Competition Codex 10th Anniversary - Short Story Competition

[Andyman Messiah]

Unrealistic. I would never even Skywardswordcraze the time of day much less my hoof. Which brings me to point 2; horses don't shake hands because we don't even have hands. I demand that Rasputin be disqualified and banned from life, that is horrifically murdered and buried on no less than sixteen-hundred different locations of which fifteen-hundred should have a piece of the dildo he keeps tucked into his black lycra hotpants because his penis packed its bags and left him when he tried to engage it in autofellatio.

 

[Ermm]

Someone has a short fuse today.

 

[Andyman Messiah]

Someone has a sassy black bitch attitude today. You wave your fucking finger at me, you cocksucker, and I'm gonna make sure it's the last finger you ever wave because every single one of your finger will be shoved up your ass. Remember that.

 

[Ermm]

What's a matter, Horsey, can't you take a little joke?

 

[Andyman Messiah]

HOLY FUCK A TALKING RABBIT!!

 

[Ermm]

CRAPMAN SAGA part II​

​

(This story is not following modern time canon etc. or depicting ARMA accurately, just so you know that).​

​

The gamespot office is packed with game interviewers and video game show crews. The man talking is Gamespot's president Daniel Floyd (who with his Extra Credits show has apparently wormed his way up there somehow). Behind him there are other important video game people, like Hideo Koyima, newly appointed EA's master strategist Herve Caen etc. This is the special announcement, streaming online on Gamespot.com​

​

Daniel Floyd: This year's E3 has been indefinitely postponed. We simply cannot quarantee out triple AAA-package release schedules, because of the recent attacks on our DLC factories, so we've decided to postpone our release schedules, so you could get your 1-day DLC for your gaming pleasure.​

​

P.S. (As it turns out, his voice is just as irritating as in his videos, so that's no editing trick).​

​

Video noise wips half the image away. On one side of the image there is Skyway, sitting very relaxed and lucid.​

​

Skyway: Skyway here. Now you guys have said some pretty mean things. Some of which I admit were true, under our old management. We had a massive delays, in our AOE project, but with me taking over, that's changed now. Our old boss was a dictator. That's not what I am, I am an artist.​

I also love a good party. So truce. COMMENCE U FESTIVAL. I also have a suprise for you, my dear sheeples. On thursday, at Central Park, I am going to drop 20 million Age of Decadance copies on the crowd. Don't worry about me I've got enough.​

​

Daniel Floyd: We are not going to discuss review deals past our working hours.....​

​

Skyway (interrupting): You heard it folks, 20 million. And there will be entertainment, the BIG FIGHT. Me in one corner, and in the other, the man who has brought real teror to gamer's hearts, CRAPMAN.​

​

(Meanwhile)​

​

A man looks at PC monitor in a dark cave. This is a CRAPCAVE, the secret hideout of mysterious CRAPMAN. The man, watching the live stream, press pause button. This mysterious man, is revealed as Bobby Kotick.​

​

He starts to remember, the earlier days, when he was larping in ungrateful and unapproachable video game world. He had another innocent LARP session in ARMA 2. It was Christmas Eve, and everyone was LARPING friendly, with no violence and shooting allowed in this holy day. Bobby goes to his LARPER home after the LARPER theatre show made by LARPERS. He goes with his only two LARPER friends with nicknames ''NarutoNinja9XX'' and ''HikaruSWORDMASTER110.'' They take a turn into a shadowy corner, and young Kotick hears quiet steps following behind him.​

​

Kotick: YO NARUTO AND HIKARU, BROS, WHAT WAS DAT.​

​

NarutoNinja: YO IT WAZ NOTTING YOU MOARON.​

​

HikaruSWORDMANSTER: YO BRO IT WAS SOLID SNAEK HAHAHAHAHA.​

​

Suddenly in front of them from out the bushes jumps out an Chernarussian Movemen of Red Star soldier with the nickname of ''BFarg'' and behind the LARPER trio, from the shadows, there comes the LARPER's nightmare, with the nickname ''Sky.'' He is standing at one side of the duo, ''Bfarg'' is standing at the other, both of them 3m away from them with their guns pointed at their heads.

NarutoNinja: YO GUYS I AM CAELING THE ADMIN!!!!!

