Litofsky

Accusation withdrawn. At any rate, the story, I believe, is somewhat old.

My avatar is disgusted by your malapropism. Also, I recall seeing this story some time ago (or one of the related pictures, at any rate).

He seems strangely misanthropic. As for his arguments, opinions that will be attacked and destroyed, proved or refuted. The video has left me temporarily devoid of the will to post, mainly because I foresee this thread devolving wildly into some form of pissing match for no apparent reason. Good day to you, Sirs and Madams.

The information compiled, to me, seemed anti-Muslim. 'Tirade' may have been the wrong term to use, but the way the article was created and the information laid out, it seemed to be saying that all converts from Islam will/must be killed because, etc. By my opinion, it seemed to say that the parents and the religion, in general, is barbaric, etc. Maybe my interpretation was off. *shrugs*

After reading the article, my first reaction was one of disbelief that the family might harm their daughter to the point of killing her (religion tends to make people a mite touchy, but to strike down your own daughter?), and then to mild annoyance at Fox for their anti-Islam tirade (or what seemed to me like one) during the article. That is to say, all of the quotes had to do with 'If she goes back, these people will kill her, just for being Christian.' It makes it seem like Muslims are ferocious savages, which is entirely false. But, again, that's just my opinion after reading the article. Who knows how much is exaggeration and how much is truth? *shrugs*

Mr. Reynolds smiled peacefully, happy to have yet another distraction, and quickly agreed to the request. The trio- Ebony had joined them, lest she be left alone at ten o'clock!- proceeded to the dreary room with a single candlestick, illuminating the the cobwebs and pieces alike with a fiery glow. With the pieces reset, the two began, pawns advancing in a suicidal fury to protect their lords and land. Of course, in their rashness, the pawns had opened up the way for their nobles to be slaughtered, and the blood was shed in waves. The pawns had formed lines of 'teeth,' initiating a cold war that could only be thawed by exsanguination. Reynolds took the burden of the first strike, launching a war of aggression against his foe. The bloodbath ensued until the pawns had been nearly depleted. The nobles rushed across the fields in diagonals and awkward 'L's until naught but monarchs remained. Both players studied the field, hoping to find some distinct advantage over the other in the positions of their pieces. Neither could discern a suitable move. "Stalemate, ma'am?" Shakhmaty smiled in return. "Agreed." The grandfather clock chimed nine times, one for each hour, one for each death that had taken place in the house. Each occupant of the Game Room shuddered uncontrollably, knowing that in sixty minutes, the clock would chime ten times.

While that's true, in each case, the response was only a simple one, with little more than four words per sentence. At any rate, it didn't sit well with me.

I'm not entirely pleased. The attitude that was shown, essentially 'Kill kill kill!' (yes, I realize that the views we were shown was mainly Dark Side, but even still, it appeared as though you had no choice other than to slash and shoot), and had no other options. *shrugs* Also, the dialogue choices disappointed me greatly. I saw relatively little differences per conversation, and then the clips praised the 'extensive dialogue and fun choices.' The voice acting was decent, but that's nothing if the options are goushi.

Happy birthday! You get the accompanying lotus to Aftor's.

I'm watching the videos as I type, so prepare for bullet-like comments. "Anyway, all of (our) conversations are going to be like that: great dialogue and compelling choices." >_> Also, I need to feel like a Star Wars Hero™. An astounding replication of a Hammerhead. Truly, I am mesmerized by its realism and pretty flashy turbolasers. On a side note, why is the symbol used for the Empire (regular Star Wars one) being used 4,000 years earlier? Crowd control. Crowd control. Crowd control. Is there any other way to say 'Harm lotsa people quickly?' Crowd control. [/twenty minutes later] Finally finished. The combat was decent, nothing to be drooling over, but it was poor, either. The working together part was interesting, but not enough to make me go out and buy the game. For starters, I was deeply annoyed by the lack of 'consoles' in the scenes, particularly the ship. I remember, in both games, there were always a few consoles around that you could slice, blowing up enemies behind doors, gassing a room, or even turning droids to your sides. Here, it as 'Kill kill kill!' Perhaps I'm just being too harsh on the game, but, as of right now, I'm harboring serious doubts.

Mr. Reynolds' hand jumped to his pistol, finding comfort in its grip. It took a moment for everyone's eyes to adjust to the dark, and another minute after that for Henrietta to find a candlestick and match. The candlelight depressed everyone's features- or, perhaps, the story of ghosts had done that?- and cast an eerie glow about the room. For but a moment, Jacob heard- or thought he heard, at any rate- the voices of those departed physically, but not spiritually. 'Run, while you still can.' 'God have mercy on my soul!' Above all, however, was the piercing shrill of a woman long gone. 'Save us!'

Rising from the piano, Mr. Reynolds pondered the information for a moment before responding. "Just one, ma'am. What's worth the lives of two people worth? What secret is this house hiding?"

People never cease to amaze me.

((Done and done.))

The piece was finished, and the small audience begged for an encore. Beethoven's Fifth Symphony might not have been the best choice, but it was one of the select few pieces that Reynolds had memorized to the point that he could let him mind wander. Reynold's whisper was barely audible. "Thank you, Mr. Black. My good man, do you have any other information that could help us decipher this mystery?" The ghost whispered slightly, recalling some useful piece of information. Mr. Reynolds smiled slightly as the corner pieces of the puzzle clicked into place.

