The Project

(Originally published July 10, 2009)

My first idea with this new line of thinking was having another faceless adventurer, a rusty Celtic sword in hand, facing blobs in an endless field with the only town in the world behind you.

There’s nothing more neutral than amorphous blobs.  These would be the first generation of all the enemies.  The blobs would reproduce by division.  Blobs ate to survive and there was only so much bread given daily by some ironic god.  Most of the time they’d split identically but about one out of ten, they’d have slight variations in their code.  Most would be retarded, incapable of simple movement or attacks, but a rare few would have an advantage, such as speed, and that advantage would flourish.

Meet our hero.  His name is Joe.  He’s one of the thousand other adventurers with the exact same goal.  He’s new to this blob killing venture so his abilities are limited, unlike his gut and determination.  He can only swing his sword from the bottom left to the top right.  Works great again blobs though.  They have no defense against even the simplest attacks.  He kills a hundred blobs his first day.  What fun!  Some were a bit gimped with seeping sores and some had tentacles that did nothing useful and not anything his simple attack couldn’t best.  He sets out the next day and it’s the same thing.  Their numbers seemed limited to their ecosystem so no matter how many he killed they always replenished by dividing more than usual from the excess food provided.  The third day he sets out like usual.  CLANG!  About twenty kills in something repels his blade.  Seems a blob grew a strut blocking the path of his blade.  CLANG!  Seems he couldn’t kill this blob.  It’s no danger, though, just unkillable with his current skill.  Still plenty of ones he could kill so he focus on them for the next few days.  Their numbers explode and soon it’s a challenge to find on without a strut.  Soon the strutted ones are the norm and they’re growing tenticals that can lash out.  They can no longer be ignored.  Back in town he pays for the training of another strike and some protection against these annoying lashes; uppercut-slash and leather armor, respectively.

On the field he meets the strutted blob and dispatches him.  But the variants are out of control.  Hard shell blobs that can only be killed with maces, blobs that move so quick that Joe can’t hit them and even some blobs that are teaming up in pairs to ward the adventurers off.  Soon all of Joe’s focus and money are going to supplies, training and anything that can give him any sort of edge.  The blobs are soon competing against each other in a race for the daily bread.  The adventure has to think more tactically as he is soon totally outmatched and outclassed by the blob arms-race.  He can poison the bread each morning if he gets to it quickly enough, killing the dangerous strains of blob, hopefully.  He could move the bread to a mine field he planted the night before and lure the blurry fast blobs into the trap.  Soon all his cunning is just barely enough to survive against the blobs.  There’s even speak of a giant blob that’s hunger is no longer slated by bread, but adventure flesh.  He and his ilk are now the hunted by these nemesis blobs.

Meanwhile the blob horde is starting to eye the town and its huge cache of bread.  Blobs have been testing its defense since the earliest ancestors, before they developed the skill to sniff out the bread.  Slowly the blobs have learned ways around the town’s defense.  Some can now fly over the ramparts and some can burrow while others are simply hard shelled enough to deflect the ballistas and trebuchets.  The town is sacked and our adventurers are on the run, hounded by the blobs.  Joe’s mithril armor and diamond chain-sword are simple bare necessities to survive against the most common blobs, giving him at least a chance to eat and maybe a few hours of peace.

Only their ancestors could have been called blobs now.  Some have pure ceramic chitin husks on their segmented bodies and drool lava.  Others were huge, covered with so many tentacles that approach was impossible.  Small colonies had developed underground, like ants, and were hardly seen.  Even more others blackened the sky with their numbers and skeletized anything in their way with deadly hooks tails.  Others, even still, ran in packs across the green fields.

Suddenly the ground shook and there was the guttural wail of something all too familiar; the nemesis’ army of bone.  All the adventurer knows now is that blobs and death were soon approaching.