The Power of Three

The origins of Avenging Angel can be traced all the way back to New York City and the summer of 1991. I had just purchased the first three books of Steven King’s hallowed “Dark Tower” saga from Macy’s. I remember the kind gentleman who sold me the books calling me “sir”. That was a first. That summer had a lot of “firsts”. I guess I was old, or mature, looking enough to be able to buy drinks in the bars. If I remember correctly, during that time persons under the age 21 couldn’t buy booze. I was barely 17. I do not know if it’s a good or bad thing, but boy, did I have a blast. I missed my Commodore Amiga 500, which was back home in Helsinki, Finland. “Carrier Command” and “Zarch” had been my favourites from the late 80’s. I clocked a few hundred hours with the first “Test Drive” as well. “Batman The Movie” game from 1989 was also nothing short of spectacular. I loved those games. I guess, I still do. 

Then there was music. I bought The Four Horsemen’s “No One Said it Would Be Easy” from a record store in TriBeCa. Tyketto’s “Don’t Come Easy” had just been released and “Forever Young” from that record was, and goddamn, still is one of my favourites. The Cult’s “Ceremony” and “Sonic Temple” were also something I associate with that period of time. It might be because I was so excited to see the very same places portrayed in the video of “Edie (Ciao Baby)”. I remember Fishbone’s “Reality of my Surroundings” blowing my mind for good. I bought Extreme II: Pornograffitti (A Funked Up Fairy Tale) on vinyl. Those were the soundtrack of my life and times back then. It would be a year later when I discovered Ennio Morricone and the world of soundtrack music. I had been playing classical piano from a very young age, but in late 80’s, I was so fucking fed up playing something that was completely dead in my view and from an age I had no interest in. I traded the piano for another percussive instrument, namely, the drums. I wanted to play rock n’ roll. So I did and still do. 

I read the Dark Tower books during that summer and decided that I want to write. I tried. I sucked. I tried again. I sucked some more. I somehow reasoned that when humankind would run out of fossil fuel, they would turn to steam devices. My father was, and still is, somewhat of an enthusiast when it comes to locomotives and steam engines, and in this case, the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree. I dreamt of artificial intelligence. I envisioned them to be inter-dimensional and having a bio-mechanical interface to our world. I understand why fiction writers want to depict artificial intelligence with very human attributes, but in my view, it takes something really important and fundamental away from the entire concept. I know it is easier for readers/gamers/viewers to relate to something that has familiar characteristics, but I really tried to understand and comprehend how would a non-human entity with access to another reality perceive human beings and their odd metaphysical structures. That was, and still is, the premise for “Machinimus Artificialis” -machines in Avenging Angel and The Land of Strange Gods. 

I also wanted to explore what would ultimately happen if a human mind would be transplanted into a network and a machine as a form of incarceration. This thought ultimately manifested in Avenging Angel character “Antero” who was given a choice: a death sentence or to be sentenced for life. What happens in the game is that Antero has chosen life, but those who imprisoned him neglected to tell him that his “life sentence” would last literally forever. He is a being, or essence, who haunts the Thunderhead Point island network jumping from a robotic chassis to another. He is starting forget his humanity since he knows no hunger or pain. His sense of psychological time is completely different than for a human being. He wants to opt out. Badly. 

All the NPCs in Avenging Angel operate from their own selfish motives. Each character has an agenda. There is no dualistic and childish good vs. evil in play here. That makes the conflicts presented in the game much more complex and much more enjoyable in my view. We did not want to include any kind of point-based “Karma System” in the game. The game world reacts to player’s choices and that’s that. If you shoot first and ask questions later, the world becomes more hostile and you might miss a side quest. 

My deep affection for Art Nouveau, Scandinavian Jugendstil, and Art Deco architecture and style is a childhood thing as well. I grew up in downtown Helsinki in an apartment building from 1911 and my father is an avid collector of Art Nouveau. I don’t think my childhood home had a single light-fixture newer than 1930’s. Those shapes and curves are aesthetically so pleasing to the eye. They communicate something larger than life to me, which is ethereal, beautiful, and meaningful. Art Nouveau in particular had a profound impact on how I envisioned the world of Avenging Angel to be. Now looking back, these are the foundations of Avenging Angel and The Land of Strange Gods: Stephen King, New York City, music, architecture, steam engines and a very, very vivid imagination. 

