The Devpit

Oblivion roiled. Its spiralling power whipped and twisted, propelled by winds unknown. Coils reached out and brushed the edge. The amphitheatre groaned, tilting slightly. The shadows had long since fled, even they could not stand its gnawing on their souls. Yet toward the heart of nothing something moved. The crow soared from the tunnel, lunging toward the stage. It landed beside a shattered door and pecked at the wood. A tiny glimmer of light fell from a crack. The crow snapped it up immediately. One beady eye lifted to a towering figure who had not been there a moment ago.
“Thought you'd be down here,” it croaked.
The figure gathered its robe about it. Sequins shined in Oblivion's black light like stars of rust. Its angular mask bowed, the curved beak extending almost to its waist.
“I find myself in need of a favour. But one simple request,” parroted the crow.
The birdman spoke “To absorb without losing. To portray but not overshadow. To play and then to fade,”
The crow ruffled its feathers. “Yeah, yeah. It was pretty good, if you like not making sense,”
One jewelled eye looked down. “I find myself in need of a favour. But one simple request,”
The crow's beak opened then shut.
The birdman turned away. “Perhaps you are busy,” It glided away, toward the tunnel entrance.
The crow hopped after, wings aflutter. “Hey now, I didn't say that. I'm already in to me neck with the bosses. They're gonna throw a fit when they hear you let a live one down here,”
“No more alive than they themselves,”
The crow caught up the birdman, careful never to touch the robe. “Yes well, that's a point of view. Now what ya need?”
It stopped, jerking to a strange halt. The head twisted until the mask faced behind, looking right at the stumbling crow. “You are a carrion crow,”
“Can we fast forward to the job?” the crow interjected.
The mask tilted to one side, perhaps put out. “I have need of an eye,”
The crow leapt into the air, flapping the few feet to land on a step before the birdman. Its mask turned to follow. “My speciality. What you want it for?” the crow asked. It did not expect a straight answer. It was not disappointed.
“What is the difference between comedy and tragedy?”
The crow pondered a moment. “Like, funny haha?”
The birdman spoke only to itself. “Something to do with the ending,”

It rained. It poured. Red rivulets ran down twisted sculptures of steel. The ground was riven with craters, in which the waters congregated. The rain blotted out out the sky, the world, everything but the next few meters of tortured ground. Angela stumbled over a jutting of black tarmac and jerked to a halt. Unbidden, visions of tumbling into the stained waters rushed through her mind. She wiped the wet from her face and looked for something to wash such shadows away. He loomed out of the rain behind her. Even beaten by the rain Orpheus glowed. He walked right into her, zombie-like. Angela grabbed at him but her footing was lost. She went over the side, reaching for him to no avail. The waters reached out to swallow her.
Splash!
Angela sat up. Rust lapped around her ankles. She looked up at sodden Orpheus. He seemingly awoke and slid down the side of the crater. She refused his arm.

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Angela's head jerked. The darkness faded, taking the dream with it.
"Visiting hours are over soon miss," The nurse smiled down at her sweetly. Behind her the ward lights flickered, their sterile light illuminating a row of beds. The nurse had such strange eyes. Heterochromia she supposed. The nurse moved onto the next bed. A monitor beeped. One of those strange machines they kept in hospitals, it had pinged every moment she had been here. How long had she been here? Angela wondered if the machine would keep going even unplugged. Blearily she followed its wires. They led into the patient seated before her.
The patient's thin voice jolted her fully awake. “Overdoing it again,”
“Mom?” Angela said.
“You dozed off on me. Have you been sleeping properly?” She was a thin woman, though perhaps that was what hospital food did to you.
“Mom I...” Angela puzzled over how to complete that sentence. Then her mouth gave up on her brain. “I'm fine mom,”
“Fine people do not nod off while visiting their parents in hospital. It'll be that Isley girl keeping you up all night,”
“I haven't seen Natalie in weeks, mom,” Not since Natalie had got a job, thought Angela privately.
“Hmm,” Lips were pursed and Angela was treated to a disapproving look. She always tried not to look guilty. She always failed.
Then her mother Rachael smiled. “It was good to see you dear,”
Angela bit her lip. “I'm glad you're doing well,”
Rachael sighed and the moment was gone. “Though I wish you'd talk to Uncle Vinny about that placement,”
“I'm planning to next week,” Angela lied. She rose from the chair. The ward was quiet. There were no other visitors and the patients were settling in for the night. One of them noticed her staring. He waved, his lined face lighting up in a grin. Angela gave a surreptitious wave back, feeling awkward.
“I should get going mom,” she said, returning to her mother's disapproving glare.
Rachael nodded. “I suppose,”
Angela embraced her in a hug. Her mother felt frail but also cold. She leaned back with concern.
“Are you alright?”
“I'll be fine, dear,” Rachael touched her daughter's cheek. Her hand was like ice.
“Holy- you're freezing,”
“I'm fine,” Rachael insisted
“Let me ask for another blanket,” without waiting for another stubborn reply Angela moved away in search of the nurse.

