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My attempt at 5DAS novelization

#1 User is offline   jspaceman Icon

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Posted 03 August 2007 - 12:39 AM

Well, hi. I've just a couple of months ago played all four games in the series, and was out-of-the-blue inspired to start writing. I can hardly imagine the kind of drive and talent it took the make the games single-handedly, and I prostrate myself before Yahtzee and his awesome. Anyway, here's a chunk, I'll (maybe) post more when I get around to it/finish it. Please note that this is not meant to be a carbon copy of the game. I will be taking liberties where necessary, and wherever else I feel like it. Without further ado, here it is. Thanks for reading (assuming you do).

P.S. If anyone knows what county/lordship/province/stratum/whatever the DeFoe manor is in, I'd appreciate it.


5 Days a Stranger

by

J. Sampson

Original Story and Concept by

Ben Croshaw


I


The Autumn seemed to have come early to a seldom-used road in rural England. Though it was only late July, brown leaves flitted across the street intermittently as gusts of chill wind winded through bare and sickly trees. The relative quiet was broken as the unmistakable sound of a small car impressed itself more on the local ambiance. The sole occupant of the red compact paid little attention to the scenery as he pressed further down the winding way.
Trilby's exp​ression was a blank mask. He seemed a thin man, even when wearing a wool, one-breasted sport coat. Tall, as well, his head touched the ceiling of the small car. He seemed to be dressed as a man much older, in a starched, white Oxford shirt, and a perfectly-tightened, dark blue tie. His matching gray wool slacks were pressed and entirely free of lint. A gray Trilby hat which was his trademark and namesake sat on the passenger seat. His jet black hair was slicked back and drooped down near the base of his neck. His almost equally dark eyes were large and focused. He looked slightly to the side and turned the car off the road. He had reached his destination. He drove the car a little farther over grass and dead leaves until it had reached the summit of a modestly high hill that overlooked a modestly large estate in the middle of treeless countryside. Trilby made sure to park his car behind a large bush that would conceal it from any who looked from the house and most who looked from the road. Trilby got out of the car and looked at his watch. It would be a little while before it was dark enough to go on with his business. He looked upon the DeFoe manor house with the same blank exp​ression that had been on him the whole way driving there. This would not be a high point in the career of the Great Trilby, certainly. His fence had informed him that the house was completely deserted now that the last living members of the DeFoe family had died. The DeFoes were not known for their great wealth, nor were they known to possess any priceless heirlooms. But nonetheless, Trilby, cat burglar extraordinaire was on the scene to take whatever wasn't nailed down, and would fit in his hatchback.
Watching the sunset, Trilby thought for a moment about what he was doing. He had always been called a thief, a hoodlum, a crook. His real name had been a casualty of his life, he was known to all by a moniker that someone else had given him. But above all names and epitaphs, Trilby thought of himself as a gentleman, as his attire would no-doubt attest. He took pride in the fact that in his long career he had never once killed a person, nor did he steal from the poor. He was dimly aware that the media had latched onto him somewhat, with some of his better heists being in the public eye, and his continuous evasion of the police. But Trilby never cared for the news or TV. He had other ways of entertaining himself. The old manor looming in the distance should provide ample evening's entertainment, he thought, as a faint smile appeared on his thin, regal mouth. The sun was now swimming low over the distant hills beyond the manor. The side of the unlit house facing him was now in shadow, making it look like some massive, square crag of basalt jutting unnaturally from the pastoral landscape. Trilby got his hat and his umbrella from the back seat of his car, and set out.
It was completely dark when Trilby had gotten over the wall enclosing the front yard and neared the house. The windows on his side were all closed and their shades drawn. He moved around to the other side and saw that one on the second floor was open. Perfect. But there was a light on inside. He hoped the lawyers/cops/medics had left the lights on. If Eric had screwed up, there'd be a right slap for him when he got back. Trilby held up his umbrella, and twisted the handle, revealing a grappling hook at the tip. He pulled back on the handle, launching the flimsy-looking piece of metal through the open aperture. Trilby was through the window in seconds, being very well-practiced. He examined the room, which looked to be an office, and saw little of value: an ugly painting of a woman in a blue dress, probably the last owner's wife; some cheap, tasteless literature; and a safe in the left corner. Bingo. He recognized the model instantly as one that was commonly peddled to middle-class twits who didn't know any better. He had it open in possibly record time, and discovered absolutely nothing. Damn, the lawyers must have already gotten to the assets. Well, maybe there'll be something downstairs. Trilby heard something that sounded remarkably like human footsteps coming from downstairs. Bloody hell, there are people here. Time to exit. Just as Trilby got to the window he had entered from, it snapped shut, almost as if pushed. He tried to get it open again but it was stuck. He tried prying it with his umbrella, but it was determined not to budge. He thought he heard someone talking downstairs.
“Alright, Trilby, keep your wits, you've gotten out of tighter spots than this.”
He couldn't break the window, as it would certainly be heard, his best bet was to try to sneak out of the room and find another window. He hadn't yet heard anyone upstairs, he stood up and walked toward the only door in the room. It opened as he was just in front of it. A man in his 40s a few inches shorter than Trilby stood in front of him. He was wearing a similar Oxford shirt, black slacks, and a tacky striped tie. His plain haircut and well-groomed mustache seemed to suggest he was part of some government bureaucracy or another. He seemed to admire Trilby's clothes for a second before letting out a piercing, wordless cry and running off down the hall. Oh, come on now, I don't really look that scary, do I? Trilby thought for a second before quickly taking off his mask. It was a Halloween mask that could be seen through by the wearer, but made their whole head seem like a black, featureless void. After pocketing the thing, he stuck his head cautiously out the door. He didn't think the man went downstairs, that was good. Trilby quietly stepped out into the hall. He spotted a window to his right, trying it, it seemed to be stuck like the one in the office. Somehow, it figured. Trilby started down the hall. He hadn't heard a door slam. There only seemed to be about five rooms on the whole second floor. This was a modest house indeed. Trilby began trying the doors, as long as the little office mole had locked himself in, he wouldn't be a threat to him, probably. Indeed, most of the doors were locked. He came to one at the end of the hall that wasn't. It was a bathroom, almost spotless but with nothing of worth, nor was the man there. Maybe. The shower curtain was closed. Trilby cautiously approached the tub, keeping his feet on the rug so as to make little noise. He quickly pulled the curtain aside. Nothing. It was time to go.
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#2 User is offline   David-kyo Icon

