200

We have ten score posts on the blog now, three quarters of which are maddeningly meaningless. The other forty-nine are written by Elphaba and Met. I think that now is a time for celebration. I have delayed the Lament for a week to bring you the exciting news.

To properly ring in our victory, I invited an illustrator. He will be illustrating the Apocalypse, and perhaps other things as they strike his fancy. By illustrating, of course, I mean sprites, as he somehow has less drawing ability than I do, a feat in itself. The second reward is my new blog, which will function much like bonus commentary on a DVD, but without having to watch the entire video again.

A little over a year ago, Met posted 100, a post that celebrated not 100 published posts, but 100 total, drafts included. We currently have 266 posts including those that are drafts and those that are scheduled. What have we achieved in that time? We gained Elphaba, an author with an unfortunate penchant for writing Fanfiction. GLaDOS's Lament was published. Tuesday's little Tale began, and mystery ensued. Songs appeared every week, for a time, though they have encountered a hiatus that can only lengthen as Met flees from the government. Thursday has become known for producing Thoughts, which are generally beautifully macabre. Friday now Features our newest author, who tries to resist the madness with actual meaning. God has begun to dream on Saturdays, and will do so until somewhere around the Chinese New Year. The Winged have fallen, and lament it. I have found my new work, which I have no intention of ending, and will last for as long as I can write about it.


What will the next 100 bring?



Is it cheating to end Song of the Day like this?
sǝʎ

Song of the Day Nineteen, The Cavern

Sword in hand, the hero descended into the pit that had only yesterday been a lake. Now, still dripping, the gaping maw of a massive cavern was accessible, an it was into this cavern the hero advanced. From this cave had pured forth all the evils the land had endured, and within it would the hero subdue the lord of the darkness. He was met with great resistance. Beings born of fire and forged of sin clamored about him, but could not harm him for the light of the scepter he held as a torch. The cave was deep, and pools of water were scattered about the ground. As he advanced, a drumming began to echo from the depths, and a feeling of foreboding grew in the hero's heart. He passed glowing stalagmites and menacingly sharp stalactites, which he feared would fall a skewer him. Yet he pressed on and didn't turn back. He felt his apprehension grow dark and dense, knotting his stomach in dread. The fiends about him suddenly scurried away as the hero stepped onto a ledge overlooking a massive room lit by blood-red candles and smoky with incense. A hulking form moved in the hellish twilight and the drums fell silent.

Song of the Day Eighteen, A Quiet Passing

From the skies the Hero descended, bearing a scepter of the ancients said to have been made to restore vitality to the world. He alighted at dusk, on a hilltop in his own village near Pandora. He saw light without substance coming from a dark gray square. There, a pallid throng was gathered in silence. A young girl turned and saw the hero, and tugged the dress of her mother, who turned. Her motion triggered others, and soon the entire village faced the hero. Rather than rejoice, or even greet him, the crowd simply parted. The hero walked forward to the lake side of the square. There, floating gently on the waters edge was bier tied with a hemp rope to a stake in the ground. Upon the bier, in the grave decorum of death, was the farmer; the man who had been more of a father to the hero than anyone. Tears ran silently down the hero's face as he remembered the toils shared in the sunlight. The spring planting, a long summer of weeding and watering, and the fall harvest where they gleaned the fruits of their labors. His body shook with silent, yet wracking sobs, and he fell to his knees. His hands knotted up in fists, driving the blood from his knuckles and drawing it from crescent-shaped fingernail cuts on his palms. He wept for the father he had lost, for the life that was stolen from him by the Darkness, for the lives of those in Pandora, for the destruction of the world. What possible reason could there be for this destruction? What reason could validate the loss of a single life? He drew a deep breath, then raised a hand to wipe away his tears. He ran it, open, across his face, streaking it with crimson. He took his sword, raised it above his head, and brought it down on the ropes which tethered the farmer to this world. The raft slowly sailed out into the water. The silence was oppressive. Not a leaf stirred in the wind, not a tear fell to the pavement with an audible splash for an eternity, then the hero took his scepter. He raised it up, with both hands, and a sudden light suffused it. He pointed it out, and it illuminated the body in the water. The farmer exploded into flames, that glowed a fierce, beautiful red in the colorless world. Light bloomed upwards, and solidified into crystalline motes that restored all that touched them into true life and color. The hero watched, his tears drying in the heat pouring from the lake, then fell back, the world growing black about him. A dozen friendly hands caught him before he hit the ground.

