October 11th, 2005



Gmail's blocked at work and currently isn't resolving on the Treo. This is bad. Can't see whether anything's worked for Wednesday night, can't see what's going on. Obviously, this leads me to the inevitable conclusion that Wednesday is going to be a clusterfuck.

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I'm embodying my dad's old saying: "Be a pessimist, then things can only get better." Not great for morale, but it'll do.

In New Awakening news, I've worked out Arcanum allocations for the Watchtowers. I've also worked out some sigchars. Thing is, I don't have my notes here with me to give lists or anything, so I shall instead update that tonight. Once it's done, I'll collate it all on digitalraven.org (which will give me an excuse to do other ones, like the Trinity/Deus Ex game or the Mirrorworld thing. Dunno about the R3/Urban Fantasy thing, I'll conspire a bit with eyebeams once I've done revising it. Oh, shit. I left my 24-hour-supers game dead in the water almost 9 months ago. I really should go back and revisit that. Mostly because I've worked out a way of doing some of the things I wanted to.

Last Call for the Day

Last one. But I have my notes.

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Today's New Awakening:

That bell's last orders, sunshine. Get another round in. And a packet of pork scratchings, I could just do with some to soak up the ale. You can have the soft ones. What're you questioning me for? Just do it, I'll explain pubs later, when I'm finished with the underlying nature of reality. Fucking septics have no priorities.

Good. That's better. Now. The last crucial thing you need to know are the Watchtowers. We don't have long before we get kicked out, so I'll be quick. You sit there and drink and listen. The beer makes sure this conversation goes into state memory, you won't remember until you meet me again, in here, and drink the same beer. Simple enough trick, but a bugger to undo. So drink up, you've another couple of pints to go.

The Atlantean model of a pentagram is fair enough, it makes sense — like all lies it has its grounding in truth. But it's still another lie, another memetic incursion into the common headspace. The pentagram isn't a graph of the Arcana or anything. Look, think of it this way. If I tear this beer mat into a simple approximation like so, then I can tell you what each point represents. You've got the Will, the Form, the Spirit, the Cycle, and the World. Each of those points has two watchtowers, like if I pushed a cocktail stick through each point. One either side, at right-angles to the shape.

One side, which some wankers call the "ascendant" side for no readily apparent reason, has the Watchtowers of the Golden Key, Perfect Geometry, Stone Book, Lunargent Thistle and Sapphire Globe. That's Will, Form, Spirit, Cycle, and World. They're all about working within their elements — seekers of the Lunargent Thistle don't try to break the Cycle, they take what it brings as it comes or give it a bit of a nudge. Likewise, the Sapphire Globe don't think that the world is here for living things, or that life is irrelevant &emdash; all the world matters, and they use that to their advantage.

What the selfsame tossers call the "descendant" side is the side for people who exert personal mastery. Seekers of the Golden Key refine their Will through excercises and thoughtforms, seekers of the Iron Gauntlet don't give a shit, twisting other tools to their use as they need to. The Watchtowers on this side are the Iron Gauntlet, Shining Tesseract, Shadow Blade, Burning Wheel, and Lead Coin. Same order as before. The Burning Wheel will fuck with the Cycle to get what they need, but don't get the benefits of working within it like the Lunargent Thistle. It's not a simple thing to explain, but when you meet a few of the other buggers you'll figure the difference easy enough.

Last call to head home, sunshine. If you really want to meet more, come back here next week. Don't tell anyone you met me. There'll be others here. Who am I? Well, that's a good question. I know you want to know my name, but I don't know if I trust you enough to give you any name just yet.

What the Hell. Call me "Hemmingway".
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