I need to ask the permission of the head dev or 'owner' to use POL, POLSERVER and its code in a book that I am working on. As Steven King said, "A book is like a fossil, you dig up each part never knowing what is next." Well it seems that POL somehow ended up wound into my book. I would love to explain more to whoever can grant me this permission.
-Sean Britton
Head Dev Please
You can mention POL in the book; however, you must consume x amount of beer depending on the usage.
Direct mention of POL: 1 beer.
Implied mentioning of POL: 3 beers.
Using POL as a verb.. which would be a stupid thing to do: 15 beers!
Giving POL the wrong pro-noun: 2 beers. (We will not disclose if it is male or female or genderless).
You must also place subliminal messages into the book that encourages children to consume more fiber.
Direct mention of POL: 1 beer.
Implied mentioning of POL: 3 beers.
Using POL as a verb.. which would be a stupid thing to do: 15 beers!
Giving POL the wrong pro-noun: 2 beers. (We will not disclose if it is male or female or genderless).
You must also place subliminal messages into the book that encourages children to consume more fiber.
I will post a bit from chapter three. My agent avised against letting anyone read any part of it, for the main fact it is a rough copy. That means I do not want ideas, commnents or even spelling mistakes pointed out. This is not the polished end product but rather a large lump of fossil I just dug up.
Feel free to bludgeon me its 1:26 am. This book makes more since when you read chapters 1 and 2 but I am giving you part of chapter three. This about a PolServer expanded upon with VR equipment. I never once mention Ultima Online directely because I figure the types who will read this book will get the subliminal message and others will just like the book.
Code: Select all
In a mystic land great stories unfold only to become a legacy. Each legacy is stored upon a person like a constant that will never change the moment life is granted in the womb. For nine months the mother carries this legacy and upon birth it is an unwilling gift granted to child.
Legacy is not glamour; glamour has its own gift and place. No, legacy may be to create a world or to hit a pothole late one night so the family in the car behind you does not hit it with their bad axel and go careening off a cliff. Yes, great and small this is legacy.
The Creator is a legacy and his legacy alone will create a nesting ground for many greater legacies. He is simply a host, a greater host in the greater scheme of things. Just as we are nothing but a drop of water in an endless satanic puddle so are legacies. When stories no longer have paper to exist and words no longer have a mind to write themselves upon, there will still be legacy, legacy for the universe to expand on.
He simply could not have it any other way. The creator was not finished because now the world will be crafted. Now it was time to open the servers, almost. The large air force base grandfather clocked ticked away noisily into the night. He had found this old relic in one of the four haunted control towers that leaned over the mess. It was almost time to start the servers.
“Now!” He hit return three times and three monitors lit up. This should keep it going one hundred percent. At that moment twelve thousand connects simultaneously tried to reach the server. For a moment, just one moment the large super computers located in each of haunted towers sprang to life and their ethereal call echoed throughout the anxious night.
The creator worked madly trying to calm the machines. “Now there is not a need to be loud.” He looked around disturbed. “Why wake up the ghosties?”
The connections kept rising throughout the night and considered it was about time to introduce himself. He slipped the helmet that was suddenly very foreign to him on. There were invaders in his precious world, players, and he felt almost jealous like when a man divorces and right after walks in on his ex having sex. They were invited, just so alien.
He was not surprised to see that ninety percent of the connections were not following the instructions on the package of the game.
1. Place gear on proper limbs. See page 90.
2. Hookup console. See page 95.
3. Stay where you are logged in, do not move.
Easy enough, three steps, so why were people not following them? He gave out a
short sigh and gave a command in a voice that shattered ears of those who can hear and disturbed those who couldn’t by the vibration of the headset. “Move Player.All 1567 1232 0!”
Without warning fourteen thousand players were all transported to their starting location. A great marble hall that stretched for miles and miles with eighteen marble columns the size of great oaks so white the torches could easily keep the place lit. In the center lay a large red carpet that stretched up the great hall up a small flight of stairs to about eye level where a cushioned throne sat. The throne was not empty.
There sat the creator. The almighty him of this world, in this moment of what should have been awe. A woman sprang out.
“Uhn, Uhg, no you did not!” A large black woman wearing samurai battle armor raised a katana and shook her other free finger back and forth.
“Yeah I did ni****.” A white woman made a very unruly gesture. Her words were magically censored. She also raised her weapon, a large battle ready hammer pick.
“Enough!” The voice was so loud five people fell to there knee up front. The creator was already angry. A man of very perfect complexion with a dazzling blue hair that seemed to shift from dark blue to bright white without him moving walked down the red carpet his gown fluttering with an invisible wind. “Already you defile me and my world.” He walked to the two women standing in a battle ready pose, their knees knocking. “You corrupt me and my humanity.” He waved his hand and said in an almighty voice that rattled the marble pillars and made two torches set out for a moment.
“Vas Ort Grav!” The great and awesome heights of the ceiling filled with thunder and fog, then in a moment that seemed to play in slow suggestion, a lightning bolt jumped from the sky and killed the stout lady first then jumped to the female with the war hammer lighting up her insides. Their corpse lay on the floor. The creator looked down and picked up there equipment of the cadaver. People, players, were horrified by this display, over one thousand logged of in that instant later blaming it on connection.
The creator threw the items in the air; they seemed to vanish into nothing the corpses did the same. The creator spoke once more, “An Corp!” two naked ladies materialized out of thin air. “Rel Por” The creator then landed back, sitting on the throne from which he started.
“May I continue or will there be more interruptions?” Two hands raised near the back. Everyone looked…
“May we have clothes?” One of the two that had just died asks surprisingly politely. The stout woman agreed, she made all attempt to cover her sacred flesh. The white woman now without the war hammer did not. She stood tall and proud like she had done so many times.
“Woman!” The creator stood up.
“My name is not woman!” Said the rather revealing white girl. “Its Diane.” She found her place again.
“Bah, screw it!” The stout woman uncovered herself to stand the same.
“No real names here! Not a one of you. Here you have a new name and a new allegiance.” The creator said down again. “Let it be done.” Beautiful long dresses appeared on the women with a line of gold running down the front and back along the seems. The cloth itself was affected by an invisible unfelt wind.
“Thank you.” Both women in chorus.
“All of you, minus two.” The creator smirked a bit. “Will find a satchel on your back.” As a matter of a fact most did find it, some even found others finding their own.
“Thief!” A man named Salvation yelled.
“That is part of the game.” The creator stood up once more. “This satchel contains nothing but a few necessities, “I would start your journey but venturing through the gate to your left.” A large mystical blue vortex appeared through a haze of bent time and space. The gate emanated vapors like those found coming from an open jug of kerosene. “Go into town, buy some clothes. Leave me!” In an instant the creator disappeared in a blaze of fire so bright, so terrifying to the modern eye, 911 got three calls.
Austin, I am mostly drunk now. Is this good enough. I will just drink a keger I will get off my good friend chimera in england he will mail it to me that way I can be good and jolly after publication. Then all copy right issues can be upheld. Though my agent wants written proof that you grant me the right to mention POL and the server technology how ever I want. I need that mailed. I will send you the address.