Vael Victus

lamattgrind:

when they demand you tell them what is best in life

you must tell them this - this video is best in life

Now I miss both Baccano and FF7! :(

In other news, Guild Wars 2 beta.

beta.guildwars2.com

http://english.stackexchange.com/questions/58710/arrogant-vs-conceited

I already knew the meanings, but I had to prove to my coworkers what the difference was. There’s a big difference between both of these too, though, and another word: confidence. Modern society is pathetic when it comes to confidence. You can’t be confident, it’s taboo. You can do it weakly, such as “I think I should do well on that test.” But firmly putting forth a belief of yours doesn’t usually end well. It’s why we say “That’s just how I feel.” or “In my opinion…”

I love exchanging ideas, and will reasonably defend my beliefs/claims against another. If they’re wrong, I try my best to make them acknowledge that, and if I’m wrong, I consider it even better; I directly improved.

In the future, our society will only get weaker, weasley, and more squishy.

http://boingboing.net/2011/01/04/i-havent-used-soap-i.html

Many times in my life I will reflect back on the human condition when wondering if I need something. I have a some fascination with what I call “the human condition”, and I hope to bring that to the world of my third game.

So I think to myself, “You know, we didn’t use soap as we do today, 100 years ago.” and then I think, “Well, they were stinky. They used perfumes because everyone stank.”

But alas! It wasn’t their lack of soap, as much as it was their lack of filtered water and - potentially - proper bathing equipment. (the now-immortal loofah) Not everyone had showers like we do. At best they’d mix some herbal concoction together that was more perfume-esque than soap. There wasn’t modern deodorant until the early 1940s.

That being said, this article does not shock me. I will change nothing, of course, because I bathe twice a week. Eve will smell after one day of not showering, so she showers every day. Vael does not smell. Eve will pipe up and say my hair smells sometimes, but for the most part, I just need proper shampooing techniques… twice a week.

evevictus:

the-sauce-sarcastic:

If this is not just the weirdest fucking thing ever…

<3

The story behind this is that it was some show where the dog kept eating all their food off the table, and had a taste for sweets. They were training him to not eat the sweets, and would instead be rewarded with a doggy treat. This was the final boss battle for the dog, I forgot how it ends.

Cleaned up my friends lists on both xfire and steam.

The result being that I will talk to Demi more because I see his AIM on my main list! No way you can casually escape our conversations now, buddy.

