Essays on creations, life lessons, and many original stories; also visit integr8dfix.blogspot for even more!
Showing posts with label Games invented by Integr8d Soul. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Games invented by Integr8d Soul. Show all posts
Monday, June 6, 2022
New, extended story sequences: Sunstrike and Company!
Here's where you find our Integr8d Soul game for free:
We tie in the storylines that touch, I think, every storyline in our fictional universe. It's great heroic fiction, with that dash of philosophy and wonder that completes the package.
We've just released the newest version. Be a friend and share, OK? It's a blend of humor, wild imagination, and far-out drama. You start as either plant person Tappandalli, the Kolparian idealist Merriwyn Archiere, or roguish adventurer Shamilal Asano-9, complete with his hi-tech gear. https://t.co/hjxgyNYn72
The Pyramids of Infinitude contain portals to many story settings. There's also three playable characters hidden inside, including Sunstrike, himself. This is his origin story, after all.
One distinguishing feature of our new material: we reveal more clues about the nature of the linked pyramids. We also plant clues about the deeper identities and links of these characters, to be explored in future game-stories.
https://gamescreate.com/games/show/5023
While the character dynamics are not modeled after any other team, I think each main is interesting. If you've wanted a glimpse into our years of creations, here you will find everything crossing over. Hopefully, we'll be returning to that well for many new adventures.
Monday, April 18, 2022
Vado and Tap, the Living Land, and a daughter's tale (from Sunstrike and the Pyramids of Infinitude)
Vado Bujinka and her morphing plant friend, Tappandalli, cross a threshold, departing the Pyramids of Infinitude. As her eyes adjust from cavernous dank to brilliant light, a familiar feeling vibrates through her.
Free link to the story game: https://gamescreate.com/games/show/5023“What joy!” exclaims Vado. “The Living Land! How did such pretty homeland rocks appear here, so strangely distant?” “Hey, this is really rich soil!” cries Tappandalli. “I’m rooting for us to stay a while!” Tinkling stones catch Vado’s ear. She saunters along, then sprints, as though guided by the sound of a water fall. What Tappandalli sees is a being form from the soil, much as he is a floral entity, himself. There in the meadow, amid golden grasses, the Living Land sits up as one like themselves. “Dear Bujinka!” exclaims the Living Land. “Pardon my dry mouth! Can you hear me speak now, beneath the wind?”
“Yes! Yes, dear friend,” she says. “Home is carried ever in the heart, and now so literally do I find a natural place, where I can be myself.”
“Yes, please relax a while,” says the Land. “Come! Be among my flowers, so they know they are beautiful!”
“I must have imagined I longed to see you so,” says Vado.
Tappandally giggles as bees search his crown for pollen.
“The longing to see someone so,” says the Living Land, thoughtfully. “Yes, that was my story, too. Those who last dwelt within my embrace sought wholeness.”
Tap feels an explanation arise, to state whence they came of late, together.
“There is said to be, in the world where the Pyramids are found, greatest abundance. Let’s travel to the stars! Said those people. Let us remember we have friends and fear not the cosmos. Some living thing, though, exists among that host, changed to devour the energy of motivation, as though bottomless with a need for love. So the paradise found has become obscure.”
“So is MY story, of those who did sit among my cool mosses and insectoid songs,” replied the Land.
“Am I again, through you, in the homeland? My travels took me from there, to a land I thought felt like the Future, for if it were the past, then it was an age undreamt of by my Silver Claw people of the Dome. I accepted there was only the present; perhaps all I knew and loved were now in my heart, but a world, passed. But the ultimate journey of a scout is ever to cross boundaries unknown in the daily life of one’s tribe.”
“I am of your land, and am here, too,” says the Living Land. “For now, you are simply Home.”
“Who were the last to set foot in you?” asks the plant person.
“In me sat a daughter, who answered her mother, her Queen of Dreams. Her sadness had been buried by a brook, which gurgled with stones smooth since childhood. The daughter came to me to escape those who want command, want authority her free spirit will not permit.”
