u/Zonreiryd

Avant toutes choses même si le titre peut paraître dogmatique je suis ouvert à d'autres possibilités mais elles me semblent vraiment spéculatives et absurdement improbables.

Combien de fois j'entends dans les discussions, avec des gens, en famille, et sur internet. « l'univers est tellement grand que c'est statistiquement impossible que nous soyons la seule civilisation ».

Ces affirmations peuvent paraître raisonnable, en premier lieu pour la présence de civilisation on estime qu'il y à quatre cents milliards d'étoiles et 100 milliards de planètes dans la voie lactée. Environ 10 à 100 milliards de planètes rocheuses, un milliard à dix milliards de planètes situées dans la zone habitable. Côté de l'univers observable on estime qu'il y à environ 200 milliards de galaxies.

Il est simple d'en déduire que l'univers grouille de vie. Ceci dit, plusieurs astrophysicien, dont Peter D. Ward et Donald E. Brownlee les auteurs de Rare Earth: Why Complex Life Is Uncommon in the Universe. Ou encore Guillermo Gonzalez, Donald Brownlee (le même) & Peter Ward les auteurs de The Galactic Habitable Zone: Galactic Chemical Evolution ne sont pas d'accord.

Ward et Brownlee ont écrit l'équation de la terre rare, pour eux, pour 10^11 il n'y aurait qu'environ 10 planètes avec des conditions propices à la vie. La vie multicellulaire complexes exige :

- de l’eau liquide pendant plusieurs milliards d’années

- une faible variabilité climatique

- une stabilité orbitale

- peut être un satellite naturel de bonne taille pour réduire les variations de l'axe de la planète, stabiliser l'obliquité terrestre et produisant des marées importantes favorisant certains environnements côtiers primitifs.

- une Bonne tectonique des plaques permettant le recyclage du carbone, la régulation du CO2, et maintenant une bonne température sur plusieurs milliards d'années.

- un champ magnétique

- une masse correcte ni trop faible ni élevée

- la présence de métaux et en général d'éléments lourds. (Fe, Si, Mg, U, Th…)

- être dans la "Galactic Habitable Zone".

- une planète géante externe.

- stabilité pour 5 milliards d'années.

Ensuite il faut la bonne évolution pour arriver à une autre civilisation technologique au moin comparable à la nôtre :

- vie monocellulaire

- Eucaryotes

- Animaux complexes

- espèce suffisamment intelligente pour maîtriser des outils et dotée d'appeindices de manipulation fine, mains avec pouces opposables, tentacules, fils biologiques

- développement de la technologie

Je pense qu'il n'est pas déraisonnable de supposé que la vie multicellulaire intelligente et industrielle est extrêmement improbable au point que dans un univers de ~200 milliards de galaxies nous sommes la seule civilisation à avoir atteint ce stade.

Hi, it’s Syd. My questions may sound a little silly, and I’m not trying to offend anyone.

I’ve noticed that B/X and Shadowdark are the core games of the OSR. I used to be a big fan of B/X and I even have an omnibus, but I’m not really interested in it anymore. For one thing, I find the rules, especially the combat and magic rules, too limited for the kind of long-term campaign I want to play. And it also doesn’t really support high-level play.

When I tried AD&D 1E, it was the best game I had ever played. The depth and richness of AD&D 1E are enormous, and when I recently tried high-level play with Expedition to the Barrier Peaks, it was a revelation. I love low-level play, but I find high-level play, even though it requires more preparation, even more stimulating, rich, rewarding, and adventurous.

Why aren’t these two things more appreciated in the OSR community?

Also, if the reason is that AD&D 1E has more complex and rigid rules, I don’t understand why OD&D and its retroclones, such as 7 Voyages of Zylarthen, Swords & Wizardry, Barrows & Borderlands, and White Box, are much less popular than B/X and Shadowdark.

I mean, they’re just as simple, but they offer much more depth when it comes to characters. The classes are separate from the races, and characters can progress to much higher levels.

