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Patreon Post: Gods and Magicians

Woodblock by Bertha Lum.
Woodblock by Bertha Lum.
This piece of fiction is brought to you by my awesome Patreon backers, who get bonuses like versions of new books, peeks at story drafts, and sundry other offerings. If backing me’s not in your budget, you can still sign up for my newsletter and get news of posts, classes, and publications as they appear.

This is a piece of flash fiction written last year – I just got around to going through the notebook it was in lately and transcribing the fictional bits. This didn’t take too much cleaning up. For context, think of the hills of southern California, and a writing retreat with no other human beings around, and thinking a great deal about fantasy and epic fantasy at the time.

Is this a Tabat story? Naw. Just a little flash piece.

On the Nature of Gods and Magicians

The magician gestured. Out of the pool came musicians, the very first thing the tip of a flute, sounding, so it was as though the music pulled the musician forth, accompanied by others: grave-faced singers and merry drummers; guitarists and mandolinists with great dark eyes in which all the secrets of the moon were written; and one great brassy instrument made of others interlocked, so it took six to play it, all puffing away at their appointed mouthpiece. All of them bowed down to the priestess who stood watching, her sand-colored eyes impersonal and face stone-smooth.

“Very pretty,” she said, and yawned with a feline grace, perhaps even accentuating the similarity in a knowing way with a head tilt.

The magician smiled, just as catlike, just as calm. “You can do better, I am sure,” he said.

She shrugged, her manner diffident, but rather than reply, she pursed her lips and whistled. Birds formed, swooping down, and wherever they flew, they erased a swathe of the musicians, left great arcs of nothingness hanging as the seemingly oblivious players continued, their music slowly diminishing as they vanished, the instruments going one by one. The last thing to hang, trembling in the air, was an unaccompanied hand, holding up a triangle that emitted not a sound.

Landing, the birds began to sing. Though the music was not particularly sweet, there was a naturalness about it that somehow rebuked the mechanical precision of the song theirs succeeded. As they sang, more and more birds appeared, and the music swelled, washing like a river over the pair where they stood.

The priestess patted the air with the flat of her hand and the birds winked out of existence, leaving the two of them in a great white room, the antechamber of her temple.

“Will you go further in, then?” she said, her voice still casual.

The magician’s eyes were green as new grass and the black beard on his chin, which grew to a double point, was oiled and smelled of attar-of-roses. He considered her as though this was the smallest of debates, and finally stepped forward.

“We are still evenly matched,” he said.

She inclined her head and replied, “But my strength will only swell as we go deeper, and we have far to go before we reach the center of My Lady’s temple.”

His grin spread, as though encouraged by her lack of smile. As though he had some secret hidden about himself and was unafraid to admit it. She forced an expression to match it, and they stood there smiling at each other in hostility for some moments before she stepped aside and gestured him on.

The tunnels were made of adamant and alabaster, concentric rings that shrank then grew larger, then shrank and grew again and again until it was as though they walked inside an immense, undulating worm.

As they walked, they cast spells at each other, dueling lightly, a magical clash and flicker of blades with a deadly energy at its heart. This was a long quarrel between them, the strength of his magic and the might of her goddess, from whom all her power was borrowed. He maintained that while they might be well-matched, the fact was that she, a conduit, could never resonate to the degree of cosmic energy that he, a producer of such energy, could.

She had at one point asked him why it mattered. They’d been drinking in a tavern, an ordinary tavern where adventurers came. They both liked to come and watch those parties, scarred by magic and monsters, assemble and spin stories a thousand times more dangerous than any foe they had to face.

“It matters because there must always be an answer to such questions,” he said with decisiveness, not pausing a moment to think. “If there are no answers, then all in life is random.”

“Could not some of it be random?” she asked, wistfully.

He shook his head. “Randomness is the refuge of the feebleminded who cannot handle answers.” He paused when he saw her flinch. “Not you of course.”

“Of course,” she echoed.

Now they paced along and she put that conversation from her mind.

In the end they came out in a vast courtyard, in a cavern that stretched so far overhead that it would have swallowed a cathedral. The image of the goddess was carved into that ceiling, her arms outstretched, seeming to encompass everything, her serene face beaming down.

The priestess stepped aside, looking to the magician, for he had defeated her every effort along the way. Now they had come to the confrontation he desired.

He stared upward, and for a moment his face seemed daunted. Then he sneered and tugged at the necklace around his throat.

“Face me in direct challenge, you sham,” he said. “The gods are nothing but those with more power than ourselves, and this artefact will amplify mine till I can throw you down unhindered.”

“Indeed you can,” the stone lips said, in a voice sweet and merry and powerful. “For I am less than my handmaiden, much less indeed.”

He frowned. “She is your channel.”

“Ah, no,” said the Goddess. One great hand stretched itself from the ceiling and began to descend towards him. “You have misunderstood the nature of gods entirely.”

Sparks danced from his fingers, formed shining columns all around him, but the massive fingers disregarded them.

“They are not our channels,” she said as the hand closed around him. “Rather, we are theirs.”

