Just a random guy with a passion for video games and music. If you want to contact me, I'm on Xfire and Steam often enough. If you want a custom header, background or avatar (or all three!) for personal use or for your group(s), let me know ;) Space and words of all sorts will fill this space, never to be seen again. On top of that I am going to update my profile so that you cannot see these words. Instead, a cool looking picture shall go on top with some html links for various sites of mine. I still have five hundred characters to go. Drat. Whilst writing that I lessened the character amount. I now have three hundred and sixty one. Wow, that actually worked. But it doesn't matter, because you will never see this again. Well, maybe if you're lucky you will, but I'm not so sure. Anyway, I'm going to attempt to. I need to max out the text. Horribly annoying at times, let me tell you. Still quite a few characters to go, but only in the double digits. Fortunately that ate a bit up. Single.

Blog RSS Feed Report abuse Short Story - The Artist

1 comment by Arcones on Jun 17th, 2015

The Artist


The long lane stretched it’s way through a voluminous forest, far from the bustle of normal, everyday life. Driving it had become routine, something I had done so consistently that I no longer paid attention to the road. Frankly, I daydreamed. Every Tuesday and Thursday I wondered the same thing, “Why did I bother?” I suppose there was some allure to the curious old man, some attraction that prompted me to visit him twice a week. Why I cleared my schedule to call on him bothered me a little bit. I certainly had better uses for my time, right?

And just like that, as if the same introspection that occurred with each visitation caused time to leap into the future, I was approaching the old man’s mansion. It truly was a grand affair, a long face with perpendicular wings on opposing ends. I suppose it looked like a squarish U from the sky, but I had never seen it from that perspective. The treeline had vanished as well, I could not remember when, bu t the mansion now appeared to be the only piece of civilization for miles around. He truly was a hermit.

Parking in the lackluster shade of some artistically cultured bushes, I strode up the chiseled steps to the front door. My mind returned to the memory of my first entrance, hesitantly knocking on the door and waiting for nearly thirty minutes before realizing it was unlocked. I laughed at my old nervous habits: had that really been two years ago now? Well oiled, the front door opened with nary a squeak and I closed it gently behind me. Perhaps the old man wouldn’t show this time. That was always a possibility and one I now anticipated every visit. Still, with the same consistency I had seen over those same two years, a bumbling fellow came parading from up ahead. He muttered to himself, “Fine, left or right? How about reft, or maybe we should go light this time? No,” here, a shake of the head, “we’d best go dark. Yes, yes, dark it is.”

He stopped walking within five paces of my position. I had no clue as to what was meant by dark. Usually he took me down the left or right hallway and thus into a branch or section of the house I had never seen before. Almost every square inch was covered in some work of art. I mused that perhaps part of the reason I kept returning was I knew that I had yet to see the entirety of the old man’s mansion or collection. “Dark, dark, dark.” Again, the mumbling did not ring a bell. Still, the only way I would find out was by following him yet again. As always, there was no direct acknowledgement of my presence, no cheery “Hello!” or salutation to my comparatively young self.

Stepping next to him, I looked down at the old man’s bent and balding head. “Dark into light, yes, that shall do nicely.” That sounded promising. Now with an objective, the old man turned in a complete circle before heading back the way he had come. I duly trailed behind. His quiet jabbering did not waver but listening closely there was now nothing of interest to hear. I instead looked around me. The center hallway hadn’t changed at all since my last visit, the busts, statues and paintings in exactly the same positions as before, but I did not expect it to. I knew by the width of the building that we were going to have to take a left or right turn eventually, but the old man kept going straight ahead.

I could see the end of the hall and wondered if perhaps this would be the first time he didn’t show me anything new. As soon as I thought that though, I noticed a door, one that I had ignored for months because the old man never brought me near enough to fully realize it’s existence. With a twist of the knob the door swung open, although not nearly as freely or quietly as the front entrance. I winced, I might try to drop a little oil in the hinges on my next visit if I remembered. I waited half a step behind the old man, peering over his shoulder at the steps that led to a downstairs. I didn’t know he had a downstairs.

