesh golem pulled itself from the ground and reared to its full height, horned head straining towards the empty sky in a silent howl.
I took hold of its massive head and pointed it toward the ridge, letting it scent its prey. The only thing to fear in this land was the dead. But the enemy was not the only one who could use them. I lifted my hand in a silent command, heart pounding. And then I hesitated, tail lashing my flanks with the sudden agony of doubt. There–there were the others, grey flesh on grey sand–more dead forms lurking just behind the first. Reassured, I smiled and dropped my hand. The golem lowered its head and charged.
The Risen lunged around to face us, fanged mouth gaping. “This one” it gurgled with the warbled voice of a drowning man. “Kill.”
The golem struck it full in the chest, its momentum carrying them clear across the hill. The jumbled mass crashed full into the rest of the approaching Risen. The whole mass of them went down like ninepins. I bared my fangs in a laugh and shook my head. Pathetic. They never learned. There was nothing quite like golem bowling. But I didn’t have time to stop and admire my handiwork further.
I sprang from the gulch, throwing myself past the brawling forms and into the nearby copse. Already I could hear the watery growls of more Risen as they converged on the golem, sockets glaring, jaws slavering for blood. I threw myself behind the cover of the brush, tearing frantically through the undergrowth while the battle raged behind me.
And finally, there it was: a shriveled little plant, its skeletal limbs drooping with several dark berries. I pulled them reverently from the vine, careful not to pierce them with my claws. Each one would fetch nearly two silver. As I deposited the last of them into my pouch, a triumphant howl sounded behind me, and I knew they’d pulled the golem down.

I sprang away through the undergrowth, tail bristling as a spectral claw missed me by inches. My years of wandering had made me strong, but Orr was their land. Those who forgot that fact were nothing more than corpses in the sand, destined to become the Dragon’s puppets–or mine. When I had a pretty pile of coins in my open claw, then I could indulge in such luxuries as pride.