#[ task 1 ]

[very-uncorrect]

I hope to have a queer and faggy 2024

[tejvirani]

Task 1: Crystal Bracelet

Black Opal A rare, precious, and fiery stone that gets its name from the Sanskrit word upala. Black opals are often called 'the king of opals' and the most valuable variety of this type of stone. A dark yet bright stone that incorporates light energy in the dark void.

The shape is the same as shown. Not one that can be categorized exactly but the bracelet accommodates. The opal reminds Tej of a piece of discarded glass he salvaged years ago in London, and used ever since as his favorite palette for paints.

[serpcntiine]

Task 1: The Recording

The only time he faltered was just before the door. It was just for a moment, a brief crack of his diamond edged exterior that showed the soft underbelly of a cobra. But then, his hand reached for the doorknob and twisted, walking into the room with his eyes firmly locked on the woman now before him. He sat on the chair directly opposite from her before crossing his long legs and resting his hands on his knees in a show of nonchalance. She raised a brow and gestured for the piece of paper on the table. 

Glancing down, he didn’t even take a moment to pause. 

"I, [MAZEN ASHRAF-VERHOEVEN], willingly accept my invitation into the Trial of Hearts. I enter with the full understanding that this is a game of absolutes: high risk, high reward. I acknowledge that the Trial of Hearts may result in injury — physical, emotional, or psychological - and by speaking these words, I seal my fate. By continuing, I forfeit any right to retreat or regret. I accept that only one will rise victorious, and I declare myself worthy of that title."

They shared a moment’s silence before he stood up and walked away. He was grateful that she was probably the only person who would have seen his hands shake. 

[wrxthbornx]

task 1 - diários de um semideus por Daphne Gracewood

CAMADA 1: BÁSICO E PESSOAL

Nome: Daphne Gracewood

Idade: 22 anos

Gênero: Feminino, cisgênero

Pronomes: ela/dela

Altura: 1 metro e 52 centímetros

Parente divino e número do chalé: Ares, chalé 5

CAMADA 2: CONHECENDO OS SEMIDEUSES

Idade que chegou ao Acampamento: Com apenas alguns dias de vida

Quem te trouxe até aqui? Pelo que eu percebi foi minha querida m��e, mas quem sabe? Até pode ter sido um cachorro ou um guaxini.

Seu parente divino te reclamou de imediato ou você ficou um pouco no chalé de Hermes sem saber a quem pertencia? Não tenho a certeza de quanto tempo demorou, ou sequer onde fiquei visto que basicamente nasci no acampamento, mas se me lembro do que Quíron me disse, eu devia já ter quase um ano.

Após descobrir sobre o Acampamento, ainda voltou para o mundo dos mortais ou ficou apenas entre os semideuses? Se você ficou no Acampamento, sente falta de sua vida anterior? E se a resposta for que saiu algumas vezes, como você agia entre os mortais? Apenas saí, e continuo, a sair em missões. Sem ser aí nunca tive qualquer vida no mundo dos mortais por isso não me faz qualquer sentido começar uma nova vida sem o acampamento.

Se você pudesse possuir um item mágico do mundo mitológico, qual escolheria e por quê? Talvez a pele do leão de Nemeia, conta como item mágico?

Existe alguma profecia ou visão do futuro que o assombra ou guia suas escolhas? Neste momento? A que paira sobre nós.

CAMADA 3: PODERES, HABILIDADES E ARMAS

Fale um pouco sobre seus poderes: Meu poder é transfiguração de armas, basicamente qualquer objeto que eu pegar posso transformar em uma arma à minha escolha, em qualquer momento. Um galho pode virar uma espada, ou até um brinco virar um escudo.

Quais suas habilidades e como elas te ajudam no dia a dia: Força sobre-humana e durabilidade sobre-humana, qualquer uma das duas é bastante útil, força por razões óbvias, com o meu tamanho sempre é bom ter uma força fora do comum e a durabilidade é bastante útil em combate, sempre dá para puxar um pouquinho mais.

