<![CDATA[Eagle Time - Projects and Comics]]> https://eagle-time.org/ Thu, 16 Apr 2026 04:46:47 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[Scribblings From a Scribbler]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2719 Mon, 11 Dec 2017 03:42:38 +0000 Superficial]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2719
Day 12/10/2017

Trying to figure out a style for Guard Duty Part 1. As you can see, I like to draw guy people.
Show Content
Trying to figure out a style for Gaurd Duty Part 2 where I think I've got it down, but maybe not.
Show Content
This is where I cheat on Guard Duty with some other story concept that I thought I completely abandoned in the Forum Adventure Ideas thread. Curses.
Show Content
This train of betrayal just keeps going. The little child is in a hospital.
Show Content
This scribbling basically conveys everything about the story's concept.
Show Content

Overall, I think today was a very productive day if my goal was to do a bunch of unproductive stuff

C+

Show Content
]]>
Day 12/10/2017

Trying to figure out a style for Guard Duty Part 1. As you can see, I like to draw guy people.
Show Content
Trying to figure out a style for Gaurd Duty Part 2 where I think I've got it down, but maybe not.
Show Content
This is where I cheat on Guard Duty with some other story concept that I thought I completely abandoned in the Forum Adventure Ideas thread. Curses.
Show Content
This train of betrayal just keeps going. The little child is in a hospital.
Show Content
This scribbling basically conveys everything about the story's concept.
Show Content

Overall, I think today was a very productive day if my goal was to do a bunch of unproductive stuff

C+

Show Content
]]> <![CDATA[I made hot dog bread]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2672 Mon, 20 Nov 2017 18:13:50 +0000 June Stargal]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2672
Yesterday, I made hot dogs in sourdough bread.


[Image: f37FZQw.jpg]
Bread dough


[Image: fUKFfqo.jpg]
Before cooking


[Image: 3WoxYmP.jpg]
After cooking]]>
Yesterday, I made hot dogs in sourdough bread.


[Image: f37FZQw.jpg]
Bread dough


[Image: fUKFfqo.jpg]
Before cooking


[Image: 3WoxYmP.jpg]
After cooking]]> <![CDATA[Rotten Banana]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2652 Mon, 06 Nov 2017 10:20:55 +0000 Mayu_Zane]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2652 By Mahyuddin Zin

This story is a work of fiction. Any similarities to events, people and places in real life are coincidental, and in some cases, clearly impossible.


CHAPTER ONE: CONSCRIPTION

"War! At Long Last!" The headline on my newspaper read. My cat had just been appointed the new Field Marshal. Smart move, unusual for the government.

The other candidates were cheese, a lily, and a puppy with more drool than brains. I was expecting the cheese to get the position, since his relatives custard and yogurt were in charge of the National Dairy Conglomerates. Laugh all you want at them, they got more power than the military these days.

I rolled up the newspaper and waved goodbye as my cat, Lord Silverskin, was escorted to the armored limousine. Being a peasant, I was not allowed to go anywhere near the military's Great Potato, and therefore couldn't join him in his luxurious, six-dozen seater car.

I turned away as the luxury car left my front garden, and shut the door. My daughter Angel had just woken up, and she looked at me from the stairs.

"Mummy? Where's Lord Silverskin?" she asked.

"He's the new Field Marshal now, Angel. He had to go as soon as he could, they got big plans at the Great Potato," I replied.

Angel yawned, then went to the fridge and threw a ball of yarn into the trash. Then she threw more of my cat's toys away. I stopped her before she could fling the tuna-encrusted sock, Lord Silverskin's favorite artifact.

"What are you doing?" I asked my daughter with both confusion and concern.

There were tears in her eyes as she answered my question. "Lord Silverskin's one of them now, he's never coming back. Even if he does, he wouldn't want any of these poor peasant's toys."

She was wrong, of course. Field Marshals never stayed that way for long. Soon as the war ends, Lord Silverskin would come back. I told her this, and she stopped throwing things away.

She wiped away her tears, and hugged me. Soft, warm. Wet. My shirt was covered in tears.

Our house would be a little lonelier for a while. I was not okay with it, never agreed with it, but I had to accept it. Lord Silverskin would be the new Field Marshal of our country's armed forces. The old cat was hard to amuse; maybe he'd just leave the Great Potato out of boredom.

After I finished comforting Angel, I rested on my favorite chair and turned on the microwave. The soft, mushy texture of this seat's cushion feels great against my rump. Felt like I shouldn't ever have to get up ever again.

A few minutes passed and the microwave dinged. I took my breakfast, feeling as hot as the sun on my bare hands. My kitchen's wallpaper melted as the intense heat of my meal took over the entire kitchen, but I was undaunted.

The runny egg poured into my mouth and I swallowed. Only two weeks past expiration date. Not bad.

I went to the living room and turn on the old telly. Angel was just sitting silently on the floor, pretending to be staring at our television. A smiling custard pie dressed in garish military fatigues appeared on-screen and asked me and my daughter a question: "Are you ready for the coolest fight of your life?"

We both shook our heads.

The pie yelled at us with enthusiasm that went beyond terrifying: "WELL TOO BAD 'cause Field Marshal Lord Silverskin just decreed that EVERY household in the country has to have at least one family member in the military!"

"Oh no," I exclaimed out loud.

"Oh YES!" Said the pie, with obvious glee. "Now then, is it going to be Angel or Samantha that's going to be doing all the shootin' and stabbin' and bleedin' and whatever?"

There was no way I would ever send Angel off to the battlefield. So I raised my hand and-

Angel, no! Why did you raise your hand?!

The pie laughed, and teeth came flying out of its mouth "Well then! Looks like both mother and daughter are going off to the front!"

No no no no no! This couldn't be! "Angel,why did you put up your hand?!" I asked with exasperation.

She turned to me and said "Because I don't want you to go the front, and grandpa always said you was bad at fighting."