And across the world, every worshipper lifted their head, and every priestess stopped, as the Goddess swallowed the magician whole, and then gave him to them, disassembled into fuel for their own magic, and then smiled, and began the climb back towards the ceiling and her accustomed position there.

But the priestess sighed, looking at the spot where the magician had been, and only his shadow remained. He had been good company, now and again, and now he was only embers in her heart.

5 Responses

  1. What a great story, especially if it was off the cuff! I do read quite a bit of short stories and flash fiction or anthologies of some combination of both. Thank you again for another great read.

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On The Treatment of Coders

Dog in a ladybug costume
Coders can seem like odd creatures sometimes. Under that ladybug costume, though, they're as human as you or I.
This article originally appeared in the now-defunct online magazine Imaginary Realities. It talks about MUD administration, and draws on my experience working with Armageddon MUD, the world of Zalanthas. For those who don’t know what a MUD is, it’s a text-based roleplaying game. Here’s the wikipedia article on MUDs.

One of the sad truths of the mud world is that there are never enough coders. Builders aplenty, brimming with fresh idealism and plans for entire zones, appear (and sometimes disappear) at the drop of a hat. But coders are the unicorns of the mudding world, seldom glimpsed and ardently pursued. We are lucky enough to have three dedicated coders on Armageddon MUD: Morgenes, Tenebrius and Tiernan, as well as a few other staff members willing and able to wade through the bugs file and tinker with things upon occasion. How, then, does an administrator keep these rare beasts happy? The following four steps may help.

1) Communicate: When asking for new code, try to let the coders know exactly what is desired. For example, instead of ‘Let’s make archery more complicated,” a staff member might propose “Let’s put a range on archery, so the farther away the target is, the harder it is to shoot it.” A full description of the the idea, perhaps including examples, such as fake logs showing what the idea will look like when being used, helps make sure the originator of the idea and the coder are on the same track as far as things like syntax and usage are concerned.

The same holds true for bugs. Describing how it’s supposed to work as well to how it’s working right now helps clarify ideas. Coders want to know if the bug is REALLY a bug, or something being reported because it doesn’t work as the reporter feels it should.

With bugs, give the coders as much information as possible, including how to reproduce the bug. Examples by way of logs are great, and if they include some form of error message (or message that they’re getting that shows it’s an error), it often allows the coder to track down what section of the code needs to be worked on.

Make sure people aren’t bumping into each other. On Armageddon, we’ve got a coder’s board, where people post changes as they make them. This alerts fellow team members to what they’re doing and is also helpful if unexpected bugs crop up, enabling people to track exactly what got changed and when. Two people should not be working on the same idea at once unless they know it, and can divvy up the work accordingly.

2) Have a purpose: Will it get used? Is it something players are asking for? This one is a matter of ego, but we’re all human and we all do have egos. Seeing their work getting used, regularly and as envisioned, is a reward beyond any thanks or congratulations other staff members can give a coder. Track player requests, through entries in the bugs/ideas/typos files as well as emails to the account and posts on the general discussion board in order to convince a coder that the players want, and will use, something.

Generally, with new ideas figure out how they are moving towards some goal. A piece of code like a new skill is going to sound more interesting if it fits into some overall purpose, such as a master plan of non-combat related skills for the economy than it would if it is just a random idea. You are also going to end up getting more out of the idea if it is part of a greater whole.

Make it innovative. Some coders like to be trail breakers, to feel that they’re not just playing catch-up with another mud, but are creating ideas and concepts new to the mud community. Some ideas get requested to ‘balance’ things out between groups: guilds, or races, or mount speed. When a coder starts to feel like the code they’re doing that day only works to nullify a change made last week, then they’re going to start wondering what they will be asked to implement tomorrow.

3) Share the work: Do as much of the grunt work as you can for the coders, including helping thoroughly test, providing help files and documentation, and fleshing things out. In testing, give coders information about what is not working and how to recreate the result. Be precise about what needs to be changed: not ‘the plague of locusts spell needs to do more damage’, but ‘it needs to do about twice the damage it is now.’ When something requires a new help file or modification of an existing help file, do not expect the coder to do it, but supply it yourself. If it is something that requires building, provide the items. Teamwork of this kind, when it is working well, is terrific, and will often produce amazingly cool results.

4) Appreciate: Good coders can never be praised sufficiently. We try to make sure that players know who is responsible for new and interesting changes, by posting information about them in the news as well as in our weekly update, which is a mailing our players can subscribe to, which provides information about changes, staff and world news, upcoming recommended playing times, etc. When players write in with compliments or feedback on a code change, make sure that the note gets passed along to the person , as well as that the coder knows how cool or slick you think the ideas they have implemented are as well.

There is a tendency sometimes to regard coders as resources that spit out code at request. But the fact of the matter is that treating coders in that way will frustrate both sides, leading coders to become discouraged and unmotivated to implement new ideas and builders to feel that their coding needs are not being met. These four points may help avoid such frustration.

This article originally appeared in the April 2001 issue of Imaginary Realities.
© 2002 Cat Rambo. All rights reserved.

...