Song of the Day Seventeen, Village in the Clouds

The hero opens his eyes and sees a golden light suffusing the mists about him. He rises, groggily, and attempts to recall the events of the past evening. Failing he shrugs and replaces his hat, which had fallen to the soft ground at some point during the night. He rubs his eyes and squints. The morning would be painfully bright if not for the fog, which hung draped in the air like lace. Light dances through each droplet, sending colorless rainbows across every surface. He ventures toward the rising sun, acutely aware that anything could approach him now, and he'd never see it. Within a minute of starting, he sees a mountain peak to what he assumes to be the south-east. He makes that his target and heads to it. It seems to grow too quickly as he approaches it, and soon he sees it's a clock tower, jutting into the sky. He glances down for a moment, but the fog is so deep he can't make out the ground. He manages to reach the edifice without incident, and when no one answers his knocking, enters. He searches for life, climbing the almost eerily empty structure. He reaches the highest room, and can see the clock face from behind. He heads to a door that he assumes leads to a small balcony or something of the sort when a cough sounds from behind him. The Queen stands there, robed in her glory. She walks silently past the hero, and motions with her hands. The clock face becomes transparent, and a burning light sears the Hero's eyes. The Queen passes a hand across his face and his sight is restored and his vision cleared. He views the village below the clock, uncomprehending for a moment. Suddenly he realizes the source of the mists and why the sun had such intensity. He stands above the clouds.

Song of the Day Sixteen, Narrow Escape

The shroud over the land seems to settle, and the hero is dismayed. He soon becomes aware of rumbling below ground, the mountain on which he stands has not yet lain dormant enough to have forgotten the ways of its forefather, Vesuvius. The hero turns to seek shelter, but as he does, the tunnel collapses, and he's left stranded on the small outcrop of rock. He finds himself trapped; unable to traverse the steep slope while the quaking continues. Just as a frightening glow lights the dark black sky above, a flash of color appears at the rim of the caldera. The Queen and her Cavalry have kept their spirit still, as shown by their polychromatic appearance. The steeds are supernaturally fleet of foot, and they sprint to the hero with ease. The Queen, using but one arm, scoops him onto her stallion, and they ride downwards at a breakneck pace. Before reaching the bottom, they encounter a ledge, and sail off of it, moving forward enough that the fall becomes too great to hope for survival. But they do not fall. Instead, in the light of the Queen, the Cavalry ascends, with the hero, into the clouds.

Song of the Day Fifteen, Hope Lives On

This update isn't late. It's just on Peruvian time.
(Twelve points to anyone who can explain why Peru is the ideal country for this excuse)

The hero emerges from the mountain dungeon onto a ledge just below the outer rim of the caldera. He sees that, as his foe claimed moments before, all his efforts were for naught. A twilight had fallen over the land. A lugubrious lethargy leeched life from all beings. The skies slowly broil with a faintly rumbling lightning. The remains of the Pandora still glow in the aftermath of the inferno. The hero looks on the land, as even the plants seem to break under the oppressive weight of the darkness. All at once, the faint wind ceases and a chill falls across the land. The color drains from all life, and only grey remains in the shadow. The hero looks at his own sleeve - his own arm - and in the light of his sword sees, to his relief, he still has the bright vitality he had possessed before, if a little dimmer. The world, though, seems to be devoid of hope, and seems to foretell a coming absence of life. Suddenly, a movement catches the hero's eye. He sees something nearing the ashes of the city. He recognizes the mayor of his own town, along with the prominent working men of the village leading a caravan to the ruins. Between the men, shielded by them, are the survivors of Pandora. There are merely a few score - the flames took many - but there are enough. The village would rise as a phoenix might. It is now that the hero sees a splash of color in the crowd. Helping an old woman along, is Pandora, the kind girl named after the very village she has come to rebuild. Hope lives on.

Song of the Day Fourteen, An Uphill Battle

There is nothing quite like a mountain road. Steep, winding, perilously narrow, the road upward can only be described as an unforgettable experience that will keep you on the edge of your seat. Don't fall off! Upon reaching the top, you get the privilege of crossing a narrow rope bridge over the mouth of an active volcano, as sulfurous fumes waft about you. Not good enough? Well then, what if we told you that you could then, after making the daring crossing, descend into the heart of the beast on a walkway even thinner than the one up. Not only that, but the path is guaranteed to crumble beneath your feet. When you reach the platform just above the lava, you get to leap across floating platforms of rock, that begin to sink the moment you set foot on them. Upon crossing, you're invited into our luxurious dungeon, filled with the most improbable creatures birthed from flame itself. Enjoy!