Você lembra qual foi o primeiro momento em que usou seus poderes? Se não me engano eu tinha uns cinco anos, não me recordo muito bem mas Quíron me falou que me tinha dado um cavalo de madeira para a mão e ele se transformou em uma adaga.

Qual a parte negativa de seu poder: Não conseguir afetar o inimigo indiretamente. Neste caso eu sempre dependo de mim e de minhas habilidades com as armas para o ferir, por isso que treinei para me tornar proficiente com todas as armas possíveis.

E qual a parte positiva: Não estar dependente de andar sempre armada, qualquer coisa vira o recurso que necessito naquele momento.

Você tem uma arma preferida? Se sim, qual? Sim, o machado em qualquer ocasião.

Acredito que tenha uma arma pessoal, como a conseguiu? Meu machado de dupla lâmina, ou lábris. Foi meu pai que mo deu como recompensa depois de minha primeira missão.

Qual arma você não consegue dominar de jeito algum e qual sua maior dificuldade no manuseio desta? Chicote, não entendo como alguém consegue lutar apenas com ele, mas para mim é impensável, evito a todos os custos.

CAMADA 4: MISSÕES

Qual foi a primeira que saiu? Foi quando eu tinha catorze anos e a missão era apenas devolver um pacote a Atena, até hoje estou curiosa com o que estava nesse pacote.

Qual a missão mais difícil? Provavelmente uma em que fomos apanhados desprevenidos por um minotauro e quase nos matou aos três, mas conseguimos escapar, a muito custo.

Qual a missão mais fácil? A primeira.

Em alguma você sentiu que não conseguiria escapar, mas por sorte o fez? Sim, nessa do minotauro e outra em que fomos presseguidos por uma quimera.

Já teve que enfrentar a ira de algum deus? Se sim, teve consequências? Graças aos deuses que não.

CAMADA 5: BENÇÃO OU MALDIÇÃO

-

CAMADA 6: DEUSES

Qual divindade você acha mais legal, mais interessante? Ares, obviamente, não iria escolher mais ninguém além de meu pai.

Qual você desgosta mais? Não tenho desagrado por nenhum em especial, mas talvez Eros é o que menos me diz algo pessoalmente.

Se pudesse ser filhe de outro deus, qual seria? Duvido que houvesse outro que eu gostaria de ser filha, mas sinto que me encaixava bem como filha de Hefesto, se Ares não existisse.

Já teve contato com algum deus? Se sim, qual? Como foi? Se não, quem você desejaria conhecer? Já com alguns, não me lembro de todos os momentos detalhadamente, mas o que mais me marcou foi com Ares, quando me feri a meio de uma missão.

Faz oferendas para algum deus?Tirando seu parente divino. Se sim, para qual? E por qual motivo? Não costumo, não me lembro de ter feito alguma oferenda sem ser para Ares.

CAMADA 7: MONSTROS

Qual monstro você acha mais difícil matar e por qual motivo? Foi sem dúvida o minotauro, é grande mas é rápido, e forte claro.

Qual o pior monstro que teve que enfrentar em sua vida? Houveram vários mas talvez o basílico foi o que deu mais luta.

Dos monstros que você ainda não enfrentou, qual você acha que seria o mais difícil e que teria mais receio de lidar? Echidna.

CAMADA 8: ESCOLHAS

Caçar monstros em trio ( ) OU Caçar monstros sozinho ( x )

Capture a bandeira ( x ) OU Corrida com Pégasos ( )

Ser respeitado pelos deuses ( x ) OU Viver em paz, mas no anonimato ( )

Hidra ( x ) OU Dracaenae ( )

CAMADA 9: LIDERANÇA E SACRIFÍCIOS

Estaria disposto a liderar uma missão suicida com duas outras pessoas, sabendo que nenhum dos três retornaria com vida mas que essa missão salvaria todos os outros semideuses do acampamento? Claro.

Que sacrifícios faria pelo bem maior? Daria minha vida, acho que esse é o maior sacrifício que alguém pode fazer.

Como gostaria de ser lembrado? Como alguém que sempre deu o seu melhor pelo acampamento, e como uma das melhores gueirreiras obviamente.

