The Return of Cthulhu

[Hat tip to Hotspur O'Toole for bringing the Lovecraftian-themed sims to our attention, and may H.P. himself forgive us for what follows - RJ and KJ.]

I received an encoded message from Kathy via a long-range device. I could make no sense of it, so I reproduce it here in the hope that someone may understand. In plain text it reads:

[Begin transmission] I had set out in my aircraft to find the mythical Lost Isle of the Elders. The island was long thought to exist in legends only, but I had received coordinates that appeared promising. However, well short of my intended destination, warning lights began flashing in the cockpit. Though the cause was unknown, it appeared that the engines had overheated, and I began to lose altitude as the forward thrusters fired intermittently.

Fortunately, or so I thought at the time, land appeared on the horizon. The lighthouse shined a welcoming beacon, and I made plans to land - not understanding that lighthouses also provided warnings to craft to stay away.

Kathy's Aircraft Approaches the Lighthouse

As I brought my craft down low, I saw mists rising, shrouding the gnarled and withered trees as though the earth itself contained a secret it dared not share with a stranger.

Looking for a Place to Land



A Shrine to the Old Ones

Though I saw no signs of life, the town had clearly been prosperous enough in the recent past to afford stately homes, a fine church, and an enormous Gothic mansion, all of which I could see in the distance as I landed. Nearby was a tent containing vials of foul-smelling chemicals and a sampling of the local flora. Clearly, an experiment of some undetermined sort was underway when the scientists were interrupted. Footprints led away from the tent, the long gaps between steps suggestive of running.

Examining the table, I saw some cryptic runes, and what appeared to be an effort to translate them: "Beware Cthulhu home [?] plants revenge [?] who opens [cf. desecrates???] ancient [untranslatable]." I felt uneasy, and, despite the warm climate, a chill wind blew through me.

The Field Laboratory

I decided to travel to the village, where I thought I might seek shelter for the night while my engines cooled and, if need be, I might find someone to help diagnose and, I hoped, repair my aircraft. The town itself was deserted, and the church doors stood wide open. Dead leaves blew in, creating small piles in the vestry. I made my way to the manor house, hoping its occupants and not disappeared with the villagers and could help me. Many of the houses appeared damaged, quite severely, as though localized earthquakes had swept through the village.

As I walked, the mist descended until I could scarcely see before me. Fortunately, I had seen the layout of the village from the air, and had a good sense of the direction in which I needed to travel. The air was oppressive, and I felt sinister forces gather around me in the deepening gloom. I quickened my pace, sensing that I would be best served by reaching the mansion before nightfall.

The sign on the door read "Miskatonic University." I knocked with some trepidation. The door opened a crack and a shattered face peered out. He scrutinized me before saying, "Come in quickly, stranger, for we are nearly out of time."

Miskatonic University

Having no time to ponder that remark, I moved quickly into the vestibule, and the wreck of a man slammed the door shut behind me and bolted it. Briefly, I explained how I had come to find myself in this place, which the wraith described as the Miskatonic Valley in the state of Massachusetts, though the names meant nothing to me. "If I could trouble you for a place to spend the night, tomorrow I will check on my airship. If it needs no further repairs, I should be on my way, and trouble you no further."

Kathy Waits for the Door to Open

"I agree with you that nothing can be done until morning. Of course you may stay the night, though our accommodations are quite spartan and come with their own inconveniences. In the meanwhile, come have a drink with me." He showed me to a parlor and poured us drinks from a decanter. His hands shook as he did so. I sipped the brandy, but he downed half his glass at one go. That seemed to steady his nerves, and he explained,

"This town was once prosperous, with many scholars and scientists. You may not think so in gazing upon me, a ruin of a man, but I was one of those scientists. In the field below the town, we dug up an artifact not of Earthly origin. We began to examine it, and started to decode the runes that lined the artifact, when it emitted a ghastly miasma. Some of the older members of the team died instantly, their lungs unable to handle the foul air. The rest of us were sickened greatly. As the haze spread throughout the valley, house after house closed, the families fleeing if they could, dying in place if they could not.

"Then at night came..." He faltered. With a wan smile he continued, "Well, you shall see for yourself soon enough."

I sat forward, looking at the man with interest. Who could believe such a preposterous tale? And yet, the atmosphere was thick and somehow alive. Outside, the wind picked up, slamming against the shutters. "Did you ever discover what the artifact was, or how it was causing your troubles?" I asked.