The old man still wasn’t moving. With some concern I looked at my companion. He was shivering, despite the lack of a draft and for a moment I contemplated placing my arm around him. But the moment passed and he straightened a little, no longer shaking. He led the way down the stairs, taking each one with patience and a firm grasp on the handrail. I noticed immediately that the atmosphere was drastically different than the rest of the house. Electrical lights gave spotty coverage on the cold stone walls as we descended. Maybe it was his speed or maybe it actually was a long staircase, but eventually we reached the floor.

Tarps covered swathes of area and I could only vaguely tell what was beneath them. A statue here, a pole there. I sniffed and caught a whiff of musty dust. I coughed reflexively and pulled my shirt up over my nose. Heaven only knows what might be in the air. The old man seemed not to be bothered and continued on his meandering way. I took in the room. It was a wide open basement, pillars bracing the wooden beams that supported the ceiling. It wasn’t comforting to see them rotting.

Forgotten cobwebs hung loosely between pieces of what I guessed to be furniture, although in it’s current state I really couldn’t say for sure. A layer of dust cloaked nearly everything in sight except for our current path: it seemed the old man didn’t care much for upkeep down here. Looking at him again, there was a frown gracing his face, or maybe it was worry. His eyes were focused straight, the lines of age creased around them. I hadn’t seen him in this state before and for once I grew worried. His unceasing mumble was gone and perhaps that was what scared me the most. For two years his muttering had been a sign of his vitality, that despite how odd and lost in his own mind he was, he had found a way to function.

We were reaching the far end of the basement and I could see a single easel standing upright, a dark canvas stretched over it. As we approached it I could see that it was actually a painting. Thus far I had assumed that any of the old man’s work had been done in his youth but this seemed new, fresh even. Stopping, he took a shuddering breath before saying the first words since descending. For once, he was unusually lucid. “I’ve been trapped here, in this broken place. There wasn’t much for me to do but to paint, sculpt, carve. It was a sort of release, and I tried to pile up my works, all of my attempts at art and use them to climb out of my hole.” His voice, wheezy in it’s age, choked up. “I couldn’t do it. I was faking it, faking the grandeur and the wonder of what I wanted my art to be and it hurt me, shook me.”

We were standing before it now, his silence prompting, begging even, me to ask that simple question. “Why?” I whispered. I could guess the answer, but somewhere deep down I knew he needed to answer it instead. “You see the art up above and you see the beauty that it captures. I tried to capture virtue that had been lost. It was imitation, nothing more. I lost that attraction, on my own in my youth and I tried to hide it in those paintings. I was famous, even, for my poor attempts at saving that. In the process of the world admiring what I knew to be a mockery I died inside, I lost my mind. Everything I was ended up shattered in reality as I tried to construct a place of refuge in my work. But it didn’t help. It didn’t help at all.”

“What did you lose?”

“Courage. Honesty. Truthfulness. Love.” The old man shuffled towards the near coal-black painting and reached out caressingly. Peering at it, I could barely make out shapes of some kind, some pattern that was intricately layered in the slight color pallette. “This came to me one day, as I stood alone. My mind was filled to the brim with this pattern, these neverending circles. I thought that if I tried to paint this one last piece, maybe I could get rid of my guilt. Truly I believed it to be the desperation of my mind, in it’s frailty, to assume such a thing possible. But I did. I poured my remorse, my despair into a piece that if finished would never see the light of day. Yesterday I put down the brush. It shant be placed upstairs amongst pictures of glory and of bravery, neither it nor they deserve that. Down here it will rest, alone, where it can be what it was meant to be. A representation of restoration.

“Every artist has something they cannot show, are in fact unwilling to show because it reveals their innermost being. And when they do reveal their work, it is at their end. I am there now, it won’t be long until I pass on.”

“Am I the only one?” My throat ached and I swallowed in haste to ease the pain.

“Aye, I have no other.”

Of all the things that he had said so far, this one sentence struck me. I felt as if my last two years had somehow been fulfilled, even though I knew that had not been my intention. Yet for the old man, it had been something.

“I don’t even know why I came,” I replied quietly.

