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@asherrean
Guess this is to be expected
Thought I’d try and stick my head in an old haunt last night. Stormwind was deserted, the server was set to ‘Low’ population.
/who Stormwind had 3 people in it.... WrA, MoonGuard, Silver Hand, Emerald Dream... all queued.
It’s a pity how things shook out. That said it’s what I figured would happen, more or less. So what greener pastures has everyone moved on to these days?
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@cabalofbastards @asherrean
The Broken Heart Club was humming with anticipation. The doorman noticed more than a few of their younger regulars from the dance nights drift past him all abuzz. Word had spread that tonight’s performance was going to be a bit different from what the Kaldorie Songstress usually served up. For starters the full jazz band was already playing, and the normal grand piano swapped out for something a bit more compact and having an almost organ-ish sound (obviously of gnomeish design). The small dance floor was made larger by pushing back the tables near the front. So far no one was dancing though. Everyone seemed to be… waiting.
The hands of the clock had barely touched the top of the evening hour when the tone of the band changed, the clarinet breaking into an upbeat solo. That was all it took. Several scrambled to the dance floor not even noticing the draped figure step from the shadows just as the sax started in. She took her place on the small stage behind the mic. A snap of her fingers resounded like a gunshot, bringing all eyes to Peejee, her pink skin seeming to glow from around the shadow dark cloth draped around her like a robe. As the band joined in she swayed side to side, a playful smile on her lips as her blue glowing eyes skimmed the dancers before seeming to pick out a suited male still sitting at a table and pointed, her disapproving voice cutting through the air:
Hey, brother, what you thinking? Leave that old record spinning You feel the rhythm, going
Another snap of her fingers, and the whole club seemed to pulse slightly with the energy of the music, a couple jumping up to dance, others tapping their toes. The goblin and troll in the band called out:
(They call it lonely digging)
Purple lips curved into a grin as she continued, eyes now casting around the club:
Let’s end your time to lay low Your knees a-bending, so It’s time to get up and let go (You’re gonna come undone)
Peejee spied a female shyly dancing in her chair:
Hey, mama, how’s it going? Can’t see your body moving Don’t leave the party dying (They call it lonely digging)
Another wave of her hand, snap of her fingers; again the yearning to jump up and dance coursed through the club. The Songstress wasn’t asking.
Your booty shaking, you know Your head has no right to say no Tonight it’s ready, set, go
The music paused for a second. Peejee shifted as the music did, tossing back the dark cloak that vanished into the shadows to reveal her blazing bright blue and purple flapper dress. Rhinestones and sequence catching the light as her voice came out rapid and commanding:
Baby can you move it round the rhythm So we can get with ‘em To the ground and get us a rock and roll round Just a downtown body body coming with a super-hottie Let’s go, yes, no, hell no Baby can you move it round the rhythm 'Cause you know we’re living in the fast lane, speed up It ain’t no game, just turn up all the beams when I come up on the scene
As the trumpet cut in for the bridge Peejee grinned from ear to ear. She stepped back and started to dance, kicking her legs back in the Charlesten cow tail, swinging her arms. More people rose from their tables, grinning as they joined the dance floor.
Once more a hand snapped up to point at a male still stubbornly sitting at a table, music changing as Peejee started to sing.
Hey, brother, what you thinking? That good ol’ sound is ringing They don’t know what they’re missing (They call it lonely digging) Let’s end your time to lay low Your knees a-bending, so It’s time to get up and let go Hey, brother, nice and steady Put down your drink, you ready It’s hard when things get messy (They call it lonely digging) Your booty shaking, you know Your head has no right to say no Tonight it’s ready, set, go
A few more dance steps then Peejee reached out to grab the mic stand. As she started to rapidly sing again she threw it to the side, making like she would catch it with a hooked leg but the mic seemed to vanish. Her voice still carried through the club like nothing had changed though now she danced as she sung, swinging her arms, kicking her legs:
Baby can you move it round the rhythm So we can get with 'em To the ground and get us a rock and roll round Just a downtown body body coming with a super-hottie Let’s go, yes, no, hell no Baby can you move it round the rhythm 'Cause you know we’re living in the fast lane, speed up It ain’t no game, just turn up all the beams when I come up on the scene
As the note drifted off she jumped down to the dance floor, letting the band shift tone. They built in a slow crescendo while Peejee took turns with the dancers. Her infectious smile making them all feel the energy of the music. Then, just as the sax cut in and the music picked back up they all turned towards the bar and started to dance in sync. Swinging arms and kicking their legs as one, somehow each knowing exactly what moves to make at just the right time.