***

It would take twenty years and a different format to really bring to life what I envisioned in summer of 1991. My path and career choices took me far away from the land of fiction for two decades. I would return to my writings when I had a chance, but one could hardly call it professional work. Around ten years ago I came up with the name “The Land of Strange Gods”. It felt right immediately. The title encapsulated what I wanted to say and how I wanted to say it. I started to bring more metaphysical and existential elements into my writing. I started to ask questions about the very essence of modern stupidity. Why is this planet such a shit-hole? Why are human beings so inescapably violent? Why the fuck are we here?  Some of that work went into “Dark Zen”, my non-fiction book, which will be released in mid-May 2015, and a lot of it bled into the world of Avenging Angel.  

Let us fast-forward now to early winter of 2013. By then I was putting my writing skills to good use making the script for a horror game as a subcontractor. I was pulling a triple-duty in that project, since I was the sound designer and composer as well. It was in that ill-fated project, where I met Mr. Pukki and Mr. Ronimus. Mr. Pukki was the Art Director and lead designer and Mr. Ronimus was the technical director. When the project was ended in early winter of 2013, it was very natural of us to start Dark Amber Softworks. We agreed pretty much everything from the start, the communication was effortless, and we simply got very well along, despite the tree of us coming from very different backgrounds. I called the local city development company, and Mr. Mika Lammi there, for free office spaces and thus we moved our gear into the offices of a defunct paper mill. The office space used to be a machine workshop in the 1910’s and has magnificent tall arch-windows framed by red brick walls. The 30-feet main room was recently painted white and oozed just the kind of Steampunk vibe I was looking for. The facility itself was owned by the paper mill, but operated by the local development company, Kinno, and their “Protomo” program, which was an incubator for starting businesses. The Kymenlaakso (our region) Protomo was managed by Mr. Tommi Sundström (whom we immortalised in the game lore as “Alchemist Sundstroem”) and assisted by Mr. Risto Uotila. We were given keys and two cubicles. Just before the Christmas of 2013 we started to sketch ideas for a new game. We were so sick and tired of the previous project and the half-lit world of horror games (nothing against them, but at that time we just did not want to make that kind of stuff). To be completely honest, we were, and in some ways still are, noobs at the time. We did not have much experience about making games save for that horror game, which provided us useful knowledge on how not to do things. 

We had a crew of three people: a writer and sound guy (me), art guy (Mr. Pukki), and tech guy (Mr. Ronimus). We asked advice from the local “elder statesmen” of game industry and everyone kept telling us to do mobile and something small. We shrugged and thought “fuck it”. I do not remember who it was who suggested that we should do a small tower defence game. We initially kind of liked the idea and started sketching the game. We have always worked really, really fast. Since Mr. Pukki has a tendency of sketching in Mud Box, we get stuff prototyped in minutes. We kept working on it for a few weeks, but everyone felt that something was off with the whole concept. I honestly don’t remember at what point we decided that, no, we do not want to do small, and we do not want to do just a goddamn tower defence, but it was Mr. Pukki who suggested that we should do a bigger game based on the world I had created, The Land of Strange Gods. In mid-January 2014 we decided to take the tower defence idea and build something bigger around it. We all have always loved Morrowind, Final Fantasy VII and Fallout. It was pretty clear that we wanted to do something along those lines. Everyone thought that we were nothing short of insane. "One does not simply do a game of that size with a crew of three". The very first script of “Avenging Angel” had the tower defence portion as the last “boss fight” of the game. I think the entire tower defence idea was scrapped in February 2014. When March 2014 was lurking just around the corner, the current version of Avenging Angel was pretty much sketched out, but we were in trouble. Then a miracle we needed happened. 

I had been applying for all kinds of game program grants, but since we had not actually released anything, we were not even considered by most places we reached out to. The majority thought that what just the three of us trying to accomplish was not doable. We were quickly running out of money when Mr. Timo Ylikangas from Kinno pointed me to a government organisation called AVEK and their Digidemo program. I applied for the grant, and I was pretty much sure that we wouldn’t see a dime. We did. They approved our application essentially saving the entire project. 

In Summer of 2014 the first version of the Avenging Angel demo came out. We have been at it full time ever since. Along the way we have had the usual  and unusual hardship, heartbreak, financial trouble, writer’s/artist’s blocks, but also laughter, joy, accomplishment, and getting shit done. We have learned as we have trotted along. 

