Selkath's Typewriter

Apparently, I'm Not Attentive

2010-01-07T05:58:53Z

Turns out, Trell recently got another title, "the Patient", for running 50 random groups through the Dungeon Finder. She's done 72 so far, and if I do another 28 she gets the Perky Pug pet.

I can name him after Watson's dog!

Trell's Musings: Kel'Theras, Maenus, and the Marked

2010-01-07T04:59:02Z

Leaning against the wall in the corner of the Wayfarer's, smoking her pipe with some agitation and holding the evening paper open in her hands, Trell mulled over the curiosity of Kel'Theras.

An elven priest, the man was all but that which he first appeared; what one tended to mistake for naïvete was, in truth, a cunning mind that had overcome trying times, and gave its presence away only by subtle signals. Subtle, but nonetheless present. Walking along the streets of Silvermoon earlier, after losing the Blood Knight they had been chasing to receive information, she had taken the time to watch him closely, and convey her observations. They had been right, he had told her, but she feared she had scared him away. Not the finest hobby to exercise upon but the second meeting, indeed . . .

The first thing Trell had noticed was the field of calming benevolence the man worked to uphold, like background noise upon her magical senses. She equated it with the field Alexstrasza exerted, albeit on a much smaller scale; it was part of what blinded people he had just met to his true worth, something to make them accept him easier. Most, after all, would rather speak with an innocent-seeming youth than a sharp, experienced man. It was like a child slipping unannounced where a man would have been detained; slipping into confidence.

The second, as she had deduced from his gait and countenance, was that he was a military man, and knew quite well how to defend himself; and, looking at both this and his eyes, had seen much, both of war and pain. She had explained to him that he walked with confidence, with a firm assurance that regular civilians, untouched by troubles, did not have. Could not have, even. He had replied that he was a Confessor of the Argent Recon, a commander, of sorts, fighting against the Kel'thuzad-lead Cult of the Damned.

She had asked him about the pain she guessed at, too, and found herself right on that count, as well; after all, how could one that had lived as he had not lost? They had parted company when he excused himself because he had duties to attend to; and Trell remained, uncertain whether the excuse was sincere or a way to escape scrutiny. She was leaning towards the latter, for she still sensed him near, and not traveling away to where he would be engaged in his business.

Her mind drifted away from him, however, attention overtaken by more pressing business. Maenus -- Maenus, one of the most conceited, deplorable Blood Knights on the force, and yet, ironically and damnably, the most important person to the case of the Marked. The entire ordeal hinged on him, for he, unlike the several men and women that had been Marked by the Death Knight Trell had encountered, and unlike those that were not involved, knew and could speak of the Marks' nature. Speaking to him was utterly essential, if Trell was to help in their removal. All she knew, so far, that they were rune-like spells, cast by the Death Knight Deroxx; and, if he so chose, he could use them to put the bearers through slow and intensely painful deaths. Not, she thought, adequate information to act upon.

Despite the weight resting upon his shoulders, of which Trell was certain Maenus was aware, the Knight insisted on being true to his nature: and it was from that that their troubles stemmed. Three years had passed since Trell's unfortunate, unplanned runins with the Silvermoon law enforcement and him; yet he would not let go of his hatred of her, nor of her transgressions, and would not speak a word of the matter to her. It frustrated Trell to no end that an incompetent fool was forcing her to sit on her hands and watch as Deroxx committed murders, hidden from sight and unnoticed by the local constabulary. She could act; she could act and aid Allister and Schorl and the other affected, if only Meanus would speak.

A slight noise from the inside of her black clay pipe brought Trell back to reality, the fact that her tobacco had come to an end puilling her from her reverie. She reached into the pockets of her coat to find the pouch containing more and her pack of matches; they were soon produced, and utilized. She gazed down at the paper held limply in her hands, unread.

Silvermoon was a cesspit of arsonists and murderers. She could do little about most; none at all about some. But in this case, having been attending physician to Lord Allister after witnessing his duel in the streets with Deroxx, Trell felt obliged to interfere and bring an end to the matter.