The poor girl wanted to keep ME safe. Me! I'm her mother, I'm the one who's supposed to keep her safe! Also, dad was a liar! I was NOT 'bad at fighting'! I used to mug people for a living!

Angel was only twelve; she'd be sent to the Mine Detectors Corp on account of her small size. Little children, with the exception of the morbidly obese, were too light to set off the modern mine and were therefore deemed appropriate for the task, though I still found it distasteful that we had to use children instead of underweight adults. Or hell, why not rats?! Not the rat-people, but the small scurrying ones! Absolute nonsense.

It wasn't long before the army showed up at our doorstep. I packed only my toothbrush and my diary, which was about as thick as a brick. Considering that I was going to war, I thought it would prove useful as a weapon, or maybe it would work like in the movies and it would stop a bullet or something.

My daughter Angel, who hated brushing her teeth, instead packed a sack of sugar-covered candy cubes as if her intent was to destroy her teeth before she reached adulthood. I considered scolding her, but decided we could afford dentures afterwards if all her teeth were lost either to sugar or war. I decided that denying her the comfort of sugar when she'd be in a hellish warzone would count as some form of abuse.

The only good thing I could look forward to in the Army was that I would be paid 900 dollars a month, about twice what I was making as a con artist. I'd been selling forged documents to illiterate foreigners who wanted to buy tobacco farms in our nation of Scarvino. Considering that Scarvino had no legal tobacco farms, as tobacco was banned a century ago, it still amazed me that there were still people looking to buy my fake land deeds. Guess I should have counted myself lucky that so many people didn't know our laws that well.

Of course, my 'business' of selling fake land deeds would have to be put on hold, at least not until the war ended. I gave Angel one last hug before we were separated into different buses, which were powered by the tears of children. No doubt they would shove sliced onions into my daughter's eyes to add more speed to their vehicle. I could only hope that my daughter would not be rendered blind by the time she reached the front lines.

I stepped onto bus number 452. It was covered in eggs and tomatoes, the work of activists and conscientious objectors. The smell reminded me of our weekly trash-truck.

All the other passengers were women of varying size, color and species. Cat-people, rat-people, lizard-people, many kinds of hair and scales. I found an empty space next to a purple lizard woman with jewels on her neck and old faded roses all over her chest.

Her clothes announced to me that she was a Bungaren, a person who worshipped flowers. They loved adding wilted flowers to their apparel; it was their way of saying even the dead should not be discarded like rubbish.

I greeted her with a smile and the friendliest "Hello"I could muster. She answered back with a friendly "Hi", and told me her name was Lifta. I told her my name, Samantha Cole, and we started talking from there.

Despite being covered in tough scales and blessed with sharp teeth, Lifta gave me the impression that her soul was the kind and gentle type. Her voice reminded me of mice or tiny kittens, with a similar cadence.

"Where are you from?" I asked Lifta.

"From the Boogadoo River, House 17. I was the oldest sister and daddy was too weak to fight, so I lifted my hand when that weird pie-thing showed up", Lifta answered.

"Do you know how to fight? We're heading face-first into a war", I asked.

"I know how to use a sword and my fangs are poisonous, but both don't mean much when you go up against rockets and machine-guns. Still, I guess that's better than nothing. You ever fought before?", Lifta asked.

I gained a lot of experience from fighting the police back when I was a purse-snatcher, but decided to leave that little detail out when I told Lifta. I just said "I fought a lot of men who were armed with blunt weapons."

"Were you in the police force?" Lifta asked. Oh, the irony.

Suddenly, a third voice pierced the air. Refined, blessed with authority. "No, she was a thief. She stole one of my purses three years ago," said the lady in the seat behind me. It was Madame Farrah von Haus, a black cat-woman whose purse I once snatched.

"Nice to see you here, Samantha Cole", the wealthy cat-lady said with genuine cheer.

Lifta looked at me with a frown "You're a thief?"

"N-not anymore. These days I'm a real estate agent. My mugging days are behind me, promise", I answered with embarrassment. My cheeks must have been redder than cherry.

"Still a thief then!" Farrah said with a laugh that slowly faded into a giggle. "So, how's your husband?" she asked me as she grinned.

"Dead," I replied. "Killed by a Zymogi bomb. Mark was in the Rootberg Confederacy when it happened, away on business trying to sell silver trinkets to some idiot with more money than sense."

"I'm sorry, Samantha, I truly am", Farrah said with as much sincerity anyone could possibly put into a sentence. "I can't imagine how your daughter felt when she heard the news."

Madame Farrah von Haus was an unusual person of wealth. She was the kind of woman who cared more about the well-being of others rather than maintaining any sort of image of having high class. People were more important to her than pretension. They were certainly more important to her than money.

She owned several businesses, most of them involving food. Farms, restaurants, napkin manufacturers... if it had something to do with food, she'd be involved. Farrah von Haus believed that no nation could run on an empty stomach, and worked hard to make sure everybody in Scarvino could afford to eat. A millionaire with a conscience. Rare sort of millionaire.

Adored as an employer and an altruist, there were those who suspected her of having a motive other than the desire to make the world a less bitter place. One of those people hired me to pilfer Farrah's purse in the hopes of acquiring her diary and learning whatever dark secrets she may have had.

I still remember it all.

On that cold autumn night, I bumped into Madame von Haus in front of a workshop, and without hesitation I removed the modest leather purse from Farrah's shoulder. I ran as fast as I could, wondering why the Madame did not shout for help or give chase.

When I reached an alley dark enough to hide myself, I opened the purse and found seven thousand dollars in hundred dollar bills. There was also a note, which read:

“You need this more than I do. Good luck! - Madame Farrah von Haus”

For a long time, I just stood there in that alley, wondering how my client would react to this. In the end, I decided to return the purse, without taking a single bill or coin out of it. To steal from someone like this would be a mark of shame. Even I had standards.