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Posted 03 August 2007 - 03:05 AM

It's in Buckinghamshire. And the woman in the ugly painting was the first owner's wife, that's kind of an important difference.

This post has been edited by David-kyo: 03 August 2007 - 03:07 AM

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#3 User is offline   CJ Marren Icon

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Posted 03 August 2007 - 09:10 AM

Ever hear of the 'return' key??

Works wonders for NOT MAKING MY EYES BLEED.
<!--quoteo(post=174818:date=Oct 14 2007, 09:43 AM:name=Cobnat)--><div class='quotetop'>QUOTE (Cobnat @ Oct 14 2007, 09:43 AM) <a href="index.php?act=findpost&pid=174818"><{POST_SNAPBACK}></a></div><div class='quotemain'><!--quotec--><!--fonto:Microsoft Sans Serif--><span style="font-family:Microsoft Sans Serif"><!--/fonto--><!--sizeo:2--><span style="font-size:10pt;line-height:100%"><!--/sizeo--><!--coloro:#FF0000--><span style="color:#FF0000"><!--/coloro-->Lets all have sex with robots until our groins are sore and bloody!<!--colorc--></span><!--/colorc--><!--sizec--></span><!--/sizec--><!--fontc--></span><!--/fontc--><!--QuoteEnd--></div><!--QuoteEEnd-->

<!--quoteo(post=169306:date=Aug 10 2007, 11:03 AM:name=Legion)--><div class='quotetop'>QUOTE (Legion @ Aug 10 2007, 11:03 AM) <a href="index.php?act=findpost&pid=169306"><{POST_SNAPBACK}></a></div><div class='quotemain'><!--quotec--><!--fonto:Arial--><span style="font-family:Arial"><!--/fonto--><!--coloro:#483D8B--><span style="color:#483D8B"><!--/coloro--><!--sizeo:3--><span style="font-size:12pt;line-height:100%"><!--/sizeo-->So why the unholy flying purple donkeypunching fuck will it not work on yours? Just what kind of machine are you running there? Your toaster?<!--sizec--></span><!--/sizec--><!--colorc--></span><!--/colorc--><!--fontc--></span><!--/fontc--><!--QuoteEnd--></div><!--QuoteEEnd-->

