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Messages - Mary

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Slimy Stories / Re: Attract Mode
« on: 02:05:30 AM 10/03/13 »
A bit verbose at times (quite a few times) when more concise writing would have sufficed (or been better), you you absolutely nailed the ending.

I got shivers.

General Discussion / The best pasta I've ever tasted
« on: 01:44:12 AM 10/03/13 »
We Made a Mistake aka The Gift of Mercy


We made a mistake. That is the simple, undeniable truth of the matter, however painful it might be. The flaw was not in our Observatories, for those machines were as perfect as we could make, and they showed us only the unfiltered light of truth, The flaw was not in the Predictor, for it is a device of pure, infalliable logic, turning raw data into meaningful information without the taint of emotion or bias. No, the flaw was within us, the Orchestrators of this disaster, the sentients who thought themselves beyond such failings. We are responsible.

It began a short while ago, as these things are measured, less than 6^6 Deeli ago, though I suspect our systems of measure will mean very little by the time anyone recieves this transmission. We detected faint radio signals from a blossoming intelligence 2^14 Deelis outward from the Galactic Core, as photons travel. At first, crude and unstructured, these leaking broadcasts quickly grew in complexity and strength, as did the messages they carried. Through our Observatories we watched a of strife and violence, populated by a barbaric race of short-lived, fast-breeding vermin. They were brutal and uncultured things which stabbed and shot and burned each other with no regard for life or purpose. Even their concepts of Art spoke of conflict and pain. They divided themselves according to some bizarre cultural patterns and set their every industry to cause of death.

They terrified us, but we were older and wiser and so very far away, so we did no fret. Then we watched them split the atom and breech the heavens within the breadth of one of their single, short generations, and we began to worry. When they began actively transmitting messages and greetings into space, we felt fear and horror. Their transmissions promised peace and camaraderie to any who were listening, but we had watched them for too long to buy into such transparent deceptions. They knew we were out here, and they were coming for us.

The Orchestrators consulted the Predictor, and the output was dire. They would multiply and grow and flood out of their home system like some uncountable tide of Devourer worms, consuming all that lay in their path. It might that 6^8 Deelis, but they would destroy us if left unchecked. With aching carapaces, we decided to act, and sealed our fate.

The Gift of Mercy was 8^4 strides long with a mouth 2/4 that in diameter, filled with many 4^4 weights of machinery, fuel, and ballast. It would push itself up to 2/8th of light speed with its onboard fuel, and then begin to consume interstellar Primary Element 2/2 to feed its unlimited acceleration. It would be travelling at nearly light speed when it hit. They would never see it coming. Its launch was a day of mourning, celebration, and reflection. The horror of the act we had committed wwighed beavily upon us all; the necessity of our crime did little to comfort us.

The Gift had barely cleared the outer cometary halo when the mistake was realized, but it was too late. The Gift could not be caught, could not be recalled or diverted from its path. The architects and work crews, horrified at the awful power of the thing upon which they labored, had quietly self-terminated in droves, walking unshielded into radiation zones, neglecting proper null pressure, safety or simple caesing their nutrient consumption until their metabolic functions stopped. The appalling cost in lives had forced the Orchestrators to streamline the Gift's design and construction. There had been no time for the design or implementation of anything beyond the simple, massive engines and the stablizing systems. We could only watch in shame and horror as the light of genocide faded in infrared against the distant void.

They grew, and they changed, in a handful of lifetimes. They abolished war, abandonned their violent tendancies and turned themselves to the grand purpose of life and Art. We watched them remake first themselves, and then their world. Their frail, soft bodies gave way to gleaming metals and plastics, they unified their people through an omnipotent communications grid and produced Art of such power and emotion, the likes of which the Galaxy has never seen before. Or again, because of us.

They converted their home world into a paradise (by their standards) and many 10^6s of them poured out into the surrounding system with a rapidity and vigor that we could only envy. With bodies built to survive evry environment from the day-lit surface of their innermost world, to the atmosphere of their largest gas giant and the cold void in between, they set out to sculpt their system into something beautiful. At first we thought them to be simple miners, stripping the rocky planets and moons for vital resources, but then we began to see the purpose to their construction, the artworks carved into every surface, and traced across the system in glittering lights and dancing fusion trails. And still, our terrible Gift approached.

They had less than 2^2 Deeli to see it, following so closely on the tail if its own light. In that time, oh so brief even by their fleeting lives, more than 10^10 sentients prepared for death. Lovers exchanged last words, separated by worlds and the tyranny of light speed. Their planet-side engineers worked frantically to build sufficient transmission to upload countless masses with the necessary neural modification, while those above dumped lifetimes of music and literature frome their databanks to make room for passengers, Those lacking the required hardware of the time to aquire it consigned themselves to death, lashed out in fear and pain, or simply went about their lives as best they could under the circumstances.