“You responded instinctively to a cry for help and in so doing gave me a way to live until I reached this point. I would have wasted away long ago if not for you. These months have been a constant battle, but I have won at last, thanks in no small way to your presence. Do you see now, the light that illuminated the darkness?”

I nodded. The pattern became clear to me, the dark circles rotating around a central point of white light that illuminated the rest of the canvas. I reached out to touch it, but the old man held me back. “Another time, perhaps. Let it be a reminder to you. And so shall I remember you, my friend.”

I wanted to say something, anything really to the old man. It occurred to me that this was the first time I had actually spoken with him and in the same stroke, also the last. I turned to leave, nothing coming to my mind. I didn’t look back but ascended the staircase into the bright halls of the old man’s mansion.


The paintings that I had formerly looked at with awe no longer held the same captivating quality as before, now that I knew what they were hiding. I passed through interior quickly, stepping out of the house and making my way to my car, still resting by the bushes, although no longer in any shade.

For the first time in a long time, since I first started visiting really, I didn’t daydream while driving away from that mansion, I absorbed the beauty of the forest, with sunlight filtering through and trickling in between tree branches. I didn’t think I would be back here on Thursday, my compelling reason to show up was no longer residing in me. Something told me the old man wouldn’t be there anyway even if I did show up. And really, we both knew that was the way it was meant to be.

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Report abuse Short Story - Death

9 comments by Arcones on Oct 30th, 2014


Death

The sun had not yet set, but pretty blue lights sparkled throughout the forest of Vangron. Marea knew they weren’t mocking her. They were too innocent for that. Her red-rimmed eyes stared back at her in the reflection of the cottage window. Marea’s home sat near the center of a field of grass, which was bordered on three sides by the forest. She had found the cottage, after running as hard and as far as anyone could from a curse that inevitably seemed to follow her. Here, she believed she would be safe. Here, she believed she could live out her life in peace. Here, she had born a son.
Rays of light shone through the glass window. Had anyone been passing by, they would have seen a woman who, although not old, was neither terribly young. That was what Marea ran from. That was what Marea thought she had escaped. She had led a pleasant life for many years, with a husband and many friends to enjoy them with. Life had been full and sweet then, but what sweetness had remained after her husband died soon turned to bitterness. One by one her friends took ill and died or had a fatal accident. Those she had only known slightly followed not long after. And although no one blamed Marea for what happened, she knew that only the blind and deaf could not have made the connection. She had killed those people. Not in the sense of murder, for she was one of the kindest people you could have known. Yet fate twisted itself around her in a way that disturbed the life of others. And they suffered because of it.
A cough brought Marea out of her introspection. She turned to inspect the young, pale boy laying on a small bed. Her son. Reaching out, she grasped a weak hand gently and pressed her other hand to the boy’s forehead. Eyes closed in sleep, the mouth still twitched in a smile at the touch. Marea smiled as well. This was her son. Her vibrant, lively boy. She had not known she was pregnant initially. She had learned that not long after finding the cottage. Her son, Ethan, was dying. Running had not prevented her from hurting anyone else, it had simply brought the pain closer to home.Yet another casualty of her cursed presence and there was nothing Marea could do. Pleasant memories of when he had been little were of no comfort; they only impacted the inevitable loss of a young life, one that should have lived for decades more. Yet memories were soon all she would have.
“How are you mother?” Ethan’s voice was raspy and dry, barely more than a whisper.
“I am fine, son.” Marea’s voice did not waver. She did not have the heart to tell her son the
truth.
“No you’re not,” replied Ethan in a more animated voice than before. Still gripping Ethan’s hand carefully, Marea grabbed a liquid mixture and made Ethan drink from it. His eyes closed as he drank the soothing liquid and he sighed in relief when Marea pulled the glass away. She hoped that he would not continue to press for answers he could not understand.
“Do not worry mother, I will be fine. You will see.” Ethan’s eyes were still closed. Marea made soft shushing noises but her son continued. “I only need rest mother, I’ve been sick before. You will see.” He had been sick before, but never like this. Marea knew deep down that there was nothing she could do for Ethan. This was her curse and there was nothing she could do to stop it. All she could do was enjoy the last moments with her son.
Ethan’s face contorted in pain, tears streaming down his face at the intensity. He screamed silently, reaching out with both hands for his only comfort. Marea held her boy as her tears clouded her vision. If this was all to life, to be born in order that Death may find its victim in whatever walk of life it chose, then Marea abhorred it. She had been blessed with life in order to watch her loved ones die under a curse.
If anyone had been walking by the window that night, they would have seen a woman, her face painted with pain, screaming silently at Death itself with all the fear and anger of a mother’s loss. They would have seen the hand of a boy eternally lost to an irresistible curse being clutched by a woman whose pain was equally unbearable and everlasting. They themselves would question Death and ask why it had the authority to take the ones we love away.