Farrah welcomed me into her house, and offered tea. After being absolutely certain that it was not poisoned, I accepted it. We both had a pleasant, if awkward chat. Madame von Haus offered me, her new friend, a job in one of the cornfields north of the city, but I politely refused. Told her I did not like farm work, and that my husband would strike it rich soon. Of course, that last bit was a lie. I just didn't want to deal with the embarrassment of working for von Haus after I stole from her.

After von Haus returned home, I confronted my client, who was angrier than a child being denied their favorite dessert. The client accused me of taking a bribe, and I responded with a very swift kick to the balls. His bodyguards also got whacks to the ribs. Two days later the idiot met me again with three humongous thugs, and they all wound up in the hospital with broken knees and elbows. The moron finally got the message and never contacted me again.

Madame von Haus became a frequent guest at my home. Though I was too proud to accept any money from her, my husband Mark would always secretly ask the wealthy businesswoman for loans. He said 'loans' and not 'donations', because Mark really believed that he too would be rich one day, and would be able to pay it all back. Of course, Farrah never really wanted her money back, even if Mark ever became a millionaire. She wanted us to live. We were one family among thousands more, breaking our backs just to make ends meet.

Mark's finally a millionaire, up in Heaven. Of course, that didn't matter much since everything there is free anyway, but it was always nice to imagine my husband swimming in a pile of gold and platinum, with a chorus of angels singing his favorite tunes.

The bus bumps, and I return to the present.

I stared at the black-furred cat-lady, dressed in modest but meticulously crafted clothing. Wondered why someone like Farrah von Haus would volunteer for military service. I asked Farrah, and the reply was:

"Military service? Oh you have me quite mistaken, dear. I'm not a soldier and never will be. I am simply taking a ride to meet a colonel who wishes to make a deal with me."

Lifta tilted her head and asked: "Somethin' to do with food, ma'am?"

"You could say that," Farrah answered. "I offered tons and tons of nutritious food for our soldiers in exchange for- well, that's a secret."

I honestly couldn't guess what sort of thing the military could give to Farrah. She never cared much about money and was more interested in rare objects which she deemed worthy of public viewing. Statues and paintings were usually on her list, exhibited in her independent Museum of International History and Totally Groovy Artifacts.

I actually visited her museum a couple of times. Would never forget the first time I saw The World's Oldest Pie, older than any living person yet still edible. Foodologists and archaeologists still don't understand how plain old blueberry could last that long. It was completely green and it glowed whenever the full moon appeared, but other than that it was safe to eat. Of course, after a huge chunk of it had been consumed, eating a piece of that special pie is only reserved for people richer than Madame Farrah.

Maybe there was an old ornate tank or a long-forgotten poem stuck inside a dead general's pocket that she wanted. Couldn't see how the military would have anything she'd want, honestly.

We all continued to speak for the rest of the trip, mostly avoiding the topic of our incoming conscription and the war itself. When we finally arrived, enormous military officers greeted us and threw us out of the vehicle one by one.

Whether we wanted to or not, war would come and slam us in the teeth.]]> By Mahyuddin Zin

This story is a work of fiction. Any similarities to events, people and places in real life are coincidental, and in some cases, clearly impossible.


CHAPTER ONE: CONSCRIPTION

"War! At Long Last!" The headline on my newspaper read. My cat had just been appointed the new Field Marshal. Smart move, unusual for the government.

The other candidates were cheese, a lily, and a puppy with more drool than brains. I was expecting the cheese to get the position, since his relatives custard and yogurt were in charge of the National Dairy Conglomerates. Laugh all you want at them, they got more power than the military these days.

I rolled up the newspaper and waved goodbye as my cat, Lord Silverskin, was escorted to the armored limousine. Being a peasant, I was not allowed to go anywhere near the military's Great Potato, and therefore couldn't join him in his luxurious, six-dozen seater car.

I turned away as the luxury car left my front garden, and shut the door. My daughter Angel had just woken up, and she looked at me from the stairs.

"Mummy? Where's Lord Silverskin?" she asked.

"He's the new Field Marshal now, Angel. He had to go as soon as he could, they got big plans at the Great Potato," I replied.

Angel yawned, then went to the fridge and threw a ball of yarn into the trash. Then she threw more of my cat's toys away. I stopped her before she could fling the tuna-encrusted sock, Lord Silverskin's favorite artifact.

"What are you doing?" I asked my daughter with both confusion and concern.

There were tears in her eyes as she answered my question. "Lord Silverskin's one of them now, he's never coming back. Even if he does, he wouldn't want any of these poor peasant's toys."

She was wrong, of course. Field Marshals never stayed that way for long. Soon as the war ends, Lord Silverskin would come back. I told her this, and she stopped throwing things away.

She wiped away her tears, and hugged me. Soft, warm. Wet. My shirt was covered in tears.

Our house would be a little lonelier for a while. I was not okay with it, never agreed with it, but I had to accept it. Lord Silverskin would be the new Field Marshal of our country's armed forces. The old cat was hard to amuse; maybe he'd just leave the Great Potato out of boredom.

After I finished comforting Angel, I rested on my favorite chair and turned on the microwave. The soft, mushy texture of this seat's cushion feels great against my rump. Felt like I shouldn't ever have to get up ever again.

A few minutes passed and the microwave dinged. I took my breakfast, feeling as hot as the sun on my bare hands. My kitchen's wallpaper melted as the intense heat of my meal took over the entire kitchen, but I was undaunted.

The runny egg poured into my mouth and I swallowed. Only two weeks past expiration date. Not bad.

I went to the living room and turn on the old telly. Angel was just sitting silently on the floor, pretending to be staring at our television. A smiling custard pie dressed in garish military fatigues appeared on-screen and asked me and my daughter a question: "Are you ready for the coolest fight of your life?"

We both shook our heads.

The pie yelled at us with enthusiasm that went beyond terrifying: "WELL TOO BAD 'cause Field Marshal Lord Silverskin just decreed that EVERY household in the country has to have at least one family member in the military!"

