Fiction: The Siege

How is it that I, Giancarlo, manage to find myself in the worst possible positions no matter where I am in the world, no matter what great powers are clashing? Perhaps it is sweet Fortuna who draws me there, that fickle bitch! Perhaps it is because I am like a crow, scenting the geysers of blood, the putrefaction of corpses, and the crisp smell of powder from across the world. However it may be, I found myself on the island of Corfu in July of the year 1716.

It was a hot July, and I had thought to find refuge amongst my fellow Venetians. As usual, I had spent all but a handful of ducats when my story begins and I was looking for work. I always seem to be looking for work, and it is the most brutal of work which presents itself. Over the past few years my countrymen saw their colonies in Byzantium being taken away from them by the Sultan of the Ottomans. Corinth, Navarino, all were lost one by one to the armies of the Turk. I suppose I had it coming to me, being so close to the enemy during such a vigorous war, but I was in desperate need of money and my relations on Corfu have always obliged.

Zaany Fiction: Journey to the Infinat

This here's a bit of fiction I wrote to help explain what the Orbidium of Zaan, that satirical setting I posted about yesterday, was like. It contains some strangeness and may not be suitable for all audiences, but if you can play D&D you can read this.

Habernath the Scutling

Olomeryn was always uncomfortable in Nibenlibe’s house. That he was her archrival was known all throughout Ugram, but elves do not take umbrage at dining with their foes. Nibenlibe was handsome enough in his way. He was lissome and languid, his flesh a pale blue-white that was aswirl with prickly tattoos. He was smiling, which Olomeryn found irksome. His lithe body was draped across a mound of pillows and his tunic was a silvery sheer. His fingers glimmered with rings. Olomeryn knew that each one was the symbol of a long-lasting pact with ancient powers and she bridled at the way they flashed when he moved his hands, each more obscenely arcane than the last.

The Free and the Dead

I've been discussing the merits of various roleplaying systems with my friends of late, particularly the two different styles of roleplaying that seem to predominate the market today. These are, to write it in a reductive shorthand, storytelling styles and gaming styles. Now, while I do believe that GNS theory has a lot to offer to the discussion, let's put it aside for this argument. We can pretend, you and I, that the words "story" and "game" have no weight or semantic baggage and evaluate them from first principles.

I would argue that one of the important elements that makes roleplaying games fun is surprise. Responding to surprise is a piece of the puzzle that is almost integral for me. If the game has no surprise, I don't see the point in playing it. If I have already plotted out every move like a master chess-player and nothing deviates from my plan, I am bored. Stillness, as they say, is death. Movement, strife, is life.