Re: Mini-Grand 5101 [Round 2: Medieval Village]
07-02-2011, 06:18 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by BlastYoBoots.
"AW GOD! Who the hell simulates horseshit?!"
On the plus side, he now had the perfect metaphor to describe Xilyon Odyssey to his fans.
Nathan would have been incredulous even if he wasn't struggling out of a pile of pungent horse dung. Just as events were starting to gain a semblance of game direction, he'd been simply spirited somewhere else before a single thing could come of it. How could the designers have been this bad? Was it really just incompetence?
Being warped face-first into a pile of manure, however, gave him an entirely different perspective. Matrix VR, in what was ostensibly a PR move, had given Nathan Xander the sole responsibility for outside knowledge and promotion of their new game, publicly, days ahead of time. They even brought out a heavily customized VR sphere to enhance this company-critical, one-time experience. And now, this effort had culminated in lobbing him into a pile of horse excrement.
This had surpassed incompetence. It was malicious.
As Nathan washed the simulated muck off his upper body with a nearby bucket of simulated water – of questionable simulated cleanliness – he ran through the possibilities in his mind. Was this a prank? Had someone sabotaged the demo? If so, why hadn't Matrix VR staff pulled the plug? They should have been able to see every move he made inside the simulation!
He should probably just declare the emergency exit code and give them all a piece of his mind... but, no. Not yet. There was still a slight chance that this was all some elaborate failure at procedural event generation, or some such. And if this was really a legitimate demo of Xilyon Odyssey, his fans wouldn't forgive him for quitting halfway through. He wouldn't risk that chance.
And besides, he thought to himself, hoisting his newly acquired harpoon gun off the stable's floor. I'd rather not leave until I've put this through that cyborg bastard's chest!
---
So Bartleby had just run off anyway. While frustrating, it was actually refreshing to encounter some genuine railroading in this non-plot. Reminded him that the designers were there, that they had at least some idea of where this was supposed to go... right?
Nathan charged down the Titanic's grand stairwell, only to nearly crash into some stocky fellows carrying harpoon guns. Jackpot.
"Give me one of those harpoons." He leveled his rifle at the trio, attempting to look as menacing as a round-faced young man could look.
The trio stood stock-still, gazing at the strange kid and his incomprehensible weapon. "Told ya it was a mutiny," Charles quipped quietly to Lawrence.
"I said drop the harpoons!" Nathan punctuated his demand with a burst of warning fire above their heads; he didn't want to risk actually murdering them, in case Bartleby changed his mind and ran back around to witness it.
As the men jumped back from his strange gun, an older gentleman rounded the corner behind Nathan. "DON'T listen to him! He's in league with the hooved demon!"
Nate turned, recognizing the old man as half of the couple from near the ship's bow. Hooved what now? Huh?
Charles – the only one of the three men unburdened by a harpoon launcher – took this opportunity to leap at Nate. They fell together and began to tumble back down the stairwell, knocking over a shocked Lawrence and the launcher he held. The well leveled off at the next deck, depositing the three of them; Nathan finally drew his knife to threaten Charles, forcing his aggressor to separate as he lifted himself and reached for the fallen harpoon.
"Hands in the air, pink-eyed devil-worshipper!" Michael had trained his harpoon gun on Nathan.
Rifle dangling from its strap and unavailable, Nate simply dove for the fallen harpoon gun, rolled with it, and attempted to draw his sidearm on Michael as he came out of the roll. Too slow.
Michael fired, a harpoon on a cord zipping through the air where Nathan had been. To everyone's surprise, he'd vanished.
---
Nathan started to examine his new surroundings in earnest. He'd woken a few horses, apparently. The dusk sky illuminated some houses, the nearest of which was right next to the "WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY STABLE?!"
A tall man had appeared from the nearest house, sporting robes, a gray beard, a wizard hat, and a staff illuminating the area with its glowing tip.