Sky, unexpectedly to Bfarg, opens fire at NarutoNinja and HikaruSWORDMANSTER, killing both of them, and after that he jumps on the two corpses, while acting maniacally. Bfarg only thought that this would be an innocent scare, so he is suprised.

Sky: Tell me kid, you ever LARPED with the devil by the Christmas nght? (With devil he's obviously referring to himself).

Young Bobby is watching with tears in his eyes.

Bfarg: C'mon....... let's go man.

Sky is slowly moving away, and spare the young Kotick, saying: See ya around, kid.

Nothing was ever the same. Young Bobby's friends never logged into ARMA again, and since their were his only buddies, he was left alone in this ungrateful game world. He tried to find ''Sky'' again and gain his revenge, but to no results.

But he swore, that one day he would be the president of a company, which would one day make the most succesful military video game series, made by only his standarts. He would reinvent the FPS genre. He hoped he could bait ''Sky'' into the open, but again, it didn't helped. But now he is thinking in his mind ''Sky = Skyway, Sky = Skyway'' and then he come to realisation.
Sky was the nickname for Skyway, and Bfarg was Brian Fargo.

Sky was the man responsible for the birth of CRAPMAN, CEO of Activision by day, CRAPMAN, boogie man of abusive hardoce gamers, by midnight.

Bobby Kotick: There will be blood.

He knows no quarter will be given. Revenge is coming.

 

[agentorange]

10 Years in the Asylum.​

It was not often that we residents of the asylum were allowed visitors, with the fear of our condition being infectious, that it would infect the visitors, that they would be turned like us to whatever it was we were; the doctors themselves when they came to visit us would shield themselves, both physically and mentally, they kept their distance, they would speak to us as if we were children, as if we should be pleased to hear what they had to say though it was never more than a prattling on of nothingness; descriptions of whatever new methodology or serum they had invented which would surely be the greatest of its kind ever created, greater than even the last project of theirs which had been up to now, with the creation of this new “thing”, the greatest of its kind, always the greatest – I and others in the sanitarium were even aware that many of these so called brilliant and cutting edge devices, they were always cutting edge, we were aware that these had in fact been seen before, created before, as much as decades ago, all these doctors had done was tamper with the precursors and brand their name upon its ass and call it their own; so we would discuss - what we called discussions though it usually was just one or two of us shouting until we destroyed ourselves and others nodding or shaking their heads or peeing or shitting in the corners - these inventions and mock them, in the large four walled room of concrete where we were allowed to interact with each other, for most of the day, we were free to come and go from the room just as we were free to come and go from the asylum itself; some did leave, they went through the front door and we felt the cold breeze and saw the gray skies and the mountains beyond and further the towns and cities, very few stayed gone, and it always was that it was when our shouting and shitting and pissing reached its cacophonous apex that they would come crashing back through the front doors and splay themselves on the concrete floors and ejaculate themselves into a state of numbness at the prospect having escaped back to these warm concrete walls, having escaped from the outside and the small people who live in their small villages and small cities and are happy with their smallness and content, to be content, how awful it was to be content, it was only in death that we would be content because we would be dead and we could agree on that maybe but probably not.

 

[kaizoku]

agentorange have you ever been so far even as decided to use go want to look more like?

 

[agentorange]

Periods just aren't very hardcore.

 

[Ion Flux]

Periods just aren't very hardcore.

You have never met my wife.

 

[Kosmonaut]

Periods just aren't very hardcore.

You have never met my girlfriend.

 

[Darth Roxor]

The Spiteful Spirits
an elegiac poem somehow stolen from the Exeter Book.

Long ago, this was the land of our fathers, stern and strong
Where the wild winds would roar along the valleys long
Where mighty and magical mountains merged with the very sun and skies
Basking their incandescent inclined summits while men were rolling dice.

Through the trails tales travelled of wizardry and witchery
That filled their followers with seldom seen glee
Avatars and star trails descended upon the world in these times
And the Gods gave the goods without resorting to cries and crimes.

A golden age like no other.

But time tottered and tarnished the harps of happiness, silencing them forever.
First was the fall out of favour causing a pandemonium in the pantheon
When some deities desired debauchery, splitting from the patron paragons
Forsaking their followers for the pagan peons
Who had laughed at dice in the previous aeons.

Demanding disgusting sacrifices and sanctions
For single spells that earlier encompassed entire incantations
They still sternly suggested "support" as their sacrament
And discarding their divinity, have become salesmen in a great establishment.

