No, I haven't been off getting high in the jungles of Myanmar and having fisticuffs with the elephants. Nor has a mysterious, shadowclad figure claiming to be my long-lost uncle introduced me to the exciting world of smuggling hash in carefully hollowed out paperclips. My reason for inactivity is painfully, shamefully hackneyed: university.
You hear it all the time from mod authors, don't you? Bloody university, always obstructing the more important things in life, like trashy books that exist solely in a roleplaying game several years old and still intractably clinging to life. Well, guess what? Skyrim isn't the only thing clinging to life round these parts, and with the semester break at hand, it's high time I proved it with an imminent release of more vomited verbiage.
So, be girded in courage and prepare yourself - to run far away, that is, because I will do everything I can to make this a storm of written effluent to dwarf all that came before it.
I just love book mods and this one is a real good one. I am a book horder lol the more books I can find the more shelves I can fill up in my different homes and other places I have found *grins* cant wait to see what else you got up your sleeve
My father instilled in me a profound fear of sleeve inspections. Upon returning from work at the wood smelting foundry, so great was his vehemence that no earthly force could prevent his gnarled hands from questing up my sleeves, for he was convinced that I was hiding there his prized vintage camembert. Each fruitless examination would only serve to stoke to fire of his rage, and as a consequence, almost every upper garment from my childhood is sleeveless, torn savagely at the shoulders.
Last I heard, my father fled to France in search of enough cheese to sate him for the rest of his days. Long it has been since we have seen each other and, although I suspect we shall never again cross paths, the echoes of his fury follow always close behind me. Shaken by my tribulations, I have taken it upon myself to remove the sleeves from every shirt, jumper and jacket I possess, and paint my arms in a colour at least loosely matching the fabric, so that no sleeve inspection may I suffer again. It is a habit as arduous as it is expensive; but the alternative is too terrible to bear.
We never did find that vintage camembert. Sometimes, I wonder if he truly had any to begin with.
Weeds clot the garden in tangled heaps; the rickety door bristles with nails holding up sternly worded letters; the sarcous reek of a corpse emanates from the crumbling tower, leading some to conclude, with a palpable sense of relief, that Ganzel Puckney is dead.
But for the villagers of the Nexus, no reprieve lasts forever.
At night, when no light illumes the village but the lanterns of a few watchmen, he scuttles to the square like a feral rodent, hunched with a burden covered in a dirty, flea-bitten blanket. No sooner does he leave it beside the well than he is off again, melding into the night ere predators sense his passing. Come morning, the villagers gather around it, tension taut amongst them.
It is left to the elder to step forward. His gnarled hand closes around the cloth. After a silent prayer to High Lord Gopher, he snatches it away to reveal the dubious bounty beneath. There is much coughing and gagging. Rank is the pile of rotten fruit unveiled before them, and the weakest constitutions are compelled to expurgate their breakfasts. Atop the rancid mass is a note penned with an unsteady hand; his will iron, the elder collects it and echoes its contents to his people:
"Sorry for the delay. - Your lad, Puckney"
Groans of sickness and disappointment intertwine, impossible to distinguish. With a broom, the elder nudges the fruit aside to reveal the two fetid tomes beneath, mottled with grime and spittle and a layer of mysterious dark scum for which there is no name, and presents them to the crowd. The time has come again, it seems, and the steel patience and steadfastness that had long laid dormant in them must awaken once more.
Unburdened by outside commitments, I am left with a charitable period of free time, during which I have alternated between recreation and working to unravel what -to me - are the mysteries surrounding the creation and implementation of textures for custom book covers. Some progress has been made, but it seems that every problem I can solve gives birth to another I cannot. Rapidly, I have become mired in the technical side of this endeavour; although custom covers remain a goal for the mod, I think it would be best to put it aside for now and start writing in earnest once more. I miss it.
Slowly the mill grinds, its grain blackened with plague, but still it grinds. For all who wish it, there will soon be pestilent loaves of nonsense verbiage to feast upon once more.
It pleases the apricot juice coursing through my veins to hear it said. Blessed are thee, and may cheese adorn your path, always, finder of accursed pages.
In a slight deviation from the road planned, Version 1.4 sees the release of only two of the three books mentioned in my previous post. This is because I would prefer to release those works which have been completed now rather than needlessly protract the waiting period by first finishing the third - which, in all candour, is still in a state of infancy. The tomes included in Version 1.4 are listed on the Description page.
Mark also in the previous post the mention of an incompatibility with Immersive College of Winterhold. Investigating this matter further, I have found that no such issue exists and that in all likelihood I simply failed to see the book and corresponding corpse when first I checked. Checking the area again, all appears to be in its correct place; if, however, problems do occur, report them with all haste.
Some time has passed, and it would be decent now to shed some light upon the progress of the Collection.
Thus far, every book included has taken the form of an essay, treatise, account or journal entry, all entirely made up and ridiculous, yet not actual narrative fiction in their contexts within the world. With the next update, however, there will come two stories written in more traditional prose; these require a greater degree of time and care, and one of them, erotic in nature at the request of a certain endorser, must be fashioned such that it achieves a balance of salacity and silliness without being too explicit. The Lusty Argonian Maid serves as a loose guide.