He drained his glass. "I believe we made considerable progress, little good though it has done us. You see, our legends had it that one of Cthulhu's children came to the valley thousands of years ago, brought here on a meteorite that crashed into the ocean. Pieces splintered off, each containing a piece of the god, and buried themselves deep in the earth. Only when the pieces are again together will the god be able to rise and leave this planet. We think we excavated one of those pieces, and that the god has enough power that the single piece of him allows him to search for the remainder of his body."

At that point in his story, something solid and heavy hit the house. The force of the impact was enough to cause the walls to shake, the pictures on the wall to shift, and the glasses to rattle. I looked uneasily at my host, who seemed to take this in stride.

"I must finish my story quickly," he said. "We hypothesized that the god has been seeking the remainder of itself over the past few weeks. For reasons unknown, it has no power during the daylight, but can manifest itself only at night. It can detect the presence of a piece under the earth, but cannot directly retrieve it. Instead, the creature can use its power over the elements to cause the earth to move, thereby opening a path to each part. As the creature becomes whole, its power grows." Another blow hit the house, and the plasterboard started to crack. "I believe I am the last survivor of the village, and I attributed that to my rooms here at the university, as this mansion is the most solidly-built house in the village, made of stone from top to its foundation deep in the earth. The creature has retrieved every but one piece of itself, and I believe that last piece is directly beneath the foundation of this house."

I looked alarmed. "Shouldn't we leave? If we could return to my ship, I could see if the engines are sufficiently cool to take off and we could both depart the valley."

"No." The man shook his head. "Outside in the dark there are things...eldritch horrors beyond your imagination. Cthulhu has sent them to help his offspring in its search, and to protect it against harm. This house is sealed tightly. If we leave, however..." His voice trailed off, but I had no doubt regarding the fate that would befall us should we attempt to leave before daybreak."

The night wore on, and the assault on the house continued. It would abate for some time, then begin again with a renewed vigor. Sleep was impossible. Cracks appeared everywhere, and we became accustomed to the sound of breaking glass. Finally, after one particularly vicious pounding, a thunderous sound was heard above us. "The top floor has collapsed!" I cried.

"Quickly, we must head to the cellar. There is no time to lose!"

We hastened into the dark cellar, a single lantern with us, and fixed the heavy iron door shut behind us. The entire cellar was a stone chamber over which the house stood. Nowhere else was more solidly built. For hours we endured the sounds of the house collapsing around us. Near dawn, the barrage became so intense that I thought our redoubt would surely fail. Finally, the foundation split, at first a small crack, building up to a fissure of considerable width. Far beneath the earth, I could see a meteorite, glowing eerily. At that moment, the ceiling of the cellar collapsed, along with the walls, and I was certain my end had come. Through some miracle, I landed in a small pocket of habitable area, beneath several slabs of stone that came to rest atop one another, forming a tepee over me. The next time the earth moved, the stones would shift and land directly on top of me.

Suddenly, the assault was over. I climbed out of my tomb very carefully, making certain I did not upset any precariously-balanced stones, and looked up. The house was gone, a mere pile of rubble left in its place. Hovering above the house was a winged creature - not a bird, for no bird could have flown with the armor-like skin and enormous talons that this creature possessed - staring at me with malevolent eyes. I was fixed into place by its sinister glare. As it started to attack, the first rays of dawn flashed over the horizon, and the bird-like creature became transparent, and then faded into wisps of texture which went through me. I could feel the evil wind as it passed, but it did not otherwise harm me.

I looked for my host, and called out to him, but heard no response. I concluded he was lying under the stones, crushed to death, in a fate that I had just narrowly avoided. Without further hesitation, I moved as quickly as I could through the village and back to my aircraft. Praying that my diagnosis of an overheated engine was correct, I toggled the craft back into life and held my breath. No warning lights shone, and I gave power to the engines, moving quickly away from the valley. I did not look behind me to see whether a taloned creature made of the morning wind attempted to follow.[End transmission]

Victoria Station

Victoria Station is Herr Mavromichali Szondi's effort to provide a central location for information about Steampunk/Victorian sims and shopping opportunities.

As Herr Szondi's notecard says,

What is Victoria Station and the Undergrid?

Victoria Station is a new way to link the Steampunk Victorian themed sims across the grid. You can get to the station via one of our many Station Entrances located in Victorian Steampunk sims. You do this by clicking the entrance then clicking Teleport when the map appears.