The old man winked at her as she passed. “Lass,” he called out but she merely smiled back, walking on.
The other patients did not look up. One was deep in conversation with a doctor who, for reasons beyond Angela's understanding, wore sunglasses. Some people. Angela passed blacked out windows, fighting an odd pang to see outside. The nurse busied herself at the final bed in the ward. It was set a little apart from the others though the curtains were not drawn. The final patient was not like the others. He was laid out like a cadaver, shrouded utterly in a body cast. Signatures were scrawled on one of the arms. There was a window left in the plaster, so he could look out. Angela peeked but his eyes were squeezed shut. A faint murmuring could be heard.
“Excuse me,” Angela said.
The nurse left down the chart, hanging from the end of the bed “Yes?”
Angela could only make out the number on it. Patient #667. “It's my mother. Could she get an extra blanket?”
“Why of course,” the nurse moved toward a cabinet. “It can get chilly these winter nights,”
Angela followed, lowering her voice. “What happened to him?”
When the nurse looked nonplussed she indicated the plastered patient. The nurse sighed.
“Oh,” she pulled out a blanket, turning it over as checked it. Then she led the way back down the ward. Angela chased after her.
“You don't want to know,” said the nurse suddenly. The doctor looked up as they passed. He gave the nurse a nod. She returned it.
“You know when you say that it makes me want to know even more,” Angela said.
The nurse smiled “Nothing wrong with asking questions, I suppose,” Then she let Angela draw closer “He played with fire,” She whispered conspiratorially.

“I said it didn’t I? I did say it,”
Yllen shook her head for the fourth time. “I don’t recall you mentioning it,”
Gundrea was insistent. “I'm sure I specifically said she’s smart. Not your average kind of smart neither. That she wouldn’t send a hundred guards to capture us. She’d send one with his arm tied behind his back,”
“Maybe in another life, master,” Yllen hid her smile.
“Would the venerable gentleman and the sprightly young lady please put a sock in it?” growled Kavcho from behind his mask. His nose itched so badly and the rope binding his arm chafed. He escorted the two prisoners toward the estate. Now and then they passed clusters of White Demons. Not a single townie could be seen. They knew a storm was coming.
Gundrea had that offended air Kavcho had seen in his grandfather once“Here, I’ve never been venerable. I got tested and everything,”
“It means old, master,” Yllen looked exasperated.
“He should just say that then,” Gundrea sulked, kicking a stone at an empty stall. It bounced off and arced into the air, hitting armour with a distinctive clang. The struck White Demon snarled.
“Why are you being so circumspect, if I may ask?” Yllen asked Kavcho. She swapped hands with her broom, holding the end off the ground with a craftsman's care.
Kavcho bit back a snarky reply. Sounding calmer than he was he said “No threats, no violence and no age or sex related insults,”
Gundrea made a noise of disgust. “See? She’s too sharp that woman. We made a mistake coming here,”
Even Yllen felt a bit put out. “Nothing? Not even a, haha what are you going to do without any weapons little girl?”
Kavcho decided he'd have to remember that. “Nope. The Lady says they give you your power,”
Yllen shared a sidelong glance with Gundrea.
“Well, She’s half-right,” he said finally.

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Yllen stared upward. Through blurry vision she saw a face, blackened beyond comprehension. The face of a demon.
“Svarog’s oath, she’s alive!” it exclaimed.
Yllen jerked upright, hand wrapping around the speaker’s throat. It gave a strangled cry, flailing weakly. Then the fog burned away from her eyes. She let go of Korkl sheepishly.
Korkl held his neck gingerly. The first words he could summon beyond a wheeze were “Sleeping dogs!”
“Sorry,” said Yllen. Then she realised how quiet it was in her head.

It was morning and the Wold now roosted amidst the caravanserai. Young trees had sprouted in the yard and the walls were coated with vines. They had thrust their way through stone and dirt, bringing new if temporary life to the ruin. The Green Machines moved amongst their new friends. They tended the plants religiously, scattering shredded iron in paths which they trod in worship. Now and then the iron was mixed with blood from wounds not yet closed.

Yllen rose from her sleeping mat. She was in the midst of the surviving prisoners, huddled in one corner. There were no guards around them, the prisoners had merely been moved out of the way to make room for the Green Machine's rituals. Yllen noticed how none looked at her. Only Korkl met her gaze, scowling. She counted, a pit forming in her stomach as her numbers came up short.
“Korkl,” her voice was so soft it startled the gruff poacher “Is this all of us?”
“Mmm,” he muttered.
There was nothing else to be said. Yllen stepped onto one of the iron paths. She strode right past the frowns of the Green Machines, heading unerringly for the inn building.

Empty pews flanked by
shadowy eaves.
Midnight crows roam around
snuffing candles.

Smoky presence left by
incense pooling.
Silent prayers now where
hymns resounded.

Let's round off the earth's orbit shall we?

Mehs:
Space Marine, talk about meh and bleh. It truly shows how you can waste a franchise. Maybe I'm being too harsh. Maybe I just wasn't in the target market... of robots who enjoy doing the same thing over and over to the exact same enemy character model.
Daggerdale tried its little heart out. I feel kind of bad for it. Its combat was decent enough and it worked as a budget Dungeon Siege. However it was criminally short and the end boss was treason.
Halo 2 is over. We're not talking about this. Go to your room Master Chief.
Lara Croft and the Guardian of Light was worth it only for the Kain and Raziel pack. Only.

Highs:
Age of Wonders: Shadow Magic was a time absorbing bag of fun. All those spells. All those elves to murder with spells. And equipping all my heroes just right into an awesome team of five teens with attitude.
Skyrim is proving a big hit in the midst of icy winter. How fun is walking for hours through endless snowstorms only to get killed by a dragon so you have to do it all again? A whole lotta fun!
Dungeon Siege III deserves credit. Its combat system was fluid. Its story solid and incredibly for an Obsidian game it had minimal to no bugs. Sure it wasn't anything like the older dungeon sieges but you get the bad with the good.
But game of the year has to go to Deus Ex: Human Revolution. The story of a man, a cyberpunk and a transhumanism. All my favourites rendered with such care as to evoke a heart breaking fondness. Human Revolution truly showed how games can ask questions, even with a fabricated premise.