DRAFT POSTS FOR DISSERTATION, UNFINISHED AND UNEDITED.

The stars swelled and bled, contracting and releasing in their nocturnal labour. Flashes of virulent energy swept through the halls of the gods, as their tempers shook the universe. We must go back. They heard themselves say. We must return to the earth. For they realised in the deafening silence of their discord that balance cannot exist without their organic form. How can we judge so easily without knowing what it means to be human. How can we cast the stones of their fate if we have forgotten everything it meant to live. There was an imperfect beauty in the lives of their progeny; a destructive and productive chaos that reflected echoes of their very own cosmos. As the stars began to burst, and the swirling plateau of their worlds quaked, they were reminded that all life, from the celestial to the flesh, needed to die, and to be reborn. Was it them who brought about their own end, or the impatient flaws of the gods themselves, who grew tired of the mirror they looked upon.

Yameya, who watched the eruption in silence, cast her mind back to the raging seas. “Much like the tides, tied to the moon and bound to the earth, we need not forget the intrinsic connection that all life holds to one another.” She spoke; in the moment of realisation, the pantheon thought about how their domains relied on the function of another. “Humans may have poisoned our earth, but humans are a part of our earth. They create as much as they sully.” “Like little, flimsy gods. Our arguments here and now are fuelled with the same anger and arrogance that we put them on trial for.” In the beginning, perhaps, it was a simple as art. All that they had intended was to create; a picture, a palace, refuge and feeling. For the love and hatred, the entire spectrum of emotion, reverberated in every breath and touch of humanity. Other creatures were capable of feeling, but none like them. They were the shepherds, gardeners, caretakers, undertakers and warmongers that worked in one heaving motion to retain some sense of balance. “We have ended and we have begun again, before, but to end without any sight of a beginning is to spit on everything we built.”

but how to right their wrongs? Humans only existed in the balance through millennia of evolution. To create a new species in their place would create a rift in the painfully delicate ecosystem. Morrigan looked to herself; from young to old, I am born and I die with every harvest, every planting, with each phase of the moon. From the universe I erupt, and to the universe I return. In the poetry of the divine, human creation has been described in every form, but one factor remains consistent. “We all know that humans are our very own children, built in our image. The only creatures to reflect almost every aspect of us. The reason for that stems further than narcissism.” Before she could finish, she looked to HueHue, who already knew her plan; “We must take their place on the earth. We have weaved tales of how mankind came about, from the moulding of clay, to the astral tears of the goddess, even to miraculous existence in the perfect garden.” He looked about at their exhausted faces “We must play the part. I decree, we all must descend unto earth, gather their tools, take up residence in their halls, and live for one hundred years in mortal form.” “We cannot judge what we have not lived...” They all chimed in, as a moment of hamartia struck them.

The heavens broke, an icy eclipse that lay like a deathly grip upon the land had lifted. For the first time in millenia the golden trickle of summer bleed across the hills and speared through the trees. A soft murmer echoed about the island, a rustle of new life arose, and as nights turned to day, months passing, blotches of colour began to shine. From a snowy dark slumber, emerald leaves and cornflower blue skies painted the world. The gods had arrived. The first steps upon the frozen sea brought about a new dawn, the settlers purveyed their new home; a spectacle of untouched life lay before them. Amaterasu held her breath as she, for the first time, felt the warming air of her creation, she basked in her own light shining from the heavens, as she approached the feathered lake, the dance of the herons entranced her. “in all the flurry of chaos, the burden of humanity, I had long since forgotten the beauty we sculpted.” He looked at her glistening expression, and never before had he noticed the imperfect perfection of human life. “We often need to be reminded that, like these ghostly and effervescent herons, like the great and grandiose trees, the deep scourge of winter, humans were a part of the natural world, they were animals of grace and wonder, before their rage laid waste to their home.” and now that it had begun again, they'll never forgo the duty they had to all life. “Now that I can feel the changing winds and the glistening grass between my toes, I wonder to myself, were we ever really alive?” gods existed beyond the confines of mortality, in an existential endless sea, with their great power they could feel the course of cosmic divinity, immortal power, the duty to give and take, creation and destruction, but they could never feel the bitter sweet breath of life. Until now they had believed they existed as more than alive, like their existence was a higher concentration of life, they never knew contrast. “It comes as no surprise to me that humanity was so depraved, how could we create a life form with the highest level of consciousness without first knowing what it meant to be alive, how could we create something that understood what it meant to be alive, if we never did?” Perhaps it was that first breath of spring, those early days, that sufficed in providing context for their mistake, but their were earthbound for a century and no less. Like a child experiencing the world for the first time, perhaps a lifetime was needed to fully comprehend mortality.

