Furthermore, Thanos said that the Universe is finite. How would he know? The observable universe is only approximately 14 Billion Light Years in radius. Do we know that the Universe didn't keep expanding past that horizon? I think that not only did it continue to expand, but that it's still expanding.
This is almost certainly true. The major issue (from what I can tell) is that the universe has a kind of "point of no return" in both time and space, beyond which the eventual expansion will make it so that the "observable universe" actually shrinks as time goes on as the more far-flung bits get ever-more-far-flung. That said, the parts that are close enough to be bound together by gravity beyond the most basic will eventually head towards each other to collect in a really, really big galaxy-like thing (totally the scientific term, I swear)... point being that eventually, you're going to run out of all that extra space.
So... making portals, I guess, to reach the further-out stuff is another thing that needs doing. Sheesh, the universe, I feel like the maid - I just cleaned up in here, can you stop having eventual breakdowns? No? Sigh.
That's where we camels have an advantage over apefolk, er, humans. By securing our spines with four supports rather than two, our frame supports double the mammaries that humans have.
You know how some superheros are named after animals, like Batman or Antman or Squirrelgirl?
I've invented a superhero of my own. Herculesbeetleperson. With all the proportionate speed and strength of a hercules beetle!
Speaking of proportionate strength, that's really just a misunderstanding of the squared cubed law. It's entertaining to note that Elephantperson would probably be weaker and slower than just regular Humanbloke. (No hard numbers on elephant abilities, though. I mean, I could probably find them, but . . . eh.)
That said, how was everyone's American Excess Day? Did you enjoy being a mindless consumerist in a absurdly wealthy nation as much as I did?
*wonders if mentioning Charlie the Unicorn is too close to being a sequitur, decides to play it safe and link to a Wikipedia article on swear words instead*
So, this guy walks into a fast food joint. And he sees a pirate sitting at one of the tables. A big, scary pirate with a scary pirate hat and a scary pirate beard, resplendent in pirate garb and equipped with an eye patch, a hook hand, and a peg leg.
Looking closer at the pirate, the guy realizes that he knows the pirate! The went to high school together.
Sitting at the table, the guy says, "Dave? It's been forever!"
The pirate says, "Aye, that be my name, though most be calling me Captain Piratebeard these days."
"Wow," quoth the guy. "We have got to catch up. Say, where did you get that peg leg?"
Captain Piratebeard shakes his head furiously, remembering. "A shark bit it off!" he exclaims.
"Sounds painful. And that hook for a hand, what happened there?"
"Lost it in battle!" exclaims the grizzled pirate.
"Oof. Tough luck. What about the eye patch? What's the story behind that?"
"Uh . . ." Captain Piratebeard looks uncomfortable. "To tell ye the truth, a seagull pooped in me eye."
The guy winces sympathetically. "Ow. But I don't see that you'd lose the eye."
1d4 goblin babies ask, "Who's that at the door?" {presses doorbell button hidden on desk}
Cook wrote:
There’s a third concept that we took from Magic-style rules design, though. Only with six years of hindsight do I call the concept “Ivory Tower Game Design.” (Perhaps a bit of misnomer, but it’s got a ring to it.) This is the approach we took in 3rd Edition: basically just laying out the rules without a lot of advice or help. This strategy relates tangentially to the second point above. The idea here is that the game just gives the rules, and players figure out the ins and outs for themselves — players are rewarded for achieving mastery of the rules and making good choices rather than poor ones.
Perhaps as is obvious from the name I’ve coined for this rules writing style, I no longer think this is entirely a good idea. I was just reading a passage from a recent book, and I found it rather obtuse. But it wasn’t the writer’s fault. He was just following the lead the core books offered him. Nevertheless, the whole thing would have been much better if the writer had just broken through the barrier this kind of design sets up between designer and player and just told the reader what the heck he was talking about.
To continue to use the simplistic example above, the Toughness feat could have been written to make it clear that it was for 1st-level elf wizards (where it is likely to give them a 100 percent increase in hit points). It’s also handy when you know you’re playing a one-shot session with 1st-level characters, like at a convention (you sure don’t want to take item creation feats in such an instance, for example).
Ivory Tower Game Design requires a two-step process on the part of the reader. You read the rule, and then you think about how it fits in with the rest of the game. There’s a moment of understanding, and then a moment of comprehension. That’s not a terrible thing, but neither is just providing the reader with both steps, at least some of the time.
Most people sleep about seven or eight hours a night. That leaves 16 or 17 hours awake each day. Or about 1,000 minutes.