But yeah, just tired of dealing with people that waste my time. I’d much rather have Starman post me an excerpt from a novel he’s writing, than to deal with some sensitive guy’s feelings. Sadly, I looked at the picture on the BCN site with “all of us” and only me, demi and cameron remain. :’( I do believe I may put forth a bit more effort to socialize with the people I’ve kept on my friend list. Steam was/is really a graveyard of friends I’ll never play with.

~~~~~~~~~

new boxxy video… it’s so bad ;(

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-elFqYXt_R0

Redneck dad puts eight holes through daughter’s laptop for whining over Facebook. lol :3

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=maeXjey_FGA

And white.

Monochrome.

It’s all good news now, because we left the taps running for 100 years. We will drink from empty cups and believe them full.

evevictus:

<3

Vael: Hey eve, that’s a pretty cute dog thing that you reblogged.

Eve: What? It’s a baby polarbear.

Vael: I… what… it’s…

Eve: Idiot.

Vael:

The end of Facebook will come when it’s so silly that it just mocks itself when you’re trying to honestly use it.

http://www.theatlantic.com/business/archive/2012/02/adulthood-delayed-what-has-the-recession-done-to-millennials/252913/

I’ve noticed this before. The world keeps trying to convince me so hard that I’m not an adult. At my workplace, someone referred to a 33-year-old retired marine as a “kid”. Why? He looks incredibly young. That’s it. That’s all it takes. These days, you just have to look old.

Seriously. I raise kids. I worked my ass off with two silly games that won’t amount to much, got a job, farmed that for a year, and moved into an apartment that I manage to still pay for, with my two kids and girlfriend who only drain my income. I’m not an adult, however, because I’m short and play video games? :P It really is that simple. It’s nothing to be mad about. They can have their football games and excuses to drink while I have my video games and bottles of wine by my side.

… but yeah that’s a nice article, I feel bad for the college kids but not the ones in my field because I have an awesome field. ^______^;

a song for you, Marshall

http://soundcloud.com/s3rl/mtc-s3rl-radio-edit-emfa-music

Vael Victus checked his dashboard.

“Suuuure is quiet ‘round here.”

I find it just takes too much time to play, and with die2nite, I don’t really feel like spending all this time playing browser games because they’re not 100% stress-relieving like TF2 is.

Mostly BYM just isn’t updating fast enough. I feel like I’m just wasting my time at this point. No PvP, no reason to do a whole lot of anything.

omg this is my dream in a game ;______; it really is, I was always like, “wouldn’t it be so cool if there were a big awesome persistent fight you can just hop into at any time?!” and now it’s… and now it’s here ;__; long live guild wars and black coat guild

http://www.arena.net/blog/mike-ferguson-on-guild-wars-2-world-vs-world

evevictus:

Somebody did this to me last night……….

IT WAS ME, I DID IT!

(✂ﾟ∀ﾟ)✂

Makes me feel like I’m playing Skyrim.

Gonna loot some dungeons.

Gonna cast some spells.

Feels good, man.

Very cool.

Hey, everyone, I got pyromancer in TF2! That’s means I caused 1,000,000 fire damage over my TF2 career! (from when they started tracking achievements)

Yeap, it can cause fragmenting. Deleting and writing like that will definitely create fragments on your hard drive. That being said, they don’t necessarily “have” to show up, so if you just keep copy-pasting, chances are you won’t have much evidence. Larger files will tend to be more fragmented, but the worst damage you could do is copy-pasting tons of smaller files. Music folders, for instance.

Anyway, are you who I think you are? Are you a stranger, or do you at least feel you’ve become one to me? Kum yoa riub phes?

addendoom

That being said, defragmenting isn’t usually necessary for computers these days. Windows 7 does a good job of that for you. It’s easy enough, anyway.

time-locked:

It’s okay Pluto, you’ll always be a planet to me.

It’s okay I’M NOT A PLANET EITHER.

FUCK YOU ALL, PLUTO IS A PLANET.

PLUTO WILL ALWAYS BE A PLANET.

YOU WILL ALWAYS BE A PLANET.

PLUTO DIDN’T EVEN HAVE A CHANCE TO SHINE!

It’s posts like these that remind me of why the surface world is so hated.

“Oh, waah, pluto isn’t a planet!” “I’m not a planet either, haha! :(“

Pathetique. Typical surfacer who doesn’t think, instead, “Pluto has been declassified as a planet. Let’s make it a planet again.”

Pluto is the grimmest ex-planet in this solar system. Cold, dark, lonely, rejected. If that’s not a reason to make it a planet again, I don’t know what is.

Some associates and I are currently drafting plans for the planetization of Pluto once again. Currently we plan for the project to be done by 2030, but it may take longer, naturally. They’re only drafts, and this may not even turn profitable.

If not for the lack of current fashion opportunities, then for the loverly color that’s made when the blood hit my brown leather gloves just now.

Who is this handsome man? And just look at that vest. To kill for!

pictured: one of many Summer homes of Count Victus

my heart has been lifted

T’was the night before Christmas and all through the lair,