At the end of the day, we wanted to prove that only three dedicated individuals with the right skill set can make a good game. Yes, that is what we set out to do and that is what we want to do. A massive thank you goes out to those individuals mentioned here who helped us. A massive thank you goes out to the numerous people who believed in us and encouraged us and were not mentioned here. They are our families and friends, the folks who voted for us in Steam Greenlight, liked us on Facebook, followed us on Twitter, made YouTube videos, journalists and gamers wrote articles for various medias, sent encouraging emails and tweets, and played the game demo in various expos, and those brave individuals who invested money in our IndieGoGo campaign, which by the way tanked.  

We see you all and we hear you all. You all have our gratitude. 

(Note: stay tuned for "Part Two" of this journey in a few days)

Sketches of Spain

I escape the heat and the crowd into the magical surroundings of ancient roman temple ruins zealously guarded by a medieval building. The columns of the Temple of Augustus command such majesty and authority. It is completely silent. If these walls and columns of stone could speak, they would tell tall tales of the Roman times. They have seen the transformation from the Roman city Barcino into the modern metropolis we know today. I meditate on the serene atmosphere. 

Just behind the cathedral, a small alley. Murals of knights slaying dragons of another age adorn the ancient stone walls. A set of windows open to the street. Inviting. There is the magnificent Jeff Buckley debut album “Grace” pouring from the speakers. I take that as a good omen as I step into the cool shade of Bar Gaelic BCN. I am the only customer. Time is standing still. I have no idea what time it is, and to be honest, I don’t want to know. I ask the Bartender, who turns out to be the owner, for something local. Who in their right mind would eat at McDonalds, or drink some Pisswasser (export only) in this city? What I get is Barcelona Beer Company’s IPA, Cerdos Voladores “Honest Made Beer”. Oh dear, an explosion of extremely lusty and bitter hops. There is nothing sophisticated or balanced going on in this beverage. Well, the bottle says it’s “rowdy”. I heartily agree. 

“Lilac Wine” rushes in from the sound system. I hum along. The interior is positively 1930’s with the appropriate advertisement placed on the walls. This place has been here for aeons. So much history here as well. I have this fine establishment all to myself. The hordes of tourist wander outside towards the cathedral, like the white walkers, to worship the touristy things. Do they understand how many lives were lost, and how much blood was spilled, constructing these houses for an idea of an imaginary being, I find myself thinking. If there ever was a god, he has not been around here for a long time. 

The live version of “Eternal Life” is blowing dust from the speakers. Everything in life is better with Jeff Buckley. I am not present in this day or age. I am somewhere outside this whole construct. 

I find myself sampling a bottle of Barcino “Bogatell Wheat”, which is like drinking clear spring water flavoured with pine needles and spices. There is something really ancient happening in that bottle of beer. It occurs to me then that the drinking establishment in question has been built exactly where the inner sanctum of the Temple of Augustus was two thousand years ago. I quietly salut Gaius Julius Octavius, whom became Emperor Augustus. That’s the least I can do, since I am in his house.  

“There is a child sleeping near his twin.

The pictures go wild in a rush of wind.

That dark angel he is shuffling in,

watching over them with his black feather wings unfurled” -Jeff Buckley, Dream Brother

The owner of the bar remarks that it is “something of a national sport to open a restaurant in Barcelona”. There is also an another reason behind the amount of restaurants in Barcelona: a lot of the operations are funded and backed by Russian and Chinese operators. Certain places positively empty of customers year after year, and still the doors remain open. The Russians and Chinese are aggressively buying new businesses and property, I am told. Very lucrative deals are offered at exceeding rate. 

After three different local beers and Brew Dogs “Punk Ipa”, the post modern classic pale ale from Maryland, I am positively sloshed. Writing is easy. I am so going to “Hank Moody” this motherfucker. Words flow effortlessly to the page. This is the moment I have feared, as I feel like I am writing better, and easier with a little alcohol. There is no pain or anguish here. There is no existential crisis, or the pathetic whining of a misunderstood artist. My fingers hit the keys faster and faster. A sentence after sentence forms out of thin air. The muse has arrived. I will bow down to her and I will worship her. I have always felt deep resentment towards writing, or doing anything creative, under the influence. There is something about it, which I find very dissatisfying. I guess I don’t want to dull my senses when giving something of myself. Yes, that’s what it is. Dull. Numb. How is it that I am enjoying this so much? 