And the man again!
<!--quoteo(post=180859:date=Jan 16 2008, 02:29 PM:name=Legion)--><div class='quotetop'>QUOTE (Legion @ Jan 16 2008, 02:29 PM) <a href="index.php?act=findpost&pid=180859"><{POST_SNAPBACK}></a></div><div class='quotemain'><!--quotec-->In my opinion it's saying, fuck the lightsabers and special effects and fuck your voiceovers and fuck your stupid multimilliondollar game studios; you don't need any of those to make brilliant and scary games that will fuck with your head.<!--QuoteEnd--></div><!--QuoteEEnd-->

<u><!--sizeo:3--><span style="font-size:12pt;line-height:100%"><!--/sizeo--><!--coloro:#FF8C00--><span style="color:#FF8C00"><!--/coloro-->My Getting Huge Progress (Gym and weight gain diet)<!--colorc--></span><!--/colorc--><!--sizec--></span><!--/sizec--></u>
<b>May '07:</b> 11st (154lbs)
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<b>November '07:</b> 12st 9lbs (177lbs)
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#4 User is offline   jspaceman Icon

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Posted 03 August 2007 - 09:40 AM

QUOTE (David-kyo @ Aug 3 2007, 03:05 AM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
It's in Buckinghamshire. And the woman in the ugly painting was the first owner's wife, that's kind of an important difference.


Thanks for the name and clarification. But to my knowledge, neither woman is that involved in the plot, and the painting isn't at all. And Trilby wouldn't know who it was, he was just guessing.

QUOTE (CJ Marren @ Aug 3 2007, 09:10 AM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
Ever hear of the 'return' key??

Works wonders for NOT MAKING MY EYES BLEED.


*sigh* people never complain about books not having three spaces between every line, but get on the internet and people want more white space than the underside of a fucking blue whale.

The forum did erase some of my indentation, I'll put those in, but that's it.
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#5 User is offline   Cobnat Icon

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Posted 03 August 2007 - 01:28 PM

Its interesting but ultimately Yahtz’ opinion is the only one that matters concerning this conversion.
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#6 User is offline   leperking Icon

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Posted 03 August 2007 - 01:48 PM

Personally, I hate fan-fiction. Write your own story.
I'm just here to point out your shortcomings and stupidity.
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#7 User is offline   David-kyo Icon

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Posted 03 August 2007 - 03:10 PM

There's that, yeah. My problem with it is that it's sort of... dry. Didn't feel motivated to read it to the end, of course the lack of indentation, as CJ pointed out, might have had to do with that.
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#8 User is offline   jspaceman Icon

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Posted 03 August 2007 - 04:22 PM

QUOTE (Cobnat @ Aug 3 2007, 01:28 PM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
Its interesting but ultimately Yahtz’ opinion is the only one that matters concerning this conversion.


Uh, well I was hoping for other people's input too. I don't know why only his would matter.

And it appears that even though the indentation shows up fine in the text window as I type this, it doesn't in the actual post. As a matter of fact, even when I tried to improvise with spaces, it still wouldn't show up. Poopie

