The Shop, continued
Dec. 1st, 2008 10:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
avevale_intelligencerSitting there gaping at the screen, I tried to get a grip. The game was designed to be winnable. Therefore, the effects of this blast could not be permanent. Obviously, from the ruined buildings in the villages, it had happened "before," in the backstory, and there had been resources available when I started. It was logical, therefore, to infer that there was enough time between blasts for the land to regreen itself and for people to recover to some degree. Therefore it would happen again. I just had to wait, and in the meantime concentrate on what I could do.
My army sallied forth to the north, because it was the first way I'd gone and it rhymed and all stuff like that, and engaged the bandits with vim and vigour. Tents burned, little grey ghosts went winging heavenward (so presumably they'd lived fairly good lives apart from, you know, being bandits), and within a short time the road was clear. I claimed the territory, built the road and dispatched the money and stone for their well, along with another shipment of water to tide them over. The hermit's workshop was now fully upgraded, and he duly set off in his cart to inspect the village widget.
Sure enough, the barren lands were recovering before my eyes, all except the villages themselves. Grass was slowly overtaking the bare rock, trees were springing up, and a gentle rain began to fill the pools with water which then, by some means into which I wasn't going to inquire, spontaneously generated fish. I put myself to work building farms and hunting lodges. Next time that thing went off I wanted to have plenty in the larder.
Liliana appeared in the doorway, looking pointedly at me and tapping her watch. I held up my hands in surrender and yielded the seat.
"That thing there goes off at intervals and fries the surrounding countryside," I said quickly. "I don't know what the intervals are, or why it doesn't get the bit in the middle..."
"It's shielded by the walls," she said, scanning through the list of things to be done. "So all these places need stone, plus various odds and sods."
"And you have to get rid of the bandits." It was going to become a catchphrase between us if we weren't careful. She smiled up at me, and made shooing motions with her hand. I went.
Back on the bench outside, watching the shop and realising once again I'd forgotten a book, I tried to think about something other than (a) the game, or (b) the sheer grottiness of things in general. Thing is, there wasn't really an awful lot else left in my life. I went home, I ate, I slept, I got up, I ate, I came here. I didn't actually feel much motivation to do anything else. Other people did. Nick had his rugby, Taz went out clubbing most nights, Liliana had her survivalist evening classes. It was a major departure from routine for me even to go to a pub.
What did that say about me? Where would I be in twenty years time? Still getting up, eating, going to work, coming home, eating, sleeping? One of those ageing single guys who've got so set in their routines that even a bomb wouldn't shift them?
I remembered reading an article once about the global increase in cases of depression, linking it to the spread of atmospheric toxins. Not that any of them specifically caused it, but the general deterioration in the quality of the air caused a physical malaise which in turn triggered an emotional downturn which reinforced the malaise and so on. You used to be able to get antidepressants for it, but the medical establishment had put the brakes on when it became clear that the entire population would be popping them like sweets given the chance. Now they talked heartily about counselling and lifestyle management and spending more time at the gym. And, of course, the importance of proper diet.
I liked to think we were doing our little bit in that direction. Certainly our customers tended to look marginally happier than the general run of people passing by. And the staff were certainly not short of motivation, as witness the rugby and the classes and so on. I needed to sort myself out and find an interest outside work.
After five minutes of contemplating that thought and coming up empty every time (tae kwon do? drypoint etching? making fancy cakes?), I was ready to go back in.
"Hi," Liliana said. "I've fixed up the north and west villages and got rid of the bandits except for the ones in the east."
"What does the hermit say about the widgets?"
"The what--oh, them." Liliana shrugged. "He says they're obviously part of a larger mechanism and he'll need to look at all of them to be sure."
"And has the thing gone off again?"
"No. I would say it's probably going to be a once a day thing--"
The screen whited out.
"Or possibly twice," Liliana finished, as the machine cranked itself down again, going heh-heh-heh just like Muttley. I'm sure I wasn't imagining it, but I didn't quite dare to ask Liliana if she'd heard it.
"All yours," she said, getting out of the chair.
"Gee thanks," I responded. The villages were already screaming for more money and stone for their newly collapsed buildings, and I was getting a bit short myself.
By the end of the day, the thing hadn't gone off again, but I'd had to send a geologist out to both quarries, rebuild all the stone roads and repair all the villages' public buildings again, which meant I didn't have enough stone to wall off any territories. I'd had enough food and clothes to get through the lean times, fortunately, and one of the territories I'd only just got to had had some cows and sheep on it. I still hadn't managed to replenish my army so that I could deal with the bandits in the east.
And the walls around the machine were looking even seedier. If they went on their own, before the hermit was ready to go in, the next blast would take me out, and once one of my public buildings went, that was it.
