03-21-2011, 01:54 AM
ENTRY TWO
Yesterday, I attempted, yet again, to download the Game Manual for Far Horizons. I managed to get over half-way there, before disaster struck once more. Egads! Something sinister is afoot, here.
Resolute and undeterred, I initiated a download of the Game Manual for the third time. Simultaneously, I had the master brain of my computer to begin an automated search of every last nook, cranny, and crevice of my computer's two hard drives, to try and uncover the copy of the Game Manual that I had downloaded successfully a while back.
Bingo!
I began to flip through the pages of the electronic Game Manual, its PDF pages seeking to enlighten my brain orb, only to no avail. The brain rot had already begun to set in, apparently, so osmosis would not be an option for this game.
Damn!! I could hear game moderator Casey smirking at my galactic misfortune. I make a mental note to nuke his home planet from orbit.
Finally, the due date had arrived. Turn orders had to be in at a pre-determined time. So, in the finest tradition of PBM gamers down through the rich and colorful history of postal genre gaming, I headed off to work, instead.
Due date? What's that??
One of my fellow players in this game of Far Horizons must have unleashed a nanobot attack upon my memory, a bio-organic brain decay organism of some type. It may even have been a DNA-code bomb. Clearly, these bastards were playing for keeps! The thought occurred to me that the game moderator may be in cahoots with them. Things began to be more clear, now. It all began to make sense. Some nefarious hive mind was what I faced. This was going to be an uphill climb.
At T+ several, I finally managed to fire off a set of turn orders, oblivious to the relevance of any of it. True to form, my orders contained errors. There was no pleasing Casey. Damn him! Damn his game!
In an act that can only be called cosmic manipulation, the game moderator identified my error, and got me set upon the path of the straight and narrow. At long last, my turn results finally found me,a nd I opened them immediately.
Unfortunately, the transmission had been garbled. Frantic, I began to panic. Think, man! Think!!
Reaching for the activation button of another software program, I managed to de-scramble the mess, and at long, long last, my wait was over. Power coursed through my veins. I had defied all odds. I had survived the event, with nary a scratch.
I had managed to actually issue orders that worked. A magnificent space vessel now awaited my command. My research had already begun to pay off. Oh, Hell yes!! The collective efforts of all of my empire's enemies had been for naught.
Now, if I only really understood what I should be doing, to chart a winning course for my empire.
From a far corner of space, misery mocked me. It just stood there, taunting me. Heckling me like a galaxy-sized fool. It could have at least explained to me what a "normal" first set of turn orders should look like.
I've got a gnawing feeling that my empire has fallen behind, already.
All that I can say is.....Damn!!
Yesterday, I attempted, yet again, to download the Game Manual for Far Horizons. I managed to get over half-way there, before disaster struck once more. Egads! Something sinister is afoot, here.
Resolute and undeterred, I initiated a download of the Game Manual for the third time. Simultaneously, I had the master brain of my computer to begin an automated search of every last nook, cranny, and crevice of my computer's two hard drives, to try and uncover the copy of the Game Manual that I had downloaded successfully a while back.
Bingo!
I began to flip through the pages of the electronic Game Manual, its PDF pages seeking to enlighten my brain orb, only to no avail. The brain rot had already begun to set in, apparently, so osmosis would not be an option for this game.
Damn!! I could hear game moderator Casey smirking at my galactic misfortune. I make a mental note to nuke his home planet from orbit.
Finally, the due date had arrived. Turn orders had to be in at a pre-determined time. So, in the finest tradition of PBM gamers down through the rich and colorful history of postal genre gaming, I headed off to work, instead.
Due date? What's that??
One of my fellow players in this game of Far Horizons must have unleashed a nanobot attack upon my memory, a bio-organic brain decay organism of some type. It may even have been a DNA-code bomb. Clearly, these bastards were playing for keeps! The thought occurred to me that the game moderator may be in cahoots with them. Things began to be more clear, now. It all began to make sense. Some nefarious hive mind was what I faced. This was going to be an uphill climb.
At T+ several, I finally managed to fire off a set of turn orders, oblivious to the relevance of any of it. True to form, my orders contained errors. There was no pleasing Casey. Damn him! Damn his game!
In an act that can only be called cosmic manipulation, the game moderator identified my error, and got me set upon the path of the straight and narrow. At long last, my turn results finally found me,a nd I opened them immediately.
Unfortunately, the transmission had been garbled. Frantic, I began to panic. Think, man! Think!!
Reaching for the activation button of another software program, I managed to de-scramble the mess, and at long, long last, my wait was over. Power coursed through my veins. I had defied all odds. I had survived the event, with nary a scratch.
I had managed to actually issue orders that worked. A magnificent space vessel now awaited my command. My research had already begun to pay off. Oh, Hell yes!! The collective efforts of all of my empire's enemies had been for naught.
Now, if I only really understood what I should be doing, to chart a winning course for my empire.
From a far corner of space, misery mocked me. It just stood there, taunting me. Heckling me like a galaxy-sized fool. It could have at least explained to me what a "normal" first set of turn orders should look like.
I've got a gnawing feeling that my empire has fallen behind, already.
All that I can say is.....Damn!!