Herein is presented a comprehensive treatise by Michael G. Darwin of singular consequence concerning the prognostication of cardiac arrest in patients undergoing biostasis. This document, while assuredly requiring further corroboration and independent validation, is, by every reasonable estimation, the most consummate, exhaustive, and magisterially executed work ever produced upon this subject in the annals of cryonics. It constitutes a painstaking compendium, collating with extraordinary diligence many dozens of scholarly papers of exceptional import and no ordinary scientific gravitas published throughout recent months, thereby furnishing an unrivalled synthesis of the extant literature.

This is, admittedly, a profoundly divisive and contentious subject; nevertheless, I remain resolutely opposed to maintaining patients in prolonged "stasis" after they have undergone nothing more than a straight freeze. It is, to many, including yourself—almost axiomatic that a straight freeze is preferable to nothing at all. I, however, am inwardly persuaded of precisely the contrary. Indeed, when the time comes for me to execute my contract, I shall stipulate in explicit and unequivocal terms that, should I receive nothing beyond a mere straight freeze, I desire my cryopreservation, or chemopreservation, to be relinquished altogether.

I remain profoundly, indeed almost ineffably, astonished by the multitude of cryonicists who appear to suppose that a body recovered several days after legal death, having remained in normothermic conditions throughout, might yet preserve vestiges of cellular architecture sufficient for the restoration of personal identity in any sense deserving the appellation of survival. Having perused, with meticulous assiduity, well over a hundred case reports, I found myself deeply disheartened to discover that the overwhelming majority of patients underwent little more than a simple freeze which, by every appearance, and, I submit, by any sober appraisal of the most pertinent empirical evidence presently accessible—has irretrievably obliterated the informational architecture of the neuronal tissue, extinguishing every rational prospect of survival.

The more attentively I contemplate the realities of our material world, the more firmly I become convinced that the ultimate success or failure of biostasis is, in truth, determined long before the terminal phase of profound cooling is ever initiated. The cerebral deprivation of dioxygen occasioned by ischemia, together with membranous ruptures and the heightened cytotoxicity engendered by the endogenous defensive mechanisms responding to cerebral inflammation, inflict by far the greatest devastation, at least in the incipient stages. The cessation of circulation itself already annihilates a considerable, if not the entirety, of the rational hope that an individual may ever be recovered. Reperfusion injury, moreover, may well constitute the most pernicious insult of all with respect to personal identity. The extensive corpus of scientific literature repeatedly documents the destruction of cerebral structures that are germane to the persistence of the self in every conceivable scientific and philosophical acceptation of that term.

Beyond approximately twenty-four hours, necrosis supervenes. The tissue putrefies; the information therein embodied dissipates and is irrecoverably effaced. It is under such circumstances that informational death manifests itself in a manner both manifest and absolute.

Yet a substantial proportion of Alcor patients have sustained degradations of precisely such magnitude, and the proportion is even greater among patients of the Cryonics Institute. I do not seek to indulge in defeatism; nevertheless, even were one to concede, for the sake of philosophical disputation, that the self might somehow remain recoverable following a straight freeze, a proposition of which I entertain doubts of the gravest conceivable order, the legitimacy of the patient's informed consent would remain profoundly questionable.

I advocate a conception of cryonics founded upon the principle of genuinely informed consent: a consent exercised by a sceptical patient fully apprised of the indispensable scientific, ethical, and philosophical considerations attendant upon the decision to embrace cryonics. Contrary to what many cryonicists appear disposed to believe, cryonics is neither devoid of danger nor exempt from risk. Those risks span an extensive gamut, encompassing economic uncertainties, bioethical dilemmas, and the manifold social hazards borne by the individual.

