A couple of recordings of artwork that went into Fomorians In Their Own Words. One is a poster inspired by the “Leave No Dwarf Behind” motif from Deep Rock Galactic, and the other is me waffling on a bit about the Fomorians.
Continue reading “Artwork recordings: Fomorians In Their Own Words”Tag: creative writing
Fomorians In Their Own Words is now available
Fomorians In Their Own Words collection – coming soon
A draft cover for the Fomorians In Their Own Words compilation. I don’t have a release date yet.
Remittance Witch: NPM Circuits
The tome that lay open on the desk looked fairly new, but was already heavily bookmarked. Tara had seen the cover a few times on the train down to Colwdvatn, enough to know that it was a volume of the Registry of the Novus Packus Magicae, which Seema had told her was a registry of known rune circuit patterns. Olsen had freely, and she suspected unwisely, admitted to not knowing how to read rune circuits. Clearly, this wasn’t on the local curriculum.
With a gleam in her eye, the Tinlander had dragged the two of them upstairs to the bedroom and sat down at her desk with Tara over her left shoulder and Finn to her right. The tome had been lying open on page 220 or 229 before, but the other girl had quickly turned to page 15. This bore the title “Simple Light Circuit.”
Continue reading “Remittance Witch: NPM Circuits”Seeing Through The Wire Skin
“Sidney?” the upper-class Dublin accent broke into Sidney’s thoughts, causing him to mentally kick himself at the fact that somebody had managed to walk up behind him in spite of the mirror that ran behind the bar. The man who addressed him from his left was taller and thinner than himself, with slicked-back blonde hair. Pinned to the man’s left lapel was a yellow badge with the insignia of the Royal Army Medical Corps.
“Robbie Hickie! Fancy meeting you here.”
The other man grinned, exposing a missing canine tooth underneath the blonde moustache that had been waxed to points. “My favourite watering hole, actually. Haven’t seen you since New Year! I take it you’re on leave?”
“Indeed, I am.” Sidney turned back to accept his glass of whiskey, automatically thanking the barman as he paid, before looking back at Hickie. “What are you having?”
Continue reading “Seeing Through The Wire Skin”Plans for 2023
Here’s roughly what I plan to do this year.
Remaster of Spamocalypse: Aftermath
I released this almost 6 years ago, and lately, I’ve been thinking of remaking or remastering it. I honestly think this was one of my best projects – bloated codebase and mediocre art skills and all – and from my admittedly quick testing this morning, a lot of the old mechanics still work! Some improved textures, models, sounds and possibly a new level would breath some new life into it.
Here’s the old trailer. If you want to try it, it’s up on Gamejolt.
Connacht Disaster Zone
Still more stories to come here, I think. I haven’t really focussed so much on the S.T.A.L.K.E.R.-esque “reality going out to lunch” side of it, so I’d like to do more here. The current work-in-progress there is tentatively titled “Seeing Through the Wire Skin”.
I’ve noticed recently that I’ve been leaning towards video game glitches or silliness switches (such as Big Head Mode) as the source of the weirdness. Screwing around with the ragdolls in Garry’s Mod might give me some more ideas…
Remittance Witch
It’s slow going, but I’ll try to have a draft done by the end of the year.
Stop Poking Meee!
Aidan slowly reached for the cup and saucer that lay about a foot away from him on his left, well within the field of vision provided by his remaining eye. He wasn’t sure of the exact distance any more, not since the last month.
Just as his left hand was about to close around the teacup’s handle, or at least looked like it was,he felt it again. Not the cold, wet sensation of water dripping, nor the tap of somebody trying to get his attention in a most unwise manner, but…
Continue reading “Stop Poking Meee!”Anuas R’guard
I hate the night. Nothing good comes out of it. Brigands, wolves, bears, you name it. There’s a reason nobody back in the foothills of my homeland goes out at night unless they need to. And it’s not the local vampires; they’ll extract a price for it, but they’ll at least guide a farmer home safely.
Down here in the Sydfjords, worse things come out of it.
Continue reading “Anuas R’guard”Fomorians In Their Own Words: Ms S.
I will not tell where I was born – let the fact that it was a surface village of the League be enough. As a citizen of the League, I sat through the endless classes on being a good citizen. We were taught that everyone must pull their weight in the League for the common good. To Leave No Feartollán Behind. I went to Mass like everyone else. I attended the Civil Defence training sessions, even as my parents struggled to pay the levies and tithes to support the militias. I planned to become a nurse.
None of it made the slightest difference. One of Connacht Trading’s security guardsmen accused me of being a thief and a Fomorian sympathiser, and everybody I knew turned a blind eye as he removed me from my home without a trial. Just like that.
Continue reading “Fomorians In Their Own Words: Ms S.”Remittance Witch: The Warlock’s Den
Just like the station, the inside of the house was far brighter and warmer than the outside. The walls were a shade of white that, while plain, complemented the warm orange glow of the oil lamps. To her right, a narrow and slightly crooked staircase ran up to the next floor, disappearing underneath a grey shaft of light from a window or skylight. The opposite side of the corridor led down to a pair of doors, one of which was ajar and emitted a warm, vaguely fishy smell.
None of that mattered right now. Tara’s attention was taken up entirely by the large and extremely hairy dog trotting down the stairs with far more speed than the thick, corded hair in front of its eyes should have permitted. It must have been a dog, for it bore the general four-legged shape of one, and the deep bark that emanated from underneath the white corded hair reminded her of a boarhound that one of her father’s business partners owned. But the sheer size of it put her on edge; that thing’s shoulders were just a few centimetres below her elbows, even before it reared up and planted it’s paws on von Clief’s shoulders!
Continue reading “Remittance Witch: The Warlock’s Den”
Aceade's Tales 