25 April 2013

Short Story - In Caecitas Regula



The following is a short story I wrote for school. Enjoy.

The wind picked up, blowing the fine dust into Darby’s face yet again. Pulling his tattered scarf up over his nose and raising an arm to shield his eyes from the gale, Darby cursed and clutched the poorly stitched wound in his side. Oh, he was going to relish punishing the man who gave him that. Stumbling over a rock in his blind stagger, he fell. Inhaling the dry, somewhat crunchy ground, Darby thought back to three days prior. He had given food to a stranger, a seat at his campfire. But in the midst of Darby showing off his latest scavenged find among the smoke and the sweet smell of barbequed cactus wren, the man who had introduced himself as Daniel Robbins had suddenly lashed out. When Darby came to, the fire had been doused, His possessions had been stolen, and he had an oozing gash in his torso. He had trusted the wrong person, and now Darby had nothing but a single goal: Exact his revenge on Daniel Robbins.
As he followed the fading footsteps in the sand – more than one set, it appeared Robbins had a gang of thieves- Darby plunged a hand into his pocket and felt around, taking inventory as he searched for something to smoke; a ragged handkerchief, a few empty shell casings, and some lint. Nothing to sate a nicotine addiction, though. Bastards had stolen his cigarettes too.
            Eventually, the front gate of his destination came into view- the rusted gates of Somariah, a trading hub for the region. As Darby approached the settlement, he reflexively ducked as the glint of a sniper’s scope from the town hit his eyes. When no shot came, he slowly came back to his feet and continued towards the gate, where three guards were stationed. One, a middle-aged man with a shaved head and old-world military fatigues with their fair share of stains, cradled an assault rifle while running a hand through his thick beard as his companion, a sandy-haired twig of similar age, rubbed a cloth over the back lens of his weapon. The final guard, barely seventeen, if that, raised a hand in a friendly gesture.
            “Hey! Come on over!” A smile cracked on the boy’s face as Darby approached. “Welcome to Somariah. We just gotta fill in some paperwork before we can let yeh in. What’s your name and business, Ossan?” Ignoring the strange form of address – settlements of this size often made up or borrowed words from other languages for their own dialects – Darby approached the teen.
            “Darby Freeman. I’m looking for someone.”
            “Oh yeah?” The boy lowered his pencil. “Anyone in here, we’d know of. They got a name?”
            “Daniel Robbins.” The young guard poured over his ledger, eyebrows furrowed.
            “Hmm… Robbins…Robbins…” The boys eyes brightened. “Here he is! Yeah, he came in yesterday. Hasn’t left yet. If he does, I’ll let ‘im know you were looking for him, Ossan.”
            “Actually, I’m hoping to surprise him.” Darby said truthfully as the man with the assault rifle pounded rhythmically on the gate. An eye-level slot slid open and yet another guard peered out before closing the slot and swinging the gate open. “I don’t suppose you’d have where he is right now in that book, would you?” The sand-haired sniper turned and piped up.
            “Oyabun might know.” His gaze shifted from Darby to the younger man. “Nasser, why don’t you go in with him? We can handle things out here.”
            “Okay, Wells.” Nasser motioned for Darby to follow him. “Come on, Ossan. We’ll find your friend.”
The inside of Somariah was cramped and loud. Travelers wove around each other as vendors hawked their wares at the top of their lungs. A mixed smell of cooking food, petroleum, and humanity washed over Darby as he was caught up in the oppressive crowd.
            “So, who’s this Oyabun guy?” He asked over the bedlam.
            “I guess you’d call him the mayor, or the sheriff or something.” Nasser yelled back. “Keeps the order around here, knows everything that goes on. If I give him a description, he’ll be able to find this friend of yours.” An unshaven man in a stocking cap bumped into Darby, biting back his apology as his eyes widened. For a moment the two men stared at each other, the stranger in shock, Darby in confusion. Muttering a half apology and something about thinking Darby was someone else, the man disappeared back into the crowd.