I remain considerably more sceptical than either Rob Freitas or Ralph Merkle regarding the eventual prospects for the resuscitation of both present and future cryopatients. Thermally induced fractures, histological disarray, and structural lacerations constitute obstacles of almost cyclopean magnitude standing athwart any conceivable prospect of successful revival, assuming such revival is achievable at all. Although we possess, in broad outline, some conception of the technological apparatus that such revival would necessitate, namely molecular nanotechnology—it ought not to be regarded as a deus ex machina, notwithstanding the sanguine confidence with which Merkle frequently presents it.

Accordingly, I do not believe that the practice of straight freezing represents, in any meaningful respect whatsoever, a favourable prospect for the patient. The Hippocratic Oath, the ancient cornerstone of medical ethics, enjoins physicians explicitly to refrain from inflicting harm upon those entrusted to their care. To impose such colossal injuries deliberately upon a patient under the persuasion that abandonment is never a rational alternative constitutes, in my estimation, an egregious form of harm within the sphere of experimental medicine, and ought never to be treated with levity or complacency.

Organizations therefore bear a solemn obligation to conduct themselves with complete candour concerning the services they offer their clientele. If they perform straight freezes forty per cent of the time whilst marketing vitrification as though it were invariably "ice-crystal free," then the consumer's capacity to render a genuinely informed decision, grounded upon sound, rigorous, and scientifically validated evidence, is rendered all the more gravely imperilled.

Greetings, this is Syd Lonreiro. Following our inaugural session of Expedition to the Barrier Peaks, the Player Characters and the Non-Player Character henchmen or reserve adventurers are, naturally, still situated within Bridge 1 of the cylindrical wreckage belonging to the spacecraft Warden, that section of the vessel which lies shattered amid the Barrier Peaks.

Whilst continuing my preparations, I commenced the laborious transcription, by my own hand, of the information into my native tongue, as well as the encounter statistics pertaining to each deck of the vessel, and I have been confronted by a difficulty. If the first level of the spacecraft is comparatively conventional, exceedingly quadrilinear and orthogonal, and therefore simple to render in description, it nevertheless remains a most toilsome undertaking to describe the subsequent decks and the two following inter-decks. For instance, the two interstitial decks, levels II and IV, relatively vacant despite containing two emblematic encounters, prove extraordinarily difficult to portray for a novice narrator who lacks the literary mastery and formidable prose of Ernest Gary Gygax.

Thus, I have begun attempting to devise a narrative methodology capable of rendering the cartography at least functionally comprehensible for the players, allowing them to find their way whilst simultaneously adding the atmosphere and sentiment of exploration and investigation inherent to this style of adventure, which constitutes the central pillar of this magnificent module.

Furthermore, my players are, on average, sixteen years of age, as am I. We are all French adolescents, and naturally they do not yet command the same Gygaxian and Lovecraftian lexicon with which I have gradually become acquainted since the age of twelve. Nevertheless, their vocabulary has begun to attain a certain refinement.

Adolescents or adults of the twenty-first century require the following information:

- “Does it continue northward?”

- “How many feet/metres?”

- “Is there a door?”

- “Is it a dead end?”

- “Where do I draw this?”

For this purpose I employ a TTRPG descriptive style centred upon exploration, divided into up to four layers. The first layer consists of the indispensable information required for mapping; the second concerns the form and arrangement; the third pertains to atmosphere. The fourth consists of optional details.

It might appear thus within some random science-fiction dungeon:

“The north-south corridor continues for fifteen metres; there is a door to the east from your present position within the passageway.”

“The door opens into a circular chamber of thirty metres in diameter.”

“Fine tubes descend from the ceiling; several metallic apparatuses, covered with gilded and argent plates, remain motionless and seem to have been lifeless for many centuries.”

“A sere odour of burnt metal yet lingers within the air.”

An adolescent or adult may simply sketch a circle by hand and add a few brief inscriptions, symbols, or drawings, thereby gaining the impression of exploring some strange futuristic science-fiction locale, whilst conjecturing that the tubes are severed cables and that the apparatuses are remnants of electronic machinery, perhaps dangerous in nature.