CAMADA 10: ACAMPAMENTO

Local favorito do acampamento: Arena de treinamento

Local menos favorito: Provavelmente a estufa.

Lugar perfeito para encontros dentro do acampamento: Talvez o lago? Não sei, nunca fui em muitos.

Atividade favorita para se fazer: Caça a bandeira conta como atividade?

[thelcser]

TASK I — o que? Modã? To foraaaa queridã!

O guarda-roupa de Calloway é bem simples: uma calça larga, uma camiseta de algum anime que ela esteja assistindo no momento e uma blusa xadrez. O cabelo sempre bagunçado e os olhos cheios de olheiras, pra mostrar o quanto ficou acordada na noite anterior, jogando e gritando com todo mundo.

Fora do seu dia-a-dia, Malina é mais "arrumada" quando o assunto é fazer seus cosplays. É só nesses momentos em que a garota mostra ter uma incrível habilidade com maquiagem e costura, já que muitas das roupas são desenhadas e costuradas pela própria cosplayer. Tem também uma quantidade infinita de perucas para combinar com cada personagem que ela imita/cria.

[m-entities]

task oo1. the reaping

It was tradition, every six months. Or, at least, it felt like one. A ritual. A ritual before he Ritual. Oxford would run. With his bare feet on the ground, he found it was the only way he'd make it through the day.

He'd do it in the afternoon, the day before the Reaping, every time. His mother would start to get that look in her eyes, and her shoulders would droop in just that way. The way she remembered the last time they had a family dinner all together. Ox couldn't take that kind of responsibility. It wasn't his, but he felt it. When his mother remembered, the others were good to her. Comforted her. His father, and siblings, and extended family were all so good to his mother on the eve of the Reaping, and he could not be. And so he ran.

It wasn't a far escape, from his family home to the burned out barn a plot over. But it put enough distance both physically and emotionally that Oxford could be alone with his thoughts. There was always something to discover; sometimes there were stray cats with litters of kittens, sometimes glass ground into shimmery dust from parties, sometimes discarded toys from other vagabonds who had to ditch at the last moment their trinkets and trophies.

Today's discovery was a new hole in the roof of the structure, with the large wooden pillar that held it up dashed on the floor below. Ox carefully navigated across it, not trusting his weight to it's support. He found an open space and sat with his back against the aging wall, and looked through the new porthole to the darkening sky above. Winter always brought shortened days to the District, increasing the threat of the Games. Acidic bile bubbled in his stomach, his chest, his throat, but he swallowed it down. It only fomented there, though, in the hollow of his body, and threatened to bubble up again at any moment. Somehow, though, the new glimpse of sky helped soothe it. As if the small view out to ultimate freedom helped quell the disgust in his stomach.

He tried to scream, to pound his fist against the ground, to tear at the air with his hands, but he couldn't find the energy to do so. Tears wouldn't even fall, no matter how much he bid them. It was all stone as he tried to express the rage in his heart. So instead he sat still, feeling the dirt under him, feeling the scratchy wood against his back, and watched as the sky gradually darkened more and more. Until he knew it was time to return.

So back to his home he jogged, just as his mother was poking her head out of the door of their house to call him in. He entered, the last one of the family to arrive at the ritual. All were at the dinner table: his father, his mother, his brother, his sister-in-law, his nieces, his sister. No one spoke as he took his seat, still not wearing shoes and clearly dirty from his escape. There remained one other chair, still empty.

Quietly, the family took each other's hands in a circle, with Baley and Buxley placing their hands on the table astride the empty chair. Brinny looked around at her gathered family, and began speaking with tears already in her eyes.

"Let us give thanks, this evening, for the family we have built together." She squeezed her husband's hand, who brought his gaze to meet hers. He, too, was teary eyed. "First, let us celebrate those who have passed the age of danger - Buxley, Leander, Brinny." She smiled at her oldest son, her husband, and then bowed her own head. "Let us give thanks that there are those who have not yet reached the age: Ursula, Gia, and Heather." A small giggle passed through Oxford's nieces, as they were too young yet to quite grasp the depth of the ritual.

