Category: Livejournal

A few people have asked me about the song Marcus sang at the game this weekend.

It’s called “A Little Rain,” and it’s on the Tom Waits album “Bone Machine.”

Here are the lyrics.

Tonight, at 12:01 AM, friends of mine and I are going to see Return of the King in Santa Monica.

If you’d like to go with us, you can purchase tickets HERE

E-mail me or give me a call.

This will be the second time I see it.
It won’t be the last.

* * *

We were at a convention, John Zinser and I. Walking up to our hotel room, John says to me, “That girl. She’s cute. You two were really talking there for a while.”

“Yeah,” I told him, just a little nervous about where this conversation is going.

“You want me to get another room?” he asked me. And this is where Zinser and Matt Wilson were so different. Maybe someday, I’ll tell you all about that.

“No,” I told him. “I don’t think that’s necessary.” Of course, I didn’t tell him why.

“You sure?” he asked. “You two were sharing some long looks there.”

I couldn’t tell him why I said “No.” And it was completely against character. It wouldn’t be the first time we had this conversation, but it was the last. Because at that moment, I was with Jennifer — who was working in the office at the time, and Zinser had a strict policy about co-workers dating.

“I’m sure,” I told him. Besides, I wasn’t even sure if the girl would go for it. I mean, she was — wow. Just wow. Those big, brown eyes. That smile. And that voice, like smokey brandy.

“All right,” he said. Then, he asked. “What was her name again?”

“Ree,” I told him. Then, I added, “She said she wanted to do some writing for us.”

“Yeah,” he said, opening the hotel room door. “Her and everybody else.”

* * *

You were my first choice. My only choice. When it came time to choose someone to pick up Rokugan, I didn’t want anybody else. Zinser wanted to hire a professional, but I’d seen what the game industry called “professionals” and I was unimpressed.

I insisted. “It’s got to be Ree,” I told him.

He nodded. “It’s a good choice. Everybody thinks she’s a pseudonym. Your pseudonym.”

“That’s because most of the game industry is illiterate and only recognizes degrees of quality. Most stuff is shit. They get confused when they see something good.”

He nodded. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go with Ree.”

* * *

I felt like the captain from The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner, handing off the albatross. And you took it with a smile, unknowing of the weight that bird carried. I knew you were strong. Along with those eyes, and that smile, and that voice, I knew you were strong. That’s why I gave it to you. You’d fight for it. You’d fight tooth and nail.

I also felt like Willy Wanka, handing over the Factory to Charlie. I needed someone who loved it as much as I did. I couldn’t give it to a grown-up. A grown-up would ruin it. A place of wonder and marvels… and incredible responsibility. But, I knew your love would give you strength. I knew your wide-eyed wonder would keep you on the right path.

The story you told wasn’t the story I’d tell, but I didn’t want someone to come along and re-tell the Clan War. I wanted someone to tell their story.

But, pressures came to bear from two directions. There was Ryan — his hubris-soaked head filled with visions of self-delusion — and there were the fans — the unsilent minority who bitched and moaned about everything you did.

You fought. Tooth and nail. You were strong, no matter what came your way. I still remember walking by your office, hearing you shout into the phone…

“KACHIKO! DOES! NOT! STUTTER!

And at that moment, I knew I’d made the right choice. The only choice.

Living in Rokugan was rough. You survived, and you were stronger for it. I know what you went through. I was across the sea in Theah, fighting the same fight. The only difference was, you were fighting with Ryan, and I was fighting with Zinser.

I don’t know what happened with 7th Sea, but it killed whatever magic Jenny and I had. The divorce was a long time coming, and the seeds for it were planted there. You’ll always look back at L5R with pain. I’ll always look back at 7th Sea with the same pain. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to go back there… but, then again, I thought the same way about Rokugan. Until recently.

I won’t invite you again. You’ve said your peace and I respect that. I only hope that someday, you’ll be able to heal that wound, as I have. They say time heals all wounds. They’re wrong. It isn’t time alone. It’s distance, too. And friends to help carry you when you slip.

Jenny and I are still close. We still care about each other, but we’re not in love anymore. That last part hurts us both, but we’re still seeing each other on a regular basis. I’m going to have lunch with her this week. We’re talking about rebound relationships we’ve had. We laugh when we talk. It’s been so long since we laughed together. Time. And distance.

* * *

I’m glad I never had the chance to ask you up to that room. Instead of a brief bustle, we’ve built something… well, it’s certainly something, isn’t it? Our relationship is like a strange circle that keeps winding around.

I plan on making the best of our “brief eclipse.” And I hope, this time, it might last a little longer.

All my life’s a circle;
Sunrise and sundown;
Moon rolls thru the nighttime;
Till the daybreak comes around.

All my life’s a circle;
But I can’t tell you why;
Season’s spinning round again;
The years keep rollin’ by.

It seems like I’ve been here before;
I can’t remember when;
But I have this funny feeling;
That we’ll all be together again.
No straight lines make up my life;
And all my roads have bends;
There’s no clear-cut beginnings;
And so far no dead-ends.