many creatures were stirring, the weather was fair.

The corpses hung from the ceiling in cages,

with hope they’ll soon undergo some changes.

The assistants were sipping on premium tea,

preparing for their next departure from sanity.

The Count strode ‘round his premises with glee,

the presents retrieved from the docks by the sea.

Oddities, curiosities, and knicknacks galore!

And soon the celebrations were no more.

As the night panned out, mutations brimming,

and straight-jacketed horrors girating and quivering,

The Count unleashed a final sight:

Santa Claus, undead, resurrected with blight!

It caused even The Count a bit of fright,

such that he proclaimed with utter delight…

“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

I stumbled upon this while going through my old Facebook messages. (I use Facebook to keep up with various surface contacts)

So apparently Igor III, now deceased, had written a plea for escape through someone who I had him transcribe a message to. It’s a shame it never worked out for him - in early September I had to do away with Igor III after he ate a few chickens I had intended to use for an experiment. I wasn’t fond of him, and trust me here, readers: this was not his first act of defiance. Igor IV lived for about a month before falling into the backyard pond.

I’m rather tired of the Igor line. I’ve drafted some plans for assistants who are not only intelligent, but also beautiful. Unfortunately, reanimated corpses (especially female ones!) just happen to really lack that beauty I require. Mind control is the mad science of the underworld - where all our science is the mad science of your world. It’s not an option, and even attempting it would have me a laughing stock of underscience for the next three years. Alas, obtaining a beautiful and intelligent assistant may be the only thing I simply am not capable of…

In other news, I finally killed my peggle habit. There’s only so much a Count can take.

I’ve got to hand it to this “Adagio”. It’s not often that I listen to music, let alone surface music, but I praise Adagio for coalescing the brutality of death metal (I use that term loosely) and the elegance of orchestral compositions.

Oh, and of course, Tumblr - I have permission to upload this… ;}

 [adagio - r’lyeh the dead]

“Trick or treat!” they scream, not realizing that it is a question.

I open the door slowly, holding a small plastic pumpkin full of delectable candies. They reach in. I’m smiling. The first child goes to grab the first treats and -

“Trick!” I answer harshly, at my side pulling a steel lever. The entire yard shifts into a funnel, as the children and their caretakers slide down into the darkest depths of my dungeon, forever enslaved.

Happy Halloween.

…

*clap*

*clap*

Oh…!

Who lives in a dark castle under the earth?
It’s Count Victus!
Swore destruction and fire since the first day of birth?
It’s Count Victus!
If science and discord are something to see…
It’s Count Victus!
Then put on your lab coat and sing this with me!
It’s Count Victus!
READY?
It’s Count Victus, lord of all death.
We. All. Love. Him.
It’s Count… Victus!

Ah ha ha ha, hoo hoo ha har…

Adorable. “Oh, 120 MPH winds!”

To be fair, sure - that’s more than usual. Your pathetic surface-level homes will be battered. But 80 MPH? 120 MPH? Creatures of the underworld pass wind faster than that, and sometimes, it’s just as wet. Definitely more stinky.

I don’t think, when it comes time to destroy the world, that I’ll be pursuing a natural way to go about it. If I were to create a hurricane, however, I think my first alpha test would probably be the size of this “Irene” hurricane.

When I’d be finished with Hurricane Victus, I would not settle for East or West coast. All the coasts would be reborn fifty miles inward!

Death Waltz by John Stump

I can read music and play piano, but this makes my brain hurt. Look at how insane that is! Heres a computer playing it and one of a guy actually playing it( although its toned down a bit). The piece was originally meant to be impossible to play due to how it was written.

geni:

It sounds surprisingly modern

That’s because it’s probably been composed quite a few years from now. So how did it end up on the Internet?

A brilliant pastsender. I’m positive my tumblr readers don’t know what a pastsender is, so allow me to explain. There exist small pockets of error in time itself - most are aware of this. What most aren’t aware of is that we can enter such pockets, and manipulate them. The scenario went like this:

The pastsender - we do not/could not know his name - composed this piece, perhaps years from now, and finished the song. He then thought to himself, “but no one could appreciate this song, even if I inscribed it into my skin, poured kerosene in the inscriptions, and lit myself on fire to death.” He then knew what he had to do, which was pastsend. I will not go through what it takes to make a pastsend happen, nor do computers even have the adequate language to detail it with. Know that it is incredibly chancey and, as far as I’m concerned, a waste of one’s ability.