"Arsonists," she breathed with disdain, looking up at the tavern's other patrons, and went back to reading the paper, mind half present and half not.

Tarek-- (/pretend I can write.)

2010-01-06T17:19:03Z

[[I imagine I don't do this guy justice. Oh, well.]]

---

Despite all that had lead up to the moment, and the age of this new potential employer, Seish was still intimidated by the man sitting across from her at the table her. What he lacked in stature or physical strength he made up in character and ruthlessness; the sharp, determined features and fiendishly intelligent eyes staring out from underneath grayed hair spoke, to any sane mind, of immense danger. Like the brilliant colors of a poisonous frog, his gaze sent the clear message: you do not want to mess with me.

They were seated in a room bare save for their table and a large holoscreen on the wall, now dark and inactive. A blank-faced, silent man in the dark blue uniform worn by Hyperion operatives served stim-tea in banal glass mugs, which neither the old man nor Seish touched. The silence held fast until the man departed. Seish thought, fervently, Just another intelligence operation. It doesn't matter who he is, as long as I don't do anything to piss him off. Just another employer.

Finally, after the door had slid shut and fastened with an almost inaudible click, the man -- Tarek by name -- spoke. His voice was low and almost gravelly, but not so much that it grated on the ears. "I understand you are specialized in intelligence gathering. I had my own intelligence study your background extensively before selecting you for this task . . ." Seish stroked one of her hanging jowls, webbed fingers running along the smooth surface with ease, a reaction to stress and being away from Manaan's humidity for so long. Tarek spoke with his hands clasped resolutely upon the table. The stim-tea steamed, ignored.

Without pausing for a response, Tarek continued: "There are a group of individuals roaming in the galaxy that continually threaten my operations. They are a threat that must be neutralized . . ." He paused, took in a breath. For the first time, emotion crossed his features; emotion that Seish recognized as hatred, despite having spent a rather limited amount of time among humans. "They have stopped me at every turn. They destroyed all I had -- took my planet, my people away from me, and left them to die at the hands of our enemies. I shall never have what I had again. Even more important to me than stopping interference is revenge; simple, bloody revenge. Revenge may be a petty thing; but they have taken from me, and have not for one moment regretted it. And for that," he breathed in again, a raspy noise, "I will destroy them, one by one."

His words had remained calm and even, but even so Seish could feel the intense, heavy rage emanating from the man. For several moments, his knuckles showed white against the table as he clenched his hands together in anger. "However," he went on, his tone firmly under control, "They have acquired some advanced technology that has made them very hard for me to trace. I want to watch them -- more closely than I do now. I want someone on the inside." Seish leaned forward, attentive: this was the part she had to care about. An employer's motives were beside the point; only the actual work mattered, and, more importantly, the wealth of that employer.

"You want me to infiltrate their group and travel with them?" she asked. Were she human, she would have perhaps raised her eyebrows as a show of curiosity. As it were, she merely watched Tarek, expectant.

"Yes," he said, shortly. "I have discovered their next destination, and I am ready to spare no expense to get you aboard their flagship. You were already told the wage I offered, as well, I believe?" Seish nodded; the man that had discreetly approached her with the offer had named an enormous sum, so much larger than all the other offers she had recently gotten that she was captivated immediately.

"Here is information to prime you on the members of the group." Tarek reached inside one of his uniform's pockets and slid a holocron across to Seish. "Study it thoroughly, but it must not leave the base. If they found such an object on your person, it would compromise your position entirely." Seish nodded, and pocketed the holocron in turn.

Tarek began describe his plan for getting Seish to the group, and she continued to listen, pondering the mystery of this man who seemed so powerful, having near-endless resources at his disposal, yet was so bothered by this group of individuals.

Were they so impressive, then, if they could bring rage to one of the great powers of the galaxy? It would be an interesting assignment, indeed.

The Fishing Goblin Bulletin

2010-01-05T23:20:00Z

Why Can't I . . .