Then as Peejee’s voice cut through they all broke off, turning to each other and riding the energetic high.
Baby can you move it round the rhythm So we can get with 'em To the ground and get us a rock and roll round Just a downtown body body coming with a super-hottie Let’s go, yes, no, hell no Baby can you move it round the rhythm 'Cause you know we’re living in the fast lane, speed up It ain’t no game, just turn up all the beams when I come up on the scene
As the music started to fade off Peejee danced her way back to the stage and hopped upon it. Cheers resounded as the dancers finally slowed to a stop. The songstress turned to blow a kiss and wave at the patrons before gesturing to the band. While they took their bows Peejee slipped off the stage and faded back into the shadows.
After the last set Peejee found herself sitting on a rickety stool in the small closet-like dressing room backstage. She was in the middle of balancing a mirror with one hand while wiping off her stage makeup with the other when he found her. Ash softly closed the door behind him as he watched her work in silence. She waited for him to mention it. To tell her how imprudent she’d been. After what felt like an eternity of silence she put the mirror down and cast him a glance. It’d been their way for as long as they had known each other. A single look could contain an entire conversation. Trust with concern met willfulness with caution.
"You were amazing out there tonight.“ His voice was so soft she barely heard him.
She flashed him a brilliant smile, "Thanks for helping me make it happen. You put up with that 'infernal contraption’ quite well. I doubt anyone out there could tell you hated it.”
A simple shrug of his shoulders was his only reply.
Finished with removing her makeup, Peejee stood up and reached for the zipper along her back. A grin spread across her lips when she felt her hands gently brushed away. Fingertips grazed her skin as the zipper dragged down.
"Be careful, Peej. Talent like yours is liable to attract attention.“ She could see his reflection in the small mirror and knew what he meant. The people they worked for might want more than just her singing voice if they found out. Ash’s chess partner seemed to know who he was. Did they know about her?
Her eyes closed as she shivered, though from the touch or the thought she wasn’t sure.
The soft sound of the door closing was all that told her she was alone to wrestle with the answer.
All Games Must Come to an End
The game had progressed long enough for Mosur. They say the winner of a chess match will always be the player who makes the next to last mistake. Though dangerously close, neither had made that mistake yet and it was safe to read nearly six more moves in before they would be tested on their individual strategies again, at least as he read the board himself. Still, Mosur knew Asherrean had his job to do, and if he continued to distract him with a lengthy and unexplained game of chess he may be putting undue stress the man. When Asherrean arrived at The Heart it was quieter than normal, enough to make the old veteran suspicious. The barkeep was normally counting bottles at this time, clinking glasses or humming to himself. Maybe it was just a combination of his nerves and the past couple days wearing on his soul, but regardless he had to decide whether he could keep this up. Though he thought he knew his opponent’s name, the Cabal’s fourth member, he had yet to meet them throughout the chess game. He wondered if the invitation he’d set when he left his bill for the enforcer’s healing had been worth it. This feeling of unease started when the very first first move his opponent made came in the form of a letter left at his abode. His employers seemed to know more about him when they hired him, he’d learned. There was still something deeply unsettling about a note being quietly slipped under your door. After setting a few of his personal belongings in the locker he used in the back, he opened the door to the establishment’s main room. For a moment he wondered if The Heart was closed today–the lights over the bar were off. The curiosity was immediately based as he saw what sat in the middle of the floor. A chess board. Paranoia sank deep into each of the music man’s bones and he stood frozen with the door partially open. There didn’t seem to be anyone here, and one of the rafter spotlights had been manipulated to shine down directly above the table. Other than that, only the dim orange lights at the back of the stage cast any illumination in the room. It was