“She sounds like me,” says Vado, nodding. “There was a time she felt her mother did not love her so much as she had, when she was learning to first speak.”|
“Plant parents never really lose touch,” says Tappandally. “We know we’re connected!”
“Such is the world of minds,” says Vado Bujinka. “Take it from one who loved to master the languages of people near and far. There are words together that mean ‘loneliness.’”
“So were the words of this daughter,” says the Living Land. “But the words, as they came, were a victory, a way for little streams of the eyes to reach the greatness of the Sea. The feeling had arisen in her, beneath her many fanciful stories of angels and their plans to love and follow her. This Flame had sat on a smoldering ember, popped away from the hearth that kindled her.”
“She came to blame those who had tended the fire. One of the greatest logs for whom the Hearth burned had deserted her body. Now, with ashes by her side, the Hearth burned more dimly.” When one of her five children had fallen in love one day with the water, the five went to play by the Lake. But that Joy left her body, to become one of the angels. Though she would never leave her mother, never leave her siblings, her breath did leave her. What remained was a body, swept in the current, left by its awareness to sleep and grow no more. This mother, this Queen of Dreams, felt this was against the natural course of her love. Were they not laid upon her breast, to live as six who would burn brightly? Were not her children made to burnish long after the Hearth’s spark left in peace? How had she failed to illuminate and heat them, nurture them all to full adult Flames?
Now, Vado Bujinka and Tap envision these stories, differently. Tappandally, of the woods themselves, saw a tale of lumber and sparking bark.
Vado sees something in a long-past time. In that age, many were the people of the planet. They had learned to build machines to make distances more quickly, on ground sea and air. In that scene, this Queen of Dreams is but a maiden, herself, mother to children, only as she herself reached adulthood. She imagined herself a humble country girl- too humble to trust solely in her own will. For this melancholy reason, she had consented to relinquish her dream of six children. After all, they could not faithfully see the means by which to take care of them each. How that fear led her to the surgical severance of the tunnels within her, burning away the receptors of her fertility. It was for the best, they told her. She was not so certain. It was the first time she’d relinquished a life long dream. Just as she came to accept the birth of her fifth child, another girl, in the fullness of time, she did not again give birth, but gave one of her sweet ones, unwillingly.
Her tender tears could not call back her little girl from the waters, for she was gone, instead, to the air, to the stars. And now, in the name of some religious scheme, she was told:
“Let your little ones go elsewhere to play. You must sit and pray, listen for your God to heal you.”
But this was not always her will. After all, were not her four remaining children her divine sparks?
“And this daughter was one of these sparks,” says Tappandally.
“Do fires make you fear?” asks Vado of her buddy.
“Why, not at all,” says Tap. “Fires help us plants uncomplicate our lives. We know when we burn, we fertilize the ground for what will come again. There is again space for something fresh and new!”
“So this daughter did not understand why her mother would not see her.”
“The children were told: go away! Your mother needs to spend time with God.”
“Sounds like an awful punishment!” said Tap.
“For mother and children,” says Vado. “If they never understood in their hearts, how their mother never stopped loving them, then surely, they went on to pain and loss with their own children.”
“So deep was the unthinking damage done,” says the Living Land, with a tremulous sigh. “The pain of the siblings who did have children was never healed. They grew to imagine a life where they were separated from their own children.”
“And all in the name of some misguided human advice,” spits Vado, “claiming to know better than She, where her Creator and Creations lay.”
“’I’m NOT happy with that part of my family,’ said this daughter to me. She sat upon my cool, staunch stones, like a throne of less comfort- bur resting. We lived with them for just a while, she told me- my dad was on furlough from the Air Force. They took control of her grieving. They made her feel like she failed as a Mom! But my Mama was never a failure!’