Gods exist on the earth, experience life from the beginning again, give life to the first new species of human kind, create their own cultures, remnants of them are left behind after 100 years and this stands throughout history as the ways of the old religions we know today,

ultimately we reach the same point, 10s of thousands of years later, and the gods forget, repeat, reintroduce themselves to the world, huehue and morrigan know this, for they know that a consistent cycle is imperative to the keep balance in the world.

This is where my concept of progress being an illusion will come in.

Potential article submission - the art of escapism.

Not narrative design, but yeah.
**update**
I have reached what I hope is a swift yet effective conclusion to this article; feel free to respond with any criticisms and suggestions!
This post is a first draft, I'm requesting feedback on content only at the moment, don't worry, I am well aware of how terrible the structure/grammar/punctuation is.

I'm scrapping my previous narrative design piece on Borderlands as part of my assignment and writing an article instead. I am completely new to this practise and could use a lot of it (practise, ahaha.)
So please I do need feedback on whether this could work as an article subject and if so, whether or not the content I plan on including should be altered, scrapped or works okay. So far I have gotten to the introductory stage and the first "header" I suppose.

Here goes:

The yearning for alternative realities is a human facet we are all too familiar with, we read, watch, create, dream and win fictional arguments in our own heads. Quite often we fantasise about these scenarios because of something missing from our lives; an emptiness that can't be filled or a desire to avoid suffering, or so we are lead to believe. Escapism has, for too long, been weighed down by negative stigma; we are told that to day-dream is to fill a hole in our lives, to compensate for something that's missing, while aspects of that may be true, there is a much deeper side to escapism that many fail to recognise. To dream and indulge in fiction is to create or be inspired: the gap we are filling through imagination may one day fill a niche. Story-telling is considered the earliest variant of escapism, yet to tell a story is to communicate, educate and spread creativity, stories were passed on, shared to groups of people and eventually documented to safeguard that spark. Story-telling evolved into theatre, theatre evolved into cinema, and alongside the evolution of art and literature, lead us to video games. Naturally, the aspects that exist within video games stretch far beyond those three subjects.

To those unfamiliar with the industry, the term “video game” may conjure up notions of pointlessness, many video games are seen as time wasters or distractions to more important “real world” issues. “It's just a game”, some would spout, failing to recognise the depth and relevance to society that video games hold, having our culture believe that it shouldn't be taken seriously. Thankfully, however, the questioning of its place in society is dissipating; there are innumerable articles that highlight the psychological benefits of video games, as opposed to its detractors, and in Korea, e-sports has become the fastest growing industry. The creation surrounding digital games is so vast that it can now be looked on as an art form; if one considers that art is a form of expression, then perhaps that is too simplistic of a term. However like visual art, music, poetry and theatre, video games often absorb and reflect important issues to their audience, whilst transferring them to worlds they may only dream of. Of course there is so much more to the industry than that, but this article will be focusing primarily on the creative and escapist aspect of video games. 

In contemporary society, video games have expanded far beyond mere entertainment: they provide canvasses for developers, artists and gamers alike to re invent themselves, fulfil a sense of wanderlust and to achieve something far beyond the constraints of reality. Growing up, I discovered authors such as Tolkien, pratchett and caroll, I fell in love with the fantastical imagery that fuelled my childhood adventures, and would beg my parents to read them to me over and over. This love would later lead to a deep fascination with literature and an enthusiasm toward video games, discovering the narratives that flowed through my favourite pass-time and inspiring me to create. As many of us grow into adult hood we leave behind the whimsy and wonder of our childhoods for the sake of realism, unfortunately within the real world a much bleaker narrative is cast, thanks to global media. Many of us see ourselves as trapped within this miserable status quo and subsequently suffer, both internally and externally. Escapism has long been known as a remedy to the misery that may be thrust upon us in our day to day lives, from the 17^th century and the culturally creative solace that theatre provided for society, to the 19^th century obsession with ceremonial magic, the occult and gothic literature, and to today's digital dream-scapes that monopolise the entertainment industry. Escapism has proved its value as a temporary alternative to a bleaker reality. However, as previously stated, it serves as more than a mask to life's inevitable problems.