curiosity more than anything that drew him into the room when he finally summoned the will to move. He heard no sound, and no figures that he could see stood in the dark, though that alone certainly didn’t guarantee his safety. As he approached the chess table he took little notice of it, beyond the fact it was not the game he was currently in the midst of playing. His eyes still trained on The Heart’s corners for movement. Still nothing presented itself, and he allowed himself to focus on the table. Before him sat an empty board save for four pieces, a black rook, two black knights, and a black queen. On the wood outside the table facing him were a pair of pawns. One black. One white. The childish symbolism wasn’t wasted on him, though the weight of the question seemingly posed to him left the piano man with questions of his own. There were no notes, no indication of what each piece represented, or what it all meant exactly for him. Time passed; minutes, or perhaps seconds… he wasn’t sure. Staring at both pawns, he eventually reached and lifted the white one. A beat passed and he laid it down upon the board, resting on its side. He then reached for the black pawn and did the same. Having made his decision, he moved quickly back to the staff entrance he’d come from. He felt a nagging voice and a chill up the back of his neck within the dark, empty room, wondering what would perhaps happen if he had made the wrong choice. He grabbed his things from his locker, scribbled something on his timesheet about sick time and left quicker than he’d arrived. There weren’t many people that knew the bar’s mirror was a two way glass. Mosur nodded to himself, impressed at the creativity of the answer. Nothing had even been spoken by either party, and it was entirely up for interpretation. “No one wants to be a pawn anyway.” Mosur said to himself as he stood. He tugged his vest, straightening it, and left the small viewing room to enter the basement and come up the stairs into the staff room. It was empty by this time and he saw the notice of sick leave. True or not, he deserved a pass this evening. Mosur opened Koth’s locker and placed a grey-stone bishop in the center. “Oh shit, now I have to find a replacement.” Mosur said in sudden realization. The Heart still had to open even if he’d convinced Hadeon to push the time back two hours this evening. “Oh I know…whats the name of that band Zaanthe loves…?”
Peejee and @asherrean at @crescent-ffxiv‘s Disco Club.
Love the edits I managed on this one.
He loved her of course, but better than that, he chose her day after day. Choice: That was the thing
Sherman Alexie
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Enter Stage Right
((Story: Start - Previous))
The sound of heels clacking on the floor filled the hallway to the loft. They paused. A jangling of keys. The door opening on squeaky hinges.
She slipped through the door, nearly losing her balance as she turned to lock it behind her. There was something on the floor. An envelope?
Peejee bent to scoop it up, examining the plain paper as she went through the hip check, foot kick, key twist, lock the door dance with practiced ease. Couldn’t have been the rent, they’d just paid it.
Tossing her keys and handbag on the small table, she pulled off her cloche hat, still eyeing the white object as if willing it to show it’s contents.
Maybe a new gig? Something steady maybe? Ash said he had a lead in his note. Speaking of Ash...
The kaldorie songstress turned her gaze round the small loft, looking for her partner. The smile crossed her lips without thought as she spotted him in his chair. She kicked her shoes off as she approached him, sliding a finger under the seal of the envelope. Every step she took made her smile fade a fraction. Something was wrong. It was in his posture, the way he clutched his hand… and he hadn’t once looked up to smile at her. His gaze was fixed firmly on… the chess board before him. Peejee came to a halt, sliding the paper from the envelope with curious dread creeping up from her stomach.
“Queen’s pawn to Queen’s pawn five,” She read aloud. Her eyes met his. A questioning eyebrow raised.
Nothing else was said as she crossed the few remaining steps to his side, sliding to sit on the arm of the chair. As he took the paper with one hand she reached for his other, eyeing the caked blood she was confident it wasn’t his. “I leave for a few days and you’re already getting into fights?” she jested, watching his reaction as stared at the note in his hand. “Take it that gig you mentioned just became.. complicated?”