Song of the Day Thirteen, The Village in Flames

How does one describe the scene our hero encountered when returning to the beautiful Pandora, and her quaint town of Pandora? Sorrowful. Glorious. Melancholy. Powerful. Final. The village was aflame. The hero ran forward to try to do something, anything to help, but ran into an invisible barrier. He sliced at the wall again and again with his sword, weeping. Time blurred and when the sword broke, he fell to watching, unable to look away. He pressed his hand against the field, and watched, as the town he grew to love was destroyed. Tears ran down his face, but sobs no longer wracked his body. The sky darkened with ash, and as the fires smoldered, it began to rain. The rain grew heavier, turning the earth to mud, and soon obscured the village's remains from the hero's sight.

Song of the Day Twelve, An Unlikely Friendship

I'd like to note that writing one of these every day is hard. I really don't want to do it every night. When I do want to, it's early in the day, and Elphaba and Met will read it before it's posted. Thus, I am tortured by a device of my own design. Know ye that blood is shed daily to get you your daily dose of music and a tale! Know ye that Reogan writes with his lifeblood, and shall soon perish! Know ye, and be ashamed!

Friendship is an odd thing. Unlikely friendships are even odder. Such a friendship can be formed, say, when a hero destroys an entire tribe of evildoers, and hears a sound from a nearby building. Suspecting one last archer, readying an arrow, he darts behind a nearby boulder, and readies his still-bloody sword, and crouches behind his shield. He kicks a rock, and it collides loudly with a bubbling pot. The pot holds the morning stew, and the head of the creature that had been stirring it. The hero silently charged into the building and cut aside a curtain. He swings his sword downward, and barely manages to stop. Within the room is a crib, which holds a softly cooing babe. The hero, the same one who slayed the creature's village, reaches out a hand. The infant grasps his thumb, and a true friendship begins.

Song of the Day Eleven, The Queen Attacks

There is nothing more awe-inspiring than the presence of royalty on the battlefield. There is also nothing more breathtaking than a warrior-woman gracefully killing hundreds with fluid motion, despite the fact that she's wearing heavy armor, weighted down with gold plating. Combine these, and you get The Queen Attacks. The queen attacking here is not your Elven Warrior Queen charging into the heart of battle, killing all who surround her. No, she is, instead, a dark rider on a white steed, leading a score of the most promising women into battle as part of the Queen's Cavalry. They charge into their own castle, to reclaim it from the fell minions of darkness. Marble chips underfoot, and priceless tapestries are stained with blood, as she expertly wields two glaives, cutting down foes left and right, maintaining her position on the horse with her legs alone. She charges up to the throne room, and finds it empty. Leaping off the steed, she sprints up a thousand stairs into the tallest turret. She slides a glaive into the other, and when the locking mechanism clicks, she gives her new dual-bladed weapon a twirl. Satisfied that it will hold, she kicks down the tower door, and spies the dark servant who took killed the king. She runs at him, screaming in rage, and he steps back, through the window, into nothingness. As he falls, he takes the form of a raven, and flies to the Burning Fields of the North. The queen weeps. The castle has been won, but the war is just beginning.

Song of the Day Ten, Under the Surface

In all worlds, there are caverns. A good number of these are subterranean. Within them float all kinds of creatures; abominations never meant to be. It is in one of these caverns in which Cthulhu dreams, and it is here that something waits for our hero. Down from the tavern, deep below, there is a sea. The sea glows faintly with luminescent microorganisms. They drift on the waves cause by the fins of passing behemoths. The sea is fast enough to be affected by the moon enough to form tides, and a porous stone allows a type of filtration to take place. The cave is completely inaccessible, but for a fissure that formed when the gods last walked the earth. It is through here that a great being will rise. It will assume the form of a human, and rise to meet the world.

Song of the Day Nine, The Tavern

This tavern is not your average house of ale. The bartender is not a large brute with hair sprouting from his arms so wildly it seems to be reaching to throttle you, while his head remains bare but for the wild scruff that clings to his chin. Instead, there is a woman wearing copious quantities of makeup that completely obscure what the gods intended her to look like. She wears a dress with a neckline that leaves little to the imagination. She laughs, as she hands more alcohol to a boisterous man whose hands accidently brush her more and more often. Secretly, the woman waits for him to faint so her accomplices in the crowd can drag him off and loot his pockets. The front room is rowdy, and there is a great deal of spilled drink and vomit on the floor. No one seems to mind though, except the few nobles who enter; they immediately head for a door in the back, that when opened releases the faint sounds of snarling dogs. The place is poorly lit, with only a few logs in the stove and a candle on the bar, and infested with fleas. There are rooms for rent, but those who use them a known to be robbed, or even to disappear. However, the place is cheap, and is thus popular.