Inside the station is a pleasant area where you can meet people, sit and talk at the café area, and socialise, but it's main purpose is to provide links to destinations like any station in real life.

Here, in Victoria Station, you click the link for the sim you wish to visit and are given a landmark to that sim. It's a convenient place to stop to find Victorian Steampunk sims so you can visit them, but that's not all.

The main purpose is to link to other destinations too. Think of the station as a virtual directory, with all the best of the Victorian period and Steampunk style creators in one place.

Better photos are available at Dr. Fabre's Journal

Below: the Undergrid logo, sadly way out of context.

The concept is a good one, as thematically-connected areas are not necessarily connected physically. The rates to rent wall space seem fairly modest (though I am certainly no expert on the subject). One hopes the end result will be to drive additional traffic through all the areas.

One shop that is new to me that I found through Victoria Station is Yellow Jester, in the Dunwich sim (part of a Lovecraft-themed group of sims - more on that tomorrow!). The shop is more goth than steampunk, though there are some nice spectacles and goggles available. Very Lovecraftian, though - one wants to exclaim, "The horror! The eldritch horror!"

Armada Breakaway

Having read Dr. Fabre's notice of the opening of the Armada Breakaway region, I paid a visit to the flotilla.

Run by the "Gang of Four" - Dreddpiratebob Streeter, Remington Thursday, Viv Trafalgar, and Albus Weka - the build is very unified thematically. As the region description notes: "After a heavy storm unlike any Armada had seen for many a year one small section was torn off and found itself alone and lost at sea. Discovered and repaired by some travellers it is now beginning again and anew."

The build is based on China Mieville's novels. I confess that I tried Perdido Street Station and gave up after twenty or thirty pages.


Steampunk influences are obvious - it's an airship traffic jam!


Mysteries also lurk under the sea.


A strange, rusty construction.


Off the linked vessels lurks an ironclad.


Okay, now we're talking! The Black Barnacle Pub and Parlor seems like just the spot to quench one's thirst.

What does a wench have to do around here to get served? Show some leg?

The Proper Reaction to Griefers

Last night saw a number of griefing episodes in Oxbridge. Kathy arrived for one such episode, the classic "falling anvil" gag, hilarious to those whose sense of humor never outgrew the Bugs Bunny cartoons.

Kathy has no special powers to deal with these cretins (nor do I, for that matter), but Oxbridge had enough supermen to handle any number of them: Miss Gray, with her new ability to ban, was present, as were several NCI folks, and Kami herself was lurking on site. Des was on-line, too, should Ultimate Authority have been needed. (Well, Ultimate this side of a Linden.)

Nonetheless, I thought both Des and Kami somewhat missed the mark in their reactions to the incidents. Des noted that griefers are really just attention-seekers, and that the best approach is often to ignore them: bored and unfulfilled, they will eventually move on. I think that's correct in general, but may not be as applicable in Oxbridge as elsewhere. Kami made reference to her less-than-pure past with regard to griefing incidents, and suggested the whole thing was more humorous than anything. Again, perhaps correct in general, but not in Oxbridge.

Here's the difference: I've been at this for a year, and others much longer, and even a few months in-world gives one a good perspective on what matters and what doesn't, especially if friends provide a support network. Friends can explain that this, too, shall pass. Experience shows that the anvil, or particles, or whatever, have no effect beyond temporary annoyance.

Contrast that with the brand-new avatar, still in Oxbridge or Oxbridge Village, trying to get a handle on this Thing Called Second Life. In addition to figuring out how to move gracefully, get rid of the duck walk, find something decent to wear, and make a friend or two, all of a sudden anvils are raining down, or singing phalluses appear (as one lady explained to a bemused Kathy). Imagine the reactions. "Is this what Second Life is about, dodging annoying objects? Can the anvil hurt me? Will I have to spend much of my limited in-world time dealing with immature adolescent a**ho**s whose idea of a good time is to create singing private parts and to harass me?" As the marketing folks would say, a bad out of the box experience is likely to drive the customer away. In fact, it's a great deal more likely to do so in Second Life, where the only investment the user has made is a 30+ megabyte download, than a game that's been purchased.

My feeling is that there is no reaction too aggressive in dealing with the bored teenagers - at least with regard to Oxbridge and Oxbridge Village. Ban them at once, report them, vaporize them, it's all good to me. Elsewhere, in the realm of more experienced folks, perhaps ignoring them makes more sense.