His eyes lift to meet hers, hazarding a small smile, “Yeah, Peej. It got… complicated. They did not want a musician."
She glanced at the chessboard for a moment before reaching down to pluck the black pawn from before its’ queen, "Is this going to be a problem?”
He sighed as he studied the piece. His eyes lingering on the little white flecks in the black marble. "No… if he had answered with another gambit … perhaps…“
He reached for the board, grabbing the white and rose marbled pawn third from the left. When he released the pawn it had advanced next to the other. "Let us see if they accept or decline, eh?”
Peejee turned to lean her head into his, “Is the face of our opponent known or are you playing a ghost?”
“They were looking for a ‘Mosur’ and I was their… stand in? I do not know if he or she plays the other side or another.” He frowned at the board as he rested his head against hers. "If they accept the gambit, perhaps we should be more direct… if declined… “ He shrugs. "Than the game continues.”
She hummed, drumming her fingers on her thigh, “There’s a newsie down near the docks who’s proven useful before. I can have him drop your reply off the roundabout way if you wish.”
He nodded, plucking a pen from the desk and scrawled his reply on an unadorned piece of parchment. “May as well until we know the game better.” The missive is sealed and left on the table. He turned to Peejee, the earlier smile now reaching his eyes. "So… Tell me of your day?“
And so she did….
Later the next day a small, sealed white envelope makes it’s way across the city to the Broken Heart’s Club. A mess of tangled hands passing it along, one from the other until it ends up mixed in with the regular mail unseen.
Queen’s Bishop Pawn to Queen’s Bishop Pawn four.
@asherrean @mewkeere
Player Two
“Hey, he’s alive isn’t he!”
“Yeah. He is, no thanks to you and where the hell were you Mosur?”
“None of your damn business,” Mosur snapped back, he was feeling scrappy this evening.
“It is my business Mosur!” Hadeon roared and slammed a heavy fist against the top of his stained desk.
Mosur tsked through his teeth and turned to leave. He yanked the door open and jerked it shut behind him. The door shook with the force he slammed it with, but that was part of the reason they had such a thick door on the office. Mosur started down the stairs of the empty club quickly one hoof after the next. He tilted his head back and brushed his hair back down with his hand. He slowed to a stop at the bottom of the steps, the young janitor stood there. Silent a brief moment he grated her trying to keep the warry sound out of his voice. “All done Xere?” He turned and glanced up the stairs, Hadeon hadn’t followed him but he could hear the sounds of the bull’s fists against his desk again. “Don’t worry about the office.” Not that that was her job at all, Hadeon didn’t like people in his things. “Or the upstairs tonight.”
Xere nodded and flashed a smile. “Thank you, I need to see uncle Diyos home anyway.”
“Alright. Thanks, go on then.” He said still standing a bit stiff at the bottom of the steps. The club had been closed for a couple hours now and the tailor still sat at the bar nursing a mixture of drinks. He probably earned it Mosur thought. He glanced down at the grinning girl again, she was a good kid.
“Oh, before I go, here.” He extended the folded note and turned to skip off toward the bar once he took it.
Mosur raised his brow and opened the note.
Queen’s pawn to Queen’s pawn four. ~ Koth
“Hum.” He hummed his brow lowered and eyes narrowed. He folded the paper over and pocketed it beelining for the back door he shoved the push bar and stepped out into the back alley disappearing into the late evening again.
“Direct or indirect?” He muttered and pulled a gold out of his pocket. Flipping it as he walked he muttered aloud, “lions.” He watched it spin in the air glinting in light cast from the opposite end of the alley then caught it and flipped over onto the back of his hand. He tsked through his teeth again as he looked at the coin and it showed an old memorial. He thrust it in his pocket again and headed down to Crimson Inc.
He came just as quickly as he left, moving with an unnatural silence for his kind. A token he would have to pay for later. A sealed envelope found its way under the Piano man’s door.