            “What was that about?” Darby asked, turning slightly to allow an older woman more room to pass.
            “No clue, Ossan. We get all kinds here. Anyway, so what’s this Robbins guy look like?”
            “About thirty, 5’10 with jet black hair and a triangular scar on his cheek.” Darby recalled, reaching into his pocket again for a cigarette that wasn’t there.
            “Should be enough for Oyabun to find ‘im. Wait here, Ossan. I’ll go get him.” With a grin, Nasser disappeared into a building. Darby sighed and leaned against the wall, staring at a stand selling fried rats and inhaling the meaty scent. Suddenly, two men leaned against the wall as well, one on either side of him. Turning to face one of them, Darby stopped as another pair in the crowd caught his eye. The man in the stocking cap was pointing straight at him, and next to him was none other than Daniel Robbins. Leaping towards Robbins, Darby was caught by the two thugs on the wall.
            “Well, well…well.” Robbins stalked towards Darby. “And here I thought I had killed you dead.”
            “Looks like you’re not too handy with that knife of yours.” Darby snarled.
            “I assume you’re here to take back the device?” Robbins pulled a box from his jacket, a strange-looking machine with gears inside stamped with letters.
            “That thing? Don’t even know what it does. Thought maybe a merchant might. I followed you here,” Darby growled, “because you knifed me. I assume these bastards are your little helpers?” One of the thugs holding him in place scowled and fingered his belt knife unconsciously.
            “They are. Helped me carry off your things, in fact.” Robbins grimaced. “I suppose I have to finish what I started, though, don’t I?” He replaced the device in his jacket and whipped out a sawed-off automatic. Darby elbowed one of his captors in the ribs, taking his belt knife and turning the thug between his body and Robbins in time to shield himself from a burst of gunfire. He stabbed the other thug in the gut, opening his own wound from the exertion as bystanders scattered with screams and cries for the town watch. The underling in the stocking cap pulled a knife and charged, only to be pettily disarmed with a quick twist on Darby’s part. Desperately, Darby threw his knife at Robbins as the other man launched another volley of bullets. The knife caught Robbins in the throat, as the stream of lead from his machine gun bolted into Darby’s chest. Both men collapsed.
            Warm, metallic-smelling blood leaked from Darby’s body onto the street. He made a shuddering gasp and coughed. Everything had happened so suddenly, so quickly. He had hoped to take his time in killing the bastards, hoped to get the drop on Robbins, not the other way around. The receding back of Robbins’ third thug was the only movement he could see, and the now distant screams of the townspeople seemed…too distant. Like they were happening in another world. And Darby realized they were, because he wasn’t in the same one anymore. Because he was dying. He had wanted only a single thing, to kill Daniel Robbins, and he had gotten it. He should have wished for something more worthwhile. Like one last goddamn smoke. Nasser was beside him now, shaking him, from the looks of it. But not the feel. Calling out to him, yelling something that couldn’t quite reach his ears. And the colour was draining from the world. Draining. And darkening. Fading to black until there was just one last thought left.
            Was revenge… really worth my life?

23 April 2013

Black Mesa (Source) Hazard Course! / An update at last!

Hello to my loyal reading audience (comprised of approximately 1.3 people!)
I apologize for the lack of content lately, there hasn't been much of note going on for me besides development.

So I'm gonna take a moment to talk about that.

See, I'm one of the level designers for the Black Mesa Hazard Course, a community-made addon for Black Mesa recreating the original Half-Life's Hazard Course training maps. It's going pretty well, and we have every position filled except that of a dedicated texture artist (If you have any aptitude with making textures for the Source engine, feel free to apply! We don't bite too much!) Anyway, when we're done, it'll be free of charge to download, just like the mod it's made for.

Check it out. (Just don't forget that we're not part of the official Black Mesa team.)