Let’s think about those 1,000 minutes as 100 10-minute blocks. That’s what you wake up with every day.
Throughout the day, you spend 10 minutes of your life on each block, until you eventually run out of blocks and it’s time to go to sleep.
It’s always good to step back and think about how we’re using those 100 blocks we get each day. How many of them are put towards making your future better, and how many of them are just there to be enjoyed? How many of them are spent with other people, and how many are for time by yourself? How many are used to create something, and how many are used to consume something? How many of the blocks are focused on your body, how many on your mind, and how many on neither one in particular? Which are your favorite blocks of the day, and which are your least favorite?
Imagine these blocks laid out on a grid. What if you had to label each one with a purpose?
You’d have to think about everything you might spend your time doing in the context of its worth in blocks. Cooking dinner requires three blocks, while ordering in requires zero—is cooking dinner worth three blocks to you? Is 10 minutes of meditation a day important enough to dedicate a block to it? Reading 20 minutes a night allows you to read 15 additional books a year—is that worth two blocks? If your favorite recreation is playing video games, you’d have to consider the value you place on fun before deciding how many blocks it warrants. Getting a drink with a friend after work takes up about 10 blocks. How often do you want to use 10 blocks for that purpose, and on which friends? Which blocks should be treated as non-negotiable in their labeled purpose and which should be more flexible? Which blocks should be left blank, with no assigned purpose at all?
Now imagine a similar grid, but one where each block is labeled exactly how you spent it yesterday.
The question to ask is: How are the two grids different from each other, and why?
Asmodeus's Advocate here, with Diomedes Ilika, dhampir fighter (steelbound). I'll get a more complete backstory up when I finish drafting it, and I'll be adding stats to his alias some time tonight.
appearances:
Diomedes Ilika is a short man with long and uncared for hair, pallid skin, and a scruffy beard. His irises are white, but with pronounced limbal rings.
He dresses in drab colors and tries not to call attention to himself, with the exception of his bright yellow red ribboned straw hat. And the monster of a scythe that he usually carries slung over one shoulder, or drags behind him, though it can be strapped to his belt. Other than that and the hat, he doesn't stand out at all.
He walks with a stiff shuffle-hop gait, which tends to unease people.
vignets:
A weathered straw hat, with a dark red band, floated down the main street just below eye level.
Takes were doubled, and the optical illusion shattered. There was a man beneath the hat, a short grey man. His skin palid, his long hair white as dirty snow, his threadbare traveling cloak grey and brown in patches. The overall effect was that of not existing, exepting his hat with it’s striking red ribbon, the man faded perfectly into the dreary Ustalavian landscape.
In Ustalav, it doesn’t pay to trust strangers. YOu can never tell who may be a withch, a witchwolf, or worse. The stranger eyed the people sitting on their stoops with equal distrust. That was probably a good sign. Meant he was unsure of himself.
Stiffly, the strange man with the strange hat clamored up the steps of the general store. He opened the door softly, closing it behind him.
Curious and wary eyes turned back on themselves and each other. Words were spoken, murmured, hushed. The silence remained unbroken.
-
Diomedes Ilika sits crosslegged on a rock as the sunsight lights the sky orange and red.
He stares intently at the scythe laying flat in his hands. It’s impossible to mistake this weapon for a farm tool. The blade, an impractically sized crescent of some blood-red metal. Likely stained steel. Dio didn’t know. The haft black and polished, though in all the years he’d carried the weapon Dio’d never so much as run a rag over it.
Gibeous, Lorimor had named it.
Idly, Dio wondered what the scythe was thinking.
Of course, he had no way of telling. The scythe’s mind was it’s, and Dio’s was his own. For all the good it’d done him.
He had the professor to thank for that.
”I’m not doing this for charity,” the then young wizard had said, those decades ago, interrupting Diomede’s profuse gratitude. ”I might need your, and Gibeous’s, talents at some future date. I trust you’ll come through for me.”
Debts come due, Dio thinks to himself, standing abruptly and casting Gibeous to the ground. Almost imediately, his hands start shaking and a dull throb builds between his temples. Fumbling, he draws from his cloak a flask, taking a drink to steady himself.
He stands, swaying, with Gibeous at his feet, and watches the sun fall beneath the horizon. Fists clenched, knees shaking, until the last bit of day gives way to the night. Only then does he retrieve the scythe, weakness and headache immediately relieved.
With a hand loosely bracing the cursed weapon on his shoulder, Diomedes Ilika shuffles towards Ravengrow, straw hat standing out against the night.