In a recent GDC talk, game designer Jane McGonigal discusses the two variants of escapism found in people: self-suppressive and self-expansion, one being healthy and the other detrimental.In regards to psychology, humans have been equipped with a plethora of coping mechanisms, learned or ingrained in our biology for dealing with negative situations. One format found among gamers is the aforementioned self suppression, not unlike burying one's head in the sand. Self-suppression is seen when an individual transports themselves into a non reality based instance through imagination, as a means of avoiding life. While it may not sound so bad, studies have shown that, over time, this can create problems such as depression, anxiety or psychosis. It is through this mechanism that video games have garnered a negative image, seen as enabling or perpetuating this type of behaviour. Self-expansion however, while seemingly similar, is what I like to call a creative and therapeutic platform, it helps one deal with problems in a more favourable setting. Through this mechanism we see the passion and love of the industry, where aspiring designers, writers, programmers and artists alike are made, hoping to build up the worlds that helped them initially. I was introduced to video games during my childhood as a pass-time, they were a fun mental exercise and bonding experience with my dad, as we pieced together puzzles and pondered over riddles, or waged war on a kingdom. In time this transitioned into co-operative gameplay with my peers. Unfortunately during my adolescence I suffered from depression, I would find myself spending weeks locked in my room indulging in fantasy worlds; let me clarify now that this was not an attempt to shy away from my problems, although at times it did seem that way, I never pretended the real world didn't exist. Even today is feels as though the ability to keep my mind as active as possible during that time is what helped me through it.

Above the whimsy, entertainment and stimulus provided by video games, they can be a safe place in which one can heal; the game Snow World is a notable example. Created to aid burn victims, reports found that their pain was reduced by 30-50%, saying that it “worked better than morphine”, Phillip Kollar writes in his blog entry discussing escapism. In a previous essay I discussed the importance of theatre in society; expressing that the performing arts were a method of socio-ecological evolution. On the surface, a moving and at times inspiring source of entertainment, but underneath the costumes and props it stood as mirror to society, reflecting the world around it; this enabled people to understand what was going on in greater clarity and objectivity. Instead of healing individuals, per se, they indirectly healed the world around them. Video games have been shown to work on a similar, yet far more personal level. Instead of illuminating the charade of Adolf Hitler's political agenda, as seen in Bertolt Brecht's fear and misery in the third reich, or exploring the existential and absurd narrative of human existence, portrayed in Waiting for Godo, video games enable us to reflect upon the flaws and narratives of our own personally psyche.

Expanding on self-expansive escapism, unlike its counterpart; one could argue that the escapism we are drawn into can result in the player developing a deeper and more intrinsic understanding of our world. These games are created by humans, for humans, and so must have some level of relevance, reference or reverence to reality. Even the work of H. P. Lovecraft, an author known for his belief in the multiverse theory, where alternate realities are a prevalent theme, is somewhat based in the real world. For without including reality, how can we create an alternative? There is no other platform from which we can contrast or expand upon. It is for this reason that video games enable one to interact with the world, and garner a greater understanding for it. As I mentioned before, there is a darker side; self-suppressive escapism not only cultivates a negative framework for the industry, it poses legitimate threats to those affected by it, more easily indulged when gamers game for the wrong reasons. So where is the line, and how does one avoid risk factors? The truth is you can't, however in recent years a shift can be seen in the design and marketing of video games. I mentioned before the game Snow World, but in addition, the organisation known as OSD sent out care packages to desperate soldiers in 2012. These packages contained consoles and video games, they allegedly enabled soldiers to relieve stress and alleviated anxiety, increasing optimism and resilience and aided those suffering from post-traumatic-stress-disorder.