Queens’s pawn to Queen’s pawn five.
No One Likes Losing
There were stories, tales where the antagonist changed their very way of being in the last chapter and did ’the right thing’ saving everyone. Why did people write stories like that? That’s not how the world worked, why did people cling to beliefs and hopes like that. It only hurt them in the end. Wasn’t I enough? Why would you do that? Why would you hurt me like that? Belief in stories like that is just one of the reasons betrayal hurt so much. People believed if they could show someone just how much they loved them or how much they cared for them…if they showed them just how good the world really was, that it would make them change. Bullshit, lies. The more time he spent getting to know Caelryn the more dangerous this friendship was becoming. Despite Koryander’s training he was still an amature fighter, and the possibility of a fight with the young pup wasn’t something he was looking forward to. If things turned out in the fashion he had prepared for her mood, the fight itself would swing one of two wild ways. Neither was desirable; unabashed anger, or crushing sadness. His main concern was that her moods would swing toward the violent side and he would have to defend himself. He could only hope his hand wouldn’t be forced, that would be unfortunate. But in the end he had made obligations, chosen his side of the board, he had his reasons though some would scoff at them. It had been a funny line of thought to hit on, fantasy, fairy tale endings. How in the end everything will be okay. Those was all lies we told ourselves and told each other, but maybe they were necessary in order to keep going. In situations like this where Sielic attempted to sow seeds of distrust throughout the Templars. You could attempt to fight him by not believing him. Sure. But Mosur was a firm believer that the truth was a better way to spread terror than lies, especially for someone like Sielic. If he was caught in even one lie, a blatant one not a technicality, then it would give the Templars free reign to disregard anything he did as a possible lie. It would be a lot more comforting for Templars to hear he had traitors in the wings and feel as though they could disregard his statement as just another lie. He believed Sielic though, Mosur knew there would be more to come, knew that there were those among Templars who had given their loyalty to him. The only question was how and when Sielic would begin again. He had made a good move. Templars either had to believe Sielic was lying and leave their backs open, or trust there were still traitors in the ranks and keep looking over their shoulders. It was an admirable play, and one of the reason’s Mosur had made the decision he did. Despite what one might think about his normal demeanor, Mosur did not like to lose.
Your move
(( ref: http://asherrean.tumblr.com/post/142808470418/piano-man by @mewkeere ))
Asherrean arrived home disheveled but whole. He sat before a chessboard in the loft he rented.
A solitary pawn plucked from before it’s mistress. The piece was held in a hand which had blood caked under the nails. This was a thing, he noted, that had not happened in some years. The grey haired man reflected on the night as his hands busied themselves with passing pawn back and forth.
A gig at the Broken Heart’s club down in the city. The trek into the backroom up the stairs.
“We didn’t just hire you for your music Asherrean”
A large man bleeding out on the table. So much blood…. so much wasted time.
They had tried. Oh, how they had tried. The gauze and towels thrown about the room, once pure, now sanguine; These were testament to their trials.
Bullet wounds are nasty things. There is no such thing as a ‘safe’ gun round, despite what the stories say. ‘Nothing vital has been hit’ was said. Yet still, three holes had bored through the man.
He had barked orders at those he did not know. Large men. Dangerous men. Those with an all too earthy scent about them. They balked, but they complied. The more battered of the two taking charge of the other; the one with a smith’s arms.
In the eventual still of the room, once the others had gone, he has called on his arts. Magics of a time he’d distanced himself from.
A subtle art compared to the sounds of the club below. Blueish white light suffused the room. The words he had chanted were an ironic soft staccato thing compared to the backdrop of such a lively and raucous swing piece echoing up the stairs.
Flesh was forced to knit together. Bone once cracked made to bind together once more. There was no gentle mothers touch in Asherrean’s work; no care to stifle the pain. With how the vessel he worked on jerked and twitched under his ministrations, it was just as well he was unconscious this evening.
