Tonight, beneath a sky veiled more by sorrow than by clouds, I pen these lines—a confessional to no one and everyone. The echo of my actions, though centuries old, resounds with a clarity that mocks the silence of my isolation.

This day, I faced a reckoning of sorts; an unassuming village, teetering on the precipice of despair, sought a deliverance I knew all too well. They feared a creeping blight—an ethereal wraith that preyed upon their hopes much like the shadows encroach upon the fading light. In my folly, I recognized my own dark heralds in its advance.

I intervened, not as a savior, but as a seasoned bearer of burdens who knows the weight of sin and the gravity of salvation. The task was grisly, demanding the kind of resolution that once cost me my soul. To eradicate the blight, a sacrifice was required—innocence for the greater good. A young lad, his eyes wide with the dawning of an unspoken question, became the unwitting cornerstone of their survival. My hands, though steady, were not clean.

As the village celebrated its murky reprieve, I retreated to the shadows, the specter of the boy's final gaze haunting me more than any ghost of my eternal wanderings. What is the measure of redemption? Is it weighed by the lives saved at the expense of one? The scales of justice, in my weary hands, are as unbalanced as the heart within my chest.

In these moments of quietude, I find no respite, only the relentless march of a guilt that is both companion and warden. The echoes of the boy’s unasked question linger, "Why me?"—a query that mirrors my own existential plight. With each step on this endless road, I am both the anvil and the hammer, shaping my destiny through actions that both forge and fracture.

What solace is there for one such as I, who walks the twilight between damnation and deliverance? Each deed, whether for good or ill, weaves the complex tapestry of my existence—a pattern obscured by the very threads that compose it.

In the quiet after the storm, as the stars dare to pierce the night once more, I ponder whether my path is one of penance or merely another cycle of endless torment. The answers, like the stars, remain distant and indifferent to the plights of men or immortals. Yet, I press onward, a soul adrift on the tides of time, seeking a harbor that may yet exist beyond the horizon of my deeds.

The dusk gathers, and with it, my thoughts turn inward, tracing the jagged edges of memory and consequence. Tonight, my solace is as thin as the crescent moon hanging low in the heavens, a mere sliver of light in the enveloping darkness.

I encountered a ghost town today, remnants of laughter and life eroded by time and neglect. They called it a haven once, a place of refuge from the world’s harsh whims. Now, it stands as a monument to abandonment, each crumbling wall a testament to forgotten promises.

In the quiet of the deserted streets, I found her—a woman spectral in her grief, her presence almost as insubstantial as the fog that clung to the ground. Her sorrow was palpable, a heavy cloak that suffocated the air around us. She was searching for her lost child, her voice a whisper of despair, echoing down the lonely pathways of the ghost town.

The child, taken by shadows not of this world, held in thrall in a realm that mocked the very concept of time. To retrieve him required stepping beyond the veil, into a labyrinth of past misdeeds and spectral pain—a journey fraught with peril, not just to the body, but to the soul.

I agreed to guide her, to traverse the haunted corridors of that other place. Our passage was a descent into ancient woes, each step a peeling back of the layers of my own long-buried transgressions. The air was thick with the scent of regret, and the shadows whispered of sins best left forgotten.

At the journey's end, in a room that held more darkness than space, we found the child. But his rescue was not without cost. To free him from his spectral chains, a trade was demanded—a memory of mine, steeped in a pain so profound that its absence left a void within me, a blank space where once there was anguish.

As we returned to the world of the living, the woman's relief was a balm to the hollow ache within me. Yet, as they faded into the burgeoning dawn, a part of me mourned the loss of my pain, for even in agony, there was a reminder of times when I was more than this wandering shade.

Now, as the moon retreats behind the encroaching dark, I sit amidst the ruins of the ghost town, a specter among specters. What am I if not a collection of my experiences? And who am I, if pieces of me are left behind in the dark corners of the worlds I traverse?

The answers elude me, as elusive as the peace I seek. So, I write these words, a testament to the journey, and to the ghosts—both literal and figurative—that I cannot escape. My path continues, ever forward, into the night that offers no end.

Eight months ago, I tried to create a stuffed mouse after watching Andrew Price's tutorial on youtube (https://youtu.be/Ebx2qbBlvh0). 

He made it look easy, so I gave sculpting a bear a go:

I got frustrated and gave up after many hours of trying to get the shape right. Organic and curved objects are complex. Creating hard surface models is more my speed. However, I continued learning and expanding my skills. Eight months later, I finally have something closer to what I sought. 

I started creating models about two years ago. I strive to create my models as detailed and realistic as possible, not so much as an "artistic choice," but rather I struggle when it comes to doing my own thing. I can see new ideas, but it is more like the idea of what something could look like; any attempt to actualize my vision results in total failure. This same problem is what lead me to Daz Studio. I could buy props, set a scene and play with shadow and light until I got something that tickled that part of my brain where my wild imagination lives. 

At first, I set up compositions. Next, I started playing with camera effects. Then, there were some textures I didn't like. The prequel to all this work was my efforts for several years in modding Skyrim. I got very good at updating textures, merging, and even customizing mods. However, the models were always someone else's. So, I downloaded Blender and started watching youtube videos like Andrew's.

After creating a few test objects of no importance, I finally created the first version of my Joust arcade cabinet. It has been a constant process of learning and experimenting since then. I wonder what I will be capable of in another two years.