For almost a decade, those a part of the industry have been working to create games, or market them, in a way that focuses on the expansive side of escapism, fostering both physical and mental health throughout. Naturally one cannot control an individual's motive for playing a game, however one can manipulate the games they play to alter the experience. For example: an individual decides to turn themselves off from reality through a game, instead of the game further removing the player from the real world, it guides the player through what could be considered a therapeutic journey, or a simply thought provoking and engaging narrative, this is more likely to achieve a positive outcome. Ultimately the art of escapism reaches depths greater than expression, framework and design; but like art throughout history it strives to better the world it exists in, even if that means creating a whole new reality in order to do so. Not unlike the classic tale of Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Caroll, sometimes in order to understand oneself or one's reality better, you need to delve into a completely alternate one to reach that point. 

New direction for dissertation, short story idea.

My dissertation will be dealing with ideas of existentialism, concepts of progress/time being an illusion, exploring various archaic and theistic aspects of cultures and including elements of grim and sublime fantasy:

Upon the seat of all the major archaic points of power, left desolate but for the gods ancient energy

a few non human creatures still exist

only correspondents or familiars of the gods

dead bodies decay and rot, bones turn to dust in the dry wind, the last remnants of humanity

gone, for the devils fled their crypt, and exact justice on the mortal chaos. Devils were a name humans gave to their darkest fears and deepest sins, a personified aspect of their guilt, for the devils existed but only as guardians, safekeeping the underworld and keeping watch over the darkest parts of humanity. The real evil existed within us, and when we fled too far from good they exacted their vengeance, allowed by the gods to rid their world of our plague.

Setting a) a top an aztec temple, morrigan consorts with huehuecoyotl, ravens and coyotes linger, picking scraps from the human remains, extensions of the gods, cleaning up the earth while the true aspects confer. The shapeshifter morrigan and trickster huehue discuss a plan overheard in the olympiad of the high gods, they speculated the plague that was humanity and all its faults was seeping into the divine council, corruption amidst their ranks. One god declared though the human bodies may have deceased the evil remained, the earth still turned and life, in parts, threatened to flourish again, the other gods dismissed this as preposterous, anger set in as this was seen as a challenge to the work of their underworldlings, the guardian of the dead insulted by the notion he had failed, chimed in with a snide remark, undermining the first god's authority, claiming perhaps he was admitting guilt that he had protected some of the human life, a row broke out and as tempers rose, the two declared a duel. HueHue reported that he believed, though inadvertently, this is what the god was referring to, that humanity and its evil remained within the council, without vessels to purge imperfections or to judge, the gods absorbed all the human traits unto themselves and began to turn on one another. Morrigan devised a plan, and sent huehue to propose her idea to the high gods. Walk a mile in the shoes of our creation. We believed the ultimate evil was the chaos humanity leaked, but perhaps humanity was the chaos leaked by the gods, there was no ultimate, definable evil, but evil was eternal and unconditional, it existed in pockets throughout time and existence itself and could not be assigned to one enemy or body. The gods were to agree to spend a century on the earth as mortals, no powers, nothing to watch over them or pray to, morrigan and huehue were to observe and never help or hinder, they could interact but nothing more. Once the gods had completed their journey only then did they have a chance at understanding and potentially correcting the earth they cherished.

The following extract is my first attempt at writing this story seriously. For now it is just the introduction/beginning, setting the scene for the rest of the story. Any constructive feedback is encouraged!