"Oh no," I exclaimed out loud.

"Oh YES!" Said the pie, with obvious glee. "Now then, is it going to be Angel or Samantha that's going to be doing all the shootin' and stabbin' and bleedin' and whatever?"

There was no way I would ever send Angel off to the battlefield. So I raised my hand and-

Angel, no! Why did you raise your hand?!

The pie laughed, and teeth came flying out of its mouth "Well then! Looks like both mother and daughter are going off to the front!"

No no no no no! This couldn't be! "Angel,why did you put up your hand?!" I asked with exasperation.

She turned to me and said "Because I don't want you to go the front, and grandpa always said you was bad at fighting."

The poor girl wanted to keep ME safe. Me! I'm her mother, I'm the one who's supposed to keep her safe! Also, dad was a liar! I was NOT 'bad at fighting'! I used to mug people for a living!

Angel was only twelve; she'd be sent to the Mine Detectors Corp on account of her small size. Little children, with the exception of the morbidly obese, were too light to set off the modern mine and were therefore deemed appropriate for the task, though I still found it distasteful that we had to use children instead of underweight adults. Or hell, why not rats?! Not the rat-people, but the small scurrying ones! Absolute nonsense.

It wasn't long before the army showed up at our doorstep. I packed only my toothbrush and my diary, which was about as thick as a brick. Considering that I was going to war, I thought it would prove useful as a weapon, or maybe it would work like in the movies and it would stop a bullet or something.

My daughter Angel, who hated brushing her teeth, instead packed a sack of sugar-covered candy cubes as if her intent was to destroy her teeth before she reached adulthood. I considered scolding her, but decided we could afford dentures afterwards if all her teeth were lost either to sugar or war. I decided that denying her the comfort of sugar when she'd be in a hellish warzone would count as some form of abuse.

The only good thing I could look forward to in the Army was that I would be paid 900 dollars a month, about twice what I was making as a con artist. I'd been selling forged documents to illiterate foreigners who wanted to buy tobacco farms in our nation of Scarvino. Considering that Scarvino had no legal tobacco farms, as tobacco was banned a century ago, it still amazed me that there were still people looking to buy my fake land deeds. Guess I should have counted myself lucky that so many people didn't know our laws that well.

Of course, my 'business' of selling fake land deeds would have to be put on hold, at least not until the war ended. I gave Angel one last hug before we were separated into different buses, which were powered by the tears of children. No doubt they would shove sliced onions into my daughter's eyes to add more speed to their vehicle. I could only hope that my daughter would not be rendered blind by the time she reached the front lines.

I stepped onto bus number 452. It was covered in eggs and tomatoes, the work of activists and conscientious objectors. The smell reminded me of our weekly trash-truck.

All the other passengers were women of varying size, color and species. Cat-people, rat-people, lizard-people, many kinds of hair and scales. I found an empty space next to a purple lizard woman with jewels on her neck and old faded roses all over her chest.

Her clothes announced to me that she was a Bungaren, a person who worshipped flowers. They loved adding wilted flowers to their apparel; it was their way of saying even the dead should not be discarded like rubbish.

I greeted her with a smile and the friendliest "Hello"I could muster. She answered back with a friendly "Hi", and told me her name was Lifta. I told her my name, Samantha Cole, and we started talking from there.

Despite being covered in tough scales and blessed with sharp teeth, Lifta gave me the impression that her soul was the kind and gentle type. Her voice reminded me of mice or tiny kittens, with a similar cadence.

"Where are you from?" I asked Lifta.

"From the Boogadoo River, House 17. I was the oldest sister and daddy was too weak to fight, so I lifted my hand when that weird pie-thing showed up", Lifta answered.

"Do you know how to fight? We're heading face-first into a war", I asked.

"I know how to use a sword and my fangs are poisonous, but both don't mean much when you go up against rockets and machine-guns. Still, I guess that's better than nothing. You ever fought before?", Lifta asked.

I gained a lot of experience from fighting the police back when I was a purse-snatcher, but decided to leave that little detail out when I told Lifta. I just said "I fought a lot of men who were armed with blunt weapons."

"Were you in the police force?" Lifta asked. Oh, the irony.

Suddenly, a third voice pierced the air. Refined, blessed with authority. "No, she was a thief. She stole one of my purses three years ago," said the lady in the seat behind me. It was Madame Farrah von Haus, a black cat-woman whose purse I once snatched.

"Nice to see you here, Samantha Cole", the wealthy cat-lady said with genuine cheer.

Lifta looked at me with a frown "You're a thief?"

"N-not anymore. These days I'm a real estate agent. My mugging days are behind me, promise", I answered with embarrassment. My cheeks must have been redder than cherry.

"Still a thief then!" Farrah said with a laugh that slowly faded into a giggle. "So, how's your husband?" she asked me as she grinned.

"Dead," I replied. "Killed by a Zymogi bomb. Mark was in the Rootberg Confederacy when it happened, away on business trying to sell silver trinkets to some idiot with more money than sense."

"I'm sorry, Samantha, I truly am", Farrah said with as much sincerity anyone could possibly put into a sentence. "I can't imagine how your daughter felt when she heard the news."

Madame Farrah von Haus was an unusual person of wealth. She was the kind of woman who cared more about the well-being of others rather than maintaining any sort of image of having high class. People were more important to her than pretension. They were certainly more important to her than money.

She owned several businesses, most of them involving food. Farms, restaurants, napkin manufacturers... if it had something to do with food, she'd be involved. Farrah von Haus believed that no nation could run on an empty stomach, and worked hard to make sure everybody in Scarvino could afford to eat. A millionaire with a conscience. Rare sort of millionaire.

Adored as an employer and an altruist, there were those who suspected her of having a motive other than the desire to make the world a less bitter place. One of those people hired me to pilfer Farrah's purse in the hopes of acquiring her diary and learning whatever dark secrets she may have had.

