Wire Run - An Introduction to Clarion

Wire Run - An Introduction to Clarion

Clarion was always a main event at the Silver Rings. It was impossible not to be. So many were initially won over by her striking looks, her casual confidence, her daring clothing, and her mystery. And if they weren’t won over by that, they were won over after they watched her fight. Brutality was the currency of the Rings, and Clarion had that in spades. “Shadowrunner” They whispered to her ghost, but never to her. She was a kind of impervious down here.

The arena smelled of cheap soy beer, greasy food, and sweat. Stank of a kind of iron that was never cleaned, a musk of those who worked a grind beneath hope.

A swaggering Foreign-born Oni was her opponent tonight. Shipped in from Thailand somewhere, the 300kg musclebound brute was almost her height again taller. But smart, too. Smarter than her other opponents. He stood careful, easy, an appraising look. There was no leering male sneer, and he did not pander to the crowd. This Oni understood, if he was to be paid so much for this fight, there was a reason, and she was it.

Clarion warmed up, bouncing lightly in her boots, eyes laughing at the way jaws dropped open and drool spilled onto concrete. They wanted her, and could never touch her.

“Kāishǐ!” Roars the announcer, and lights dip low.

Life - Falling Out

Life - Falling Out

You asked me once. To not share my writing with you anymore. It was too heavy, it hurt too much. It was too emotional for you.

So I stopped.

I never mentioned my writing to you again.

But I did not cease.

Choice - Silent

Choice - Silent

Do me a favor.

When you see posts of people fighting against racism, calling out discrimination, or even just being brave, forthright and honest...

Don't be silent.

Tell them "I see you. I hear you. Thank you." Even DM them, if you don't feel you can post that publically.

Don't be silent.

We hear that silence.

I'm still hearing that silence, more than a week later.

I've been hearing that silence my entire life.

Life - Culture and Games

Life - Culture and Games

I've been thinking and writing a lot of late about the intersection of culture and games. It has been a lasting series of thoughts upon which I have many ideas.

I've been working on Wire Run, my latest universe on and off for years. This is our second foray into it for the RPG table. This 'campaign', I have been working on for about 6 months. During my time creating it the first time, I spent a lot of time building my own lore. Basically taking what was existing, and doing my best to both remove problematic parts of what I perceive as being at odds with a modern Sci-Fi, and also laying foundation work for a sandbox world to play in.

That first campaign was set in Vancouver, about 60 years into the future. It was easy. From a design perspective, it was a simple crutch. The players were familiar with the locations, if not the history. They understood the geography, the places, the people. They know what it means to live in a slum section on the lower East Side. They know what the travel time is between Downtown and North Van. They have a cultural appreciation for what it means to live in Surrey, vs Kits.

It was so easy.

Wire Run - An Introduction to Starburst

Wire Run - An Introduction to Starburst

Two claps. The Widow raises her hands and the room, boisterous and filled with clatter and laughter falls to stillness. Her voice calls out, “Granddaughter! I have a task for you!”

Eyes dart nervously around, hands drop to waists.

They don’t see her coming.

Starburst takes two quick steps, and she vaults the railing. She falls completely soundlessly. She lands less so. Her heavy boots crash right through the plastic gaming table, drinks fly, tiles clatter across the stone floor. The players wisely keep their expressions to surprise or shock, and not anger. One young ork gangster almost rises, a protest on his lips.

But the fingers of her left hand trail his jawline, almost unconsciously, and his eyes roll back in his head.

She walks the room, unmindful of the staring eyes on her form. Ascends the stairs, and pushes aside the beaded curtain, curious about these strangers. These newcomers.

About what they want.

And who they are.

West Marches - Home

West Marches - Home

Ceridwen pushes open the heavy oaken doors. Were they ever so heavy before? The rust on the hinges squeals, and the mildewed rugs and must of rain and fungus mixes with a strange nostalgic feeling. She can almost see Petyr, he bounces ahead of her, stumbles on a wrinkle in the carpets. But he’s not there.

Behind her, Oadira, Quiz and Veles step in, taking in the grand foyer.

Age has worn this patch of manor. The section of night sky is visible through the broken roof, and beneath their feet, vine and moss have begun to creep their way up. And they have enrobed the bodies of the fallen from that fell night long ago.

Ceridwen steps on the skull of one of the butchers, there is a dry leaf-like crunch. The corpse, long since turned to bone, crumbles beneath the papery weight of its own chainmail armor. She continues to step forward, unmindful.

Poetry - Promises

Poetry - Promises

Before Iron and Coal, the bonds of humans were made in Blood, in Morrow, and Truths. Promises made beneath stars that bore witness.

Now, beneath a soot marred sky, you have forgotten PURPOSE.