A decline unexpected and unabated.

With the Arcanum of existence all but ablated
And the Torment taciturnly tearing this travesty
We are left sour, severe, seething with profanity
As dragons descend upon our dying lands
And statistics are substituted by rubbishy romance
The rage ravages us
Into trolls it turns us

Alone, abandoned, we had once sought atonement for sins not committed
Believing we have somehow strayed, that we were to be blamed
But now we know that we are destined to be night howlers
Outcasts and outlaws, harrowing the humans like harriers
Waiting for our wasteland to wade into their kingdom's dust
So that we may claim their lands, laughing loud and laughing last.

We are all branded on the bum
And God bring all of us to Kingdom Come.

 

[CappenVarra]

I'm too lazy to finish this but it's deadline time so a prosperous whatever cometh:

Your Wisdom Is My Dump Stat


I. What is an RPG?

The RPG that can be defined is not the eternal RPG
The definition that can be posted is not good enough
The definitionless is the origin of blobber and tactical
The defined is the mother of myriad mods of neverwinter
Thus, turn-based with a party, one observes its essence
Real-time with pause, one observes its manifestations
These two emerge together but differ in definition
Stats going up are said to be the mystery
The bringer of incline, the door to all wonders


II. Everything is shit, says Skyway.

Popamole of popamoles, saith the Skyway, popamole of popamoles; all is popamole.
What profit hath a developer of all his labor which he taketh in the basement?
One decade passeth away, and another decade cometh: but the Grimoire abideth forever.
The mod also ariseth, and the mod goeth down, and hasteth to his Vault where he Dwells.
All the threads run into Retardo; yet the Retardo is not full: unto the place from whence the threads come, thither they return again.
All threads are full of whining: the eye is not satisfied with pre-release screenshots, nor the ear filled with soundtrack samples.
The RPG that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is profitable is that which shall be re-released: and there is no new RPG under the Sun.
I have seen all the games that are created under the Sun; and, behold, all is popamole and engagement of emotions.
That which is biowared cannot be made straight: and that which is wanting cannot be numbered.

And I gave my heart to know codex, and to know madness and folly: I perceived that this also is engagement of emotions.
For in much codex is much grief: and he that increaseth postcount increaseth butthurt.

 

[LundB]

Speculative Fiction:

If now was the future, and the future was cliché cyberpunk bullshit…

NNet//PRIVSERV/0451HUBCrypt/serv-4085107402570375882113
…Establishing neural hub connection
…Connection established, authorized scanpattern confirmed

A: Do we have an update on the project?
B: While the prototype used to simply cause brain damage in most cases, the learning and self-replication subroutines we ported over from the two main rogue AIs on the hub have surpassed every expectation.
A: Surpassed how far, exactly?
B: The most recent iteration is clearing a 99.93% kill percentage and climbing rapidly with every successive test. I don’t want to jump the gun, but it might just be time to take it out of the lab and into active use.
A: I was thinking the same thing. It is long overdue for our project to begin. We should start with unrelated cases, create a smokescreen for when NeuroNet Public Security finds the source. However, after that prep is complete, we can start on the real targets. In fact, I believe I have located the first mole to pop.
B: I’ll tell the team. Glory unto the Incline.
A: Glory unto the Incline.

------------------------------------------------------------

A balding man lies back in the control chair, its hub-cord connected securely to the port in the base of his skull. Following his daily routine, he navigates quickly through the datastream of the NeuroNet, searching for the latest in virtual reality gay elf porn. He happens upon a hub that, though unfamiliar, appears promising. Full sensory stimulation? A hundred lovingly detailed elven cocks? Too good to pass up. He clicks.

But no hot elf sex greets him. Instead, he is quickly redirected through a string of neural hubs, eventually ending up at a seemingly ancient one, by all appearances at least a decade old. He spends a moment taking his bearings.

“Prosperland, subsection of R… Oh no.”

HOPWROEWURNE HOPWROEWURNE HOPWROEWURNE HOPWROEWURNE

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Reliable All-World NewsCorp: ‘When something happens in the world, RAWNews is there for you!’