The others returned as the body’s torso was being wrapped in gauze and bandage. He could not recall where he procured the linen from. It was cleaner than anything else in that place. Asherrean ignored them and their banter… or was it yelling as they set up their retrieved IV to replenish their comrade’s blood. He hadn’t a mind for it then and could not recall now.
Asherrean had left as the subject of his night’s work awoke with a broken scream. The others had been too tied up in their comrade to notice his passing.
A phrase had flashed through his mind as he left the club.
“We didn’t just hire you for your music Asherrean”
They had known. He had not spoken or practiced the art in at least six years. He had tried to leave that part of himself behind. But they had known.
Someone remembered and they knew.
It gave him pause as he made his escape. Pause enough to leave a message in the form of a ‘bill’ with the doorman.
Asherrean set the piece down as memory ran its course. The written bill, it’s meaning and message though cryptic still fresh in his mind.
“Queen’s pawn to Queen’s pawn four. ~ Koth”
Grey haired man looked at the board, wondering if it would be answered and how. The corner of his mouth tugged upwards at this thought and another. The songstress would be home soon. He wondered, as well, what she would make of the night’s events.
Piano Man
The back door clicked twice and opened in a flash slamming into the concrete bricks behind it. The clamor of heavy hooved steps didn’t draw much attention from the gathered crowd. They were having too much fun dancing, too much fun drinking. The man on stage, however, took notice as the collection of draenei shuffled up the stairs leaving the door to slam closed behind them. He hadn’t missed a note and as the office upstairs clicked closed he turned all his attention back to the keys that danced under his touch. He wasn’t alone on stage tonight, thought it wasn’t the company he would have chosen himself. It was one of those electric jazz bands the Broken Heart normally hosted, a new name, tonight was their trial run, they were supposed to start playing once they finished setting up. His song came to an end the sound of the keys dying to a cheer and scattered applause. A yellow glow of light from the office streamed down the stairs. Asherrean took notice because the piano was positioned to face that direction. “Hey, Piano, your sets over get up here!” Ash glanced up to see one of the owners, a dusky brown colored draenei with tattered cheeks and a look of murder, leaning out of the open office door. It wasn’t until he stood and offered the crowed another gracious bow of his head that the knight tucked back into the room. That wasn’t the guy who had hired him, while also an old knight the man who had hired him was more of a people person and looked to be in better shape. He heard the jazz band start up as he began ascending the wide stairs to the upper area normally off limits to anyone aside from the Heart’s staff. The sound of items falling or being thrown to the ground, the slam of a fist the stomp of a hoof. Something was going on in the office and Ash couldn’t decide if he really wanted to know or not. He paused to gather himself in front of the door then rapped his knuckled against the stained oak wood. “Get in here!” It was the same draenei from before, his voice harried. Ashe sucked his teeth and pushed the door open. The office floor was littered with papers and several baubles. Three draenei took up most of the office’s space, two deaders and a living one he had gathered was the group’s enforcer. Asherrean had removed himself from any such organizations a long time ago, but he wasn’t blind to what went on around him. The scene was quick to explain almost everything. The boys normally dressed in tailored suits, the more business minded one, the one who had hired him, Hadeon stood there with his jacket buttons undone, and Zrimgor had removed his altogether. Blue was smeared across his once white shirt, and the third, Zaanthe, lay across Hadeon’s now cleared desk with his shirt ripped open. “Where the hell is Mosur!” Zrimgor growled in frustration. “Calm down Zee, I don’t know.” Hadeon answered and turned at the torso to see Ash standing there. “Here, get over here and help,” he said with a quick tilt of his head. He looked from the horned draenei to the one laid on the table. Bullet wounds in his right shoulder, and one about his abdomen. A steady rise and fall of his chest indicated he was still alive. “Can’t take him to St. Maraad’s.” Hadeon spoke answering a question before Ash could ask it. “Why-What do you want me to do?” “We didn’t just hire you for your music Asherrean, now Zaanthe.”
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Guess who’s back…
Hrm? Someone returned? I wonder whom it could be. It is not Kaith, is it?