And the gods took their earth back, a long standing plague that had left an open wound, festering and choking all that was meant to thrive, another mistake, eradicated. For the first time in millennia, life had begun to flourish, a broken and blackened world slowly turning green once more, birds took back the sky, what was once smog and death, was now filled with their song. The remains of the longest day, stone steps and charred streets still wet and crimson, for the world had to be left a reminder of how power, corruption and disease would be dealt with, the bodies were left behind in a perpetual purgatory of decay. Perhaps, however, this was more than that, perhaps it was a mirror to the divine, for they say man was created in the image of gods. A black and broken pyramid, an artefact of the aztec empire, stood valiantly under the feet of HueHuecoyotl, a celestial trickster, his face illuminated with amusement as he joked to himself about the blind arrogance of mankind, often mistaken for courage; a fallacy, and all they had built resembled that. A velvet thunder trickled across the sky, a murder of crows and ravens soared over the battlefield, a dark fluster that, as it landed, contorted into the illusion of a woman: a crone, her icy skin shone through the smoke and wreckage, her crooked feet crushed limbs and debris as she sauntered toward the platform, the wisest, chieftain of magick and mystery, forever endowed with chaos. “Such flimsy flesh, so weak, so quick to rot, a perfect metaphor for the vanquished, wouldn't you agree?” Her robes left trails of ash and sparks of emerald as she crossed over bodies, up to the foot of the pyramid. “I concur, humans were pathetic, you know we've never argued about that. Did you fly so far just to discuss the past, Morrigan?” She continued, ignoring his question; “Even what mankind believed to be strong, resilient and great crumbles beneath us, this was supposed to be a totem, a sacred piece of architecture intended to honour your brothers and sisters. I feel it would be more accurate to say they built it to honour themselves.” “That is all any of them cared about, a legacy, vanity, to curse everything with their mark. It's a little bit sad, I can't help but laugh.” Huehue studied her expression “you always were impossible to read..” “I believe we may have a problem” Morrigan persisted, “I never stood wholly behind this decision, yet I never objected, it was not my place, now I wish I had. Can you not see what great in-balance this has caused? Never before had we allowed a vessel to absorb so much of our toxicity. Now that our lightning rod has gone..” Her image shifted, as she looked about, a motherly grievance swept over her, her features became younger and her eyes, deeper and kinder. “A part of me feared the change this apocalypse would bring, now the dust has settled, more of me fears what little has changed. Was their survival truly not so crucial to our stability?” A look of exasperated mirth crossed his face, “we are Gods, Morrigan, mankind was never intended as a projection of ourselves.” A moment of solemnity crept over them, akin to the rising mist of souls before them, now shifting into the astral plane, a chilling vibration hovered about the air. HueHuecoyotl was the first to break the silence: “This is the price of our creation, their creation. We are already beginning to doubt ourselves, this is their poison, be damned if you are to let it plague you too” he paused, surveying the damage, in an attempt to match her empathy “a vile deed this was, but one that was necessary, we all bore witness to the chaos they ensued.” “Humanity was our puppet, the host of our parasitic troubles. We were not so different from them, HueHue, you'd do best to remember that.” Her contempt with his dis-compassionate words carved lines through Morrigan's face, her eyes reverted to their dry and icy blue state, with her last words the goddess cast her runes and took flight, disappearing into the heavens as abruptly as she had arrived. HueHue sat on the blood drenched steps, drawing shapes in the dust and meditating upon their discourse, an uneasy sickness trembled within. “To rise, and fall, to build only to crumble, around and around, this maddening cycle never ends. Progression is the greatest joke.” 

Pandora's Box

“I'm made of diamonds but I never got my chance to shine.” -

A Butt Stallion's story.

Narrative design premise for Borderlands 2

by Jennifer Richards.

In this piece I will be writing excerpt for a potential spin-off narrative of the Borderlands series. A small spin-off that would centre around the less prominent characters in Borderlands 2, such as Moxie, Butt Stallion, Crazy Earl, Bloodwing, Hammerlock and many more. So far the video games have put you in the position of the protagonists and told their story, the protagonists being the vault hunters, heroic characters there to slay bullymongs and bandits, hunt for treasure and sometimes, save the day. One of the key goals in the game was building up a substantial collection of firearms and weapons for your character, so in this spin-off the goal will focus more on the exploration of Pandora, shifting the collecting dynamic to vehicles and transport. Considering the deviation from the traditional and loved aspects of Borderlands, this game would be better suited as a pack of DLC or an Expansion pack.

We open with the immediate aftermath of Borderlands 2: Handsome Jack has been defeated, his henchmen are dead or scattered, most have fled into the wilds or fled Pandora all together, we are introduced to a nameless lieutenant of his, badly injured from the fight and making his way back to a safe place, possibly to start a new life.