Why do I care? I was fairly neutral about the value of having a gateway in Oxbridge. On the one hand, more traffic in and awareness of Caledon is a good thing - more people = more revenue at shops, more demand for land, more social interaction. On the other hand, many of those people are not specifically interested in the Caledon theme, so there will be more bling, more naked men with absurdly oversized genitals, more prim litter as noobies decide that anyplace with build permissions is a sandbox, and more griefing. Oxbridge may be a net benefit to the community, but it's not clear-cut. Yet Des, knowing all this, made a decision to do it. I'm not qualified to second-guess the decision, nor is it my place to do so. Having made the decision, Des has every right to expect the rest of us to help make it a success, by being polite and helpful to noobies, explaining the whole Caledon "thing," and so on. I don't spend a lot of time in Oxbridge, but I swing by when I can and talk to noobies who look as though they need a friendly voice. But it seems to me that one of the big items is: don't scare the noobies. Don't frustrate them with a bad out-of-the-box experience. Don't tolerate griefers.

Victoriana by Airship

I realized I had never seen Victoriana, a collection of, well, Victorian-themed sims. The time was long past to do so. I fueled the Hangover One and set forth.


The enormous hedge maze is a prominent feature.

The Victorian Queen inn provides comfortable seaside rooms.

The main streets were pretty but deserted.

I landed the airship in order to walk about the town. In doing so, I chatted with one of the lady residents, a recent arrival to Victoriana, who said that the town was usually more populous.

The beach contains cabanas for changing into a swimming suit, and plenty of sand to take in the sun. In the background, one can see the Ferris Wheel, part of the seaside amusement park.

In all, a pleasant visit. Victoriana shows the clean side of the age - something of the opposite of New Babbage, which emphasizes the grittier aspects of the Industrial Age. (They carefully keep the sweatshops, orphanages, sewage in the streets, and rampant crime well-hidden in both places, however. If I were offering an idea for a new Caledon sim, it would be the Bad Part of Town: Decent Ladies would not walk there, and any gentlemen who dared enter would run the risk of being mugged. Still, that would be where the brothels were located, which would ensure a steady stream of visitors.) Speaking of brothels, Victoriana, for all its prettiness, does have a house of ill repute. For what should be obvious reasons, I chose not to enter, hoping to preserve what little remains of my good name.

Superheroes and Zombies

That was an attention-grabbing title, now, wasn't it?

No steampunks this time around, but Mur Lafferty followed her novel/audiobook/podcast Heaven with two further presentations exploring the supernatural. Both are well worth a listen.

First, Playing for Keeps - also available in book form - gives us superheroes, those do-gooders with special powers, such as the ability to fly; supervillains, the heroes' evil counterparts; and those with...lesser powers. Except that, in Seventh City, the myths don't exactly hold true to form: the heroes are jerks, the villains are just heroes who were expelled from the Academy, and sometimes the lesser powers turn out to be a little more impressive than even their owners thought.

Keepsie Branson - who earned her nickname because she has absolute control over anything that is hers - owns a bar in Seventh City where her friends and customers with equally "useless" powers hang out. These powers include: absolute power over elevators; the ability to detach and regrow legs; the power to make anyone sober instantly; the power to hold objects on a tray without spilling; the power to heal - one square inch at a time; super strength - for five seconds; and...the awesomely disgusting power to spray fecal matter. (Well, not everyone can have the strength of steel.)

When a villain gives Keepsie a container for safekeeping, she and her friends are thrown into a struggle between the heroes and villains, and ultimately learn something about the two groups, as well as themselves. The plot rolls along, and is a great deal of fun. The message - that we ought not make superficial judgments of abilities - is not new but is worth repeating. And, let's face it, who hasn't thought that superheroes often seem like jerks?

One can subscribe to the episodes through an RSS feed here, or subscribe directly via iTunes, or download individual episodes here, or buy the book from Amazon, or...no doubt I'm missing several ways to acquire the product.

Moving from superheroes to zombies, The Takeover is a ten-part podcast involving an Aetherweb design firm that has just merged with ZombInc, which is run by, yes, zombies. Will the corporate cultures clash? Will Maureen accept a management position, even though this requires her to become a zombie? Can love between a human and a zombie really last?