Let us return to Expedition to the Barrier Peaks, wherein the entirety of the dungeon is contained within a vast cylinder. Observing the vessel may prove strange and disorienting to describe when, for example, the adventurers arrive within a chamber of the third level situated upon the outer boundary of the cylinder’s wall and possessing considerable dimensions. You and your cartographer shall doubtless need to possess a command of geomorphological terminology, yet certain matters may be simplified.

For example:

“The portal grants entrance to a vast rotunda. The ceiling vanishes into tenebrous obscurity, upheld by a forest of metallic pillars arranged in concentric circles. To the north, the curved wall of the structure withdraws in a regular arc until disappearing beyond rectangular structures of recondite damage patterns, from which spring black tubes that gleam with abrupt arcs of blue electrical radiance.”

The purpose of such description is not merely to enumerate measurements, but to inspire the players’ imagination: to transform the act of mapping into a peregrination through an unknown and eldritch domain.

The narrator must therefore balance precision and wonder. A chamber is not merely a chamber; it is a concamerated space of forgotten function, a place where vestigial mechanisms whisper of a civilization now fallen into desuetude. A corridor is not merely a corridor; it may be an anfractuous passageway beneath umbrageous machinery, where susurrations of ancient systems create a miasmal atmosphere.

The explorer should perceive not only dimensions, but also the sensation of discovery: the numinous uncertainty of entering a forgotten vessel, the crepuscular mysteries of its silent halls, and the thaumaturgic impression that every object might conceal a secret.

In this manner, even young players may gradually acquire the vocabulary and instincts necessary to appreciate the grandeur of science-fiction exploration, the strange architecture of alien constructions, and the enduring spirit of adventure that defines this remarkable work.

Robert Kuntz has recently announced the upcoming publication of Kalibruhn, one of the most significant pieces of early Dungeons & Dragons development ever to be released by TSR.

While Gary Gygax was developing Greyhawk to run games for the Lake Geneva players, including Rob Kuntz, who sometimes adventured solo under Gary's direction. Rob was simultaneously creating the world of Kalibruhn for Gary Gygax to explore as a player. In its earliest form, Kalibruhn consisted primarily of the legendary mega-dungeon Castle El Raja Key.

The forthcoming publication of the world of Kalibruhn is an event of tremendous historical importance for the Dungeons & Dragons hobby.

Even more astonishing, RJK has announced that if the Kalibruhn release is as successful as he hopes, the complete Castle El Raja Key will be published as the next major release.

Je parle moi même en tant que personne neurotypique, je ne suis pas spécialement original ni intelligent et mon QI est inférieur à la moyenne.

Il m'est arrivé de rencontrer des personnes neuroatypiques souvent atteintes d'une forme d'autisme, penser que notre vie de neurotypique est simple, que nous n'avons pas de passions obsessionnelles très fortes, ou que les stimulus auditifs sont forcément faciles à supporter. J'ai eu des remarques comme quoi il est facile de se trouver l'âme sœur en étant "normal".

Tout ceci est faux j'ai des passions très fortes depuis ma tendre enfance. Je suis atteint d'hyper accousie, de photosensibilité et de migraines ce qui fait de ma résistance aux stimulus aussi difficile que celle des personnes autistes. De plus je suis un homme puceau et condamné à le rester, de je n'ai jamais eu de petit copain tout court.

Je ne dis pas que c'est le cas de tous les neurotypiques comme nous et je respecte profondément les neuroatypiques.

Mais s'il vous plaît j'aimerais que ceux d'entres vous qui pensent que nos vies sont simples et dépourvues de profondeur arrêtent de le penser.

I'm a man, and I feel really bad about it. Every hug I've ever received from friends throughout my life has been from women. Those hugs were nice and they lifted my spirits, but honestly, I really wish I could hug another man.

No man has ever hugged me, and whenever I've asked for a hug, they've always refused.