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Report abuse The ModDB Adventure UPDATE!

4 comments by Arcones on Oct 2nd, 2014

Alright peeps, I've received a lot of feedback from you guys concerning the ModDB Adventure (name to be changed eventually) and I've received some characters as well! This is great and I'm looking forward to those of you who have also decided to participate! While you're still mulling over your character (or just procrastinating) I decided to create a form which would easily allow you create your character by asking some key questions. Click this link to create your character!

The reason I decided to do that was I wanted an easy way for you to be the creator of your character and to have an easy way for myself to see all of the characters created. This'll make it a lot easier for me when writing to look back and see what a specific likes/dislikes or strengths or hair color a particular character has. I mentioned this in the form, but you don't have to answer every question if you don't want to/have a good answer for it. You can leave things up to my discretion to add to your character.

Now something that hasn't really come up at all is the world name. I've had a few options from Salsa (Modover was one considering a lot of mods end up being over before being finished), but I would like a more fantasy oriented world name. I'm open to suggestions so put those thinking caps on! As of right now I think I have 3-4 character responses, two of which are full characters. If you're stuck on a character to create, but want to just populate the world with filler people/races/cities/nations, send me a PM and we can talk about what you have in mind! Having a full world will make for some interesting stories!

Alright, last thing. I'm planning on using this for NaNoWriMo this November which, if you don't know, I've done the last 3 years. It's National November Writing Month, the goal of which is to write 50k words within that month to "win". Now the difference this year is I'm going to be writing before November begins and not ending at the end of November. So it'll be part of that event but that'll mainly be to keep me on track to writing. More than likely, that month will be spent writing one or two story arc's with a few of the characters you guys have given me. That means the soonest there will be a combined storyline is November. Before then however, I plan on writing a few back story's for the characters provided. So the goal is to start with back story's in October and move onto story arc's in November using the cast of characters you have created.

I'm really looking forward to this guys, thanks for being a part of it with me!

Arcones

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Report abuse The ModDB Adventure

20 comments by Arcones on Sep 26th, 2014

I've been inspired recently from various different sources to pull up an idea I had a really long time ago: write a story using people I knew as the basis for characters. Now usually that's taboo in writing, as most of the time fiction doesn't use real places or people as templates, but in this case, I decided to write around the ModDB members that I've known for a while now.

The reason I decided to do that was quite a few of us enjoy role playing and all of us enjoy video games. I figured I could meld the two to some degree, allowing us to create characters that we would want to play in a game and have them set forth into an unknown world where they can do whatever they want and be whatever they want. An open world book if you will. The world is completely new and can hold whatever we can think of. It is literally the most open sandbox you will ever find.

I however, would only be writing the stories, not creating the main characters. That's where you, the ModDB member come in. I need characters to write about: their history, experiences, adventures, etc. But I won't be creating those characters, you will. You can describe your character to the nth degree, from appearance customization to race/specie and your entire skillset. You can be as generous or as stingy with your backstory as you like. Have you always wanted to be a gravity defying dragon? Go for it. An epic swordsman who no one knows about it? Me too! A race that you've created on your own but never actually did anything with? Let me know! No matter how much information you provide me, I will write you into your own story and even into the other character's storylines.