----------------------------------
Trilby stepped back out into the hall. He had seen something on the way out of the bathroom. When glancing at the mirror, thinking he needed a haircut, he thought for a second the room had changed into someplace else. White tiles became gray stone blocks, the sink became a pair of manacles dangling down to a dirt floor. Just a flash, and then it was gone. Part of Trilby's mind was saying it had had about all the entertainment as was necessary for one night, and that he really ought to smash a window and get right the hell out. But something else spoke to Trilby, something within him which had never spoken up much before. There was something to be done in this house. Something was wrong here. Trilby had never truly been a Robin Hood type. He kept all his earnings to himself, and wouldn't help others unless there was really no avoiding it, and still keeping to his “gentlemanly” mystique. Despite his amorality, he couldn't help but feel that he needed to do something for this place. And he was certainly curious about the self-shutting windows and strange visions. And why had that man been so afraid of him? It couldn't have just been the mask. He remembered hearing something about the house's last owner committing suicide. He began to rationalize that the police wouldn't arrive for a while, even if the man he saw had called them, one of the things that made the house such a tempting target. And so, Trilby decided, it was downward and onward.
Trilby reached what appeared to be a foyer at the bottom of the steps. There were no paintings or adornments, aside from the red wallpaper which was also present in the upstairs hall.
“Heard that stuff''ll drive you crazy after a while.”
Trilby looked to his left and spied a phone and the front door. Trying the door first, it appeared to be closed by a force that defied comprehension. There were no locks, chains, or deadbolts on it that Trilby could see. He tried the phone, line dead. He was beginning to see a pattern here that he didn't care to think about. At least he wouldn't have to worry about the cops. He noticed a page from a newspaper on the small table below the phone. There was an article about the house on the front side. It appeared that the owner had killed himself, right after killing his wife. And he had no history of violence or insanity, the couple seemed happy together. Curious. He was pretty sure that wasn't the work of the wallpaper. Trilby had never been one to pry into anything that didn't contain valuables, but somehow the house seemed like the natural place for him to be. He began to wonder if someone had left a crack rock in the ventilation system. He looked to the door that was adjacent to the front, and walked in.
The room was most likely a lounge. A sofa and rocking chair sat at the center with shelves at the corners. This room's paper was blue, further discounting the theory of that the recent murder was a result of color-induced rage. An antique but fairly amateurish landscape painting hung at the center of the left hand wall. Trilby could make out that it was done by Matthew DeFoe, no-doubt one of the house's earlier occupants. He proceeded through the door next to it to a room that was almost empty save for a sofa and a prehistoric TV. Any common thief would be happy to make off with the spoils found so far, but the masters always knew to take one step further. He entered the next door into a trophy room. Nice, at least if he still could hope to make it out of here with something. He heard the crack of a fire. Standing in front of the hearth was a roguish young man in black leather with an unruly mop of light brown hair. Trilby's reflexes kicked in, and he spun around and made ready to bolt. He didn't know if the kid was some distant relative of the deceased, another thief, or a cop, but he hadn't survived as long as he had by being confrontational.
“'Bout time you showed up.”
Huh? Trilby froze with one leg out the door.
“What?”
He turned his head.
“Aren't you here to rescue us?”
“Uh.... 'fraid not.”
The man was looking at him with a quizzical, vaguely hopeful exp​ression.
“Aw hell, how did you get in?”
“Window upstairs.”
“Is it still open?”
“No, it shut by itself and got stuck.”
“Damn, looks like we got another guest in the house.”
“What?”
Trilby turned around. The man seemed rather irked. This had to be some kind of prank, that was the logical conclusion. But something told him it wasn't the right one.
“Well, I take it you're not the owner, right?” the man asked.
“No” the old flight instinct was beginning to take hold again.
“We've been trapped here for days, the house won't let you back out once you get in.”
“Who's we?” was the first thing that came to Trilby's mouth. He hadn't expected it to.
“There's three others. Oh, pardon me, I'm Philip Harty.”
“Trilby.”
“Anyway, all the ways out are sealed. You can get into the back yard but no one's been able to climb the wall, and apparently there's some sort of moat on the other side.”
Philip's face was deadpan as he said this. This couldn't really be happening.
“There's three others here. Simone Taylor's from the BBC, she was supposed to be doing some kind of documentary on this place. Then there's Jim, a schoolboy who was here before me. And AJ, a jittery type who I think's been here the longest. He wouldn't tell us anything about himself.”
“I think we've met.”
“Anyway, everything will be explained in the meeting. We have them in the lounge every evening and talk about what we've found. About this place, I mean. We're all looking for a way out, and it doesn't do to keep things from each other.”
Philip took a step toward Trilby. He decided that Phil must be another burglar.
“I'll leave you to meet the others. Let them know to meet in the lounge. I've got something to take care of.”
Trilby got out of his way as he left the room. It was like he'd been cast into some bad mystery novel. The only thing missing now is for one of these characters to turn up dead, he thought. Assuming this wasn't all some weird joke.
Why hadn't they just broken a window? Trilby wondered as he entered the kitchen. There had to be some on the ground floor, even the ones upstairs you could get out of if you tied some bedsheets together. He hoped this meeting would be more informative than Phil was. He hadn't asked what Trilby was doing here, nor did he offer his own business. And there was the immediate press for full disclosure. He wondered what all was being hidden here. Good thing he didn't have a day job, and good thing this was probably all a dream. He came to this conclusion recently, as he couldn't think of anyone who had the will or the reason (or lack thereof) to actually come up with something like this to ensnare him. And this seemed more like a lousy horror movie than a trap. Trilby snapped out of his meditation and began poking around. No food in the fridge. Nothing in the cupboards but a tremendous bag of salt. It seemed that he had arrived just in time for them to run out of food. How long did Phil say they'd been here? The door to the back yard was open, it was pitch black out there. Trilby decided to hold off there until the next day, since it looked like he would be sleeping here either way. He heard a snap somewhere above him. There was a large tree next to the house that reached up above the second story, well above the wall surrounding the yard. Trilby thought he could spy someone in it.
“Hey!”
He shouted, standing at the now open door.
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#9 User is offline   David-kyo Icon

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Posted 04 August 2007 - 08:20 AM

Yeah, well, the problem is that it's more like a very extensive walkthrough than a novel.