Song of the Day Eight, On the Battlefield

War has a penchant for inspiring music. As do video games. And religion. And books. And other music. We're to discuss war, though. Or, more precisely, battle. On the Battlefield

(At this moment, Reogan found, to his horror, that a tab was open to a wiki page on Tingle. He possessed no memory of opening it, and thus became convinced that Tingle was coming for him. The next hours were spent setting traps resembling Force Gems, and leaving out brochures to Cartographers Conferences to distract the fiend.)

There is a field, vast and dead. Fires still flicker at some points, but the rest is ash. No rain falls, but storms constantly brew overhead, and lightning arcs from the heavens to the earth with terrifying regularity. The stench of death is in the air, and it has summoned dark ravens, which menacingly swoop and dive above, waiting for blood. Scattered throughout the field are twisted abominations, part man and part beast; these fiends kick up clouds of dust as they trudge through. A hulking lycanthrope, barely humanoid, rides a winged steed forged of onyx. The steeds eyes glow red with hellish flame, and noxious fumes pour from it's nostrils as it alights. The nightmarish rider reaches out with an impossibly long arm and takes one of the amalgamations of human and horror by the throat. He barks something in a tongue that hurts the mind, and the piteously ensnared creature chokes out a few squeaks. The rider, displeased, takes two claws and extracts the heart with surgical precision. The victim lives just long enough to see it swallowed, and then his carcass is discarded, and immediately set upon by his previous companions as they greedily feast on it. Dust swirls as the steed rises, and flies on.

Song of the Day 1-7 Recap

First, allow me to express my thanks to:

(Hey kids! Use whatever response suits your religion/belief best!)

A.) Our cold and impersonal universe which, though drawing ever closer to it's heat death, has...
B.) Cold and impersonal Fate which guides us to our goal, for it has...
C.) Shigeru Miyamoto, who is God incarnate in man since he...
D.) God who hath formed us from the dust, and who hath redeemed us for through his grace...
E.) The Euro, for only a standard currency can see us through economic hardships, as it has...
F.) Myself, who is Reogan, for I am all that is capable, as through my foresight I have...
G.) Odin, who sees what is to be yet is subject to Ragnarok for he has...
H.) The terrible elder god Cthulhu for he who is dead yet dreams shalt return in his hideous glory to consume all that is and unmake reality! Hail his grotesque sight, and pray for his return! Gladly we spill our blood to aid him in his coming; gladly our lives are given, for he has...

...caused me to recap the first week of Song of the Day on the day upon which Song of the Week falls. If you are offended that your belief was not included, allow me to give one more response:

I.) Other.


The beginning to Song of the Week, the 'opening theme,' if you will, was Opening Theme. It opened in what I now believe to be our hero's hometown. Our hero is not content with his life as a farmer/fisherman/accountant and dreams of the day that an adventure will come to sweep him away. He left his post as farmhand to a certain Lonely Farmer, and the Farmer was much grieved by his departure. The hero soon reaches the town of Pandora, and saves the girl Pandora from a moblin. Pandora rejoiced at the return of Pandora, and did nothing out of the ordinary, for it was not an exciting place. The people merely played Pandora's Theme, as was custom in Pandora. Pandora was dull, and Pandora more so, thus our hero left. Upon exiting Pandora, he found himself in a great field, and it is at this moment that The Journey Begins! He runs through the field, joyfully, and ascends a hill. Upon reaching the summit, he looked down and was amazed at the expansive bazaar below him. Yes, he had found The Marketplace. He ventured in and was amazed at the wares that were bought, sold, and stolen. He purchased a map from a thirty-five year old pedophile who believed himself a fairy, and followed it to a hut in a forest. The man inside used a spot of magic to play his favorite song, The Wizard's Theme, as he tended to his window garden with Reginald Squirrel IV. Our hero was instructed in where to go next, by means of vision, and off he went. Within minutes he found himself in the Overworld.

Song of the Day Seven, Overworld

For those of you who have recently received a massive head wound, allow me to teach you what an Overworld Theme is. It is a theme. It plays in most of the world, excepting dungeons, shops, houses, and sacred glades that contain legendary artifacts of the gods. And Temples.

This theme is wholly unremarkable. I apologize to McVaffe, but after years of games no overworld tune can stand out. It is well written, it simply exudes adventure, and it could doubtless find a place in any game, but it's still just an overworld them.

Song of the Day Six, The Wizard's Theme

It isn't an adventure until an eccentric old man with a robe which smells of boiled frog spleen promises to show you some magic if you follow him into a tree hollow. Upon arriving he strokes his filthy, matted beard with a gnarled hand and looks at you saying how you seem to be such a strong, handsome young lad, and must be the hero of legend he was waiting for. His eyes glint ominously in their sunken sockets as the tree closes about you, trapping you with the greasy fellow in a space smaller than the average closet.