Part one:

The poison sun shone its beams down over the crackling wasteland, “I swear” he began “it feels like just yesterday I was first discovering the bitter sweet beauty that Pandora had endowed” he shot a cursive glare at the merciless heat radiating down upon him. His feet blistered and battered, how he was still trudging on is a mystery. Wearily he wiped his brow, bejewelled with beads of sweat and blood, a ruby crown. “Now, now I'm finding it more and more impossible to find one reason that would make all of this..” he gestured at the smoking, twisted wreckage around him “..worth it. That would make living, here, on this burning, desolate spit of land, worth it.” He knew his only company right now was regret and shame boiling up inside of him, and the high hopes of finding an establishment specifically designed to make customers forget about feelings of shame and regret somewhere along the way. If he would just, keep, going.

Not 10 minutes later his weary feet dragged him out to the rail line, the earth all around him began to fervently shake, trembling from the colossal vibrations of the freight line. He looked behind him and sure enough a cargo bullet was hurtling his way. Stepping aside at first to attempt to purvey the sleek silver crashing past him, he was always reminded of Sleipnir whenever he saw this mechanical masterpiece make its way across the desert. Just as quickly as the engine had arrived, it was gone, leaving little but upturned pebbles and a cloud of dust, no, not even the weary stranger was left standing in the rubble, the last remnant of Handsome Jack's reign of terror had vanished, it was finally all over.

Part two:

Where did it all go wrong? I came to this planet 15 years ago, just a boy, starry eyed, soon to be a man, lusting for adventure. Pandora was an uncharted gold mine at that point. The bounty she promised drove wanderers mad with desire, a treacherous and unforgiving wasteland, offering gold and treasure beyond belief to those skilled and daring enough to excavate the caverns and crevices that run like veins beneath her skin.

I first came here with my pa, a bumpkin from a broken home, no prospects and no money. he carried me on his back most of my life, like all before him Pandora had laid out her carpet of enticement, whispers of gemstones, precious metals and catacombs ripe for exploration. it wasn't long before we'd made a modest home for ourselves, it was lookin' to be the life I'd always dreamed of, treasure, adventure, a whirlwind of wanderlust, just me and my daddy.

I don't need to bore you with the details for you to know it certainly didn't work out like that, when does it ever? Long story short I ain't seen my pappy in 6 years, didn't even see him go.

This planet was not built for camaraderie or companionship, it was built by the gods alright but it's no Valhalla.

As I grew I continued my pappy's work, reaping the bounty of the lands, and paying almost in equal. Settlements had begun to pop up, I'd sell what I found to wandering travellers, exotic mercantile the likes of which I had never had the fortune of gazing upon, the plethora of produce they had collected, the wares on display came in a menagerie of colours, bright enough to rival the plumage of Pandora! I loved spending my days in the dark crevices and caves fetching the finery that kept these men in business, but being given the opportunity to spy upon their silver and gold, knick knacks, oddities and unique finds, this remained the highlight, this was what kept me working my fingers to the bone. well, that and the handsome coin I was able to salvage from it.

Every night, you could spy more and more camp-fires on the horizon, a feeble string of fairy lights encrusting the blackened cliff-side, blinking pathetically underneath the stars. “This is just the beginning..” an elderly native would warn me, they say that, hundreds of years ago a refugee space shuttle touched down on Pandora, immigrating from a planet that had become.. inhospitable.. after what seemed like endless months of scouring the galaxy the refugees had found Pandora, or perhaps Pandora found them. A small colony was established there, however, due to the harsh nature of the planet, living conditions were poor and many ended up meeting with their early demise. The population dwindled until eventually so few were left that their existence became a myth among travellers and plunderers of Pandora. It is said that some miraculously thrived, in the hill-sides, underground, living over the sea. Driven into a nomadic existence, they floated about the painted deserts and graced the effervescent glaciers, never leaving so much as a footprint behind them, becoming little more than extensions of the land. You hear a lot of sporadic and strange rumours circulating these parts, humans will invent any ridiculous story to scare scavengers away from their bounty, but there are some tales that have their validity, some that are so intricately structured and with such eeriness that you just, know. “This is just the beginning, more will come and when they do, they'll be bringin' with them an evil that'll blast a hole right through 'er. Our beautiful Pandora will open up a shit-storm, and with it we'll be seein' some darker days, darker 'n you 'n' I have ever dreamt o' seein'.”