The View from the Tower

The man and the boy stood in the tower in silence. 

Fara took a few slow steps closer to an open window as if to get a better look at the view below. What he saw was rather different from what his grandson would see. During his borrowed time, he had begun to see all layers and time zones of the ether without concentrating. His vision was filled with overlapping layers of script in motion. A sense of sadness and tiredness overcame him. He couldn't reason why he felt  that way. The tiredness he understood as he looked underneath the Daelan script attaching his essence to this world. He should not have been alive at all. But the sadness, what would he make out of it? He knew exactly where he was going after the Otto nearby would release him from time and escort him to other worlds. Was it a human reaction to feel sad when there was nothing to be afraid about? Was it a pathetic and self-righteous attempt to convince himself that there was still work left to do here? Would the Masters still grant him another year or two? He banished those thoughts quickly as returned his focus on Sola who had been standing behind him quietly. 

Sola ran his hfingers through his thick black hair. He thought of years past, the years without a care in the world, when adulthood seemed like a distant nightmare and responsibility was a joke. His mind worked feverishly trying to figure the task handed to him so suddenly. The terrible faces of the Daelan crept into his mind. He thought of the Eldar, the other mighty progenitors. The tales and legends he had heard and read as a child had come alive. They were as real as he had always suspected. It frightened and intrigued him at the same time. Could he trust his own intuition to separate the myths and half-truths from the absolute and undeniable truth,  from the way things are? 

"No, you cannot," came the solemn answer. Fara placed a hand on the boy's shoulder while continuing: 

"You mustn't trust intuition although we are blessed with greater knowledge than those who came before. We see more than our ancestors but the human mind works in mysterious ways. It takes a great deal of work to recognize which things in your vision are actually real and which are the fabrication of your own mind. Your desires, wishes and dreams leak into the ether, and in a subjective way, they are real, but they are not manifest in this time. Only the Daelan and Eldar can transpose their thoughts truly into being. They participate to the creation that way. We humans are not allowed to do such nor do we have the power to do so."

"So, if one would want something to be changed around here, the only way would be to ask the Masters to do it," Sola asked.

"Exactly," Fara answered without hesitation, "This is the very reason they keep to themselves. During thousands of years they have been flooded with requests, even demands, to have something altered but the world cannot, and will not, change for a single human. We can shape and carve the physical nature, transform even its subtlest energies to aid us, but we cannot change the fate of this world. We cannot rewrite the scripts from where all this once came into being but the masters can to some extent. Some foolish men in the past have thought that they could gain power over these beings and I fear that our beloved Grand Council is planning to do the same. When you embark on your journey, first you must find out whether someone in the entourage is working for the Grand Council. Your quest is not to be jeopardized by those maggots."

Sola, while looking thoughtful, asked, "Why does the Grand Council think the masters will heed to their demands?"

Fara pulled a troubled smile on his weary face and said: "Human arrogance, dear boy. Human arrogance, pride and the lust for absolute power over the creation are the primary reasons. Understand that there is no good or evil here. Those are subjective and artificial attributes. At this day and age there still are people who think that good or evil are somehow absolute or some sort of unchangeable values. What might appear good to us might be abomination to others. We are an opposing force to what the Grand Council represents. Thank the higher powers, we are in a world where we can speak our minds and hearts freely. In my opinion, we must coexist with the beings and forces here, but we cannot rule over or exploit them. We can always ask for guidance and help, but we must be prepared for a negative response. We must be able to find the answers ourselves. This is why you must complete my task and, in your turn, pass the knowledge and the mission to your heir." 

"If I understood correctly," Sola mused, "the Masters actually know everything but they are not telling us. Why don't they release all their knowledge and wisdom to the world at large? You have always told me that knowledge must be passed on to those who have ears to listen and heart to understand. Has the mankind in whole not evolved enough to learn and appreciate these things?"

