One Hour One Life Forums

I was Eugene Tarr. My great uncle Seymour gave me the wonderful honor of serving as a priest for his wedding to Lucy Scholar, his beloved. He and Lucy exchanged vows, shared stew, and then each carried a steel ingot in their packs as a reminder of their love for one another.

I lost track of them, but later Seymour found me, distraught. He had lost his dear Lucy--she had died in the road. In his anguish, he asked to be killed, but he died of old age before anyone could.

Seymour and Lucy, I buried you beside each other near Lucy's mother's grave. I placed your steel ingots on your graves as a reminder to everyone of your commitment to one another.

I lived a very brief life in a city (lineage), and I saw my adopted mother and many of her relatives/other townspeople die simultaneously. Was that a mass disconnect? I didn't live long enough to ask around--no one would feed me!

I was thinking the other day about how long the longest single-light fire has burned. Ten, twenty generations? Longer?

Fire is essential for most of the tech in the game, but it's also symbolic of many things that are central to the game: survival and progress, family and cooperation, warmth and security. It's also a common metaphor: we "pass the torch" of knowledge or leadership to successive generations, we ask that others "keep the home fires burning" in our absence, we're "keepers of the flame" in our familial and romantic relationships, we "reignite" civilization, "rekindle" relationships, "spark" creativity, etc. There are countless others.

So far the only thing, aside from civilization itself, that both requires and symbolizes multigenerational collaboration is the bell tower monument. Although it might give the civilization purpose for a time, once the monument is finished, that civilization really has nothing left to do but maintain itself, carry on, and ring the bell once in awhile.

What if higher tech civilizations could build and maintain an eternal flame? These are common throughout history, usually for religious or memorial purposes. Once constructed, the flame would need to be maintained only once per generation (or longer), but if it goes out, it is impossible to reignite. It requires olive oil or similar to keep it going. (And olive oil would be awesome: more cooking options, medicine, lamps, religious/healing ceremonies, etc.)

If we get torches, torch-bearers could carry the flame from town to town, serving a symbolic as well as a practical purpose.

An unextinguished flame could serve as an eve spawn point for an empty server, further incentivizing their creation and maintenance.

Engraving could convey the purpose of the flame and send messages to countless future generations.

I think there's a lot here. What are your thoughts?

A young boy was born into a thriving city with stone walls, horses, paved paths, and a vast graveyard. There the people were fed and happy, but it was not without conflict. The boy witnessed tragedy as one of his relatives perished after having been locked into a chamber full of weapons, only to have the key--and the killer--go missing. The boy was Trowa.

It quickly became apparent that there was little else to do in this city. Trowa ached for adventure, but everyone's needs were met and his options were few. So Trowa convinced his Aunt Tye, who was still bearing children, to come with him to start a new city. The two gathered two carts of supplies and a small band of the willing, including Trowa's little brother Wayne and his cousins Mary and Donna, Tye's daughters. Donna lacked experience--she could hardly feed herself--but most of the band survived the two year journey due east, across desert and tundra. Soon enough, they found a grassland with suitable resources. They immediately went to work clearing land and starting a farm.

Aunt Tye died soon after they arrived. Luckily, Mary and Wayne were skilled farmers, and soon carrots sprung from the ground. Trowa's aging back ached from the journey, but he managed to explore the wildnerness and bring beans, squash, and some iron. Trowa was teaching Donna to make a hatchet when she fell to the dirt in front of him, dead. Mary was the only remaining potential mother. It seemed the colony was headed for doom.

Mary looked cold. Trowa had but an apron, straw hat, and snakeskin boots, which he gave to her. Immediately she birthed a girl. It gave everyone hope.

Trowa breathed his last after having built the town's first kiln. He did not get to say goodbye.

[Many years later]

A girl, Mimi, was born to a growing farm. Wooden floors surrounded the town's forge, and the central gathering place was abundant with crocks of stew. People were happy and joking. A sign proclaimed CAFE TOWN. Mimi knew she would live a comfortable life, but she heard an echo that seemed to go back for generations. Had she been here before? It couldn't be.

Mimi confided in her sisters, Mi and Mili, telling her of these strange feelings. Mimi somehow knew that there was a shining city not far from their home, and that it was their destiny to return. Mi, ever adventurous, was immediately ready. Stew bowls in hand, the pair set off. Mili stayed behind. She never saw her dear sisters again. She had no way of knowing, but both of her sisters had perished, having encountered a wild boar. They never did find out for sure if Mimi's feelings were true.

Mili carried on in Cafe Town, heartsick at not knowing what had happened to her sisters. She toiled over the farm, contributed to the stew pot, and kept the community fed. She birthed many sons, some of whom were of filthy mind and incestuous. But from a very young age one of her sons, Juniper, spoke of the same vision which her sister Mimi spoke not long ago. She knew that he would be determined to make the same journey Mimi had made. By the time Juniper was old enough to leave, though, Mili's bones were aching with age. She bid her son farewell, expecting never to see him again.

Juniper marched out, due west, with a basket of supplies.

[Four years later]

One afternoon, while the good people of Cafe Town were joking around the stew pot, a strange man rode into town on a horse with a cart. The man rode up to Mili, who knew her son on sight. She fell to her knees and gave thanks to the Stew God for returning her boy safely home. The horse, Juniper said, came from a vast, abandoned city two years' journey to the west. He told them there were more horses, tools, carts, full pots of stew, and mysterious locked rooms full of weapons. Juniper's--and Mimi's--visions were true.

Juniper's brother, Warrior, a vile beast who desecrated the graves of his family, took the horse and set off for the city. In Juniper's absence, the town had not kept up the berry farm and the stew was running out. A famine hit the town and Juniper perished, frantically searching for a wild berry.

It is not known if Warrior made it to the city, or if others have returned, but it is rumored that the shining city was once known as Stormville, ancestral home of the family Storm. Long may the Storms live.

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This has been a trip. What a fun game. If you're bored in a big city, get a group and start a new one. Such an adventure!

(In case it wasn't obvious, I was Trowa, Mimi, and Juniper. Thanks to my moms. All hail Eve Storm.)