Part three:

The crimson sky seemed to spin slowly above, a cascading shower of stars trickled across the clouds overhead. The dark wisps of galaxy, streaks of black, green and gold painted the atmosphere, it all looked like it had been designed by a mad man, a complete medley of cosmic dissonance, harmonious and yet chaotic simultaneously. It sort of felt as though the planet had gone to sleep, all the lights blown out and enduring a sloe black world, silhouetted against the bright, kaleidoscopic sky. Exhausted, he stretched out his toes across an old cargo container, reclining back into the warmth of the fire and taking a long, deep drag on his pipe, the embers illuminating his face, if only for a second. His companions setting up camp around him, well, nearly all of his companions, the youngest of the group was extremely busy napping in the chair next to him. Nobody liked the kid, not yet anyway, he'd proven himself to be nothing but lazy and moronic, why did they think it'd be a good idea to take on a kid? In this climate? Scavengers were at their peak, with Handsome Jack gone all of the treasure was ripe for the taking, and everyone on Pandora knew it. He was too young, he had grown up in a metropolis, he'd yet to learn the harsh and unforgiving way or life that comes with living out here, he was too young and too lazy and the vault hunters didn't have the time to wait for him to mature, the only problem was they didn't have a choice, if they wanted that bounty they needed an extra crew member and if there were any better candidates no doubt that kid would still be back at home, kicking cans about the dirt. Behind the man two of the younger yet, somehow, more experienced hunters took on the duty of counting their earnings that day, by the licks of fire-light the coins sparkled and seemed to dance beneath her fingers. She had the nonchalant air of somebody that had seen it all and probably too much of it, her tired eyes, all drained of their youthful colour and glimmer, darted back and forth across the table, silently counting, whilst her partner, short tempered and agitated after a quarrel between the two, sat begrudgingly twiddling his weapon between his short, grubby fingers, leaving her to the finances and muttering bitterly under his breath. Just then, the clouds above them parted and a small portion of the valley was cast under the moon's illumination. The ex-soldier with the pipe felt the corners of his rugged maw stretch into a smile, the refreshing beauty before them was enough to melt any heart, there was a lot to be cynical about on Pandora, but her aesthetic charm seemed to be what kept everyone going. He stopped for a moment, pipe hanging from his lip, statuesque the smoke billowed gently out of his mouth, like a haggard, man shaped kettle. Finally he blinked, sitting up from his recline, a bright, ivory light, no bigger than a pin prick piercing through the twilight down in the valley. They were all accustomed to seeing strange and peculiar things on Pandora, and random lights certainly wasn't one of them, settlers and travellers came across their path more frequently than they'd care for, but this light, this light was oddly, different. He composed himself, coughing slightly then removing the pipe to tap the ashes into the fire, leaning forward in his chair, he scoured the land for any other random lights, but he could only see that one shimmer. Amused and entranced he watched it flicker, stationary, then, with a biting breeze that seemed to cut right through him, he shuddered and heard, echoes of screaming, no, not screaming. A whinny. A lonesome equestrian cry. It was coming from the tiny light! He got up and ran to the edge of the cliff, the others had taken notice by now. The light began to change, evolve, move, it grew larger and brighter, and then, he saw it. The ghostly eye and silken mane of a diamond encrusted horse. “...Is that?” “I couldn't possibly..” “no way is it..” “Butt Stallion!” In a shriek and a gust of icy wind Butt Stallion was off, like a shooting star tearing across the valley, the vault hunters looked on in dumbfounded awe.

Fin.

