31 March 2013

Merlin 3:12 “Cobalt of March”

Merlin 3:12 “Cobalt of March”

Amongst matters of logic and senseless emotion stands Merlin and Nick as the dead with rigid mortal expressions and poised to pore insignificantly strew, imbuing the very sense of anguish and vivid remorse on this scene of wreak and havoc, stares a soldier of ill-gotten formidability, tiny scars aplenty gained of service to many crimes or sharp claws. Merlin notices a symbol of a slave army branded on the soldier’s leather shoulder armor covering tattooed skin. Nick unnoticing rummages the dead for trinkets, as small rings and things pass from soldiers of misfortune to his mercy, nary on their deaths, Merlin approaches him, and he shows Merlin the coins and rejoins their plot to thought by slapping him on arm amidst conversation to point at the approaching ruffian.

Most dead or dying hath, a soldier emerges from blood and fog and echoes of chaos, only to scream at them dauntingly in matters of morality and rage, a battle cry as his hands become emblazoned, Merlin and Nick choose laughter at the man causing him to pass-through the pooling blood and swirls of smoke from lingering mist. Merlin readies to throw a smallish ball of lightning, of more noise than poise, as Nick approaches foe smugly. The fighter screams again this time in a fear ineligible to be mistaken for malaise languor, lingering feverous terror of the phoenix and flying rider. The soldier attempts flit, Merlin and Nick laugh surreptitiously looking subsequently to all parties involved, and laughing more so again when seeing flyer.

The phoenix, Alerion, follows and circles, the running soldier leaps apace only to turn in desperation with fire of fingertips throw, to attempt blasting the phoenix in dullish presentation of fire and light, a sporting confidence of familiar. The fire at rider and beast causes Troy to illuminate and bird to radiate, the fiery breeze a welcomed nest to land and rest wings open, for hearts at landing ease the talons open and capture the caretaker of firestorm magic, pinned and sliding in the mood and blood several paces length. Beneath mighty talon caterwauls the soldier, throwing hexing spell-cast fire again, the phoenix does not balk and rider dare not talk as one dismounts and familiar bathes in flames as would plants in rain.

The soldier pulls a dagger and stabs the phoenix in its leg, it examines the infliction perturbed merely, and lifts talon briefly only to slam hold of him again. Troy pushes and brushes the firebird’s breast, shaking embers of snow, but causing it to relent from the dire pressuring grasp.

Merlin: “It seems you are steadily determined to be questioned.”
Ulric: “You are beyond the scope of logic or reasoning, demon spawn, abrupt in manner, defile me!”
Troy: “We are not demons here, in a manner of speaking.”
Ulric: “Imperious liars, spare me the vaunt of poison ivy on the discord of terror, come, I have a gift.”

Ulric holds a runestone in his palm, a dark cobalt piece with symbol grey etched. The grounded mage holds the stone until his eyes match the ashen rune, Troy’s alabaster leathered skin becomes grey like writ ash, and Alerion’s temperament becomes febrile and lucent as it lacks flight and begins to burn the flames of resurrection. The air of moribund obscurity, multifarious dark bolts of lightning strike Merlin and spread from him by thin jagged power-lines manifold to every corpse in the field, numerous diversely dead bodies begin to exist and develop nominal life. Merlin seeing sluggish graven resurrection mires in insane torpor unable to stop all things, seeing Nickolas thru clouded foreign allusion, calls of terrored desperation.

Merlin: “Nick, kill him or something!”

Nickolas spins the strong of his blade once over the back of his hand, with both palms stabs down into Ulric, the storm collapses, as do all thoughts and thinkers, and returned to respite are the undead.

The phoenix stumbles and moves unto Ulric, but stopped by Merlin, his hand against the shoulder wing point. Upon further examination of the body, Merlin finds, buried amongst tattoos of a fern with many outlined fronds, a tattoo over dead Ulric’s heart.

Merlin: “Damn, he’s one of us.”
Nick: “One of us, he tried to kill everybody?”
Merlin: “Look at this tattoo; he’s a demon hunter…fie on graces.”
Nick: “That berkano rune placed squarely on his heart?”
Merlin: “In his case, a sigil of brimstone, what he used for that hex.”
Nick: “To these his surly digs and moneyed at end.”
Merlin: “These tattoos of a fern also, put his gear well-worn.”
Nick: “Be it too late to save?”
Merlin: “By far, he found the worst in thought and sight.”
Nick: “Why would he battle in haste, without stealth?”
Merlin: (standing from squatting) “It’s nearly the grass moon, demons have artifice designed to deceive, best in the summer convocations. Other else I know not.”
Nick: “A hunt for that other wizard you said to’ve known?”
Merlin: “In my regrets, I will have hoped, as this one breathes its final breath, which side he took.”
Troy: (short of breath) “Demons don’t fear cold.” (Stumbles and falls.)
Nick: “Get to Troy.”
Merlin: “Can you move?”