2010-01-05T20:34:31Z

. . . have someplace quiet to write, I ask?

It is impossible to concentrate on the mood you're trying to create when dishes are clanging and children are screaming every five minutes at the top of their lungs on the floor above (or on the other side of the door.) The television is an even more horrible destroyer of All Ideas Worthy of Being Written, thoroughly spoiling a darker mood when children's cartoons are playing.

Grahhh.

I've also figured out the mystery of why I so seldom pick up my saxophone to play; all the things I have to do just to get it playing semi-properly are burdensome. I cannot merely take it out and play, as some people can (violinists, for example, or even trumpeters.) I have to get out the mouth piece, the reed, wash both, put them together, stick them onto the neck, put the neck into the saxophone, adjust and clip in the neck piece, and warm up the metal so that it is in tune. And when I'm likely to practice for no more than a half an hour, it hardly seems worth the effort . . .

Music (Dammit, Jim, It's Not As Shallow As You Think!)

2010-01-05T08:24:46Z

There is listening to music, and then there is truly listening.

The difference is indiscernible to most people who have not had musical training, it seems, but whether you really listen or not can make a very serious difference in whether you enjoy the song or not.

Anyway, to explain the difference itself, and what I mean: to "listen" without truly interpreting is to listen to the music while doing something else, splitting your attention. You could even be singing to the tune and still not actually listen to it -- often, to actually listen, you need to close your eyes and block out all distractions.

Truly listening is this: you can tell all the instruments playing apart, tell apart the melody and the counter-melody and the harmony and base line. You can fully take in the emotion or power or both that the tune is meant to convey, and what may have sounded as a racket can sound well-sculpted if you, say, focus on a single instrument among the array. A powerful piece can petrify, if you listen in the right manner. I wish people understood why I can be so very awed by Giacchino or Zimmer; it is because what the composer creates is not just the tune you hum, but all the tunes underlying it as well. The composer writes out a part for every instrument, not just the lead. Music is one of the three greatest stimulants on the human brain; and yet 70% of the people that hear it do not recognize how enrapturing it can be.

Some people seem to know and understand this, but most do not. It's really a shame.

Sherlawk Additional Note--

2010-01-05T05:11:36Z

Having just returned from my third viewing of the Sherlock Holmes movie, I have but this to add to my review:

--It isn't like Holmes to pick up the hat of someone he's just knocked out and wear it.
--He isn't quite as scattered as he comes off. Yes, he lives in a deplorable mess, but no, he wouldn't forget his revolver in an important situation . . . (unless he meant to leave it and take his hunting crop instead, of course.) Though leaving the stove on and generally terrorizing Missus Hudson . . . probably.

As for myself:
--Going to the theatre after the matinee costs rather too much more.
--I should never ask for salt on my pretzel. And warn them about not drowning it in butter . . . I had to get at least six napkins to stem the flow of oil on the way to my seat.

Point -- Bloody Hollywood

2010-01-04T05:48:39Z

I figured I'd copy this down to support what I said below -- Hollywood inserted a romance with Irene where none should've been . . .

"To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen, but as a lover he would have placed himself in a false position. He never spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe and a sneer. They were admirable things for the observer -- excellent for drawing the veil from men's motives and actions. But for the trained reasoner to admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finely adjusted temperament was to induce a distracting factor which might throw a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in a sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power lenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong emotion in a nature such as his. And yet there was but one woman to him, and that woman was the late Irene Adler, of dubious and questionable memory."

"It was not that he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler." HEAR THAT, HOLLYWOOD? DO YA'?

Also. THIS. THIS!

Ah, Putrefaction!

2010-01-04T03:46:19Z

Click.

"My mind rebels at stagnation . . ."

Good Company

2010-01-03T07:38:10Z

I love hanging out for hours on end with people that actually share my interests and don't laugh at me for liking Warcraft and role playing (and who actually understand why my avid love of role playing might actually exist. Or what the crap role playing is, for that matter.)