Zen and the Art of Spiral-Carved Incense Burners

Stone Lantern
A stone lantern sits along the pathway, waiting to be sold to a Kadian merchant.
This essay originally appeared in the February 2001 issue of Imaginary Realities. The crafting system in Armageddon is something we worked towards for a long time. The implementation may not have been the most efficient (I still, vividly, remember making hundreds of arrow objects so we could have them with every possible color combination of fletching) but getting it into the game was a huge source of satisfaction.

One of the desires expressed at the very first Armageddon player-staff meeting I ever attended was a yen to move away from “a hack and slash economy,” where players made their income by selling the gear off NPCs (and the occasional PC) that they had killed. How, one immortal noted, could the world be realistic when there was no coded reflection of the material underpinnings of it? How to create this economic reflection was a question that remained in the air for several years, and it was not until discussion of implementing crafting code came up that such a move seemed possible.

We laid the groundwork for crafting by first creating ways to get the raw materials. I reviewed what was produced from skinning the various creatures in the game, both to make sure that players could skin most corpses and to ensure that what was being produced was reasonable. We implemented skinning difficulty: some things, such as pelts, are harder to extract from a corpse, as opposed to cuts of meat. Beyond that, we added a forage command, allowing players to find rocks and wood. Later, this was expanded to add other arguments: artifacts, salt, and roots. Forageable objects differ according to the sector type of the room and in order to make this reflect geographical differences, we added some more sector types, such as thornlands, salt flats, and ruins. Salt can only be foraged in the salt flats, for example, and roots are only available in fertile land (hard to find on a desert planet).

Once the ability to gather raw materials was in place, a couple of initial crafting skills were implemented: basket weaving and tanning. Basket weaving, admittedly, started out as a bit of a joke, but it served its purpose: to allow us to discover flaws. Both skills necessitated the creation of the objects to be crafted: a series of baskets for basket weaving, and tanned versions of various pelts and hides. With each, I tried to make sure there were incentives to use the skill: tanning a hide made it both more valuable as well as sometimes adding wear flags, while baskets included some objects that were wearable on the back or otherwise handy. I included the ability to craft an object, a numut vine sash, that had vanished from the game when the city of its origin was destroyed, and this in turn led me to wander through the database to find other objects that could be recycled and used for the code. As part of this effort, I ended up adding a component crafting skill for the magic users in the game in order to use a series of objects left over from an immortal project that had never been fully finished.

Although some objects could be recycled in this fashion, many others had to be made for the crafting code as we began to implement additional skills, including bow making, knife making, cooking, dyeing, leather working, bandage making, etc. Occasionally, obsessiveness got the better of me: after creating four different types of arrowheads, I decided that people should be able to make striped fletching for their arrows, so they could, if they wished, make arrows using their clan or House colors. This required me making some 300 or so arrow objects in a madcap building session that left me not wanting to ever type the word “arrow” again. Here, planning out the entire effort in detail ahead of time and having used a different structure for coding the items would have paid off, instead of having added bit by bit as I went along. For example, I found myself regretting the variety of gems one could forage in the game when I ended up making multiple bone dagger items, each with a different gemstone in the hilt. Having the entire structure sketched out ahead of time, rather than adding in skills as they occurred, might have been helpful, although some of the skills came from player suggestions after they’d been exposed to the new code.

As the skills began to be more fleshed out, we started making them available to the players. Cooking was a skill everyone got, while others were fitted into the skill trees (Armageddon has a branching system) where appropriate, with merchants ending up the vast beneficiaries overall, going from a possible 13 skills to 38. Some additional skills grew out of the effort, such as analyze, which allows a player to determine an item.s component parts, and armor repair.

At the same time, we added a secondary guild system, which allowed players to flesh out their backgrounds further, by adding a few skills, usually crafting. The secondary guilds were not the same as the regular guilds but intended to reflect life experiences or talents, including stone worker, bard, house servant, guard and mercenary, and I enjoyed putting the packages together in a way that made sense, such as giving the house servants pilot, flower arranging, and a high cooking skill or the mercenaries ride, knife-making and an increase in their ability to hold their liquor.

Inevitable questions and problems arose. On Armageddon, skilled merchants can often identify the style of an item via the value command, if it came from a specific region or culture, and in order to accommodate this, I made the crafting of some items dependent on materials available to only those groups. Shopkeepers began to be glutted with some items (nothing is sadder than a Kadian merchant laden with nothing but spiral-carved green marble incense burners), but this allowed us to check and adjust item prices by monitoring the shops to see what items were appearing at what costs.

For example, since wood is more expensive in Allanak than in the Northlands, some players were cashing in wildly by making and selling wooden spears to House Salarr, which I hadn’t realized would happen till I noticed them selling for 300 sid (Armageddon uses obsidian for its coinage) in the shops.

The experiment still continues and new items, many contributed by players, are added every few weeks. Currently, there are some 3000+ possibilities, crafting wise, coded, and there are still gaps. When I initially did the dyes, for example, I left out the color orange, which means that I keep getting inquiries about implementing variations with that color from the players. The fact that it would require writing up another 300 or so objects has stopped me so far, however. But the players are using the code right and left, and some are actually supporting their characters with it. Though there is still a limited market for incense burners.

...

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