"If there was a simple answer to that I would share it with you," said the old man, "the legend has that the Daelan have a library where everything man has ever learned and everything he would ever learn are recorded. Do you remember the painting of the Daelan in the Council Room where the Master and the Mistress are holding together three books? Those are the true world chronicles but the volumes are curiously made; the nature of those works is not fixed. The books write their own content as time progresses. They deal with finite possibilities of past, present and future, and as present is passed on to yesterday shaping the future as it goes, so does the content of the books change. Therefore, the reality, if we can fathom such thing, is in constant motion and cannot be recorded as a solid unchangeable truth. You cannot, in absence of a better expression, preach that, for example, to the tribes in the south who still cling to their ancient barbaric ways. They need mysticism and supernatural beings in order to explain the uncertainty of existence. They simply cannot accept the fact that there is no simple one-syllable word to explain the nature of the universe! They need faith, and it doesn't matter whether the content of the faith is true or not, since it's, well, faith. They do not see what we do and they think of us as sorcerers and witches. The lack of understanding often leads to hatred, and hatred will only lead to violence. The only thing keeping those savages from marching here and burning our beautiful cities, and us for that matter,  is Tyrus and his merry men, who constantly push them further away from our borders. Here is a valuable lesson: to those arrogant and lesser minds it actually doesn't matter if things are right or wrong as long as they believe, or someone tells them, that they are right."  

Chapter III, an excerpt

They paced along a neatly paved street towards the sound of waves. The August rain descended like an overture for the departing, and as they walked slowly side by side, fog started to gather, making spirals and rotating columns in the evening air. They were surrounded by the scent of the ocean mingled with fragrance from the numerous orchards and gardens of the city mixed with the pleasant odor of pine trees in the mountains. The dimly lit streetlights appeared to have halos as they were embraced by the mist enchanting them in all colors of a rainbow. The few passers-by nodded and greeted them but made haste after seeing the Otto hover in their wake. Their kind had grown to know what business the tall creatures where conducting at a given time. Their people kindly granted a dignified way to leave the world behind to one another. No long speeches or funeral services. No senseless crying over their own pain and loss. Simply a transformation to something else, somewhere else. Suppose it made a lot easier to understand the overall concept of death when they actually could see the soul leave the time-space behind. There was a promise of hope and reunion. A confirmation that a loved one was truly in a better place. 

Eternal

A screenshot from the first Land of Strange Gods game "Avenging Angel"

Chapter X, an excerpt

At that moment they went through the black sphere and the droning ceased. Misty rain fell gently inside the sphere but there were no clouds. Foggy haze drifted above the surface effectively blocking the view forward. The light inside was soft like on a summer morning and distributed evenly from all directions. The barrier was no longer visible and there was no horizon. Miela looked at the sky only to notice that there was no sky, but only limitless and infinite space. If the watery substance and the space met somewhere she didn't see it.  The fog parted in front of them to reveal a black pillar and behind it an island.  She noticed three black pillars more: two on the sides of the island and one behind it. She intuitively checked her compass, and much to her surprise it worked. They were traveling north-east. The pillars had to be aligned north-south and east-west. 

"Behold, the Daelan, the watchtowers of Ea, or Earth, as it is called in your speech," Charon declared. 

Miela had to tilt her head as back as she could to see to the top. The pillars had to be hundreds of feet high and top of each was giant black statue. She couldn't see the details, but it seemed like each of  the statues was holding a book, perhaps two. The eastern and the northern statue were lit by an unearthly light from unknown source. 

"Paehpa and Katya are on watch," Charon explained to Miela. 

"That's why they are lit like you see them."

"What about the other two...?" 

She didn't know the others' names.

"Who knows," Charon muttered, "they don't like to explain themselves to anyone."

Modus Operandi

Moving through different spaces, layers, and subjective time-zones. In a way, I see them as different hubs where each needs a different input/output matrix, fine-adjusted accordingly. I have always hated the human definition of "role" with a passion. I have always seen it as a half-assed mask of a fragmented personality giving its wearer the needed confidence and support needed, and at the same time a vessel of sorts to blend in to the given circumstance. I am fully aware that there are industries and careers where aforementioned is somewhat needed, or even required.

You see, there is a difference between a skill-set needed for a part to play, and an identity adopted to play a part. A role is always, and without exception, handed down (or sideways) from outside. It is formed by peer-pressure based largely on assumptions, and then projected hopes that an individual assuming the role tries to fulfill.

Adjusting your input/output according to the task at hand is not playing, or assuming a role. It is an internal process, chosen by the individual, to meet the challenge. There are thousands of half-assed self-help books, and an alarmingly growing number of troglodytes promoting them, that will encourage you to brown-tongue your superiors "so that you would be happier". I have to agree with Denis Leary on his definition of happiness. It comes in small dozes, very rarely, and after you receive your month's doze of happiness, then you just shut the fuck up, and go to work.