We next come to this hack musician John Stump. Lacking inspiration and ability, he futuresought constantly. Futureseeking is a very easy, pathetic form of sorcery. He essentially cast his spell into the Nether and hoped something would return… for countless years. Maybe he’d pick up a stray thought, a terrible dream here or there, as is the fate of most futureseekers. Nay. John Stump caught Our Impressive Pastsender’s donation at the right time and we’ve ended up with this. He inscribed it to paper and has taken the credit for the work of someone who may not have even existed in our own timeline yet.

That being said, this is one catchy tune.

I recently published, in the underworld, a slang dictionary. It met great acclaim, and I decided to whip up a short post for you English speakers out there. Today’s a lazy Saturday as I revel in my latest release, and I only saw it fitting. So without anymore extraneous blabber…! I present to you, The Count’s Mini-Dictionary of Grim English Words. (that everyone should know)

bookmark this excrement

~

Apostasy (uh-pos-tuh-see)
A total departure from one’s religion, principles, cause, etc.

Atrophy (at-truh-fee)
Degeneration, decline, or decrease, as from disuse. An old man’s skin and musculature may degerenate, but it’s most proper to say atrophy.

Augury (aw-gurr-ree)
A sign of what will happen in the future; an omen: “They heard the sound as an augury of death.”

Barbed (barbed)
Having barbs. Barbs are pointed parts projecting backward from a main point, as of a fishhook or arrowhead.

Castigation (cast-ih-gay-shun)
A severe scolding. “The castigation ceremonies of Count Victus have been known to render one’s spine inoperational.”

Desolation (dess-oh-lay-shun)
A desolate area. Barren, unfriendly, potentially unpopulated by creatures.

Defile (duh-file)
To make foul, dirty, or unclean; pollute; taint; debase.

Desecrate (dess-uh-crate)
Like defile, except the defilation of a holy place/object. “You will not desecrate this holy sanctum!”

Despotic (dih-spot-ik)
Of the nature of a despot or despotism:  autocratic; tyrannical. A tyrant with absolute power, as opposed to a tyrant without absolute power.

Dirge (durge)
A somber song expressing mourning or grief, such as would be appropriate for performance at a funeral.

Discord (diss-chord)
Lack of harmony; chaos.

Epitaph (ep-i-taff)
A statement written in memory of a person, usually on a tombstone. “Here lies… “

Hallow (ha-low)
Holy, typically referred to as holy ground or territory.

Harrow (har-row)
To cause distress; typically seen as “hollowing” one’s stability. Shaken.

Necrotic (neck-rottic)
Describing something killed by necrosis: death of a circumscribed portion of animal or plant tissue.

Misanthropy (miss-an-throw-pee)
A dislike of humankind. A person can be a misanthropist as well as a misanthrope.

Pyre (pire)
A heap of combustible material, especially one for burning a corpse as part of a funeral ceremony. “a funeral pyre”

Shamble (sham-bul)
To walk or go awkwardly; shuffle. Typically used in regard to the navigational difficulty that undead creatures have.

Stygian (stij-ee-uhn)
Hellish; dark. Typically refers to creatures or elements of the underworld.

Surly (sur-lee)
Bad-tempered and unfriendly: “he left with a surly expression after seeing his daughter partaking in the ritual”

Vitriol (vih-tree-ahl)
Cruel, bitter, and acidic - a historic name for sulfuric acid, thus the modern usage.

“This is a truly exceptional apartment! With 13 windows in the apartment, sunlight penetrates every room, making the apartment wonderfully bright and cheery.”

Looks like I’ve found the next target for testing my Homing Demolition Bots. Hoo-ah.

Some time in February of the year 1672, Roger Williams built a zoo. What most people don’t know about Roger Williams is that he was actually an agent for the underworld.

It began with some basic creatures: insects he collected, some cats he’d rounded up. Pigs, horses, and a zebra. After seeing the zoo’s popularity, he used his earnings to sail abroad and collect animals from other continents. Finally, when he was ready to leave this world, he left his zoo to his associates and that is the zoo we visited today: Roger William’s Park Zoo.

The name may be misleading to the history I’ve presented. Over its history, it’s evolved into a park-zoo. It holds both humans (who can leave freely) and animals. (who are trapped for eternity) Becoming a father has been a great excuse for me to leave my lodgings to visit such a place.

The zoo hours are 8AM-4PM. This is why I’ve taken my family today to zoo’s after-hours, from 7PM-3AM. It is common knowledge among Rhode Island’s finest citizens that, since Roger Williams was an agent for the underworld, his zoo has two forms: one, in the daytime, which is the normal zoo that overweight Americans attempt to walk the full length of so that they may see… giraffes and elephants. I’m not exaggerating, readers. These people waddle into the zoo so that they may not see mammoths, but elephants.

The other form of the zoo is when, at the stroke of 7PM, all creatures of the zoo shed their ephemeral forms consisting of skin, veins, and fur. The lights fizzle out and the sky - only from within the zoo - turns a hazy, dark red, which provides enough light to see the zoo’s current animalia. The middle of the zoo normally holds the restrooms and food provisioning stations. From this area now rises the throne of Roger Williams, his reanimated corpse cackling madly as he descends from the sky upon his thunder chariot.