What's unique about this is we become our own hero and protagonist (or villain and antagonist if that's your flavor!). If you've ever wanted to read a story about a character you've designed and had an intimate hand in shaping, this is pretty much it. If you're interested, send me a PM with any questions you have or your character info. Remember, you can send me whatever you want, super detailed if you want me to write a specific way or just a few things if you want me to be creative about it.

Things I'm still mulling over include the following:
A world name
A basic time period/dating system (e.g. 872 HY. HY standing for High Year)
Races (this doesn't matter too much except for world content, like non-writable characters)
Important places (names for cities and locations)
Possible evil characters (this might change depending on people's choice of protagonist/antagonist)

I'll update you guys if I think of anything else. Remember, let me know if you're interested and send me your character info! Sorry for the long post :P

Arcones

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Report abuse I'm gonna be traveling. Ori, Wout, I'm looking at you.

0 comments by Arcones on Sep 9th, 2014

This Saturday I'm gonna be leaving for Europe for a little (I'll be in France initially) and I'll be staying in Germany for a bit. Now since I'm a geography stud (not really) I knew that there might be a few ModDBers nearby who might be wanting to get together! I don't know where everyone is located, but I figure we can find a place along my stops to meet up (maybe have a beer!). Also Headhunter is a scrub because he can't make it, so if anyone else can we're gonna have to show him what he missed :D

Lemme know if you're interested and I can detail my stops. I'm traveling with two friends but I think we'd have some time during our trip in Germany or France.

Anyone up for the first international ModDB get together? :D

Report abuse Development Update #2: New Weapon and Updated Weapons!

0 comments by Arcones on Aug 14th, 2014

Hey guys, I've added another development update to our game page for Valencia: City of Colors, but while it's being authorized, I thought I'd also show it here!

True to the five other weapons he designed, our freelance artist Wesley keep to the fantasy inspired Victorian theme with a new weapon design: the pole-arm. Initially, this had not been one of our planned weapons, but upon doing some more research and designing, Michael and myself decided it would be a good idea to add a longer reaching weapon such as this.

Concept Art: Pole-Arm/Naginata

As you can see, the results were not only vary in color but in shape and size! The wide variety will allow us to refine this set of weapons into some unique combinations. The Pole-Arm is likely to be a weapon wielded by Valencian troops partially for ceremonial purposes and partially for combat. Although we haven't decided yet, there will probably be a few different types for each purpose.We've also updated a few of the other weapons, redesigning some and combining others! Take a look at their new forms below!

Concept Art: Updated Dual Knives Concept Art: Updated Swords
Concept Art: Updated Spear

Let us know what you think in the comments! Also, check out our updated site at Sky Mountain Studios! We've got some exciting new content coming your way over the next few weeks and we'd appreciate you tracking Valencia: City of Colors!

Timothy AKA Arcones

Report abuse Sky Mountain Studios - Valencia: City of Colors

0 comments by Arcones on Jul 22nd, 2014

Hi guys! It's a great pleasure to introduce Valencia: City of Colors to you all as Sky Mountain Studios first game title! It is currently in development and we'd love to receive your feedback as we proceed with the game!

Currently we are in the conceptual stages of development, but we're closing in on producing a small demo to display the gameplay mechanics that you'll use once the game is fully released. It would be a great help if you could support us by tracking on ModDB!

Follow Valencia: City of Colors here!

Thanks for reading!

Arcones
















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Report abuse Annual Updates are Hard

6 comments by Arcones on Jun 10th, 2014

I think it's safe to say at this point that I can't write blogs consistently, which is slightly odd considering how much I love to write in general. Oh well. I figured I'd give a general update for those of you who think I may have died recently, for lack of a better scenario. Well hi. Recently I've been fairly productive irl, which is why I haven't been super productive online, although I'm sure that's most of us whenever the school year winds down.

I've been working quite a bit, getting that hard-earned cash, but that'll primarily be going to school. Speaking of, I finally graduated from High School. Finally. Now onto at least three more years of school. And for those of you who did the mental math there, I already completed a year of college during my last year of HS. In addition to that, I'm still playing Ultimate Frisbee three to four times a week and really starting to hit a new level playing, which is kinda exciting for me. I'm usually one of the smaller and therefore athletically challenged players on the field due to the fact that I play with college students/adults in the prime of their life (or beginning to hit it). I'm just now getting there myself and it's paying off for sure.