This post has been edited by David-kyo: 04 August 2007 - 08:20 AM

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#10 User is offline   bicilotti Icon

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Posted 04 August 2007 - 02:38 PM

Not bad, the thing flowed quickly under my eyes and was enjoyable to read. Take as many liberties as you wish writing the whole thing. Books and adventure games are different beasts and should be treated with different gloves.

Now, the critisism:

the first thing people say after hearing "hey, I'm writing a fan-novel" is "the game was better". No matter who you are, Lovecraft, Twain, Poe, Petrarca, whoever: "the game was better" will be the only thing you will get from them.
Hell, you do remember how simple it was to just say "the book was better" when talking about a movie with friends, don't you? Everybody nods and you're the wise one. Matter of fact, you could have slept during the entire show: "the book was better" still did it.

I don't know about you, but I people comments about a creation of mine to be more interesting than a TGWB.

So, to summarize my toughts, write something else, maybe a novel about Trilby's past if you really like the character.

This post has been edited by bicilotti: 04 August 2007 - 02:40 PM

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#11 User is offline   joshofalltrades Icon

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Posted 04 August 2007 - 02:51 PM

My thoughts on fan fiction are even simpler. At best, it will be flattery to the original author. At worst, you will come across as someone with no original ideas.

By all means, keep doing what you're doing, but the most you'll accomplish is an enthusiastic "job well done" from Yahtzee. Which isn't going to happen, by the way.
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#12 User is offline   Vradash Icon

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Posted 04 August 2007 - 03:04 PM

QUOTE (joshofalltrades @ Aug 4 2007, 09:51 PM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
My thoughts on fan fiction are even simpler. At best, it will be flattery to the original author. At worst, you will come across as someone with no original ideas.

By all means, keep doing what you're doing, but the most you'll accomplish is an enthusiastic "job well done" from Yahtzee. Which isn't going to happen, by the way.


Yeah.

[spam]So anyway...why do you write the whole thing as a novel? Write a damn fan fiction and I would say "Okay, I may read it." But...no...not this. Just play the game.[/spam]
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#13 User is offline   David-kyo Icon

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Posted 04 August 2007 - 03:06 PM

Also, Yahtz has a long, deep characterisation of Trilby which he never made public, so we only perceive Trilby's personality superficially. I think you'd have to know him very well to be able to write a good book about him.
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Posted 04 August 2007 - 03:55 PM

I agree. Trilby is an enigma. wink.gif

You'd have to play the games over and over and over again to really get to know him. wacko.gif
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#15 User is offline   jspaceman Icon

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Posted 04 August 2007 - 05:47 PM

QUOTE (bicilotti @ Aug 4 2007, 02:38 PM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
Not bad, the thing flowed quickly under my eyes and was enjoyable to read. Take as many liberties as you wish writing the whole thing. Books and adventure games are different beasts and should be treated with different gloves.

Now, the critisism:

the first thing people say after hearing "hey, I'm writing a fan-novel" is "the game was better". No matter who you are, Lovecraft, Twain, Poe, Petrarca, whoever: "the game was better" will be the only thing you will get from them.
Hell, you do remember how simple it was to just say "the book was better" when talking about a movie with friends, don't you? Everybody nods and you're the wise one. Matter of fact, you could have slept during the entire show: "the book was better" still did it.

I don't know about you, but I people comments about a creation of mine to be more interesting than a TGWB.

So, to summarize my toughts, write something else, maybe a novel about Trilby's past if you really like the character.


Yeah, to my dismay, I'm starting to realize this. I intended this to simply be a writing exercise, not the vessel that would somehow propel me to internet stardom, secure my place as a demigod of Ramblomatic, and earn me the praise of all (or whatever the hell you people think I'm trying to do). I was simply hoping for suggestions from other people who've played the games, and would want to read this sort of thing. Moving a work from game format to prose is something that I like, and provides many opportunities to add personal touches to things. Yes, this is fanfic. If people don't like it, they can feel free to piss off and stop clogging my thread.

This post has been edited by jspaceman: 04 August 2007 - 05:49 PM

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