I’m consistently impressed. I’ve seen this spectacle on five occasions and each time he seems as lively - perhaps, not the best word - as any other time he’s done it. He is joyed to be the lord of these beasts that, without him, would probably have been disenchanted in the bowels of the underworld. At best, used as table salt. He’s given these transmogrifying misfits a home. For a crowd of maybe 20, 30 each night? I’ve only been on a weekend, but I doubt there’s more on a weekday… I digress.

The moonbears in the normal zoo are not really from the moon. They are bears, which is admirable, but at night they turn so vicious! Elongated front teeth, and their fur retracts inwards and pulsates, as if a miniature black hole were sucking their organs inside their own rib cage.

Spiders grow thrice their size. Snakes get their appendages back. Bats are no longer blind, and are released from their cages. The mice they feed upon grow fatter, full of meat.

The giraffes don’t change. They’re hideous enough.

It was a great experience. Probably my favorite so far. The kids loved every soul-harrowing minute of it, of course. I bid farewell to Roger William and we casually left.

He tries to touch my face when I’m holding him. In fact, he’s constantly going for it. I let him touch me sometimes and his nails dig into my face. Then, my dear readers, joy overcomes the both of us: he wails in laughter at my pain, and I wail in maniacal laughter at such joy. My hours whispering terrible things to him while he sleeps is apparently paying off.

Anguish. Pain. Valor. Suffering. Despotism.

Oh, my boy…

I’ve been spending more time on the surface lately. I do have a vehicle, you know, and in fact I use it quite often. While commiting various acts of heroism and villainy today, I became hungry. Being unfamiliar with filthy surface food, I happened upon the Burger King. I thought to myself, “a king of hamburgers, what a concept!” and entered the establishment.

It was unmodest, crowded in a bad way, and the air smelled of… I suppose it’s grease? I soon became accustomed to the smell, anyway. I assumed its lack of class could be based on its location as a mainstream food chain. Regardless.

I waited in line - and remember, I hate lines - and when it was time to order, I asked what they had. The lady obnoxiously pointed to the menu above her, with its flimsy plastic casing and cheap printed word. Yes, I saw the menu before, but I figured they’d have some sort of special. But no! This place has no specials. They have combos, the primitive word for “combinations”. I ordered a combination 5, because I saw it had a large two-meat burger with bacon and some french fries - which in case you aren’t aware, aren’t even French.

After being robbed with a six-dollar fee for stuffing this abomination into a plastic wrapper, I sat down at this establishment.

Readers: I have once seen tentacles emerge from a man’s throat, slither around his body, and squeeze his organs out of every socket they could come out of. I was unprepared for a fifteen-minute meal at Burger King.

Children screaming everywhere. A fat man eating twice the size of my meal in the booth closest to me, and worse? He was an employee. Were I the owner of this “restaurant”, I’d use him as meat fodder! And there he was, working there! It struck me that perhaps this is the franchise’s mascot, perhaps “the burger king”. I don’t know and I didn’t care to find out, as I wasn’t adoned in my Count Victus Battle Gear and didn’t want to anger the beast.

They have this contraption called the ball pit. You take your hatchlings children to Burger King and eat your meal while they play in this pit of plastic multi-colored balls. I just don’t understand it. There was a little bumper on the entrance to prevent the child from bumping their head too hard when entering. I saw a child bump his head on it twice. Ridiculous. How often do you think he would have hit his head if it were made of small spikes? He rushes in, hurts his head, and understands: take it easy in the ball pit.

I can write no more. I could tell you horrors of the restroom’s sanitation, or even the food I ate, but unfortunately I think the meal is starting to come up on me. Or, perhaps it’s not so unfortunate. Do you folks have any suggestions to eat at when I’m next on the surface?

I meant to post yesterday, but was still cleaning up the mess.

Apparently resurrecting the Boneshredder to terrorize the lab’s workers is “too harsh” for april fools. Please, they shouldn’t have started this war by switching my coffee to decaf.

I was going to tell you all that I’d finished Andellan and was ready to release it via PDF form. When you opened the PDF, it would install a program that would shut off your computer’s fans, overclock your processor to emit over 2,000 degrees fahrenheit and - with hope - cause some sort of fire.

Unfortunately I was so busy with the Boneshredder that I didn’t even remember to do it, let alone get around to it.

It’d be unbelievable, regardless. Everyone knows I’m too busy writing for Hell that I just don’t have the time to write a cute little adventure about a Necromancer. Oh well, some day.