"Let's give our good wishes to those of us who will be facing the bowls tomorrow. Oxford," his mother gave his hand a squeeze. "Baley," he passed it to his sister. "And Stella." His brother gave a grim smile to his wife, who would be facing her final Reaping tomorrow.

"And let us not forget those who have lost their lives to the Games." Brinny's voice immediately began to close up. "Stella's uncle, Shulk, who was lost in the 94th Games. And our... our..." Her voice choked out, tears blocking her speech.

Leander jumped in gently, holding her hand firm. "And our Flor, who was lost in the 114th Games. May their memories live on, and may they never be forgotten."

There were murmured "never forgotten"s across and around the table. No one dared look up first. There was a palpable silence that hung like a mantle above their heads, united in the communal grief of their circumstances. It pulled on Oxford's shoulders, forcing them down, hunched over in his seat. Somehow, despite being the tallest at the table, he felt the smallest of all.

But all silences must break, and it was once again the matriarch who took command. Brinny squeezed her husband's hand to release it, and took the inhale that the family was waiting for. "Well," she said simply, her voice still small. "Let's eat, then." She forced her head to raise, looking at each of her children in turn. A sad smile slowly found its way to her lips. They had survived the Games once. It wouldn't - couldn't - happen again. In that, they could take solace.

There were small conversations around the table. Leander asked how the girls were doing in school - well enough. Stella asked how the crops were coming in - slowly, Ox answered. Grain lice and Peacekeeper oversight, especially when the solution was to burn infested crops to protect the clean. A tense moment when Stella mentioned a friend of a cousin in Twelve, unsure of their whereabouts. A worried glance at the required television, which Brinny was certain contained a microphone and camera as much as a screen.

No conversation could effectively pop the bubble, however. No laughter truly arose, outside of the immature giggles of the young girls who didn't yet have the vocabulary to describe the discomfort they were feeling. The meal concluded, everyone washed their own dishes, and gentle but fierce hugs were exchanged. Buxley and Stella took their girls and left, but not without an extra squeeze for Stella from everyone.

The sun was gone, and Oxford found his way to his bed. Across the room, Baley laid, her breaths audible and shaky in contrast to his carefully measured ones. Eventually, he couldn't take the tension.

"It'll be fine." His voice was deep and hollow.

"Will it?"

"It always has been."

"That's not true and you know it."

He quieted at that. She was right. "I miss her too."

"What do we do if -"

"It won't."

"It might."

"It won't." His voice turned stern, defensive.

"But what if -"

"Then." He took a breath in, suddenly aware of how much shakiness he, too, had in his lungs. "Then. Then we."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Oxford rolled onto his side, facing the wall. "It's not going to happen, Baley. And if it does, we do what we've always done."

"But Ox..." he hated hearing the pain in his sister's voice. "If it happens again... there will be no 'we.'"

Oxford fell quiet again. This one lasted longer than the others. "Just go to sleep, Baley." He made a point to pull the blanket up over his shoulder, indicating his end to the conversation. It didn't, however, block out the small, shuddering sobs that Baley couldn't stop as she unsuccessfully tried to get to sleep. Ox noted they lasted all night and into the morning, as he also couldn't fall asleep with the weight of the Reaping upon him.

The morning seeped into their room, early and gray. Both Baley and Ox knew the other hadn't slept, but they held that in confidence as each got ready for the day ahead. Breakfast was light, though no one at the table would be able to eat anything. Grim looks that masqueraded as smiles were exchanged, dishes were washed, and gentle touches were given.

From there, it was tradition - or, perhaps ritual. A short walk as a family minus one to the Capitol square, the final hugs and kisses before Oxford and Baley were pricked and separated to their respective age groups. Ox took his place between the same two who he had grown to know by name and face over the past ten years: Neb Whitman to his left, and Daniela Wicker to his right. Despite how low he kept his head bowed, he still stood nearly a foot taller than the two of them.

There was the video, the silent figures on the stage, and the overmade Escort who simply couldn't be happier to be there, despite being the only person who could claim that. Then there was the collective inhale as the first name was drawn, and the collective half-exhale as the first name wasn't their own.