A big thing for me though, is the conclusion of two years of National November Writing Month. For those of you who don't know, it's an international event wherein you attempt to write a novel of 50,000 words in one month. I've actually participated in this event for the last three years (we won't talk about the first year) and I've completed all three successfully, but I've never edited any of them. This year however, one of the rewards for finishing and reaching the 50k mark was two free bound books privately published by Amazon's publishing company Createspace and given to the author. I've never used their offer in the past, but this year seemed like a good time to try it out now that I have successive story lines (the past two years I've been writing a specific series).

So now I'm going through the tough (hah) editing process and actually just about close to getting them published and sent to me. I'm kinda psyched. I might actually publicly publish them later on the Kindle or something, if people I know actually want to read them. I've actually learned a decent amount about the publishing process through this offer, although it is different from normal publishing companies.

It's been a pretty eventful last year, as you can tell and I'm sure the next year will be too (well, I am going to Europe this fall, so I think so =P). Hope everyone here is doing good as well!

Arcones






































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Report abuse Arcones' Blog: It's Been Too Long!

1 comment by Arcones on Jun 7th, 2013

Hello World! (Again)

So I've had some things on my mind lately that I've wanted to do and so here's a video along with some Minecraft Survival Games footage to go along with it. I actually kinda enjoyed talking to myself for 6 ish minutes.

Also one other thing: The video and audio ended 10 full seconds before it should have and so subsequently you don't see me win the SG.

So anyway, here you go!


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Report abuse Short Story

4 comments by Arcones on Mar 11th, 2013


Not All Things That Appear to Die, Truly Do

The cold gray dawn did nothing to the young and therefore irrepressible spirits of the brother and sister. Before breakfast, the siblings had scampered outside their house and plunged into the neighboring forest. They loved adventure and the forest provided the best kind. Holding hands they skipped merrily through the dense vegetation. Occasionally, they stopped to watch a squirrel climb a tree or a bird peck the ground for a worm. The siblings led a carefree life. Autumn, their favorite season, peeked from around the corner. They could see it in the leaves of the trees, and could feel it in the brisk wind that rustled through the vegetation. The boy and girl stopped for a rest, sitting side by side against a tree. Slowly, and nearly without notice, their eyelids closed. Unfortunately, they did not know the dangers of the forest, or if they did, they did not heed its warnings. So it was without caution that they slept, deeply, and unaware that they were being watched. With eyes full of malevolence, the creature crept forward slowly, stealthily. In its two wrinkled hands were rough, homespun potato sacks. It stepped on a twig with a snap. The boy gasped as his sight was plunged into darkness, but not before he caught a glimpse of long unkempt hair and a wrinkled face. A cry from his sister alerted him that she too was caught. Then a rough hand seized his neck and slowly, but steadily, he lost consciousness.
At the house, the parents of the young lad and lass were awake. They were not alarmed that both children were gone. The young siblings enjoyed their excursions into the forest, as it had become habitual. It was only as the sun approached its zenith that the parents began to be worried. They knew what was in the forest and had frequently told both children not to venture far. Mid-afternoon approached, and the parents stepped into the forest. They were intent on finding their children before it was too late. Though there was no actual trial, the parents knew where their children usually played. As mother and father searched each and every one of the children’s hideouts, a seed of despair began to plant itself in their hearts. Would they find their children? Finally approaching the siblings’ last haunt, they found signs of use. Disturbed grass, crushed leaves, and most importantly, signs that something, or someone had been dragged from the site. With dread filling them, the parents ran from the spot, tracking the foot marks and drag signs until they came upon a site that left them speechless with horror. In the midst of a forest clearing were white bones. The mother stumbled to her knees sobbing. The father felt empty and hollow inside. Tears welling in his eyes, he hugged his wife, and spoke softly, “I’m sorry Gretel. The witch has had her revenge on you. Let’s tell Hansel.”

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