Hole in the sky?

My name is Major, and my heart is black and full of hate...

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Syntax Sundays - Part One

I'm going to post a little bit of our book each Sunday, see if anyone likes it. And you better fucking like it.

Chapter I

Green Smoke

'Welcome to the fair city of Boldhome. Please choose a path: You may go North, South, East or West. To the East is the pawn shop; to the North is a path that winds its way through the town proper; to the South is a path exiting the city; to the West is the Thieves Guild. What is your next action my lord? (n, s, e, w)'

Geoff Hendricks saw his reflection in the computer monitor staring back at him. Dark hair hanging in his green eyes reflecting in the screen. His long lean frame arched over the keyboard, fingers ready and waiting for the next keystroke. Rings of smoke blown from his lips with precision float through the hot, dry air exploding and dissipating against the monitor. He could see beads of sweat reflecting, rolling down his cheek through the slightest sign of hair growth. For the first time ever, he may have to shave. What a dreary concept. Rubbing his chin and crushing his cigarette into the ashtray, he flicked his hair from his face, typing quickly with his right hand.


'North it be sir! To your west is the news paper stand with all the best local news, to the east is the bank, and to the north is the path exiting our fair city, and of course the path to the south would bring you back, whence you came. Your choice lord? (n,s,e,w)'


'West it be lord! If you like to buy a paper, the price is 5 gold pieces. Otherwise you may choose a path: To the nort...'

Before it could finish: Buy paper.

'We have your paper right here lord. Would you like to read it ? (y,n)'

Yes. But really, no.

Geoff didn't really have to think about what was to come next. Already disappointed in himself for such a foolish error, thanks mostly to his incompetent left hand that tended to miss keystrokes frequently. He had died, and wanted to see if anyone had shared his same misery within the game. At least in this, he would feel better.

'A wonderful young man bit the dust today, of level 11, and a Paladin no less! Syntax was utterly slaughtered by a pack of marauding wolves straying too far from the Castle of Ice. In other news, a boastful sprite of a thief named Griselda was poked through his gully whats in what we like to call a shish-ka-bob moment. In other news...'


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