IMPORTANT NEWS BULLETIN//SubCat:Gaming

Famed game designer David Gaider died earlier today, at his home in the Canada province of Greater Kwanzania. Known for VRRPGs such as the Dragon Age series and its bisexual erotica game spinoffs, Gaider was found dead in his NeuroNet control chair this afternoon. Friends and loved ones have noted nearby vaseline and tissues, and say it seems he died doing what he loved. Cause of death is still unknown, and being investigated by NeuroNet Public Security.

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NNet//SECNet/Sect4KWA/Homicide/FinchD/Logs
Officer: Finch, David R.
Case#: HM2319
Log#: 1
[VOICE TRANSCRIPT]
Initial investigation turned up little information, until the corpse was cross-referenced with the autopsy database. Turned out our guy Gaider shares seemingly minor damage to brain tissue with a number of earlier unexplained. They didn’t show up initially, since there didn’t seem to be any connection between the victims. However, a common thread unites them: All were jacked into their control chairs. It sounds ridiculous, but someone may have actually created a weapon that can kill across the NeuroNet. It shouldn’t be possible. Next step is to get a warrant and take a look at what these guys were doing on the net.

Officer: Finch, David R.
Case#: HM2319
Log#: 2
[VOICE TRANSCRIPT]
Well, this is looking like a definite homicide. Turns out every one of these dead guys was redirected through a chain of hubs to the same final destination. The control chairs’ black boxes all seem to have been damaged, making it tough to find detailed info about what hub or subsection these guys ended up at, but it seems to be one resting under the umbrella of a decade-old hub called the ‘Codex’. Officer Lewis and I have decided to go undercover and investigate this hub further, perhaps discover a potential motive for all these attacks.

Officer: Finch, David R.
Case#: HM2319
Log#: 3
[VOICE TRANSCRIPT]
This place is a powderkeg. It’s awash with unlicensed AI routines, many malfunctioning. For instance, one called Wyrmlord, seemingly some sort of attempt at a learning AI, and another called Drog, uncontrollably self-replicating. More troubling is a vast number of potential suspects, thanks to the hub’s large number of users who cannot be described as anything approaching sane. Lewis and I have been investigating suspects in the most likely subsection, GD. However, I’ve been venturing more and more into the game discussion subsections of the hub, for personal pleasure even. VRRPGs have long been a hobby of mine, and some of these guys actually seem recognize the pathetic decline of the genre and games in general. Uh, sorry about the aside there, forgot I was drafting a log for a moment.

Officer: Finch, David R.
Case#: HM2319
Log#: 4
[VOICE TRANSCRIPT]
Yeah seriously, that game is fucking decline incarnate, though I guess just about everything is now. Oh wait shit, accidental log recording; tech guys, go ahead and delete this.

------------------------------------------------------------

[Note found next to the body of Officer David R. Finch, NeuroNet Public Security, Sector 4: Kwa Division]

By the time this is found, what I say may already be common knowledge, but it only seems right to write it. I killed Lewis. He was a fellow cop, my best friend, and I killed him in cold blood. Two shots to the chest, one to the skull. I am also dead, probably found in similar condition to the bodies we were investigating, since my subdermal armor implants make my sidearm ineffective, and an alternate means was needed.

I killed myself for killing Lewis, I killed Lewis for solving our case. As it turns out, most of the dead were just a smokescreen to attract our attention to the den of crazies in GD. The only important victim was Mr. Gaider. Lewis told me that he managed to gain access to one of the private chats among the Underlord of the hub, and my friends, the gaming-centric users we had assumed to be innocent. He discovered that they had long been developing a weaponized AI, codenamed Prosper, capable of doing such severe damage to one’s sanity that they would die on the spot. Their intention? To halt the decline of games by removing all those responsible. Their plan was to be set in motion today.

Lewis wanted to report it. We’d be able to round up all the members in under an hour, and prevent a great atrocity. However, I realized something. The VRRPG genre has lost most of its basic nature. I asked myself, ‘What can change the nature of decline?’, and the only answer I could come up with was the same the Codexers had: A purge. Over the last few months, I have come to understand the horrifying scope of the Decline, and I could not let Lewis allow it to continue.

By now, Prosper will have been distributed worldwide. The Decline is being ended as I write. However, Prosper will claim one more victim: Me. Perhaps history will judge me more kindly than I judge myself.

Glory to the Incline.

 

[artakserkso]

Another one fights the rust

Recently I took to a pastime
as futile as it was last time.
An outstanding game wanted,
my memory haunted
by traumatic nu-RPG grime.

