भगवद्गीता

“One who does all work as an offering to the Lord, abandoning attachment to the results, is as untouched by sin as a lotus leaf is untouched by water.”

updates & i suck

I really need to start updating more often, I have found throughout the years (even back when Livejournal was the thing to do) that I suck at maintaining online writing projects. Since I have become much more neurotic about schedules since I started my job, I should really just write it in to my daily schedule to update. For now, I'll just go through my post tags and write.


I am still die-hard into this Paleo thing... So  much so that now I feel like it's becoming a lifestyle for me. I watched a video recently (Lynx) that sort of spawned a new philosophy for me. Exercise should be intense and infrequent. The more I think about this, it satisfies me physically and psychologically. There's something about mimicking "the hunt," that makes exercise much more purpose-driven, and therefore bearable. I've always liked working out, but it seemed that before I adopted the mindset outlined in that video, I always felt like there was something missing. I'm finding that by understanding exactly how and why I'm doing each particular form, set, repetition, mile, etc., I am confident that I'm improving something important (whether it be endurance, agility, strength, power, etc.) instead of idly lifting weights and wondering if something will eventually happen. 


Granted, I've been technically "in-shape," for a while now, I proved to myself that what I'm doing is working about two weeks ago, when I hiked the Appalachian Approach, a 17-mile knob trail in north Georgia.

That's at the top of Springer Mountain, 8.5 miles and 4 mountains away from the starting point at Amicalola Falls. My good friend Matt and I did this 17-mile monster hike in 2010, when we were both eating poorly and out of shape, and it was possibly the worst experience in our lives. Now, in 2011, we're both eating Paleo and training non-stop and this hike was a breeze. Very enjoyable, and we were both very proud of ourselves. And yes, those are Vibram Five Fingers that I'm wearing on my feet in the picture. If you haven't gotten a pair yet, then you haven't lived!


Anyway, to wrap all of that up, I weighed in last week at 187 lbs., which is only a mere 12 lbs. off from my ultimate goal. It's astonishing to see people online ranting about how Paleo is a fad diet that doesn't work... Almost six sacks of potatoes worth of fat gone from my body begs to differ.


Apart from being totally absorbed in my personal fitness, I've also been flexing my mental muscles quite a bit lately with Book of the Fallen (a tabletop RPG I'm designing). It's astonishing, in my opinion, that this game is homegrown from the ground up, and we are up to four (yes, four) different campaigns being run on it. Rarely do we find a rule or mechanic within the system that completely doesn't work. Furthermore, the game is incredibly fun. I've played a great many tabletops in my life, and not a single one (D&D, GURPS, Palladium, etc.) have been more fun than Book of the Fallen.


Within the last two weeks, I revamped the combat system of Book of the Fallen to include 250 "Advanced Maneuvers," which are basically cool shit your character can do with a weapon. So now, our pool of content includes the Book of the Fallen Game Manual and the Advanced Maneuver Compendium. Our little homegrown game has two books?! Win.


I haven't been doing much in the writing department lately due to the combat system project detailed above, and my new found love of working out, but trust that it's coming. My goal for this week is to plan out my brand new Book of the Fallen adventure, which will involve quite a bit of creative writing. I won't be able to post everything, since some of it is secret GM stuff, but I will definitely post snippets.


That's all for now, I intend on updating much more frequently, so you will hear from me soon. Until then, over & out!

the borderlands

They took to the granite corridor, moving swiftly to sleight the diseased shamans hiding in the architecture. From the shade, the Lotus Eater turned to the desert to consume a potentially final glance at its grandeur. What greeted his eye was not the shining magnificence of what the sands once were, but a perversion of life, a phantasm twisting from the grey sky. A gate was open, spilling darkness from the heavens, rebuking the insipid souls that swim in the sea of sand. The inexplicable titan swirled and jerked, slowly making its way to the east, toward the cathedral by the I'jinn.


He said to himself, "They are doomed," just loud enough to be audible to the others, who gestured to him to hurry.

the lunatic and the cleric

Najid had always been told tales about the old Seer. The wise men recanted lore of his frail, abused body and disturbed eyes. Made skeletal by the vigorous fasts said to be sanctioned by the Prophet himself, it was said that if one listened intently enough, one could hear his bones cracking as he moved. They said that no man, now or ever, had endured the pain that was inflicted upon the Lunatic by his own patron god. Upon laying eyes on him, one is forced to wonder how a benevolent entity might shame someone as such. These musings are always muttered by those who have been in his presence… But they were only tales still.

Seeing him enter the cathedral ward’s courtyard briefly troubled Najid. He was unsettled by the striking truth delivered to him by men known for their embellishments and exaggerations. The Lunatic shambled through the sand, past the cathedral’s guardians, who were garmented in shining steel and navy sackcloth. Najid noted that the Lunatic weighed no more than a starving desert dog, and looked as if he fed as such as well; scavenging after even the vultures. He dressed in heavy, beige robes, but the parts of his leathery, sun-dried skin that were visible to Najid looked as if it had been loosely stitched around his weak bones. For someone so revered by the church, he certainly did compel those who were witness to his presence to consider their belief.

Using a palm wood cane dependently for support, the Lunatic awkwardly seated himself on the violet silken cushion across from Najid. Between them was a high, faded sandstone table, decorated with exotic flora and shaped wax candles, some that were punished by use and nearly extinguished. Occasionally, the wind would rush by, battering the priests with sand from the courtyard floor. The dusky desert sky looked down on them, and seemed to eagerly wait for their conversation.

“Najid, servant of the Patron,” the Lunatic rasped, “My cleric.” He feebly attempted to adjust his cushion to better allow his fragile body to slump against its back. Najid lowered his head in a bow, hiding embarrassment that his own divine patron would allow one so devout to wither in such a manner as the Lunatic had.

“Old Prophet: how is your health this warm night?” Najid mustered, still in awe of the prophet.

The Lunatic heaved deeply, “My health and my soul are much older than they’ve been up until now.” With his response, a curious smirk bled across his sun burnt lips. Najid briefly chuckled, mostly out of respect for the pious, old man. He had been taught that it was unwise for a cleric to ignore a prophet’s jokes.

At the height of Kurish summers, the sweltering heat was known to last throughout the night, and the wind to attack brashly and vigorously, like a western army. A heavy breeze made its way through the granite archway leading into the veranda. Using the short opportunity to limply hang his head, the old man pushed back his hood and fished around in the burlap sack he brought with him. Also taking down his hood, Najid motioned to the priests at the arch to close the portal entrancing the veranda, which they did, briefly shadowing the stone table as they walked with the brilliant torches they had been stoically holding. Ever slightly, one of the blades they carried slunk against the sheath it was carried in, and the Lunatic perked his head. Najid noticed scarred flesh on the Lunatic’s face, some of it creeping over deep wounds, and he wondered by what means a scholar would take such a gash.

“The priests are armed?” the Lunatic whispered, lowering his eyes to Najid.

Najid took a moment to respond. “You must remember our place, great seer. In this land, once a holy one, we now represent scarcely more than a cult. The Templars of the west have stylized, or, may I say, degraded our religion in such a manner that one would wonder whether the priests here serve the same patron. While their acolytes teach assassins to wet the sand with their blades, we are forced to suspect our own priests of treachery at every turn…”

“The Shet’ian is the serpent to our chalice. It has become the way of God,” the Lunatic stammered.