Only something was different this time. Whereas usually Neb and Daniela would follow his lead and keep their heads downcast, they had today changed the tradition, broken the ritual. Instead, their faces were upturned and staring at Oxford. He made eye contact with Neb, which prompted him to quickly avert his eyes, but when Ox found Daniela's eyes, he knew something was different. He raised his own head, only to hear over the microphone:

"Is there an Oxford Wichita?"

A haze fell across his eyes and his vision went blurry. For an embarrassing moment, Ox thought he would faint. His focus snapped back, however, when the Escort, clearly annoyed, cleared his throat again into the microphone, and Daniela shifted to allow him access to the aisle with an apology in her eyes that he could feel. Slowly, Ox made his way up to the stage, feeling like it had become an endless walk. Being at the back of the crowd only meant he had to walk past each and every row of 22 year olds, then onward until he briefly caught the crying eyes of Baley. His jaw tightened and he ascended the stairs.

"Ah, there we go. A round of applause for Oxford. And now, let's see who our second Tribute will be."

There was a second collective inhale, and then a name was read. Ox couldn't stop the muscle memory of the collective exhale as he heard a name he didn't recognize. It wasn't Baley. It wasn't Stella. It wasn't him.

His breath caught in his chest. It was him. The ritual would continue.

[ciananbalor]

What is your character's name and occupation? My name is Cianan Balor, and let's just say my specialty is locating and sourcing items of supernatural importance for paying clientele. What brings them to Saintes? After the announcement things went to shit wouldn't you say? I mean it could've been a grand shift in paradigm, but instead, the system managed to do what it always does. Turn each other on one another. What can we expect next from your character? Cianan was exhausted by a century of constant vigilance and thought Saintes made sense. It would be a place where his talents could be useful to so many. The longer he spends in the town the more thawing and shedding away of old beliefs will occur as he meets others who challenge his past ideas. I think alliances will be formed that weren't in the realm of possibility before, and he'll finally allow some growth and (dare I say) some warmth may come into his life.

[failingupwardswithphelixlee]

The Set Things: Challenges of Production Part 1, Predictions & Our Preemptive Solutions

In Tracy Fullerton's Game Design Workshop: A Playcentric Approach to Creating Innovative Games, Chapter 1: The Role of the Game Designer, the topic of difficulties during development is broached. Fullerton illuminates the challenges that may appear during production; fragile system's elements are inextricably linked and so when one changes it can send disruptive ripples throughout the system which is often a catastrophic event during the later stages of development.

I hold concern for the development of this platformer for task 1 for this reason: the game's core game-play loop involves directly altering fundamental UI & game-play experience elements, such as the brightness, audio, and keybinding settings which are all tied to puzzle and platforming solutions.

I am hoping to prevent this catastrophe by localizing the interactive, malleable variables to levels designed around the theme of each variable (brightness, audio, etc.) respectively. By developing levels instead of an open-world/one-map style game we can limit the complexity of the ramifications of the player's choices.

In Chapter 2: The Structure of Games, Fullerton defines a game system as a group of interrelated elements that work together to form a complex whole, and further posits that the interrelationship of a system's elements adds new dimensions to play when set in motion. With this I agree, and so, ideally, the most fun experience of this game would be one where multiple different settings can be manipulated by the player to allow for a more emergent game-play experience. However, for the sake of simplicity during development we will keep the scope narrowed to isolated themed levels designed around their respective setting... for this version ;)

[iamstuckinthevoid]

ok so. I need to stop crying

[starlitvega]

late night shitposting

based off of a TikTok which I will link below ^^

[temeyes]

arms arms arms arms (bonus under the cut!)

Mother Laswell putting her boys to SHAMEEEEE

[theriverbeyond]

crafters. in front of you is a pair of scissors. above you is an anvil. your task, should you choose to accept it, is to keep track of these scissors for 8 consecutive crafting hours. you are not allowed to lose the scissors, misplace the scissors, give up and purchase new scissors, or use a kitchen knife, boxcutter, or exacto knife in desperation. if you fail, the anvil will fall on you. your time begins now

[lillialuna]

Was recording all the different twyrine extract recipes today and stumbled upon quite possibly the worst concoction ever created

2 black twyre 2 bloody twyre for anyone wondering

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

🏎️🏁 It's F1 Season! 🏁🏎️

(Sgt Kyle Gaz Garrick + Sir Lewis Hamilton)

Bahrain GP is on the horizon! Have a combination of my two current brain rots 😭 I think it's been a running joke among the CoD community that Gaz (played by Elliot Knight the king himself) looks like Lewis Hamilton!