The piano, located in the foyer, was dusty, decades of neglect reflecting harshly upon its beautiful surface. Jacob Reynolds ran his hand across the pearly keys, wiping away layers of grime. Playing had always calmed his nerves, and he had the perfect song in mind. It was a long few minutes before the keyboard had been cleared to his liking, and a few more before Mr. Reynolds had remembered the keys, having already drawn the attention of several of his fellow guests. Anything to calm the nerves was appreciated, and Liszt's Un Sospiro was a welcome break from watching the corners for a murderer. As the song played itself via Reynold's hands, he heard a soft whisper above the music. 'Hello, can anyone hear me?' It was the voice of Artemis Black was undoubtedly asking. Reynolds responded in a whisper. "Hearing is different from sight, Mr. Black. I wouldn't expect many- if any!- to respond."

Had it not been Maine, flies would have begun to congregate over the deceased Higz. The man lay on his side- quite an odd position for a dead man, Reynolds noted- with his 'guts' spilling out. Jacob did his best to avert his gaze, but to no avail. The man's intestines had spilled out, blood seeping quietly from the gaping wound. The little light in the room worked to the advantage of everyone: had they seen the picture in full light, they all might have wretched at the sight. Bypassing the developing crowd- more and more were arriving by the hour, weren't they?- Mr. Reynolds knelt close to the man, careful to avoid the rapidly advancing pool of blood. In the little light, the man thought he saw a slight line across the deceased's throat. Moving closer, the observer discovered the blood oozing from his neck. Stepping back, he surveyed the men and women arrayed before him. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a murdered among us." The silence gave truth to the statement.

Quite literally, there was a skeleton in Mr. Reynold's closet. Unpacking had been left to the guest, and it was not a duty to handle before one slept: that was for silent meditation. The skeleton smiled vacantly at nothing in particular, garbed in a suit that seemed a century old, with layers of dust masking the original color. A hat had fallen to the skeleton's lap, where is sat lopsided, waiting to be picked up. Reynolds blinked before closing the closet door. The smell was atrocious, and he was surprised that the stench hadn't pierced through the door into the rest of the room- nay, the whole house! 'A warning, or a clue?' Finished unpacking, Reynolds left the room, smoothing over his sheets before doing so. There was much to explore, and many other closets in which to peer.

Once more, my extensive archives fail to find a picture appropriate for this occasion. How irritating. Why are there sequels? Why does any movie has sequels? Perhaps you should any business' master, The Almighty Dollar.

"So the Henrietta wasn't lying," observed Reynolds casually as he sauntered into plain view. He had heard the voices clear as day, though his eyes vehemently protested at the fact that the mind was accepting the unsound advice of sound over their reliable selves! The three in the room spun wildly, peering desperately in search of another apparition. There was only another man to be found. His earlier smile had vanished, replaced by an anxious frown. Awaiting a never-coming response, Reynolds reluctantly continued. "Those people, those... ghosts, they were the previous guests of this 'mansion.' Any guesses as to what happened to them?" Reynolds asked inquisitively, waving a newspaper page about. His voice was calm, but frigid. "They were murdered."

It was a practice that had long ago been perfected. His father had not taught, but rather acted, leaving a young Reynolds to learn via observation. Not at all by luck, stealth was one of his finer attributes, and the two formed a fearful combination. He stood now where Shakhmaty and Ebony had stood now one minute ago, pouring over the article on the back of the portrait, the first one in the succession of bland and drab paintings. He devoured the written portion of the news clipping, and moved on to the next part. Reynolds began to stare intently at the picture, looking at nothing in particular. It has his practice that odd entities would jump out at him. As experience had taught him, his eyes automatically adjusted on one of the figures, garbed in bright, white dress- Uniform. How odd that, twice in a row, two naval officers would appear. 'What if...' Reynolds began to mentally check the members of the party. One naval officer, one chess master, one... 'Oh, Lord!' Shivering- and not from the temperature- Reynolds looked to the next portrait, wondering what terrible secrets it might hide. He drooped it suddenly, reading the headline. Before bending over to pick it up, he placed his hand on his military-issued Colt. On the headline, it read: Six Murdered at Millionaire's Party

21ft, indeed! Congratulations, Aftor! Enjoy your lotus.

Mr. Jacob Reynolds held in the shadows, waiting patiently for his moment. He was sure that the other were close to discerning their host's given name, which meant that his time of holding the upper hand would be drawing to an unappreciated close. As one of the other men- his name was Corbin, wasn't it?- stepped away from the maid, it occurred to him to step forward. 'Now.' With surprising lithe, Reynolds emerged from the shadows, taking Henrietta by surprise. He greeted her with a friendly smile. "G'evening, ma'am. Please, when you next visit Mr. Tad, kindly tell him that I appreciate the... interesting evening he's given us so far, and I look forward to seeing him soon." The maid gave an uncharacteristic look of bafflement. "Mr. Reynolds, how-" Waving his hand, the man cut her off. "With ten millions dollars at his disposal, I was surprised that Mr. Tad didn't hide the standard documents of a home owner. He signed the deed with his full name, ma'am. Have a pleasant evening," he concluded. 'That should stir the pot, some.'

I don't believe anyone has previously mentioned that he was placed in isolation for the purpose of 'correcting himself.' This man was part of a plot that resulted in the deaths of two hundred seventy people. He's not going to isolation so that he can 'correct himself.' I do believe that isolation has far more sinister purpose. Again, I think that, in this case, it's precisely the thing that needs ti be done.