“Then she turned her head, to place it in the bosom of my limbs,” continues the Land. “She cried because she could not comfort her mother, who needed her children. That is where she found the Divine; in their needs, in her purpose, is where she found her name, victory. She cried because her mother loved her, but was asked not to focus on being their mother. And so, she lost that ability somewhat. Her instincts withered, as learning to punish herself further for the past would exonerate her soul of what ever lay beyond her control! But what could one so young do, in a time when mothers lost sovereignty in the face of lip service to God?
What God was theirs, more than I, a giving place of Life? What Men dared to usurp the Creator, from one who had created and lost but had creations a’thriving to attend? What Women dared judge her silently, what hard heart would say: be not a mother, be a better servant of our Master?
Love as she might, separation and loneliness and anxiety and guilt grew, where once her duties lay.”
A gentle rain descends. In the misty, hazel garden, Tap makes of itself a fragile Lilly. “The daughter knows, now, though, does she not,” says Vado. “She knows her mother never loved her less.”
“Yes,” replies the living terrain. “For as you have so imagined it, so have the waters come, from the sky. Soon they will dry, upon the things that flowers have done.”
“And so are the mistakes forgiven, of those who lacked the awareness to see the consequences of their actions?” says Vado.
“That, you may have more difficulty, imagining,” says the Living Land. “But it is so.”
“There was a saying among Humanity, in the times where our friend Shamilal Asano lived among them,” offers Tap. “’Forgiveness is the fragrance of the rose, upon the foot that trampled it.’” And it’s true. We plants forgive the missteps of humanity. The essence that makes Life in us, we share without cost.” “What is within us, comes out when squeezed,” says Vado.
“And that is why Love,” says the Living Land, hugging her, “ is within you- and without.” Play
Free link: https://gamescreate.com/games/show/5023
“The longing to see someone so,” says the Living Land, thoughtfully. “Yes, that was my story, too. Those who last dwelt within my embrace sought wholeness.”
Tap feels an explanation arise, to state whence they came of late, together.
“There is said to be, in the world where the Pyramids are found, greatest abundance. Let’s travel to the stars! Said those people. Let us remember we have friends and fear not the cosmos. Some living thing, though, exists among that host, changed to devour the energy of motivation, as though bottomless with a need for love. So the paradise found has become obscure.”
“So is MY story, of those who did sit among my cool mosses and insectoid songs,” replied the Land.
“Am I again, through you, in the homeland? My travels took me from there, to a land I thought felt like the Future, for if it were the past, then it was an age undreamt of by my Silver Claw people of the Dome. I accepted there was only the present; perhaps all I knew and loved were now in my heart, but a world, passed. But the ultimate journey of a scout is ever to cross boundaries unknown in the daily life of one’s tribe.”
“I am of your land, and am here, too,” says the Living Land. “For now, you are simply Home.”
“Who were the last to set foot in you?” asks the plant person.
“In me sat a daughter, who answered her mother, her Queen of Dreams. Her sadness had been buried by a brook, which gurgled with stones smooth since childhood. The daughter came to me to escape those who want command, want authority her free spirit will not permit.”
“She sounds like me,” says Vado, nodding. “There was a time she felt her mother did not love her so much as she had, when she was learning to first speak.”|
“Plant parents never really lose touch,” says Tappandally. “We know we’re connected!”
“Such is the world of minds,” says Vado Bujinka. “Take it from one who loved to master the languages of people near and far. There are words together that mean ‘loneliness.’”
“So were the words of this daughter,” says the Living Land. “But the words, as they came, were a victory, a way for little streams of the eyes to reach the greatness of the Sea. The feeling had arisen in her, beneath her many fanciful stories of angels and their plans to love and follow her. This Flame had sat on a smoldering ember, popped away from the hearth that kindled her.”