Drawing these two has been so fun! Here's to an exciting F1 season! 🏎️🏁

[m-entities]

task oo1. the reaping

Mercuria kept her eyes closed. She didn't want to wake up. But her father was once again having a coughing fit, so it wasn't like she was going to be able to fall back asleep anyway. With a small sigh of resignation, she threw her feet over the side of her cot and stood to greet the gray day.

"It's okay, Pa," she murmured, using a dying lighter to reignite the stove from yesterday evening's charcoal. Once it took, she ladled a small serving of water into the kettle before setting it on top of the small fire. "Don't worry, it's comin'." The morning chores were easy enough, the same as they ever were. While the water boiled, she took a derelict broom, which desperately needed restrawing, and scraped track marks into the dust near the entrance. The "sweeping" done, she moved on to making her bed - putting the thin blanket on top of her cot so that it didn't pick up any dust from the floor.

The next hour flew by in routine monotony. Pour hot water for Pa, coach him on how to choke it down without coughing it back up. Use the water to rehydrate the stew from last night, eat a few spoonfuls before giving the rest to Pa. It wasn't until she saw out the small window the crowds of people that she realized: today was the Reaping.

A gasp caught in her throat. It was a miracle she had forgotten, of course, but it happened so irregularly that she couldn't possibly fault herself. She hurried to the back of their home, slipping easily into the one piece of clothing she had that could be considered "nice:" a hand-woven skirt her father had made. Her father noticed from across the room. "No, Mercuria - no..."

She rushed to his side and cupped his face in her hands. "It's just a few hours, Pa. Then I'll be back. We're jus' lucky I don't hafta travel for it."

She exited before she could hear any more of his stuttered protestations. The ceremony was a blur of monotony until something different happened: a Tribute was announced. Not pulled, not Reaped... announced. Some might even say presented. And as he was revealed, Mercuria's breath caught in her throat.

Slate Flint - years of work flashed past Mercuria's eyes in an instant. From the first time she heard him speak, cramped in a back room of a bar, through the pamphlets she saw passed around Twelve, to the chatter over the radios that only a select few people knew how to find. The work of a generation, the work of the future. All up there, waiting to be sent to die. No.

No.

No.

She couldn't allow it. Not after he had given her so much. So much hope, so much inspiration. So many promises that they would prevail and that they would come out on top. Slate needed to see it through. Someone had to stop this. Someone had to help.

"I volunteer!" The words were out of her mouth a split second before she registered the idea. But as soon as they were out, she knew. She was set. This was the moment. Since she had met Slate, she hadn't been able to help the cause. She wasn't able to move contraband, she wasn't a public speaker, she wasn't even that much of a fighter. So mostly she had sat back, listening in awe, as the revolution formed around her. She had always been in the background.

Now was her time to step in and make a difference.

The Escort looked out at the crowd. "Oh, how lovely. We have our second Tribute. Thank you all for attending."

Peacekeepers grabbed her by the elbows, and others started immediately shepherding the crowd away. What? No - she was taking his place. The Tributes would be her and another, drawn. They hadn't even asked her name. She struggled the slightest bit, and one of the Peacekeepers threw a fist into the back of her head. She stumbled forward, but they effortlessly swept her up by the arms, paying no attention as her feet bounced painfully against the stairs.

Everyone was being moved into the Capitol building. There were no bowls of names, there was no ending video. The Escort hadn't even bothered to stay out on stage long enough to greet her. She threw one last look backwards, over her shoulder, to see the crowd dispersing.

Hopefully someone would tell her father.

[sleepy-frog-lady]

I would be so powerful if even one of my executives functioned. Just. Even a single one of them. Please. Please .