We are creatures.
So, the previous post still rings true, but also for the last week, I've been working on a Thing that pays Money, but required me to labor for 13ish hours a day, which left little time for blagging.
Also, I've become addicted to Sisters of Mercy. Pity me.
In RPG related bullshit:
The Burning Meadows campaign in which I was a player has wrapped up. This is probably the second or third time that I've actually seen a game all the way to its end. My character survived, as did his companion, the city was saved, and he became a landed knight-errant. Not an oxymoron. Shut up.
In my head, he marries the daughter of a hill tribe chieftain and they have children and adventures.
The scroll-wheel on my mouse just broke. Fuck.
Also, "blagging" is not a typo. Fuck you.
I've been drinking.
I will soon be running a game! *GASP*
This means I must begin Thinking, a dangerous prospect in any age. The players will be in that weird dimension-hopping setting I once described, so I must bend my mind's eye to the Land of Grot where they will begin their exercise in frustration and torment. Because RPG's are just like sex.