Lookin' at you, Zingzo. Gee. Everyone else, too . . . at least Darth D. actually has an inkling of my videogamer leanings.

Fun Times--

2010-01-02T08:13:40Z

Having the most fantastic role play in ages through party with Regranaam and Arenok, in a very late-1800s English pub-like place, served by goblins, dirty, with a boxing ring in the basement, and crammed with sailors of various races! Listening to the Rocky Road to Dublin, for it is most fitting! (Also just a little bit of the Sherlock Holmes soundtrack.)

Hee, hee, hee. I love storytelling.

Watching Movies Alone

2010-01-02T06:23:23Z

Since I feel like I've been doing a lot of that, lately, I thought I'd note on it.

I love watching movies alone. It means that I can earnestly laugh and cry as much as I want, and sing along to wonderful soundtracks. (Ah, Giacchino!) And you know when you laugh alone that what you're seeing really is funny, for you're not laughing with the crowd. The movie theater does fairly well, though I can hardly be as loud; and watching movies on the big screen eternally makes me wish I could own one for my own viewing purposes. Should I ever become flamboyantly rich, I'll make sure that my first move, after securing good insurance, is to get a house with my very own big screen.

On the Holmes Movie (Critique, Edited--)

2010-01-01T23:14:48Z

Well, I promised a rant on it, and here it is. (Gosh, this got long.) I'll cover the not-so-well-done points first:

--Robert Downey Jr. still looks nothing like Holmes, being considerably shorter than the man who played Watson and being stocky and round-faced.
--Robert Downey Jr. doesn't have the best English accent. At times, it's hard to understand what he's saying.
--The description and things discovered from the watch parallel what was discovered by Holmes about Watson's older brother when the latter gave him his pocket watch to test his observational powers. (Maybe this was just for geeks such as myself to notice?)
--Irene Adler really shouldn't have been in love with Holmes. That was just Hollywood being Hollywood. (He shouldn't reciprocate, either.)
--Also, her name is likely supposed to be pronounced "Irene-ee", because she is German.
--When the explosion of the barrels occurred near the slaughterhouse, it is my opinion that Holmes would have in fact been more likely to dive for Watson and not for Irene. Hollywood, Hollywood . . .
--Holmes has never been quite as violent as he ended up being, though the methodical and medically enlightened way in which he fights is generally true to his nature.
--Holmes never actively fought against Watson marrying Mary. Mary was also not as surely in love with Watson as one may have expected.
--Holmes' attitude wasn't perfectly done, though the lethargy and the mess he lives in while not on a case was well-demonstrated. The violin was utilized quite properly.
--Holmes' use of cocaine to avoid the everyday drudgery of life is never mentioned, probably because it would be seen as a bad influence in modern-day U.S. culture.
--Very minor pronunciation mistakes on the lines spoken in French, I think.
--It isn't like Holmes to pick up the hat of someone he's just knocked out and wear it.
--He isn't quite as scattered as he comes off. Yes, he lives in a deplorable mess, but no, he wouldn't forget his revolver in an important situation . . . (unless he meant to leave it and take his hunting crop instead, of course.) Though leaving the stove on and generally terrorizing Missus Hudson . . . probably.
--I'm not totally sure, but Holmes' only picture of Irene may be supposed to have the King of Bohemia in it.
--When quoting an actual line from the book (twisting facts to suit theories, etc.) Downey says something like "inevitably" or something of that nature, instead of "insensibly."

Neutral Things:
--I love the fact that I'm so geeky so as to recognize that a handkerchief monogrammed with "IA" would stand for Irene Adler.
--I was surprised that the movie wasn't made after Moriarty's death at Riechenbach Falls. Perhaps they want to make a second movie . . . ?