“She came to blame those who had tended the fire. One of the greatest logs for whom the Hearth burned had deserted her body. Now, with ashes by her side, the Hearth burned more dimly.” When one of her five children had fallen in love one day with the water, the five went to play by the Lake. But that Joy left her body, to become one of the angels. Though she would never leave her mother, never leave her siblings, her breath did leave her. What remained was a body, swept in the current, left by its awareness to sleep and grow no more. This mother, this Queen of Dreams, felt this was against the natural course of her love. Were they not laid upon her breast, to live as six who would burn brightly? Were not her children made to burnish long after the Hearth’s spark left in peace? How had she failed to illuminate and heat them, nurture them all to full adult Flames?
Now, Vado Bujinka and Tap envision these stories, differently. Tappandally, of the woods themselves, saw a tale of lumber and sparking bark.
Vado sees something in a long-past time. In that age, many were the people of the planet. They had learned to build machines to make distances more quickly, on ground sea and air. In that scene, this Queen of Dreams is but a maiden, herself, mother to children, only as she herself reached adulthood. She imagined herself a humble country girl- too humble to trust solely in her own will. For this melancholy reason, she had consented to relinquish her dream of six children. After all, they could not faithfully see the means by which to take care of them each. How that fear led her to the surgical severance of the tunnels within her, burning away the receptors of her fertility. It was for the best, they told her. She was not so certain. It was the first time she’d relinquished a life long dream. Just as she came to accept the birth of her fifth child, another girl, in the fullness of time, she did not again give birth, but gave one of her sweet ones, unwillingly.
Her tender tears could not call back her little girl from the waters, for she was gone, instead, to the air, to the stars. And now, in the name of some religious scheme, she was told:
“Let your little ones go elsewhere to play. You must sit and pray, listen for your God to heal you.”
But this was not always her will. After all, were not her four remaining children her divine sparks?
“And this daughter was one of these sparks,” says Tappandally.
“Do fires make you fear?” asks Vado of her buddy.
“Why, not at all,” says Tap. “Fires help us plants uncomplicate our lives. We know when we burn, we fertilize the ground for what will come again. There is again space for something fresh and new!”
“So this daughter did not understand why her mother would not see her.”
“The children were told: go away! Your mother needs to spend time with God.”
“Sounds like an awful punishment!” said Tap.
“For mother and children,” says Vado. “If they never understood in their hearts, how their mother never stopped loving them, then surely, they went on to pain and loss with their own children.”
“So deep was the unthinking damage done,” says the Living Land, with a tremulous sigh. “The pain of the siblings who did have children was never healed. They grew to imagine a life where they were separated from their own children.”
“And all in the name of some misguided human advice,” spits Vado, “claiming to know better than She, where her Creator and Creations lay.”
“’I’m NOT happy with that part of my family,’ said this daughter to me. She sat upon my cool, staunch stones, like a throne of less comfort- bur resting. We lived with them for just a while, she told me- my dad was on furlough from the Air Force. They took control of her grieving. They made her feel like she failed as a Mom! But my Mama was never a failure!’
“Then she turned her head, to place it in the bosom of my limbs,” continues the Land. “She cried because she could not comfort her mother, who needed her children. That is where she found the Divine; in their needs, in her purpose, is where she found her name, victory. She cried because her mother loved her, but was asked not to focus on being their mother. And so, she lost that ability somewhat. Her instincts withered, as learning to punish herself further for the past would exonerate her soul of what ever lay beyond her control! But what could one so young do, in a time when mothers lost sovereignty in the face of lip service to God?
What God was theirs, more than I, a giving place of Life? What Men dared to usurp the Creator, from one who had created and lost but had creations a’thriving to attend? What Women dared judge her silently, what hard heart would say: be not a mother, be a better servant of our Master?
Love as she might, separation and loneliness and anxiety and guilt grew, where once her duties lay.”
A gentle rain descends. In the misty, hazel garden, Tap makes of itself a fragile Lilly. “The daughter knows, now, though, does she not,” says Vado. “She knows her mother never loved her less.”
“Yes,” replies the living terrain. “For as you have so imagined it, so have the waters come, from the sky. Soon they will dry, upon the things that flowers have done.”