These texts are collectives from a potential narrative for a spin-off of the video game Borderlands. A science fiction First person shooter with role play elements set on an alien planet with comedic themes. The premise of this spin-off would be giving a spot-light and a voice to the characters many felt were glossed over in Borderlands 2, with some comedic effect. Telling the tale of the planet Pandora during Handsome Jack's (the antagonist in Borderlands 2) totalitarian reign of terror. The before and the after, how he came to Pandora, what happened after he was destroyed and what happened to the characters tied to him. 

first draft

(ignore the grammatical errors and spelling mistakes for now, this is a first draft)
my opening page for the narrative design piece i'm working on.
A  narrative that fits around the plot and structure of the Borderlands video game series'.

where did it all go wrong?
I came to this planet 15 years ago, just a boy, starry eyed, soon to be a man, lusting for adventure
Pandora was an uncharted gold mine at that point. The bounty she promised drove wanderers mad with desire
a treacherous and unforgiving wasteland, offering gold and treasure beyond belief to those skilled
and daring enough to excavate the caverns and crevices
that run like veins beneath her skin.
i first came here with my pa, a bumpkin from a broken home, no prospects and no money. he carried me on his back most of my life, like all before him
Pandora had laid out her carpet of enticement, whispers of gemstones, precious metals and catacombs ripe for exploration. it wasn't long before we'd made a modest
home for ourselves, it was lookin to be the life i'd always dreamed of, treasure, adventure, a whirlwind of wanderlust, just me and my daddy.
i dont need to bore you with the details for you to know it certainly didn't work out like that. when does it ever?
long story short i ain't seen my pappy in 6 years, didn't even see him go.
this planet was not built for camaraderie or companionship, it was built by the gods alright but it's no Valhalla.
As i grew i continued my pappy's work, reaping the bounty of the lands, and paying almost in equal.
settlements had begun to pop up, i'd sell what i found to wandering travellers, exotic mercantiles the likes of which i'd never
before had the fortune of looking upon, the plethora of produce they had collected, the wares on display came ina menagerie
of colours, bright enough to rival the plumage of Pandora! I loved spending my days in the dark crevices and caves fetching the finery that kept
these men in business, but being given the opportunity to spy upon their silver and gold, knick knacks, oddities and
unique finds, this remained the highlight, this was what kept me working my fingers to the bone.
well, coupled with the handsome penny i salvaged from it.
every night, you could spy more and more camp-fires on the horizon, a feeble string of fairy lights encrusting the blackened cliff-side
blinking pathetically underneath the stars.
this is just the beginning, an elderly native would tell me, hundreds of years ago, they say a refugee space shuttle touched down on pandora, immigrating from
a planet that had become.. inhospitable..
they found pandora, or perhaps pandora found them, after what seemed like endless months of searching. a small colony was established there,
due to the harsh nature of the planet, living conditions were poor and many ended up meeting with their early demise. the population dwindled until eventually
so few were left that their existence became a myth among travellers and plunderers that came to pandora over the years. However some miraculously thrived
driven into a nomadic existence, they floated about the painted deserts and graced the effervescent glaciers, never leaving so much as a footprint behind them
they became little more than extensions of the land.
You hear a lot of sporadic and strange rumours circulating these parts, humans will invent any ridiculous story to scare scavengers away from their bounty.
but there are some tales that have their validity, some that are so intricately structured and eerie you just, know.
this is just the beginning, more will come, and when they do, they'll be bringin' with them an evil that'll blast a hole right through 'er, our beautiful pandora
will open up a shit-storm, and with it we'll be seein' some darker days, darker 'n you 'n' i have ever dreamt o' seein'.

unfin, just notes

Alone and feeling empty, without flesh to deflect the icy winds or blood to insulate her being her soul shudders. The realisation yet to set in, having died in battle she wonders why the Valkyries never came, if her bravery was her end why then, was she yet to feel the welcoming hearth in the halls of Valhalla. (part 1 of my first chapter)

possible intro to my dissertation

I feel the cold breath of winter, it blows through me and I can see the frost on the leaves, the morning sun reflect upon the lake, I can still feel the earth crunching beneath my toes, if I can still feel then is death really the end? If I can still see the smoke billowing from my pyre, the bright burning embers illuminating the water around my burning body, then how can death be the finite we believe it to be?

possible intro to my dissertation, thoughts, feedback?