That got away from me a little too quickly. The wizard this song actually describes is more of a bumbling old man, with a nice hut in a forest glade from which there always rises a stack of smoke, welcoming in the passerby. He has shelves of exotic, but tame ingredients, and a cauldron bubbles and gives off a cheery, warm scent. A squirrel, which he affectionately calls Reginald Squirrel IV clambers through a window and climbs to his shoulder on his beard which stretches nearly to the floor, but is nevertheless immaculate like everything else about this man. The wizard takes a bread crumb from one of the many concealed pockets of his robe and offers it to his miniature friend. He turns and sees our hero enter, and smiles mischievously. With a wave of his hand, the doors and windows shut, and the flames within the cabin are extinguished. He claps his hands and a green flame encircles his body, along with Reginald. He throws a powder from his pocket into the air and with a gesture sends it swirling about our hero. The wizard raises his arms and the dust begins to glow brightly as it weaves a vision in front of our hero. Then suddenly the powder vanishes, the windows open, and the fires resume. Reginald finishes his bread, and scurries down into the wizards pocket searching for more. The wizard hums a light ditty, and continues to tend to his window garden. After a minute he glances up to the hero, and flaps his hand, as if to say 'Away! You've seen what must be done, now fulfill the prophecy!' Our hero stands a second, nods, and runs off into the forest. The wizard smiles, finishes his labor, and sits back on a chair for his mid-afternoon nap.

Song of the Day Five, The Marketplace

Ah, the marketplace! What better place for one to sell their wares, peruse the wares of others, purchase said wares, and discuss purchased wares with those about you. Yes, there truly is no place better suited to the entire concept of wares. Our song today, as you may have guessed, is The Marketplace. This song contains the essence of every marketplace in every realm that has been or will be. Let's begin:

An old washer woman calls cheerfully out to our hero, who waves, plucks an apple from a nearby stand, flips a coin into the hand of the vendor and continues along. The sun shines brightly down as he walks past a gaggle of giggling children who dart between the legs of a soldier's horse chasing a chicken, while the poultry vendor chases after them with a broom, yelling. The entire square is bustling with people coming, people going, and people haggling. Men leave the tavern and loudly greet those who just arrived. The wealthy come down from the High Road to purchase finely crafted goods, useless but for their beauty. Outside a shop a small, dirty boy offers to clean the boots of those who pass, and above it all a songbird drifts ever higher on a great thermal. Our hero smiles, and turns off onto a side road and the sounds of the distant market grow faint behind him.

Song of the Day Four, The Journey Begins

We are, may I say, finally at the point where the journey of our still undefined hero can begin. When you hear this, note the ease with which you can see whatever Hyrule Field this universe holds. The strings are always a potent device...

The music starts out on a bright sunny day, with temperatures exactly where one wants them. Grass flies by underfoot as our hero runs forward, and a lone tree zooms past. From the tree flies a songbird which keeps pace with the hero for a time before flapping and getting far, far ahead. The hero ascends to the crest of the hill and-

The song's done. No one will ever know. Sad face :(

Song of the Day Three, Pandora's Theme

I must admit, I expected something a bit more... dark for the theme of anything named Pandora. I believe the image I conjured was of a terrified young woman, dark hair whipping madly about her as she holds out a box from which darkness oozes and all evils fly from. The box is a perfect cube with ancient runes of binding a protection inscribed on all sides, and a lid formed of four triangles that are hinged on the edge. However, McVaffe apparently never heard of this myth, because Pandora's Theme seems to me to be a theme for a peaceful town. A town that, though not home, gives a sense of peace to our yet undefined hero. I mean, really, one might as well stick the name on any ridiculous thing now. Say, for example, a radio station. Wait; they did.

Song of the Day Two, The Lonely Farmer

Imagine, if you will, life on a farm. The first rays of dawn shoot over the hilltops, and the fields turn gold with light. A man walks from a humble, yet sturdy shack and stands, hoe in hand, looking out over the crop. He sees, in the morning mist, mirages from his past. A woman cheerfully leading along two small children, twin boys, to pick herbs in the forest. Two young men, learning to mend an oxcart from their father, as their mother hums a melody from within the kitchen. Two adventurers of to seek their fortune, never to return. A pall of death over the land as a woman slips away from this life years before her time. The mist thins and disappears, and small animals frolic in the rows, and birds sing. The lonely farmer collapses, and weeps.