Nathan heaved a loud sigh. Cliché after cliché after cliché.
"AW GOD! Who the hell simulates horseshit?!"
On the plus side, he now had the perfect metaphor to describe Xilyon Odyssey to his fans.
Nathan would have been incredulous even if he wasn't struggling out of a pile of pungent horse dung. Just as events were starting to gain a semblance of game direction, he'd been simply spirited somewhere else before a single thing could come of it. How could the designers have been this bad? Was it really just incompetence?
Being warped face-first into a pile of manure, however, gave him an entirely different perspective. Matrix VR, in what was ostensibly a PR move, had given Nathan Xander the sole responsibility for outside knowledge and promotion of their new game, publicly, days ahead of time. They even brought out a heavily customized VR sphere to enhance this company-critical, one-time experience. And now, this effort had culminated in lobbing him into a pile of horse excrement.
This had surpassed incompetence. It was malicious.
As Nathan washed the simulated muck off his upper body with a nearby bucket of simulated water – of questionable simulated cleanliness – he ran through the possibilities in his mind. Was this a prank? Had someone sabotaged the demo? If so, why hadn't Matrix VR staff pulled the plug? They should have been able to see every move he made inside the simulation!
He should probably just declare the emergency exit code and give them all a piece of his mind... but, no. Not yet. There was still a slight chance that this was all some elaborate failure at procedural event generation, or some such. And if this was really a legitimate demo of Xilyon Odyssey, his fans wouldn't forgive him for quitting halfway through. He wouldn't risk that chance.
And besides, he thought to himself, hoisting his newly acquired harpoon gun off the stable's floor. I'd rather not leave until I've put this through that cyborg bastard's chest!
---
So Bartleby had just run off anyway. While frustrating, it was actually refreshing to encounter some genuine railroading in this non-plot. Reminded him that the designers were there, that they had at least some idea of where this was supposed to go... right?
Nathan charged down the Titanic's grand stairwell, only to nearly crash into some stocky fellows carrying harpoon guns. Jackpot.
"Give me one of those harpoons." He leveled his rifle at the trio, attempting to look as menacing as a round-faced young man could look.
The trio stood stock-still, gazing at the strange kid and his incomprehensible weapon. "Told ya it was a mutiny," Charles quipped quietly to Lawrence.
"I said drop the harpoons!" Nathan punctuated his demand with a burst of warning fire above their heads; he didn't want to risk actually murdering them, in case Bartleby changed his mind and ran back around to witness it.
As the men jumped back from his strange gun, an older gentleman rounded the corner behind Nathan. "DON'T listen to him! He's in league with the hooved demon!"
Nate turned, recognizing the old man as half of the couple from near the ship's bow. Hooved what now? Huh?
Charles – the only one of the three men unburdened by a harpoon launcher – took this opportunity to leap at Nate. They fell together and began to tumble back down the stairwell, knocking over a shocked Lawrence and the launcher he held. The well leveled off at the next deck, depositing the three of them; Nathan finally drew his knife to threaten Charles, forcing his aggressor to separate as he lifted himself and reached for the fallen harpoon.
"Hands in the air, pink-eyed devil-worshipper!" Michael had trained his harpoon gun on Nathan.
Rifle dangling from its strap and unavailable, Nate simply dove for the fallen harpoon gun, rolled with it, and attempted to draw his sidearm on Michael as he came out of the roll. Too slow.
Michael fired, a harpoon on a cord zipping through the air where Nathan had been. To everyone's surprise, he'd vanished.
---
Nathan started to examine his new surroundings in earnest. He'd woken a few horses, apparently. The dusk sky illuminated some houses, the nearest of which was right next to the "WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY STABLE?!"
A tall man had appeared from the nearest house, sporting robes, a gray beard, a wizard hat, and a staff illuminating the area with its glowing tip.
Nathan heaved a loud sigh. Cliché after cliché after cliché.