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Last week I was kicked off the table because I stormed out after being made to feel unwelcome and stupid and not listened to. It wasn’t cute. It happens.

What I’m most sad about is that my character is just in limbo now. He didn’t get to say goodbye. He won’t be just killed off.

He’s just a shadow.

The host/GM refused to let me send a little goodbye story I wrote, so I’m gonna post it here.

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Tavish opened his eyes and looked around his room in the Otari village. It was very early in the morning. He stayed still for a moment and listened to the breathing of his companions around him. Every now and then Zoro would let out a great snore that made the others stir, but no one moved. It had been an exhausting day as they fought their way deeper into the Gauntlight.

It had been harrowing. The dark corridors; locked door after locked door; not knowing if a being they found was a friend or, more often, a foe. Always going deeper and deeper underground, getting closer and closer to the source, closer and closer to Belcorra’s secret.

He sat up slowly in bed. Those stealth lessons he had been taking from Mitoh had started to pay off. He didn’t think anyone stirred. And if they did, he’d tell them to go back to sleep, that he was just going to the bathroom or some residual terror was coming back from the day.

He didn’t expect the life of a hero or an adventurer to include so much death, so much murder, so much abject destruction. He knew there would be battles, he wasn’t that naive. There were forces of good and creation in the world and there were forces of evil and destruction. He hoped that he had at least been putting some good into the world. But he wasn’t so sure anymore. It was starting to feel more like the influence of Belcorra was taking over the group.

He swung his feet out over the bed and found his boots. These boots had seen so much destruction. So much just murder for murder’s sake. How many times did he cast a spell at something in the dungeons because it was ugly or scary? How many times did he murder someone who just wanted to get home at the end of the day?

He tied up his boots nice and tight and grabbed his pack. He looked around at his companions and he found odd bits and bobs of his. Some of the faces were still strange to him. He had always been friendly but honestly couldn’t remember a conversation with many of them. Did he remember their names? When was the last time he had an actual conversation with Twink? Who even was Argot? Rhymar was the newest to the crew and things hadn’t gone well between them. But there was no time to dwell on that.

Zoro’s quiet but bullish nature was always a comfort. He was a steady rock of the group. Sure he was often distracted by something shiny, but he was always ready to hit back if one of his friends was down.

His favorite little mushroom, Morel, was the heart of this group. Constantly ready to defend and laugh at whatever stupid joke was said.

Bron was the bitchiest, but that worked so well for him. Tavish smiled as they called themselves the Backdoor Queens, always being at the back of a hall because they just did better from that vantage point, reveling in the work and vigor of their companions.

Mitoh was new, but was proving such a worthy ally. Swift and deft, they could move around and surprise you in the best ways … or the worst ways if he was helping you out.

Tavish had reached the door and felt a tiny tug on his pant leg. He readied the dragon claws, afraid that one of the newer companions was actually a spy. He turned around and saw no one there, just the sleeping crew. He looked down and saw that it was Bron’s raccoon familiar. He looked at home with big eyes. Tavish swung his pack around and found a morsel of dried food to give him. The raccoon was grateful and waddled away.

Tavish looked at his companions and pulled his cloak close around his shoulders. He was going to miss them, but they were going to be fine. There were so many of them now. Belcorra should worry.

This is not how he wanted to leave. He thought for sure that he would die, and he nearly had, before he just left, absconded in the middle of the night, but he knew no other way forward.

This isn’t a best friendship ending … but it’s loud and messy and upsetting.

It’s wild to tell someone that you don’t feel valued as a friend or a person and have them basically say “That’s not true” but then leave it at that.

Not going to fight for the friendship.

Just be told that my experience is wrong because that’s not theirs.

Working on another self-drafted commission project.

A dear friend and mentor asked me if I would make a sampler of the Cornish alphabet for them.

I did some research and found some symbols and images associated with Cornwall.

The first was this brooch found in Trewhiddle, Cornwall, from the 9th Century. Once I saw it I knew I had to try to recreate a part of it.

I think the likeness is very good. I’m excited to see this piece take shape.

The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with eager feet,

Until it joins some larger way

Where many paths and errands meet.

“These things happen,” she said.