“And so are the mistakes forgiven, of those who lacked the awareness to see the consequences of their actions?” says Vado.
“That, you may have more difficulty, imagining,” says the Living Land. “But it is so.”
“There was a saying among Humanity, in the times where our friend Shamilal Asano lived among them,” offers Tap. “’Forgiveness is the fragrance of the rose, upon the foot that trampled it.’” And it’s true. We plants forgive the missteps of humanity. The essence that makes Life in us, we share without cost.” “What is within us, comes out when squeezed,” says Vado.
“And that is why Love,” says the Living Land, hugging her, “ is within you- and without.” Play
Sunstrike and Company: the Infinite Pyramid
Friday, July 17, 2015
Death Note : A Fun Party Game! by Cecil L Disharoon
DEATH NOTE: A PARTY GAME! How To Use It:
Everyone that wants to play gathers in a room, or outdoors, sitting or standing optional.
Take out a deck of playing cards, and set aside one for each player. The deck needs only a single Ace of any suite.
This will be used when selecting L. But first:
L- Accuser
Shinigami-Demon who takes care of the Death Note and messages from L
Kira- Killer
Investigators - All players except the Shinigami
1. Someone has to play the demon, the Shinigami; if you have one handy, give them an apple to remind everyone they are that character.
The Shinigami has two jobs.
2. AT the beginning of play, that person chooses one of the players to give the Death Note, a regular note book and pen. During this point, everyone's eyes are closed and we are all rapping our hands on our legs and clapping to make noise; this lets the demon move freely. On each turn, Kira writes another name in the Death Note, and the cause of death and time if you like. I think the funnier the cause of death, the better. Kira is the person with the notebook, btw.
3. The demon's second job is to take the notebook back and forth from the Kira player to the player who reveals her or his self to Ryuke, the Shinigami, as L. Again, everyone make noise and cover the movement.
L conducts the investigation. To select an L, everyone draws from the deck, and whoever comes up with the Ace is L. Everyone keeps what they got to themselves for now. No one should know who L is yet, except the demon character.
All the other players—-the “investigators”--then vote whether or not that person is Kira. If they get it right, game over. But every round, another player “dies” until the mystery's solved.
Double Identity Mysteries
5. Kira doesn't kill the Shinigami, but Kira might kill L, on purpose or by accident. If Kira writes down the real name of the person who is also the “L” player, the Shinigami lets the “Kira” player know and Kira remains Kira, but takes over as L, writing the accusations! A player selected to be Kira secretly might also get the Ace and play both from the start!
6. Each player killed by Kira is eliminated from the game, and can sit and make noise with the rest of the players or leave the area if they are bored now.
7. Once a person's cleared, they can no longer be suspected. Each suspect is voted upon, and if there's a majority of investigators who think this person is Kira, the demon's consulted for a yes or no, for the purposes of our game. An Investigator who is cleared can still vote.
8. Each round, only one person can be held up as a suspect for the Shinigami to verify. The option to vote “no” on a person is there every round, but L continues until everyone agrees to vote on a suspect to investigate.
9. (optional) The players can impose another limitation placed on the number of suspects the Shinigami can be asked about, for example, a “yes” vote to investigate a person can be used in the progress of one round, but if Kira's not found, on the next round suspects can be discussed, but no vote taken. Play resumes pattern. After the skip round, another accusation can be made.
10. When half the players are gone, anyone can propose that L is Kira, one and the same. But if they accuse someone of being both and they're wrong, they're "off the investigation" ---out of the game. And if they're right---they win!
L- Accuser
Shinigami-Demon who takes care of the Death Note and messages from L
Kira- Killer
Investigators - All players except the Shinigami
Game adapted from "The Werewolf Game" (thanks Mo!).
It's far from perfect, but seems like a manageable game and fun homage to Death Note, the Anime.
Created by me, Cecil Disharoon. Any suggestions?
Be Chill, Cease Ill
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