I still remember it all.

On that cold autumn night, I bumped into Madame von Haus in front of a workshop, and without hesitation I removed the modest leather purse from Farrah's shoulder. I ran as fast as I could, wondering why the Madame did not shout for help or give chase.

When I reached an alley dark enough to hide myself, I opened the purse and found seven thousand dollars in hundred dollar bills. There was also a note, which read:

“You need this more than I do. Good luck! - Madame Farrah von Haus”

For a long time, I just stood there in that alley, wondering how my client would react to this. In the end, I decided to return the purse, without taking a single bill or coin out of it. To steal from someone like this would be a mark of shame. Even I had standards.

Farrah welcomed me into her house, and offered tea. After being absolutely certain that it was not poisoned, I accepted it. We both had a pleasant, if awkward chat. Madame von Haus offered me, her new friend, a job in one of the cornfields north of the city, but I politely refused. Told her I did not like farm work, and that my husband would strike it rich soon. Of course, that last bit was a lie. I just didn't want to deal with the embarrassment of working for von Haus after I stole from her.

After von Haus returned home, I confronted my client, who was angrier than a child being denied their favorite dessert. The client accused me of taking a bribe, and I responded with a very swift kick to the balls. His bodyguards also got whacks to the ribs. Two days later the idiot met me again with three humongous thugs, and they all wound up in the hospital with broken knees and elbows. The moron finally got the message and never contacted me again.

Madame von Haus became a frequent guest at my home. Though I was too proud to accept any money from her, my husband Mark would always secretly ask the wealthy businesswoman for loans. He said 'loans' and not 'donations', because Mark really believed that he too would be rich one day, and would be able to pay it all back. Of course, Farrah never really wanted her money back, even if Mark ever became a millionaire. She wanted us to live. We were one family among thousands more, breaking our backs just to make ends meet.

Mark's finally a millionaire, up in Heaven. Of course, that didn't matter much since everything there is free anyway, but it was always nice to imagine my husband swimming in a pile of gold and platinum, with a chorus of angels singing his favorite tunes.

The bus bumps, and I return to the present.

I stared at the black-furred cat-lady, dressed in modest but meticulously crafted clothing. Wondered why someone like Farrah von Haus would volunteer for military service. I asked Farrah, and the reply was:

"Military service? Oh you have me quite mistaken, dear. I'm not a soldier and never will be. I am simply taking a ride to meet a colonel who wishes to make a deal with me."

Lifta tilted her head and asked: "Somethin' to do with food, ma'am?"

"You could say that," Farrah answered. "I offered tons and tons of nutritious food for our soldiers in exchange for- well, that's a secret."

I honestly couldn't guess what sort of thing the military could give to Farrah. She never cared much about money and was more interested in rare objects which she deemed worthy of public viewing. Statues and paintings were usually on her list, exhibited in her independent Museum of International History and Totally Groovy Artifacts.

I actually visited her museum a couple of times. Would never forget the first time I saw The World's Oldest Pie, older than any living person yet still edible. Foodologists and archaeologists still don't understand how plain old blueberry could last that long. It was completely green and it glowed whenever the full moon appeared, but other than that it was safe to eat. Of course, after a huge chunk of it had been consumed, eating a piece of that special pie is only reserved for people richer than Madame Farrah.

Maybe there was an old ornate tank or a long-forgotten poem stuck inside a dead general's pocket that she wanted. Couldn't see how the military would have anything she'd want, honestly.

We all continued to speak for the rest of the trip, mostly avoiding the topic of our incoming conscription and the war itself. When we finally arrived, enormous military officers greeted us and threw us out of the vehicle one by one.

Whether we wanted to or not, war would come and slam us in the teeth.]]> <![CDATA[The Skeletal Thread]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2628 Sun, 15 Oct 2017 18:20:14 +0000 KrispyKBacon]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2628 I mean why wouldn't you? I mean, it IS October after all.
So why not make some cool skeletons out of it?
Just take this little dude right here, and make whatever you want from it!
[Image: Xh2fJGA.png]
As soon as you're done with making your skeletal masterpiece, do whatever you want with it!
Sky's the limit when you're dealing with skeletons!]]> I mean why wouldn't you? I mean, it IS October after all.
So why not make some cool skeletons out of it?
Just take this little dude right here, and make whatever you want from it!
[Image: Xh2fJGA.png]
As soon as you're done with making your skeletal masterpiece, do whatever you want with it!
Sky's the limit when you're dealing with skeletons!]]> <![CDATA[Ludum Dare 39 (July 2017)]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2497 Sat, 29 Jul 2017 00:49:18 +0000 Justice Watch]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2497
https://ldjam.com/events/ludum-dare/39

It's just two of us this time, so the development is probably going to be a bit more efficient. I'm programming this time, and we'll be using GameMaker Studio 2.

This is gonna be a fun weekend.]]>
https://ldjam.com/events/ludum-dare/39

It's just two of us this time, so the development is probably going to be a bit more efficient. I'm programming this time, and we'll be using GameMaker Studio 2.

This is gonna be a fun weekend.]]> <![CDATA[How do make videos?]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2462 Sat, 15 Jul 2017 16:44:01 +0000 btp]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2462 Eagle-Time Gaming for the last year or so. I've learned a lot, but I know there's a ways I still have to go and one of the best ways to learn something is to do it with a group!

So this thread is meant to be a helpful collection of guidelines, tips, Q&A about how anyone can get started making enjoyable content.
  • Don't know how to get started? This is the place to ask.

  • Have a technical question or issue you're running into? Check in here!

  • Found an great technique or program you enjoy using? Let us know!

  • Want to help or someone to collaborate on a project! Shout it out!

I'll keep this post and the one below updated with helpful links and questions we address in this thread.]]> Eagle-Time Gaming for the last year or so. I've learned a lot, but I know there's a ways I still have to go and one of the best ways to learn something is to do it with a group!