Like Playing for Keeps, The Takeover is a lot of fun. (Thanks, Hotspur, for the recommendation - I might not otherwise have taken a chance on a zombie book.) I imagine it was also a blast to write and record; unlike the prior book, in which Mur Lafferty read all the parts, this one has a cast reading the various roles. Anyone who has worked in an office environment will recognize the various archetypes: Buzzword Guy ("There's no 'I' in team"), Suckup-to-Management ("That's a mighty nice tie you're wearing today, boss"), and so on. Requiring managers to be zombies...well, that's an obvious but still very funny metaphor. The Politically Correct environment, inane team-building exercises, and squabbles over petty issues all make appearances. Subscribe via iTunes, or download here.

As an added bonus to these podcasts, both feature cool theme songs. (C'mon, you've gotta have a theme song, right?) Playing for Keeps has the song "Playing for Keeps," by Beatnik Turtle , while The Takeover features Jonathan Coulton (of the fabulous "Skullcrusher Mountain" fame) singing "RE: Your Brains."

Isn't the Aetherweb great?

I Take an Air Taxi

Having visited Oxbridge Village on foot, I felt a tad weary - I had a brief discussion with a young person (the Young Person volunteered her age as 13, though I will confess that the language barrier might have created some confusion on that point),* which might have contributed to my tired state - and was not enthused about the prospect of walking home.

Then I saw the air taxi to Steam Sky City land, and thought I could take it to SSC, where I could rest my bones at the YWCA. I entered the vehicle with a little trepidation: I had to trust a pilotless system.

The plane took off and headed west, between Cymru and Oxbridge.

Had there been a human pilot, I would have tapped him on the shoulder and asked if he really knew where he was supposed to be headed. As it was, I could do nothing but sit and hope. Does this thing have a parachute?

There was no need to worry, however. The plane banked sharply and turned north, and we passed over Oxbridge, then Oxbridge Village, before heading into Steam Sky City and parking at the marine terminal.

Thus safely landed, I made my way to the teleportation device and into the City itself. A most highly recommended method of transportation between Oxbridge Village and SSC, should your personal airship be in the repair shop.

And the First Rule of Political Support is...

...don't embarrass the candidate. Right? So here, in Winterfell Maldoror, is a lovely house, whose owners are urging their candidate to victory - right next to an interesting picture.

Just in case the purpose of the house isn't clear, here we have a young lady posing in the shadow of the iconic "Hope" picture.

Is having the BDSM vote as part of a coalition a net plus or minus?

Happy (Belated) Rezday to Me!

Okay, a very belated rezday. You see, it occurred to me today to check on the date - which turned out to be Feb. 2. Ah well, what's a month among friends?

It's been an interesting journey, for the most part. I arrived in Caledon near the start of one RFL season, and here we are near the start of another. I've seen the arrival of new sims, and the exit of others. I've seen petty spats, childish drama - and incredible generosity of time and effort. Amazing builds and clothing. All the planning that goes into giving dances, teas, races, charitable events, role-playing opportunities...the list of activities and efforts goes on. This Journal is my humble contribution, made possible by the energy and imagination of everyone else.

With that, a round of "Happy Rezday to Me." I'm off to the pub.

Lazy Afternoon/Hackney Cab Ride

It's a lazy afternoon for my typist, recovering from a grunge of some sort, sad that the 60-degree day of Friday has turned into a 40-degree day today with colder temperatures to come, and girding her loins against the threatened 4-9 inches of snow predicted to fall overnight. C'mon, fellas, it's March, and we've made it this far without noticeable snowfall in Washington, DC. Shouldn't the temperatures be rising?

I make no claims to great beauty, but, really, there should be limits. This lady, rezzed in 2006, goes by the name of Jacki Heart. One is blinded by the radioactive hair, which may allow one to fail to notice the watermelons in her chest, or the impossibly wasp-waisted figure. Meanwhile, I'm blinded and, likely, sterile.


Inventor Tesla Steampunk found himself in Caledon On Sea, where he saw this sign in front of Miss Hypatia Callisto's ArtSeduction.

Dr. Steampunk set out for a leisurely amble across Caledon On Sea.

The poor guy needs a haircut, I know, but that's what it's like with those eccentric scientist types.

All of a sudden, there's a horse's head in his cab! "I say," Dr. Steampunk exclaimed, "this is neither clean nor sober!"

The horse was, fortunately, friendly, and explained (in its own language, which Dr. S. learned to understand some years ago) that he - the horse - was merely attempting to pull the hackney behind, which was rezzed a little too quickly by another eager passenger. Dr. Steampunk nodded sagely to the horse, accepted the apology, and the cab took off.