Troy is on his knee in the muck, his far hand muddy from his attempt to balance while resisting unconsciousness, he breathes deeply tranquil the cold air and looks to them both.

Troy: “Yes, it is just a cold sweat.”
Merlin: “You look like leather, let’s get clear of all this death, shall we all?”

Merlin hears silence in his mind, his scrutiny of complaisance draws his eyes to the fears of his thoughts, which he reckons resides in the forest trees beyond him, seeing nothing he turns with his comrades toward the village they aversely departed ago. Witch eyes investigate secretly on them, by her actions undiscovered, obfuscated through the bleak distance she is unnoticed at they leave hence.

28 March 2013


[Read the fictitious Killer Robot case at the web site for the Online Ethics Center for Engineering at www.onlineethics.com/CMS/computers/compcases/killerrobot.aspx The case begins with the manslaughter indictment of a programmer for writing faulty code that resulted in the death of a robot operator. Over the course of many articles you are introduced to several factors that contributed to the accident. Discuss at least two of the factors that contributed to the accident. Consider what went wrong and what is important in the software development lifecycle.]


Manslaughter, or murder?

Did the code writer design the code without proper safeguards, which resulted in the robot operator's death? Were those supposed safeguards overlooked? Was the dead operator an intended target of malicious code or was that person simply an innocent victim? If malicious, who were the parties directly responsible, and whom if any were the parties indirectly responsible? Can I keep writing rhetorical questions like a flippant op/ed article?

The dangerous factors:

Mabel Muckraker, writing for the "Silicon Valley Sentinel-Observer", first broke the story of Silicon Valley attorney Jane McMurdock indicting Randy Samuels for manslaughter, a case brought on the codewriter for Techtronics who is responsible for the code in an assembly-line robot that killed Bart Matthews.

As the Cybernetics robot malfunctioned, Matthews was killed instantly by the violently flailing robot. Attorney McMurdock stands assured in Samuels' guilt, based on the code being his design, a conjecture that omits Samuels did not write murderous code and equally omits in accusation that the code was not altered by him after successful assembly functions.

The article makes no case and offers no proof that Samuels maliciously tampered with the code to the detriment and fatality of Matthews. The supposition open is user error aside public accusations and fervor. Comparative code drafts of Samuels have been reportedly obtained, which depict the machine's movements, and authorities have yet to exclude suicide by Matthews, meaning Samuels gets Manslaughter in the second degree, and likely charges dropped with nominal public favor. The article allows speculation that improper code would allow the code to be somehow self-aware, ambivalent if not malign to the decedent, and makes no mention of work conditions that might have put the workplace in blame.

There expert reached for assessment of the code is not mentioned as a certified professional, and mentions of unsuccessfully reaching Samuels for comment are suspicious as is the case with such in much journalism.

Despite any conditions mentioned in other research, there is no mention that the assembly-line robot was being used for the first time, leaving room for reasonable doubt for the accused, in errors or maladies as I have mentioned previously. For example, a code writer under stressful writing conditions doesn't account for misunderstanding the robot's functionality, but does raise suspicion to dangerous or absent safety protocols. Also, accounts of Samuels' character showed him as a "prima donna', opening the case from manslaughter to negligence, and raises questions of malice toward the victim.

Corporate espionage is considered by the contrast of two competing companies, which is possible, and reports of failed safety tests being forged as passing tests add variable to espionage on both physical and publicity levels. As another article continues to cast doubts on the safety of the machinery, I found no mention that this was the assembly-line machine's initial operation, leaving the general public, the family of the victim, and the authorities with many questions and few answers. In regards to the ethics of the robot, Skynet became aware, August 29th, 1997. Judgement day is inevitable.


07 March 2013

Merlin 3:11 “Of Wolf and Man”

Merlin 3:11 “Of Wolf and Man”

The baneful brother Jimson and the woman witch waiting, the spiteful glare of Belladonna with readily poisonous heart, staring at the oracular elves whose eyes pore unfocused and beyond them despite forwardly facing, there are other howling creatures in the surrounding distant opaqueness.

Belladonna: “Do you know that wretched sound, rider?”
Gareth: “Most notably, the heedless cries of beasts.”
Dain: “Without thought or regard, heedless cries, soon to fall by my sword methinks.”
Belladonna: “Do you know us well enough, which we may depart?”
Gareth: “Most notably madam, so shall it be.”
Belladonna: “Then you know to us our passage by lord Weyland, pass we will as agents freely?”
Dain: “Your passage given, we will apart.”

From beyond them, where the air is lapse, the motions of beasts, the supernatural clinging to the moonlight fighting for supplanted reign from what feign is dusk against the awakening darkness, a deadly commotion wherein halves of wolf and man crawl from beneath the soil. A witching lady stands in the darkness with her hand upon a birch tree in the fading light, watching wolf rise and sunset, domineering matron to hellhounds, her hair long and blondish red over layers of grey silk dress, whose bare feet are fair and frozen and unsullied by earth, as she walks watching them depart and where they wend.