So this thread is meant to be a helpful collection of guidelines, tips, Q&A about how anyone can get started making enjoyable content.
  • Don't know how to get started? This is the place to ask.

  • Have a technical question or issue you're running into? Check in here!

  • Found an great technique or program you enjoy using? Let us know!

  • Want to help or someone to collaborate on a project! Shout it out!

I'll keep this post and the one below updated with helpful links and questions we address in this thread.]]> <![CDATA[Hi I'm making a game (NOTE: I've said this for 13 years)]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2439 Tue, 04 Jul 2017 00:54:11 +0000 Mehgamehn]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2439
https://www.tumblr.com/blog/youngcultistgame]]>
https://www.tumblr.com/blog/youngcultistgame]]> <![CDATA[Re-probus: A Story of Ferals.]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2424 Sun, 25 Jun 2017 16:03:58 +0000 Wessolf27]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2424 Hello! After a long time of half-starts and uncertainty, I've decided to just start publishing my story here (and also on the Omegaupdate Forums) I'll be posting them chapter by chapter, though there isn't going to be a set schedule for when the next chapter is going to fall. Feedback, questions, critiques, comments, suggestions, and other things are very welcome! Drop a PM if you wish as well!

Note: The story may deal with some trauma, (mild) body horror, and gore. Please exercise caution when reading and take a break if things become too much.

=======

Re-probus

Prologue: The Junkyard Dog

The sunset streaked sky bloomed above the haphazard corners of the scrapyard. Two children--a boy and a girl--were running from the rabid, crystal-encrusted beast that roared like no other animal they've heard before. They skipped above the rust-caked barrels and glistening oil spills that covered the land in the scent of metal. The boy tripped on a stray pipe, and the girl pulled him back up just as the diamond dog-man snapped its jaws a mere centimeters from his shirt. The girl then drew a rocket-shaped toy gun and shot the beast with pegs, distracting it enough for the boy to roll a barrel towards it. With the monster clawing desperately to get the barrel off itself, the two kids ran into the maze of tire towers and scrapped engines.

They found the old truck they have been using as a makeshift spacecraft and hid inside it. The stench of moldy cushions and the sharp springs that stuck out made them realize how uncomfortable the truck was. And when their exhaustion and hurt finally caught up with them, and the boy began to cry. "I wanna go home! I don't want to be here anymore!"

The girl, barely a year older than the boy, tried to shush him, but only made him cry harder. "Keith! Oh no, please don't be so loud. The Feral might find us!" She tried singing the song of their favorite cartoon, "Stacey Queen: Galactic Explorer" because she remembered how it cheered her up whenever she was about to cry.

"Who's that zipping through the atmosphere?
Oh, oh-oh! Stacey Queen!
Who's gonna save us from the Dr. Machine?
Oh, oh-oh! Stacey Queen!
With her trusty crew of friends they're gonna kick alien tail,
And swim through the nebula, meet some comet whales!

Oh, Stacey Queen! Oh-oh Stacey Queen!
She flies on a rocket 'cross the galaxy!
Oh, Stacey Queen! Oh-oh Stacey Queen!
She fights evil baddies and she saves the day!

When the going gets tough, she never falters
She's never gonna fail, 'cause she knows she'll prevail!"

She sang it as long and as much as she could. She did the motions and encouraged the boy to sing with her. They sang until there were no more tears needed to be shed, and they began to talk about the show, and all the capers of their favorite cartoon adventurer.

"Remember that episode where Stacey had to hide from the Quartians that wanted to capture her? We should keep quiet, okay Keith?"

Keith nodded as he tried to stop hiccuping from his tears. They could still hear the monster's yelps and protests from all the way there, and it only stopped as the first stars began to show in the evening sky.

"Hey June, do you think it's okay to go out now? I can't hear the monster anymore."

June held a finger to her mouth, and Keith clapped his hands on his mouth. When he realized he made a sound, he jumped and tried to stay as still as possible. June gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder before motioning him to stay in the truck while she looked around.

Keith got up the old cushion and pressed his face against the front window, watching for June as she slipped behind the tires. He stood like that till his back grew sore and his heart jumping for him to run after her. So he did.

His mind ran in tandem with him, telling him how June might have gotten attacked by the monstrous Feral, or how the Feral might sneak up and pounce on her. He ran--left, right, left, and left again, until he didn't know where he was any longer. He cried out for June as loud as he could. But he couldn't hear her if she did. His heart was beating faster and faster, and his thoughts wouldn't stop. He pressed his palms to his ears, and he crumpled to the floor and began to cry again.

There was a sudden crash so loud that it made Keith jump up. "June!" he cried, and ran to the direction of the noise.

But rather than find her, he stood face to face with the same ghastly Feral. He tried to run back, but the Feral spotted him. Its eyes shone with wicked malice as the air suddenly grew cold and he found his feet encased in ice along with the ground.

The cold bit at his feet as he tried to pull them out with little success, the Feral moved with arms limply swaying, and its growls began to sound like a voice. "You shouldn't have done that, you know... you shouldn't have been here in the first place."

Keith fell down to the floor, and the Feral jumped at him. He closed his eyes when he heard a yelp and a sick crunch. He saw the Feral collapse on the floor and from the other side, he found June, who had grabbed a pipe and started chipping away at the ice. Keith reached for a rock and started doing the same, until he was freed. June reached for his hand, and he got up. "Didn't I tell you to stay in the truck?" she chided.

"I was scared! You took so long I thought the Feral got you!"
"So you let the Feral get to you instead."

Keith bowed his head, "I-I'm really sorry!" He felt his breath hitch up again, and tears roll down his cheeks. "I-I know I'm always causing you trouble. But I didn't want to see you go away. I was so scared of being alone, that I-I--"

"Keith, watch out!"

