Divine vs Vile

I finally started the Talislanta campaign. Everyone seemed to enjoy it; no one looked bored at any rate. I felt like I could’ve done better but, I am pretty sure that that is more a reaction of nerves than anything else. At least, I didn’t kill any of the PCs right off the bat. (Although it got a bit iffy there for a moment — Who knew swarming scorpions could get that deadly!) I keep forgetting just how lethal the setting is. And just how truly squishy the characters are. Oh, well. They didn’t die. 🙂
I am looking forward to the time when they run into the other stuff/bad guys that I have planned.

I’d originally written this particular campaign for DnD 2nd edit (for Land of Fate/Al Quadim) Which should give most gamers a pretty good idea of how long it took me to work up my nerves to actually *run* a game like this. Converting it to the Talislanta milieu was a stone *bitch*. Every-freaking-thing in Tal is either purple, green, lizard, amphibious – or some odd combo of all. So I am taking your basic Ali Babba (or Alladin, if you prefer) story backdrop and trying to make it fit into the exotica that is Tal. Can we say “glutton for punishment”? I knew that you could!

When J was doing the GM bit for us he always signed his notes to the players as “Thy Vile GM”. Michael has dubbed me the “Divine GM”. Of course, he is already threatening to take the title away. Sheesh! Eighteen hundred scorpions sure puts a dent in someone’s humor.

*****More Gnus From The Writing Front****

J and I have been batting around the idea of publishing – or rather, trying to publish – the stories of the games he has run/been in for the past twelve years. The characters are all very well developed and not simple PC munchkins. But, the whole idea of trying to go through TSR/Wizards of the Coast and get this done gives me the shivering dreads. Further, we have built whole new dimensions, with new worlds, peoples, flora and fauna. I for one, don’t want to simply hand that off.
Web publishing has been suggested. **shrug** I don’t know. It certainly has to be a modicum easier than trying to get a big name company to allow us to use their settings – or for me to completely write anew all the different worlds, etc. that this game has been set in.
I guess its all just fear again. If I have the excuse of a huge corporation red-taping us into a corner then I don’t actually have to let random strangers read my work. Despite appearances to the contrary, I am actually a fairly introverted/shy person. (‘a delicate flow-wah!’)
I’ve considered putting some of the story here in LJ. I could get random opinions – and its for free. I’m still debating though.


Nostalgia and Cheese, Nostalgia and Cheese! (isn’t there a punk song with those lyrics?)

Coffee and memories. What a sneezy, nostalgic way to spend the morning. Thanks chasingrabbits, for the idea btw.

I found my own box of old letters. There are letters from people that I love intensely that I haven’t seen in years in it. I’d thought that feeling fades after awhile and that you get used to not seeing or hearing from them (whether its because you lost touch or they did). But that’s wrong. What you get is scar tissue -easily broken and only faintly covered in dust. All it takes is to read a letter from that person – in their hand – detailing some trivial bit of life. And *wham* all those portals are blown open. Memories, good and bad come crowding back into your brain. Gee, whiz! We haven’t been here in awhile! Let’s party!! We were away but now we’ll be taking up most of your attention. Hurts, doesn’t it?

Brian, standing up in the movie theatre yelling at the dumb blonde on the screen. “What’s out there? It’s the Evil fucking Dead, ya idjit! Dinchoo read the fucking script?”

Derek and I kissing, his parents 10 scant feet away behind a partially closed door. Hearts racing, fear in drops all over our faces.

Missy, showing up at school with the mohawk. A 6 foot Nordic goddess with spikes,safety pins and diamonds. And later crying in the girl’s bathroom because someone had made fun of her.

Me, in boot camp opening the care package from Brian. He’s sent four pounds of Oreo cookies and tapes of the punk rock that I loved.

Excerpt from the letter that accompanied *that* box.
“you never told me what tape to buy with your 10 dollars. Could I buy a stiletto instead? Please

From Derek, “…I spend everyday in a melancholy haze, remembering the curve of your body in the way that a child runs his tongue over the hole left by a recently removed tooth; or a veteran grabs for a falling object with a limb that’s no longer there…”

A lot of those letters are from when I was in Boot Camp. They detail the thoughts and feelings of people that I had left behind. I had run away from everything. I was so overwhelmed that summer by college, Derek, friends, parents. Everyone seemed to want something from me. And I wasn’t sure that I could give it. And so I rabbited.
I think that act, more than anything is what set off a whole snow-bally happenstance chain of events that wound up with me here and now. I am not complaining. I *like* my here and now. But, sometimes I am curious about those un-taken paths.