Good Stuff!:
--I loved the musical soundtrack. Possibly the thing that really made the movie. Absolutely fantastic! Viva le Hans Zimmer!! Bravo! It was masterfully done with a string orchestra and minimal action from a tuba and other such instruments. (Much of the soundtrack here. My personal favorites were "Discombobulate", "I Never Woke Up in Handcuffs Before", "My Mind Rebels at Stagnation", "Panic, Sheer, Bloody Panic" and "Is It Poison, Nanny?" And, uh . . . almost everything, basically! "My Mind Rebels at Stagnation" is probably best, however.)
--I was very happy that the attacks in the movie were not, in fact, supernatural, but stuck to the pragmatic nature of Conan Doyle's stories. No Shadows Over Baker Street, thank you!
--The way the mood was set by everything being off gray/blue/black was wonderfully done.
--The carnival sequence where he is tailing Adler; it correctly demonstrated that Holmes' was a master of disguise (Watson once even said that by Holmes being a detective, the stage lost a master. It's also been noted, of course, that it's a fine thing that Holmes works with the law and not against it.)
--Downey does have a good tone of voice. If you just closed your eyes and listened, it was very much Holmes-like.
--Holmes did indeed know some about boxing, and preferred the hunting crop above all other weapons.
--Watson looked good! I think he was done best, sticking very close to his nature and actual appearance. He never did have a swordstick, though, and he actually liked accompanying Holmes on his adventures.

So, in conclusion: perhaps not a completely orthodox Sherlock Holmes movie, and with Holmes represented differently, a fun watch! Especially for the music.

Ahhhh, Holmes. I've been a die-hard fan since I was five -- no wonder I'm a sucker for all things Sherlock! Perhaps this production should be considered an alternate universe of Sherlock Holmes.

Happy 2:17 Hours After the New Year's Beginning!

2010-01-01T09:16:08Z

I must confess that I completely and utterly missed the moment when 2009 became 2010 because I was doing -- can you guess what? -- because I was watching Star Trek 2009 AGAIN.

And had a positively awesome time of it, too. I just adore that movie! /cling. I am sososo happy I own it now. I think it might be the only movie I actually have to my name. Abrams and Giacchino and everyone else knows how to make a movie!

Whooo!

Holmes + Happy New Year!

2010-01-01T06:34:11Z

Well, I went and saw the Sherlock Holmes movie today. Though there are still things strange and a bit off in the movie, I thoroughly enjoyed it overall. Holmes' personality and way of doing things was portrayed very well after the beginning (which was a bit rough.) I'll rant more about that later. Re-reading the complete collection right now.

A half an hour here until 2010! D. called from the future (East Coast time.)

Sitting alone at home.

Writer's Block: To auld lang syne

2009-12-31T22:46:52Z

Do you usually call your friends and/or family on New Year's Eve? Do you watch the countdown or ball drop on TV or choose to ignore it? What are your favorite New Year traditions?

View 545 Answers

Do I call friends/family: Marginally. Sometimes accidentally. I only call a friend in Atlanta on purpose, because it's fun to call someone that's already in the next year while you're still in this one. (I'm calling from the past!)

Ball drop: Nope. Never seen it.

Favorite tradition: PvP raiding Darkshore/other Alliance towns and watching fireworks in Warcraft at every major city. This all occurs in the basement, of course. Such win.

This is What Your Evil Corporation REALLY Does

2009-12-30T18:49:22Z

On another note (one that might actually mean something to half the people that bother to read my ranting) I can't find my lousy bottle of Dungeons and Dragons dice anywhere, despite having searched through the boxes under the stairs, the Box of Neverending Random Objects under my bed, and the bookshelves. They used to be all over the place, too . . . grah.

Light as Air (Sketch)

2009-12-29T18:14:14Z

Click.

For some reason, I love the way Tails turned out in this sketch . . .

If I can drag myself through inking this, it'll be all rainbow-colored and shiny. But I'd best finish Watson first, right?

Yes, I'm That Freaking Lame.

2009-12-29T16:39:14Z

Click.

They changed a bunch of stuff for starting Sin'dorei. Mages and Warlocks get cool staves now, and hunters get axes . . . and you don't have to do a quest to get an Imp. That makes me sad.