Drypoint etching was starting to look quite attractive by comparison.
My army sallied forth to the north, because it was the first way I'd gone and it rhymed and all stuff like that, and engaged the bandits with vim and vigour. Tents burned, little grey ghosts went winging heavenward (so presumably they'd lived fairly good lives apart from, you know, being bandits), and within a short time the road was clear. I claimed the territory, built the road and dispatched the money and stone for their well, along with another shipment of water to tide them over. The hermit's workshop was now fully upgraded, and he duly set off in his cart to inspect the village widget.
Sure enough, the barren lands were recovering before my eyes, all except the villages themselves. Grass was slowly overtaking the bare rock, trees were springing up, and a gentle rain began to fill the pools with water which then, by some means into which I wasn't going to inquire, spontaneously generated fish. I put myself to work building farms and hunting lodges. Next time that thing went off I wanted to have plenty in the larder.
Liliana appeared in the doorway, looking pointedly at me and tapping her watch. I held up my hands in surrender and yielded the seat.
"That thing there goes off at intervals and fries the surrounding countryside," I said quickly. "I don't know what the intervals are, or why it doesn't get the bit in the middle..."
"It's shielded by the walls," she said, scanning through the list of things to be done. "So all these places need stone, plus various odds and sods."
"And you have to get rid of the bandits." It was going to become a catchphrase between us if we weren't careful. She smiled up at me, and made shooing motions with her hand. I went.
Back on the bench outside, watching the shop and realising once again I'd forgotten a book, I tried to think about something other than (a) the game, or (b) the sheer grottiness of things in general. Thing is, there wasn't really an awful lot else left in my life. I went home, I ate, I slept, I got up, I ate, I came here. I didn't actually feel much motivation to do anything else. Other people did. Nick had his rugby, Taz went out clubbing most nights, Liliana had her survivalist evening classes. It was a major departure from routine for me even to go to a pub.
What did that say about me? Where would I be in twenty years time? Still getting up, eating, going to work, coming home, eating, sleeping? One of those ageing single guys who've got so set in their routines that even a bomb wouldn't shift them?
I remembered reading an article once about the global increase in cases of depression, linking it to the spread of atmospheric toxins. Not that any of them specifically caused it, but the general deterioration in the quality of the air caused a physical malaise which in turn triggered an emotional downturn which reinforced the malaise and so on. You used to be able to get antidepressants for it, but the medical establishment had put the brakes on when it became clear that the entire population would be popping them like sweets given the chance. Now they talked heartily about counselling and lifestyle management and spending more time at the gym. And, of course, the importance of proper diet.
I liked to think we were doing our little bit in that direction. Certainly our customers tended to look marginally happier than the general run of people passing by. And the staff were certainly not short of motivation, as witness the rugby and the classes and so on. I needed to sort myself out and find an interest outside work.
After five minutes of contemplating that thought and coming up empty every time (tae kwon do? drypoint etching? making fancy cakes?), I was ready to go back in.
"Hi," Liliana said. "I've fixed up the north and west villages and got rid of the bandits except for the ones in the east."
"What does the hermit say about the widgets?"
"The what--oh, them." Liliana shrugged. "He says they're obviously part of a larger mechanism and he'll need to look at all of them to be sure."
"And has the thing gone off again?"
"No. I would say it's probably going to be a once a day thing--"
The screen whited out.
"Or possibly twice," Liliana finished, as the machine cranked itself down again, going heh-heh-heh just like Muttley. I'm sure I wasn't imagining it, but I didn't quite dare to ask Liliana if she'd heard it.
"All yours," she said, getting out of the chair.
"Gee thanks," I responded. The villages were already screaming for more money and stone for their newly collapsed buildings, and I was getting a bit short myself.
By the end of the day, the thing hadn't gone off again, but I'd had to send a geologist out to both quarries, rebuild all the stone roads and repair all the villages' public buildings again, which meant I didn't have enough stone to wall off any territories. I'd had enough food and clothes to get through the lean times, fortunately, and one of the territories I'd only just got to had had some cows and sheep on it. I still hadn't managed to replenish my army so that I could deal with the bandits in the east.
And the walls around the machine were looking even seedier. If they went on their own, before the hermit was ready to go in, the next blast would take me out, and once one of my public buildings went, that was it.
Drypoint etching was starting to look quite attractive by comparison.
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no subject
Date: 2008-12-01 01:27 pm (UTC)And perhaps what is required to win is the kind of singleness of purpose the player is giving it - would an outside interest be a Bad Thing for the game, even if it were a Good Thing for the player?
I have a strong urge to hit that chortling, and possibly telepathic, machine.