The Gift arrived suddenly, the light of its impact visible in our skies, shining bright and cruel even to the unaugmented ocular receptor. We watched and we wept for our victims, dead so many Deelis before the light of their doom had even reached us. Many 6^4s of those who had been directly or even tangentially involved in the creation of the Gift sealed their spiracles was paste as a final penance for the small roles they had played in this atrocity. The light dimmed, the dust cleared, and our Observatories refocused upon the place where their shining blue world had once hung in the void, and found only dust and the pale gleam of an orphaned moon, wrapped in a thin, burning wisp of atmosphere that had once belonged to its parent.

Radiation and relativistic shrapnel had wiped out much of the inner system, and continent-sized chunks of molten rock carried screaming ghosts outward at interstellar escape velocities, damned to wander the great void for an eternity. The damage was apocalyptic, but not complete. From the shadows of the outer worlds, tiny points of light emerged, thousands of fusion trails of single ships and world ships and everything in between, many 10^6s of survivors in flesh and steel and memory banks, ready to rebuild. For a few moments we felt relief, even joy, and we were filled with the hope that their cuture and Art would survive the terrible blow we had dealt them. Then came the message, tightly focused at our star, transmitted simultaneously by hundreds of their ships.

"We know you are out there, and we are coming for you."


It's not so creepy, but every time I read it I get chills and goosebumps. I love the writing.

So The-Forum-Previously-Known-As-Overlord,
what's the tastiest pasta you've ever read?

I can't comprehend this shit either the morning after, don't worry bud.

The Slime Pit / Re: New Sponsor:!
« on: 04:40:39 PM 10/02/13 »



Can I just ask, what is the point of saying "Post and Discuss your favorite creepypastas" if we can't post in this board?

My metal screeches in agony as the vice tightens around my sides. The glass of my limbs shatters as stuggle vainly against the inexorably squeeze of the machine. As my feet burst and their air hisses out my mind rumbles, thinking back to the days of long aimless journeys along coastside roads or windy jaunts under the verdant canopies in the mountains. My eyes crack and dim as the machine does it's work and soon I'm stacked neatly on one of countless neat stacks.

More than a sentence but whatcha gonna do about it.

I always read these things thinking you're making them up.

But you're too poor to get a custom run of just-plausible-enough wacky 80s toys that you designed and fabricated a story for, right? Right?

I mean even the butts were more plausible. Butts were a big craze back in the day, you wouldn't be seen in public without one.

Though I guess things always look retarded in retrospect. Maybe some day Mo jr will be making spaceblog about how in the early 2010s there were a hundred retarded lego spin offs, like one about spinning ninjas.

General Discussion / I love how everything is so dead
« on: 05:46:36 AM 10/02/13 »
I can come back 6 months later and be like "Oh there's that thing I said 6 months ago. Still on the front page"

Love this place.

Goddamn, scroll of riches was a piece of shit. It just encourages stagnant play. Not that you needed gold for much anyway, but it really should be a multiplier on gold earned. To make use of it you would have to venture out of the barrier of peace otherwise it wouldn't help with anything.

shadows was perhaps the only semi decent one.

I agree with your coffee break thing. Like I said, I think the more simple gameplay and lack of a skill/gear chasm between new and old players is what made hellrising more fun to play.

I feel hellrising was a better game than scroll wars, balance wise. There was less of a gaping chasm between new players and old, you could eke out a living as a single player fairly easily and levels came quickly. Despite what people say, the action point system was way better than infinite travel with battle points. With infinite searching nowhere was safe. I talked to at least two dudes back in the day who were complaining they were killed by sr22e as low level noobs and didn't know how to find a temple or lost their bodies. I'm sure that sort of cancerous player drove away more than just the two I talked to.

And even of they stuck around there was little chance of anything interesting happening as the whole war for the scrolls was so stagnant, no one ever got to see the scrolls but a certain guild 99% of the time.

General Discussion / Re: Mo what
« on: 03:23:15 PM 04/18/13 »

Now that you've said that he'll be bound to pop up.

General Discussion / Re: Mo what
« on: 04:10:32 AM 04/18/13 »
Also I hate password restrictions like this forum has. 8 characters, must contain numbers, must contain upper and lower case.

And that unreadable captcha thing.

General Discussion / Mo what
« on: 04:08:03 AM 04/18/13 »
You shoulda sent an email out to every registered user directing them here.

Also I preferred overlord, and red colour schemes, and eyeballs instead of your mug and a web 2.0 punch bowl.


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