I found you a thousand times;
I guess you done the same;
But then we lose each other;
It’s like a children’s game;

As I find you here again;
A thought runs through my mind;
Our love is like a circle;
Let’s go ’round one more time.

Friday First OWbN game. Marcus was in charge of Elysium (in his brother’s absence). The protection of Elysium had been extended to the Anarchs and Giovanni. Unfortunately, the Scourge had different ideas… The costuming was great. Here’s some examples of HOW great, including a nice shot of Marcus and his “daughter,” Grace, and the INCREDIBLE Nos Primogen, “Rhatt.”

 

CHAOS! FIGHTING! GUNFIRE! IN ELYSIUM! It was agreed by all involved that more drastic measures were required for the following evening. So, we made plans…

Saturday

After hitting the sack at 3 in the morning, we rose up at 9 and made our way back down to Gen-Con. savageplanet told us the con was all but dead. It was a typical LA convention turnout. His tale was confirmed by the fact that I walked right up to registration; there was no line.

Walking through the empty halls of the dealer’s room, I met up with Matt Forbeck (the nicest guy in the game industry), Louis Porter, Jr. (who was pimpin’ for Rpgnow in the most entertaining way), Mike Stack– I mean Pondsmith (damn it, sorry Mike!), Chris Pramas (who’s booth looks cooler every time I see him), Ken (Mr. GURPS) Hite, a whole slew of L5R fans (past and present), and a bunch of other people I just can’t remember at the moment. Sorry, guys. There was a ton of you. 🙂 latentblue joked about me really being famous. “Only in small circles, dear,” I assured her. I did not hit my 30 game goal, but I was only there for a day, really. I got to play Mr. Forbeck’s “Revenge of Dracula” game, the new Marvel CCG, and BREAK KEY!!! I also got to play Thomas Denmark’s VERY fun DUNGEONEER. Tom deserves all the success in the world with that one. Damn fine game, sir.

Looking at the timing of the Dracula game gave me a brilliant idea for CHILL 3e I’ll have to share with savageplanet and the boys.

On Saturday night, Part 2 of the OWbN game flared up. It was right next door to the 7th Sea LARP, which was kind of funny. As Marcus and his daughter Grace walked by, Marcus — with his famous voice — whispered to a group of them… “I’m sorry, but I think a sorte strega has wandered from your game to ours…” They all laughed, and latentblue said, “It’d be funnier if they knew who you were.”

“No,” Marcus told her. “It’s funnier that they don’t.”

Marcus and Johnny Silver (otherwise known as trekhead were part of an amazing discussion on art. Marcus sang. Silver understood. There was a moment. Bottom line on my buddy Jess: The shit he does is so subtle, it goes over most people’s heads. He doesn’t get enough props for the stuff he does. I lub him.

The Scourge continued to break Elysium, claiming he had the authority to do so from the Prince. Marcus said, “The Prince told me nothing of this, and I will maintain that it is untrue until the Prince himself tells me so.” The Scourge ignored that and continued to harass, threaten, and even harm Anarchs within Elysium.

Very slowly, very deliberately, Marcus threw down his hat… threw down his goggles… tore off his bandages… looked into the eyes of the Scourge and said:

“Bring it on.”

The throw-down began. Marcus’ nephew, Black Hat, was standing behind the Scourge with about eight heavy-hittin’ Anarchs who were just waiting for permission to hammer this guy. 

(Quick note: the Scourge is an NPC, played by a visiting player. He rocked. Scary guy. So, I didn’t feel so bad about going for his throat. I’d never do this with another PC. Never.)

The fight didn’t go well. The Scourge kept winning every test, and the tests he lost he re-tested to success. Re-test with Awe. Re-test with Luck. Re-test with Brawl. Re-test with Firearms. The bastard had everything on his side, and we just couldn’t make a dent in him.

Then, at the beginning of the second round, with all of our efforts smashed, little Grace hit him with Quell.

She threw paper and he threw scissors.

“Re-test with Animal Ken,” she said, her noob voice shaking, and we all hoped he wouldn’t be able to cancel. He couldn’t.

She got rock, he got scissors. The crowd cheered, and little latentblue, hiding under her Grace veil, smiled. We’d won our first test against the bastard Scourge.

“Re-test with Willpower,” the Scourge said. You could feel the enthusiasm sink to our feet. The test came. She got scissors, he got paper. Again, the crowd cheered and you could see her beam under that shroud.

“Re-test with Awe,” the Scourge said. Once again, the enthusiasm flowed like syrum in June. The test came. She got rock, he got scissors. Another cheer.

“Re-test with Luck,” the Scourge said. And for a fourth time, our hopes sank. Grace stood her ground, more confident now, but less hopeful. He threw rock and she threw paper. The cheer was so loud, the 7th Sea players were peeking out to look.

Then, with a voice of tiny confidence, Marcus’ little daughter asked, “Got anything else?”

The Scourge shook his head, a smile on his face. “Nope. That’s it.”