June pushed him to the side, before she was pinned to the floor by the Feral, the right side of its face leaking blood that fell to the floor like beads of glass. June struggled to pull the paw off her body, but the Feral slammed its foot down her chest, knocking the wind out of her. The Feral leaned closer with teeth bared. And a second later, June's arm was being torn off from her elbow. But before it could be completely torn away, the Feral was interrupted by another rock that hit it square in the eye.

Keith felt a surge of adrenaline as he realized what he had done. The Feral roared and flailed as it began to mutate and change, crystals sprung from its skin, and the Feral yowled with greater pain, but its remaining eye was focused only at him. It charged at him. Keith grabbed June's pipe, and there was a squelch.

The sharp pipe had pierced straight through the Feral's heart, but at the same time, Keith felt a set of teeth pierce at his left shoulder. He felt them slowly give way as the Feral struggled to stay up. He remembered its accusing eye as it rasped one last word from its jaws.

"...Monster..."

Keith's head was pounding, he couldn't keep himself steady as the world around him began to swirl. His feet gave way and he was falling into a jet black darkness.]]> Hello! After a long time of half-starts and uncertainty, I've decided to just start publishing my story here (and also on the Omegaupdate Forums) I'll be posting them chapter by chapter, though there isn't going to be a set schedule for when the next chapter is going to fall. Feedback, questions, critiques, comments, suggestions, and other things are very welcome! Drop a PM if you wish as well!

Note: The story may deal with some trauma, (mild) body horror, and gore. Please exercise caution when reading and take a break if things become too much.

=======

Re-probus

Prologue: The Junkyard Dog

The sunset streaked sky bloomed above the haphazard corners of the scrapyard. Two children--a boy and a girl--were running from the rabid, crystal-encrusted beast that roared like no other animal they've heard before. They skipped above the rust-caked barrels and glistening oil spills that covered the land in the scent of metal. The boy tripped on a stray pipe, and the girl pulled him back up just as the diamond dog-man snapped its jaws a mere centimeters from his shirt. The girl then drew a rocket-shaped toy gun and shot the beast with pegs, distracting it enough for the boy to roll a barrel towards it. With the monster clawing desperately to get the barrel off itself, the two kids ran into the maze of tire towers and scrapped engines.

They found the old truck they have been using as a makeshift spacecraft and hid inside it. The stench of moldy cushions and the sharp springs that stuck out made them realize how uncomfortable the truck was. And when their exhaustion and hurt finally caught up with them, and the boy began to cry. "I wanna go home! I don't want to be here anymore!"

The girl, barely a year older than the boy, tried to shush him, but only made him cry harder. "Keith! Oh no, please don't be so loud. The Feral might find us!" She tried singing the song of their favorite cartoon, "Stacey Queen: Galactic Explorer" because she remembered how it cheered her up whenever she was about to cry.

"Who's that zipping through the atmosphere?
Oh, oh-oh! Stacey Queen!
Who's gonna save us from the Dr. Machine?
Oh, oh-oh! Stacey Queen!
With her trusty crew of friends they're gonna kick alien tail,
And swim through the nebula, meet some comet whales!

Oh, Stacey Queen! Oh-oh Stacey Queen!
She flies on a rocket 'cross the galaxy!
Oh, Stacey Queen! Oh-oh Stacey Queen!
She fights evil baddies and she saves the day!

When the going gets tough, she never falters
She's never gonna fail, 'cause she knows she'll prevail!"

She sang it as long and as much as she could. She did the motions and encouraged the boy to sing with her. They sang until there were no more tears needed to be shed, and they began to talk about the show, and all the capers of their favorite cartoon adventurer.

"Remember that episode where Stacey had to hide from the Quartians that wanted to capture her? We should keep quiet, okay Keith?"

Keith nodded as he tried to stop hiccuping from his tears. They could still hear the monster's yelps and protests from all the way there, and it only stopped as the first stars began to show in the evening sky.

"Hey June, do you think it's okay to go out now? I can't hear the monster anymore."

June held a finger to her mouth, and Keith clapped his hands on his mouth. When he realized he made a sound, he jumped and tried to stay as still as possible. June gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder before motioning him to stay in the truck while she looked around.

Keith got up the old cushion and pressed his face against the front window, watching for June as she slipped behind the tires. He stood like that till his back grew sore and his heart jumping for him to run after her. So he did.

His mind ran in tandem with him, telling him how June might have gotten attacked by the monstrous Feral, or how the Feral might sneak up and pounce on her. He ran--left, right, left, and left again, until he didn't know where he was any longer. He cried out for June as loud as he could. But he couldn't hear her if she did. His heart was beating faster and faster, and his thoughts wouldn't stop. He pressed his palms to his ears, and he crumpled to the floor and began to cry again.

There was a sudden crash so loud that it made Keith jump up. "June!" he cried, and ran to the direction of the noise.

But rather than find her, he stood face to face with the same ghastly Feral. He tried to run back, but the Feral spotted him. Its eyes shone with wicked malice as the air suddenly grew cold and he found his feet encased in ice along with the ground.

The cold bit at his feet as he tried to pull them out with little success, the Feral moved with arms limply swaying, and its growls began to sound like a voice. "You shouldn't have done that, you know... you shouldn't have been here in the first place."

Keith fell down to the floor, and the Feral jumped at him. He closed his eyes when he heard a yelp and a sick crunch. He saw the Feral collapse on the floor and from the other side, he found June, who had grabbed a pipe and started chipping away at the ice. Keith reached for a rock and started doing the same, until he was freed. June reached for his hand, and he got up. "Didn't I tell you to stay in the truck?" she chided.

"I was scared! You took so long I thought the Feral got you!"
"So you let the Feral get to you instead."

Keith bowed his head, "I-I'm really sorry!" He felt his breath hitch up again, and tears roll down his cheeks. "I-I know I'm always causing you trouble. But I didn't want to see you go away. I was so scared of being alone, that I-I--"

"Keith, watch out!"