Thank you for the volume of Sherlock Holmes stories, S! /cling to Conan Doyle works--

My Dear Watson (Lines Only)

2009-12-29T04:35:21Z

This probably needs some explanation. Okay, a lot of explanation.

To begin with, it has nothing to do with the new movie. I haven't even seen that yet, and if I do, it'll be only to severely criticize and trash it on my LiveJournal, because I am not impressed. (I could go into a very long rant on who they chose to act out Sherlock Holmes alone, but I won't, for any reader's sake.)

Anyway, Neil Gaiman, British author and now one of the Baker Street Irregulars, wrote a short story called "A Study in Emerald", something of a crossover between Conan Doyle's work and the Cthulhu Mythos (it was published in Shadows Over Baker Street, which focused on such crossovers, as well as in Neil Gaiman's Fragile Things). It's partly based on the original "A Study in Scarlet", and initially leads the reader to believe that the story is being narrated by the familiar Dr. John Watson and focuses on beloved Sherlock Holmes. It's written in the same manner and has largely the same feel, but the universe is strangely altered -- royalty are monstrous and green blooded, and the moon is red. In the end, you find that the murderers involved in the case are, in fact, "Sherry Vernet" and Dr. John/James Watson. Certain aspects of the story suggest that the Sherlock Holmes-like main character may have, in fact, been Moriarty, albeit living on Baker Street.

But, knowing that, how it pertains to this picture: the royal person murdered in the story was cut open explicitly, leaving his blood all over the room, and the murder having been done by Holmes and Watson, for some reason, suggested to me some kind of terrifying, cyborgian surgical doctor that can use his tools for much more than surgery.

This is just the lineart. I'll put up the finished work soon, it's half-colored so far.

( . . . I kept wanting to write Wilson. Because darnit, House M.D. is entirely based off of Sherlock Holmes in the first place, and the sidekicks are very alike as well!)

My sincere apologies to the real Watson, who was much, much nicer and more likeable.

Nostalgic Things.

2009-12-28T05:37:36Z

Furiel got me a Kinder Surprise, mainly to go with the whole load of chocolate that Non-Secular Santa Day demanded. I haven't seen one of these in years.

Totally Epic

2009-12-27T18:56:19Z

I figured I'd share, because I thought it was pretty darn cool . . . I was doing Utgarde Pinnacle just now, with not the best tank, (not horrible, but not the best.) The first time we take a shot at King Ymiron, I get killed by trash mobs (huh? Why? I don't know.) The second time, they start while I'm still corpse running -- and the DPS shaman manages to keep up the tank until I get there, running through the entire instance. I jump in just as his health is near the end, and we finish. And Ymiron drops an epic sword. So whoo.

Non-secular Santa Day/Christmas

2009-12-25T17:53:43Z

Well, I got my new Warcraft Daily Calendar (only six days left on the old one! Soon we're going to have to write 2010 instead of 09, darnit!), Fragile Things by Neil Gaiman, and a pair of gloves. Also, if you count the fact that I failed to give Furiel a good gift and therefore ended up being forced to keep it (Furiel insists she's the worst possible person to buy gifts for, because the only things she wants are very, very expensive . . .), I got a House wall calendar. (I'm getting something better for her for New Years, I say. Goodbye, money.)

. . . /cling--

Paresh?

2009-12-25T17:50:34Z

Would this work for what you asked me? (Though my shading is way off . . . I can't draw well, lately . . .)

Or did you want something or someone specific/an original character? I'm awful at creating the latter, but I sure could try.

Apparently, Santa Claus is a Retailer

2009-12-25T17:34:20Z

You think children would ponder the plausibility of the Santa Claus story upon seeing that their gifts from Santa are pre-packaged and also sold at Wal-Mart. No, Santa definitely doesn't whip up all his gifts at the (inhabitable . . .) North Pole.

Which is why I think we should change the story so that Santa buys toys from all the warehouses in the world, and then delivers them to you . . . disrupting the economy by not paying for all those thousands of gifts. Wonderful holiday image, right?