The crowd cheered and I was proud like a poppa should be.

Everything turned around then. The second round did not go well for the Scourge, and he tried to make a break for it. When he tried to run, a visiting Ravnos hit him with Horrid Reality. He made his test. A tie. Comparison of Traits… not enough for the Scourge. He crumpled into a mess of twitching, pathetic Ventrue knight.

More chaos. The Anarchs breaking into the Prince’s private winery. Marcus loses his temper and scares the hell out of people.

More chaos. The Ventrue claim the body of the Scourge, claiming the Prince should deal with the matter. Marcus loses his temper at the Senschal, scaring the hell out him.

Lots and lots of fun. And, at the end, I got a little statue. Or, I should say, Marcus got a little statue. It was very kind.

So much more happened, but I’m already boring you with gamer war stories, so I’ll move on.

I drove everybody home and we were lucky I didn’t drive us off the road. It take so much to play Marcus… and I’d done it two days straight for fourteen hours. But, he got to sing a song for his daughter, got to be scary, and I got to be half-asleep on the way home. latentblue had to finish off the drive so I could sleep in the backseat. I hit the bed, my head hit the pillow, and my mind hit dreamland like a brick dropped from fifty miles up.

Sunday

There was debate of going to Gen-Con, but in the end, it was a quiet day in front of the television, just resting. My voice was thrashed. The Scab came home and we watched the remainder of the fourth season Sopranos. Gangster crack at it’s finest. Made a late dinner, hit the bed again, and woke up this morning… and got myself a gun. Got myself a gun. Got myself a gun.

1) Paying car bill
2) Talking to ex-wife about rebounding
3) Chatting with about writing techniques
4) Talking on the cel-phone to car insurance people
5) Talking face-to-face to a co-worker about the pictures for a future Neopedia
6) Making Nosferatu plans with
7) Writing a short story for a friend
8) Thinking about Walker’s new Progeny
9) Planning on CHILL adventure I’m running tomorrow (and tomorrow and tomorrow)
10) Finishing up a Neopedia about the Negg Faerie

Yes, I multi-task.
How are you?

Beloved Gwyndd

The echoes of his footfalls sound like thunder, his cloak billowing around and behind him like a shadowy cloud. Servants stumble to get out of his way. Guards stand at attention as he moves by, their ebony armor gleaming in the red light the torches give. Torches lit with witchweed, burning bright as cherries in morning dew. The thick smell fills the corridors, keeping walkways clear of any enchantments or sorcery.

The servants have seen him this way before. He has said nothing for weeks. He barely sleeps. Eats only what he needs. Spends all his time in the library at the top of the Tower.

He continues down the hallways that spirals forever upward toward the top of the tower. There are no stairs, only the slight and sloping corridor, always reaching toward the sky.

Finally, he reaches a doorway, carved with runes older than the mountains. The wood is from a tree who wept when the axes came — axes of silver, cooled with blood. He puts his gloved hand on the door’s black wood and whispers words that make his tongue numb and his teeth cold. The whispers echo, the lock clicks, and the sorcerer sucks in the smoky air, letting the witchwood smoke seep into his lungs. Then, he passes through the doorway and closes it tight behind him.

The walls of the room seem to be made of bookshelves. The floor is cluttered with pages and bindings. The Seven Books of Hsan. The Ulvan Volume. The Book of Barbed Blessings. He steps by them all as they lay open, the pages marked, notes made on each page with his flowing hand.

On his desk, in the center of the room, is a letter wrapped in slick paper from the East that feels more like silk than parchment. He whispers another word to the seal and it burns with golden fire. He opens the letter, reads the words. As he does, they burn as well. When he reaches the end, the page melts between his fingers.

He sits still for a moment. Then, his smile slowly finds his lips.

He opens a drawer of his desk and finds more of that slick paper. The ink is next. A few well-chosen words, then the seal. He stands, his hand reaching a long silk cord. He pulls and a bell tolls deep within the Tower. Moments flitter by as he turns to another book: the newest addition to his collection.

“Sire?” a voice asks behind the door.

“You may enter,” he says.

The door opens and a black-clad woman enters, her hair the color of sunset, her skin the color of ash. She kneels, her scarlet hair falling over eyes as emerald as the Southern Seas.

“Make sure this note finds our Enemy,” he says, gesturing at the sealed and folded paper.

“I will.” She takes the letter into her hands and it is lost in the folds of her robes. “Anything else?”

He shakes his head. “That will be all.” A pause. “Although, when you return, there will be a reward.”

Her breath catches in her throat. “I will return with all due speed, my lord.”

He looks up from his book, his eyes gleaming in the cherry red light. “I do not doubt it.”

And with that, she is gone. And he returns to his book. His newest prize.

Thanks to for this one.

http://wickedthought.friendtest.com

Odin’s gonna have to wait a while.

Thank you for your kind thoughts. I passed them on. He thanks you, too.

My friend, on my birthday, I give you this gift.

Star Trek and the Drake Con all rolled up into one.

For you, my brudder.

(Who lubs ya, baby?)