June pushed him to the side, before she was pinned to the floor by the Feral, the right side of its face leaking blood that fell to the floor like beads of glass. June struggled to pull the paw off her body, but the Feral slammed its foot down her chest, knocking the wind out of her. The Feral leaned closer with teeth bared. And a second later, June's arm was being torn off from her elbow. But before it could be completely torn away, the Feral was interrupted by another rock that hit it square in the eye.

Keith felt a surge of adrenaline as he realized what he had done. The Feral roared and flailed as it began to mutate and change, crystals sprung from its skin, and the Feral yowled with greater pain, but its remaining eye was focused only at him. It charged at him. Keith grabbed June's pipe, and there was a squelch.

The sharp pipe had pierced straight through the Feral's heart, but at the same time, Keith felt a set of teeth pierce at his left shoulder. He felt them slowly give way as the Feral struggled to stay up. He remembered its accusing eye as it rasped one last word from its jaws.

"...Monster..."

Keith's head was pounding, he couldn't keep himself steady as the world around him began to swirl. His feet gave way and he was falling into a jet black darkness.]]> <![CDATA[tunes]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2376 Mon, 29 May 2017 06:10:42 +0000 Sleepy]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2376 a
b
c]]> a
b
c]]> <![CDATA[BreadProduct teaches you how to draw.]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2290 Fri, 14 Apr 2017 15:45:44 +0000 BreadProduct]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2290 Here is my art blog. Now you can make that decision for yourself.

So this is how this thread works. Everyone gets one credit for free.
Now you can use that credit to post something you have drawn and I will supply useful wisdom drawn from my several years of experience. I will then supply you with an assignment. When you come back and turn in that assignment I will give you another credit. Which you can then use any time to repeat the process all over again!

My methods are all about long term growth and very little about short term solutions. So while you may ask for help about a very specific thing I may just turn around and give you what you need instead of what you wanted.

I know that a lot of folks out there struggle to keep their emotions in check and that can make this a lot harder for you than it has to be. I'm sorry there isn't a lot I can do about that, but know that you are not alone, please check out the Youtube channel School of Life. And I will be here when you are ready.

Good luck, have fun.]]> Here is my art blog. Now you can make that decision for yourself.

So this is how this thread works. Everyone gets one credit for free.
Now you can use that credit to post something you have drawn and I will supply useful wisdom drawn from my several years of experience. I will then supply you with an assignment. When you come back and turn in that assignment I will give you another credit. Which you can then use any time to repeat the process all over again!

My methods are all about long term growth and very little about short term solutions. So while you may ask for help about a very specific thing I may just turn around and give you what you need instead of what you wanted.

I know that a lot of folks out there struggle to keep their emotions in check and that can make this a lot harder for you than it has to be. I'm sorry there isn't a lot I can do about that, but know that you are not alone, please check out the Youtube channel School of Life. And I will be here when you are ready.

Good luck, have fun.]]> <![CDATA[Panel Redraw!]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2289 Fri, 14 Apr 2017 15:02:39 +0000 RedHounds]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2289 Post your favourite web comics panel redraws here if you like!
So far I'm enjoying a bit of Reforge, as it reminds me of my first web comic I did on eagle times back in 2016 called The Forgotten Adventure.

Show Content
]]> Post your favourite web comics panel redraws here if you like!
So far I'm enjoying a bit of Reforge, as it reminds me of my first web comic I did on eagle times back in 2016 called The Forgotten Adventure.

Show Content
]]> <![CDATA[Sokobingo!]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2156 Sat, 11 Feb 2017 17:23:29 +0000 Justice Watch]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2156
[Image: S7eVfJO.gif]

I've written a LOT of code though, so things should be picking up soon here.

My plans include:
- The ability to read and generate levels from a plaintext file
- 10 levels included
- A level editor
- Several different tilesets
- A song or two

Let's we go, amigos!]]>
[Image: S7eVfJO.gif]

I've written a LOT of code though, so things should be picking up soon here.

My plans include:
- The ability to read and generate levels from a plaintext file
- 10 levels included
- A level editor
- Several different tilesets
- A song or two

Let's we go, amigos!]]> <![CDATA[Webcomic Haiku]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2103 Sun, 15 Jan 2017 23:24:53 +0000 wyatt]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2103
(format: webcomic name: stanza1 / stanza2 / stanza3)]]>
(format: webcomic name: stanza1 / stanza2 / stanza3)]]> <![CDATA[a vida game by wyatt]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2101 Sun, 15 Jan 2017 23:14:14 +0000 wyatt]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2101
(Its even got a tumbly: https://party-of-many.tumblr.com/)]]>
(Its even got a tumbly: https://party-of-many.tumblr.com/)]]> <![CDATA[Stovie Stays Up Too Late and Photoshops and Sews]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2071 Thu, 22 Dec 2016 05:07:35 +0000 Stovie]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=2071
This is thread for weird stuff I make, I suppose. Usually it's patches, flags, and the like because I really need to buy an embroidery machine instead of trying to do it by hand. I'm not very good at doing it by hand. Yet.

Anyways, this is what I'm working on right now.

It's based on an old medieval song, and the German is "You promised to dance with me, and you have broken your word." In my opinion, very fitting for the danse macabre aesthetic of death playing a fiddle. I'll definitely have the scale up death and probably mess with the lettering so it fits together a bit better, but that comes later.

Tomorrow I'll post some more things I've done.]]>
This is thread for weird stuff I make, I suppose. Usually it's patches, flags, and the like because I really need to buy an embroidery machine instead of trying to do it by hand. I'm not very good at doing it by hand. Yet.

Anyways, this is what I'm working on right now.

It's based on an old medieval song, and the German is "You promised to dance with me, and you have broken your word." In my opinion, very fitting for the danse macabre aesthetic of death playing a fiddle. I'll definitely have the scale up death and probably mess with the lettering so it fits together a bit better, but that comes later.

Tomorrow I'll post some more things I've done.]]>