Presumably The Decline is to blame---
what a terrible shame.
Still, you'd think that online
one should be able to mine
a deep enough, challenging game.

Grazing old forums---one, ten, then twenty
none of them help plenty.
But---lo and behold
one breaks the mold
where advice and brofists are many.

Canon, they say,
nothing like these to make the foray.
Games by the volley,
some declare folly,
that one sucks/no, it's must-play!

Onto the elusive, magical quest
of picking out and acquiring the very best!
Boxes and cloth maps may not be pivotal,
so games that are shipping-free, digital
put my tactile craving to the test.

Dredging through reviews and opinions and rants,
I sit cogitating in my underpants.
"What'll it be",
my wallet beckons to me
forty bucks all a card within grants.

Effervescent in disposition,
I evaluate my position.
Considering general hypes,
individual gripes,
Paypaling my way to roleplaying perdition.

Xeroxing some maps to get in mood for the action
in the week holding out for the boxed Gothic collection.
I fire up a GOG-bought MM1---
incredible fun!---
the Geneforge series up next for download/extraction...

 

[Syl]

A (freestyle) poem

OH GOD ITS HEAVAN

DING DONG IM HERE FOR THE BUTTHURT
CODEX IS FOR FAGS? COUNT ME IN
THIS PLACE IS MAJESTIC EVEN WOMEN HAVE PRICKS
DICKLICKING I DO IT FOR TEH LULZ
PRESS MY BONER FOR SOMETHING AWESOME!!!!!
I WANT COCKS&CUMSHOTS IN MY RPJIZZ
MONOCLES OR COCKRINGS WHICH IS BETTER AND WHY? DISCUSS!!
JERK IN MY HAND :FACEPALM:
HOW COME THERES JIZZ IN MY EAR?? ITS A MYSTARY
FAP FAP FAP FAP FAP
A BIG BLACK COCK IN MY ASS... COMING OUT THURSDAY!
I HAVE NO MOUTH AND I MUST SUCK
I PLAYED MY BONER 7 TIMES
BEST CAEM EVAR!!!111
DAY 1 SPURTCHASE FOR ME
DICKLICKING CONTENT AND QUEER TIME EVENTS ARE MASSIVE INCLINE IN MY BOOK
MY ASS: DOESNT SCALE TO YOUR LEVEL
ODDS ARE, SOMETHING I LIKE ILL VERY MUCH SUCK
I'LL HAVE YOUR BALLS
IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO TOTALLY AVOID CUMMING IN MY MOUTH
WANT TO SEE MY DICK?
THE COCK STRIKES BACK
ITZ CUMING!
:BROFISTFUCKING:

 

[Erebus]

I now realize : the Codex has too many memes.

 

[felipepepe]

I now realize : the Codex has too many memes.

Not only that, but I've been here for too long, for I recall many others that are not there...

 

[commie]

Beatnik ode to the RPG(5):

I saw the freaks, the loners, the myopic haters and perverts descend,
like scurrying rats seeking the dark,
to Codexia they came, each a shell of a shadow, men(boys?) without form, hopeless not hope less,
tormented by the squalid reality of an age that held nothing for them,
daring to dream of something more, an age that could never come

Snarling they sit, ghostly glow of their monitors, shadows dancing upon their misshapen brows, mouths,
their throbbing members in their hands,
circlejerk a refuge, inspiration soaked up with a tissue, not by the false agents of promise, pointing fingers, awesome buttons;
yet they too would have their victories, finding the desperate prepared to give up their honor,
a taste of the future, not as bad as thought

Dark men, fading youth, middle age approaches, dreams into the ether,
the long day is ending yet they still cling together, raging impotently,
turning on each other, cursing and tearing, pathetic Ouroboros,
hope existing in the necroed avatars from a golden time, promises made, designs shown, money thrown by desperate fools,
STILL daring to dream of something more, an age that MUST come.

 

[Niektory]

Too late and too short, but whatever.

Three games from Troika made under Tim Cain,
Seven from islanders in Urquhart's power,
Nine from Obsidian doomed to sequels' reign,
One from Vault Dweller in his Iron Tower,
In the town of Teron where your corpse shall lie,
One game to show them all, one game to shock them,
One game to surpass all and on the Codex mock them
In the town of Teron where your corpse shall lie.

 

[Gregz]