Devlog #2

Le Glaude was simmering his revenge, powerful and focused, no longer even thinking of puffing on his cigarette. The air was gradually regaining its Virgilian purity when, from the bowels—if not of the earth, then at least from those of the old clog-maker—there erupted a hooting that was anything but human. It was so heartbreaking, so poignant, that the Humpbacked jumped on his bench. Ratinier triumphed, hilarious, after the subtle crack of the final note.

At 11:45 PM, against all odds, the machine is fired up again via a very modest feature - updates on ATB bar size, considering the kilometer-long prompt stuffed with acronyms. Like Senator Bernie Sanders giving Claude a spanking, the tone is clear, firm, and directive. The “Kouign of Code” certainly hasn’t been brewing catnip here. He’d like to play the small-timer, the sweat-stainer, but he just hasn’t got the calling for it. He’s a lion of Sprite3D, a big-shot of FCT; he tween.tweens like a pro. It’s stirring up the cottages and making the combat text float exactly where it should.

We’ve made all the corpses disappear—namely the .py scripts so infinitely suffixed they could trigger civil wars. The sprites, however, still look like corpses. On the other hand, one could stare at this progress bar for hours. It has the bittersweet flavor of an HD nugget in an ocean of aliasing. It is that tiny, pathetic bit of progress capable of maintaining just enough curiosity on the path to addiction.

The next day, with attempts at 2D HD, we aren’t trying to sell a feature; we’re just dropping a fight between a side table and a mole on the doorstep, set against a background that looks like scrambled cable TV without a decoder. They say if you squint, you can see Adolf Hitler’s mustache appear between two HD grooves.

The “Kouign of Claude” commits an unexpected feature - 3 players on screen during battle. The program is ambitious. It’s a tilt into a new world—like those cabaret artists who paint with a trowel, three Smarties, and a can of hairspray until they achieve a work of art that was completely unsuspected at the start.

Isn’t he adorable, this ignominious troll? Looking closer, he’s as human as we are, and we must give thanks to the camera effects that make his unibrow so touching. One wonders who he’s going to hurt with that three-headed pivoting electric razor.

The gestation continues; these character-abortions drowned under an invisible plane are about to hatch. They will emerge from that prostrate state of an aerophagic dwarf stuck on his latrines in feature - cleanup battle concept and new characters. Damn, the “cleanup” delivers on its promises. Good blood does not lie. It gives you goosebumps like a majestic portrait of Godefroy de Montmirail.

What more could one ask for? The Plunger Princess now has a sort of immense bib, very practical for protecting herself from troll-brain splatters; Robocop is walking around with a Bible under his arm just in case; and a meter maid is lost like John Travolta in the enchanted forest. Don King Kong awaits his beloved, club in hand. The legless have the right to dream of great love, too.