Though over a month has elapsed and the stories are *relatively* short, only the first draft of one of these stories is well underway, while the erotic tale remains in a fledgeling planning stage. This is owing to commitments beyond Skyrim and my feckless scrawlings. There is also a third text, an essay concerning necromancy, which is completed and ready to appear in the next update.
And so, in Version 1.4, there should appear three new tomes to acquire; I also intend to change the location of an existing book - not too drastically - to resolve an incompatibility with the mod Immersive College of Winterhold (here I let slip a clue, but this information is too important to exclude).
After the release of 1.4, I'd like to begin devising some custom textures for the covers of each book in the Collection - but to such tasks, I am a stranger, and this is a matter for the future.
To all who mustered the courage to cast aside their taste and dignity, downloading and even endorsing my mod, I extend my thanks. More virulent verbiage shall be coming.
I should also mention that with this update a version for Skyrim SE should not be far behind. I'll just have to install the game first and be sure to convert it properly.
An otherwise auspicious day is sullied as Ganzel Puckney marches from his fetid spire at the foot of the mountains to unveil version 1.3 of the abomination he calls his progeny to the people of the Nexus. Mothers wrap their hands around their children's eyes; fathers reach for their axes and pitchforks. How much longer will they tolerate the antics of this deplorable miscreant?
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You hear it all the time from mod authors, don't you? Bloody university, always obstructing the more important things in life, like trashy books that exist solely in a roleplaying game several years old and still intractably clinging to life. Well, guess what? Skyrim isn't the only thing clinging to life round these parts, and with the semester break at hand, it's high time I proved it with an imminent release of more vomited verbiage.
So, be girded in courage and prepare yourself - to run far away, that is, because I will do everything I can to make this a storm of written effluent to dwarf all that came before it.
The Lore violates The Lore, and that fact is actually part of The Lore.
or
"Oh yeah? Well I also violated yer sister."
Either response works.
Last I heard, my father fled to France in search of enough cheese to sate him for the rest of his days. Long it has been since we have seen each other and, although I suspect we shall never again cross paths, the echoes of his fury follow always close behind me. Shaken by my tribulations, I have taken it upon myself to remove the sleeves from every shirt, jumper and jacket I possess, and paint my arms in a colour at least loosely matching the fabric, so that no sleeve inspection may I suffer again. It is a habit as arduous as it is expensive; but the alternative is too terrible to bear.
We never did find that vintage camembert. Sometimes, I wonder if he truly had any to begin with.
But for the villagers of the Nexus, no reprieve lasts forever.
At night, when no light illumes the village but the lanterns of a few watchmen, he scuttles to the square like a feral rodent, hunched with a burden covered in a dirty, flea-bitten blanket. No sooner does he leave it beside the well than he is off again, melding into the night ere predators sense his passing. Come morning, the villagers gather around it, tension taut amongst them.
It is left to the elder to step forward. His gnarled hand closes around the cloth. After a silent prayer to High Lord Gopher, he snatches it away to reveal the dubious bounty beneath. There is much coughing and gagging. Rank is the pile of rotten fruit unveiled before them, and the weakest constitutions are compelled to expurgate their breakfasts. Atop the rancid mass is a note penned with an unsteady hand; his will iron, the elder collects it and echoes its contents to his people:
"Sorry for the delay.
- Your lad, Puckney"
Groans of sickness and disappointment intertwine, impossible to distinguish. With a broom, the elder nudges the fruit aside to reveal the two fetid tomes beneath, mottled with grime and spittle and a layer of mysterious dark scum for which there is no name, and presents them to the crowd. The time has come again, it seems, and the steel patience and steadfastness that had long laid dormant in them must awaken once more.
Slowly the mill grinds, its grain blackened with plague, but still it grinds. For all who wish it, there will soon be pestilent loaves of nonsense verbiage to feast upon once more.
Mark also in the previous post the mention of an incompatibility with Immersive College of Winterhold. Investigating this matter further, I have found that no such issue exists and that in all likelihood I simply failed to see the book and corresponding corpse when first I checked. Checking the area again, all appears to be in its correct place; if, however, problems do occur, report them with all haste.
Thus far, every book included has taken the form of an essay, treatise, account or journal entry, all entirely made up and ridiculous, yet not actual narrative fiction in their contexts within the world. With the next update, however, there will come two stories written in more traditional prose; these require a greater degree of time and care, and one of them, erotic in nature at the request of a certain endorser, must be fashioned such that it achieves a balance of salacity and silliness without being too explicit. The Lusty Argonian Maid serves as a loose guide.
Though over a month has elapsed and the stories are *relatively* short, only the first draft of one of these stories is well underway, while the erotic tale remains in a fledgeling planning stage. This is owing to commitments beyond Skyrim and my feckless scrawlings. There is also a third text, an essay concerning necromancy, which is completed and ready to appear in the next update.
And so, in Version 1.4, there should appear three new tomes to acquire; I also intend to change the location of an existing book - not too drastically - to resolve an incompatibility with the mod Immersive College of Winterhold (here I let slip a clue, but this information is too important to exclude).
After the release of 1.4, I'd like to begin devising some custom textures for the covers of each book in the Collection - but to such tasks, I am a stranger, and this is a matter for the future.
To all who mustered the courage to cast aside their taste and dignity, downloading and even endorsing my mod, I extend my thanks. More virulent verbiage shall be coming.