"Time For Beddy-Bye, Mr. Bubbles!"

It's been another while between proper blogs, hasn't it?

My apologies.

Truth be told, not a lot has been going on in my life.

I'm still working in the same job, (mentally) scraping by while my bankroll fluctuates alarmingly each month. It's all I can do not to jack it in.

My writing continues, and I've decided to stick a sword in Driven By Hate after I get the final part of Earned In Blood uploaded. Mainly because the inspiration for most of the events there (House Sathar) has gone on indefinite hiatus while other players try different games, etcetera.
That and something that one of the Sathar players mentioned about it being fun to write fan fiction but even better to write your own universe, ie one that the author has created.

I agree thoroughly; the only problem being that I get bogged down with detail whenever I start something universal-size.

Other than that, I finally went and got a copy of Bioshock. Well, it was only a tenner and it's been
niggilng at me for a year or so, so it seemed like a worthwhile purchase.

Turns out it was a REALLY worthwhile purchase.

This game is awesome. Totally immersive (if you keep your volume settings loud enough so that the tribe of chavs who have moved into the flat downstairs are drowned out), fun, well-designed,
gory and intriguing, this has to be the best single-player FPS I've played since F.E.A.R.

Speaking of which, F.E.A.R. 2: Project Origins is out, and it's pretty bloody scary.

Oh, I also added to my Dresden Files collection with my long-sought-after paperback copy of Small Favour, ONLY TO FIND OUT THE HARDBACK VERSION OF TURN COAT IS OUT.

Damn it all to hell, when will they learn to release both at the same time!? I won't buy hardcovers unless they're Pratchett these days (or really really cheap and good), so I love paperback editions. Smaller, handier, cheaper.. Plus I have the paperback set of the Dresden Files, thus a hulking great hardback would ruin the whole thing.

Hey! Listen!

You remember me banging on about Warhammer Online, yeah? You must have. Because I hardly ever stop.

FREE TRIAL, BIZZITCHIZZES!

Download it and play it, give me a shout on Burlok or Karak Azgal or, heck, e-mail me if you join the WAR and let me know who to help/kill!

Gem was supposed to sign up ages ago, but due to myriad reasons she hasn't. (probably doesn't really want to play a mad, gibbering goblin shaman that thinks it's a girl - and who would?) I was hoping to glean a few more troops from my readers, and then I remembered that MMOs aren't to everyone's taste.

Shame.

Right, I'd best get back to the grindstone before the boss gets back.

Odsox OOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUTTTTTTTTTT.....

"Go On and Pull That Trigger!"

Just a little brain-zephyr's worth of writing for you while I think of a better update:

The bloody mess was spread over a space of at least ten feet, broken bones and flesh scattered like patches of macabre plant life amongst the dry scrub of the plain. What hadn’t been taken by scavengers was playing host to a massive swarm of damned flies, their tiny black bodies part of a hungering army which scurried eagerly amid the gore.

A cloud of them filled the air around what was left of the corpse. Their strange, shrill buzzing was intensely loud despite the open terrain. To anyone listening closely enough, the noise could be heard as hundreds of high, thin screams that could drive a man insane if he listened for too long.The hunter swept his gaze across the thickest patch of the stuff, where rib bones stuck out of caked blood and rotting meat. He’d seen three more killings like this one recently, but this, absurdly, was the tidiest of the bunch. He checked the grip of his pistols and looked at the surroundings.

Parched, gritty plains extended in every direction, dotted here and there with spindly, skeletal trees and unremarkable rocks of all shapes and sizes. The scrub was a no-man's land constantly baked by the glaring, oppressive suns, with little cover for a predator, let alone a man-eater, and the few creatures that called it home could provide no real sustenance. Aside from the damned flies, whose screaming would become maddeningly loud whenever they were attacked, a few small lizards and scorpions could be found scurrying about the baked ground. These might have kept a lone eagle or reaperwing from starving, but a man-eater would die after a day in this environment.

‘Miles from anywhere, no sign of tracks, nowhere near in range of any man-eaters and besides, they wouldn’t have left anything, let alone this much mess.’

‘What a bloody shambles.’

‘What do you reckon?’ asked the taller man, switching his gaze to his partner.

The hunters were nearly identical in their clothing; broad, shady hats protected their eyes from the yellow and orange suns glaring down on the plain. They wore battered brown dusters over their clothes (unremarkable denim jeans and plain, simple shirts) and their hands covered by finely worked black leather gloves. The only real difference lay in their choice of armaments.

The shorter, slimmer man, with cold blue eyes and a scraggly black beard, wore a modified rifle which had a long body and a thick, oppressive muzzle. There were also two very serious-looking knives at his belt, which he toyed with idly.

Ka, the taller of the pair, was a heavyset man with two massive pistols holstered at his waist and a red bandanna tied around the bicep of his coat. A scratched, well-used axe peeked from the harness on his back. His brown eyes flicked nervously from the corpse to his partner.

‘Oll? I said, what do you reckon?’

His companion squatted down by the remains, sweeping his broad-brimmed hat from side to side in an effort to clear the damned flies from his sight. He reached out with a gloved hand and dipped a finger into the mess, stirring it around before gingerly pulling a broken rib from the muck. He inspected it thoughtfully, then tossed it over his shoulder, a handful of damned flies screaming helplessly after their meal.

‘Oll? You goin’ deaf, mate?’

The shorter man stood up, replacing his hat and placing his hands on his hips.

‘I reckon…’

‘Yeah?’

‘I reckon we need a fuckin’ drink.’