Oft most dangerous before full moonset, they rise with hands like raccoons and nails verily sharp, feline eyes furtively betwixt communicate and designate a wolf pack leader, one howl by each creature and many feet begin to trod the spring marsh and rumble in the distance outwardly seek. Quick upon the errant main the werewolves approach without hesitation, empowered by a full moon high.

Dain: “Bear searchers!”

As vows pertain when thus profane, the elves and agents ready their confidence to brusquely battle fear and fervent foes. Large enough to kill a bear in packs of three at more than repartee will fighter need muster equanimous, at the monsters of the deep they watch and ready all. One leaps over Belladonna, halfway to crouching and guarding her face she slices its front side by tip of blade, from the wound a poison envelopes as others encircle, she stabs it as it lay dying, adding more poisonous curse of root-like-veins. Jimson with two daggers stabs into the wolf-like body leaping at him pulled thru air and tackled with abandon, fighting and hammering with fists of knives, rampantly forced beneath fiendish fangs with tacit blades. Dain of two arrows of eyes to his stalking beast of guile and guise; Gareth by sword takes claw as paw from deftly slower creature, a grunting full wroth the blade down slicing takes the arm at other, stumbling, feeble, and unable to move at best on fours the steel soon takes that beast’s head. Dain ends the blinded one with arrows that when second next cross throughout its throat; Gareth opens three throats and bites with blade the hearts of two, with two swords waving gracefully he stares another werewolf that with others flees aversely.

Dain mocks the sound of a hill wolf and Gareth laughs, Belladonna watches her work of rotting nerves and Jimson lays aside his hefty ominous and fallen creature as increasingly slower convulsions of his poison travel thru its veins, purging life to writhe and die. She walks beside the creatures and invokes toxicity to their eyes and hearts, as he climbs to his feet.

The witch of red hair walks into the forest after Sino, her hand pulls at every nearest tree she passes, her emotion tantamount to excitement and commensurately impetuous to sensationally knowing where he is, so much that nature coincides her existence, her bliss of malice resides without anger. Sino reaches the thorny plants that often edge the meadows, the foliage wilts in scorn to bow as he departs. She is close to him and enters the grass at his fiftieth pace hence, the witch who lost her soul to dark illusion on a shipwreck in a spiraling ocean, the body named Nara now the toy of a demon.

Lilith: “My heart beats your name.”
Sino: “A burden meant for death.”
Lilith: “Of this hell I know.”

She walks salaciously and lurid in posture, posing for him tramp and circumspect, slightly opening her robe around the collar, her eyes resemble water.

Sino: “Have before we met, demon?”
Lilith: “I am Lilith, you fool.”
Sino: “Lilith, what favor have you come to ask?”
Lilith: “Breed with me, Sino, beneath the weeping moon.”
Sino: “I have less time for this without worship.”
Lilith: “Fine, your way is else.”

Lilith enwraps herself keeping certain to pose lissome, still provocateur beneath the fabric, her arm and fingers brush her hair behind her exposed shoulder. Her thoughts share supposition of him with sounds of nighthawks and crows aside the sound the werewolves wherewithal most stealthily in haunt, and sounds of suspect paranoia. His eyes suspect conspiracy in the trees as she glances at the full moon over them. 

Lilith: “I was in hell.”
Sino: “Where you have no face…?”
Lilith: “Where I have not face, and waiting for the surface to sulfur, a vampire, a child of all demons came to me weeping. Why then he knew your name?”
Sino: “There is no such crime as killing the dead.”
Lilith: “So says the listless warlock between the fires of Heaven and Hell.”
Sino: “How is Hel (Halle)?”
Lilith: “One that hides…, so immortal and slower than time she says ‘the living look like rotting corpses’, I'm inclined to believe her.”
Sino: “Shall we dance in the moonlight?”
Lilith: “The offer has passed, go, do the things needed, without my passion.”
Sino: “That is truly a sentenced punishment.”
Lilith: “My circumstances are not of import, you will hear from me notwithstanding.”
Sino: “If I must speak with you anon?”
Lilith: “Think of me the next you have a fecund. Mind the berserkers. …You may test him now, uncle.”

She walks from Sino in speaking that, although forewarning, permissive command. The stampede of claws and paws exits the trees at exhaustive speed, he turns to smoke, the full moon, she sinks into the ground feet-first, blowing him a delicate kiss from her fingertips wrist flexibly, and he watches her sink, with her gone over her sinking place. The galloping werewolf leader dives at Sino, but thru the smoke also immediately disparate, rolling over shoulder and rising to contemptuous poise, the war scorn werewolf bodily shifts into a man kept adorned the many battle scars, a calm malaise of cur and curse, nearly as tall as his lupine form had been, wearing only vest and pantaloons. His hair black, his eyes radiantly dark blue, barefoot he stands as the werewolves join him, one of them confused comes closely aside his face to inspect his human body, the man growls preponderantly as if still beast, causing the subordinate to give obsequious respect.