Typewriter Series #1379 by Tyler Knott Gregson
Come say hello @TylerKnott on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter!
A Keeper's journey through the world of Eorzea.
I’ve more or less stopped playing WoW all together. I’ve shifted anything RP related towards my FFXIV character’s tumblr as linked above.
Feel free to poke me if you see me in game.
#LIKE A TIRED MIDDLE AGED SUBURBAN DAD THAT HAS TO RAISE FIVE CHILDREN ON HIS OWN#AND LITERALLY NOTHING THEY SAY OR DO SURPRISES HIM ANYMORE HE IS JUST LIVING IN A CONSTANT STATE OF MILD ANNOYANCE AND DEEP RESIGNATION ( via hawkcawcaweye)
This so very much also describes the life of a moderator/admin on a roleplay community site (or any site for that matter).
Commission Information
I’d like to take a few commissions of this style of watercolor portrait, as I am in dire need of extra money at the moment.
$20 for just ink ($25 shipped.)
$30 for watercolor ($35 shipped.)
There will be a limit of 4 slots.
Payment by PayPal only, please email [email protected] if interested!
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Farewell Mr. Pratchett
((Not my work, borrowed from an old 4chan post) )
"I would like my pudding now nurse. And then I think I’d like to… write… something… I don’t remember what." Standing in the corner, he waits. The sand slowly flows, but it nears it’s end. The old man still glows, as thousands of threads spread away from him. SQUEAK. I AGREE. IT IS A SHAME TO SEE HIM THIS WAY. SQUEAK. NO. I DO NOT KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN…. BUT I CANNOT WAIT TO ASK HIM HOW IT ALL ENDS. The old man looks up, through them at first… and then he sees them. For once, the smile on the hooded figure’s skull is genuine. "I… I remember you. The anth… ant…" ANTHROPOMORPHIC PERSONIFICATION. "Yes, that. We knew each other?" ONCE. AND WILL AGAIN, SIR. He so rarely said it, and these feelings… remembering his young aprentice, and beloved daughter. The beautiful child they have. "There… is a girl, yes?" SHE IS SPEAKING TO THE AUDITORS, SIR. THEY ARE UNWILLING TO LISTEN. "Well then. You know what they say, two things you cannot avoid. Taxes and…" He looks into the firey blue eyes, and becomes aware. SQUEAK. "Quite right. Is it time already? I have so much left to do." YOU HAVE GIVEN ALL YOU CAN SIR. "No, not cancer. Alzheimers." I AM AWARE. "So, where is the boy? I remember a boy." CARRIAGE ACCIDENT. "Ahh. Never much trusted cars. Or horses." THEY GET YOU WHERE YOU WANT TO GO. "Must I?" SOON. BUT WE MAY SIT HERE AWHILE. SQUEAK DO YOU HAVE ANY BISCUITS? "No. Shame really." YES. "Is it truely turtles?" ALL THE WAY DOWN. I HAVE SEEN THEM. "Ahh. I would love to see it. Perhaps a small trip before?" IT WOULD BE MY PLEASURE. "The light is slower there… and there’s a monkey…." ORANGUTAN. SAME PRINCIPLE. "Yes… will they remember me?" SQUEAK. "What was that? I could not hear you." HE SAYS WE WILL, SIR. "I never much liked the trouble people had with you. You seem like a nice fellow." I HAVE MY DAYS. "Don’t we all?" SOME LESS THAN OTHERS. "Is it quick?" YES. AND I BROUGHT THE SWORD. CEREMONY DICTATES IT. "Ahh. How about a cup of tea?" I WOULD ENJOY IT. DO YOU PLAY CHESS? "No. how about checkers?" And so they sat, two old friends regaling each other, though the old man could not remember all of the details, the cloaked man and his rat filled him in, when it was needed.
Bleedover is something I've found that impacts both larp and online based roleplay. The Nordic Larp crew has always had some intetesting articles on gaming theory. This one, I feel, should be required reading for roleplayers of any sort.
