Starfinder Backstory – Enjee

She was born aboard the Hammer & Sickle, a dwarven mining ship. When the crew learned they had a third Skittermander aboard, one that was eating even more voraciously than the two they already dealt with, the parents were told that would not be tolerated. The assumption was that they would move on with the larvae… but true to Skittermander nature the larvae was left to its own devices, relocated to the human-run mining and recon ship Rock and a Hard Place, as the parents flew off – still committed to their tasks aboard the Hammer & Sickle, for the time being at least.

Aboard the new vessel, the ship’s Engineer, Ryley Taeon – a technically minded Korasha Lashunta, took a liking to the cute, and hungry, little thing – adopting it as a kind of mascot. The Human captain, William Brady, was much less enamoured of the critter, regularly referring to her as “That no-good Skitter!” Often the phrases things like ‘Get that no-good Skitter off my bridge,” or “What did that NG Skitter do now?” were commonly heard, until everyone on board began referring to her as simply “NG” or “Enjee”.

Eventually, with Enjee regularly retreating to areas the rest of the crew could not reach when she was trouble with the captain, they developed a small drone (Nanny Under Friendly Fire, NUFF) with a camera to track her. This would come to backfire on them.

Noticing the difference between the Lashunta and Human reactions to her presence, Enjee became interested in meeting new alien races, keeping a small scrapbook with pictures and bits of information about them, as well as their machines and cuisine when possible. Her many arms lead her to becoming a fine assistant to any mechanical repairs with a tool always at hand, and her small size was a boon in getting to the hard-to-reach places that would normally require major disassembly of key ship components. To that end, she figured out how to reprogram her nanny-drone to serve her own needs, after her regular combats with it didn’t seem to have much impact.

For years the crew, even the irritated captain, grew attached to their tiny technician, and eventually it was almost forgotten what “Enjee” stood for. When Ryley was offered a berth on another ship that was too good in pay and perks to pass up, the crew had Enjee fill the gap until they found a new Mechanic-minded type to join. Needless to say, nobody was ever the right fit for the close knit crew, since none of them were better than the Skittermander.

The little larvae was finally reaching Skittermander adulthood when things went awry. It had begun as a normal mission to check out an asteroid belt in deep space for ore. In the belt they found an abandoned ship, still attached to the largest of the rocks. This ship, with the IFF Aces Low, had no distress beacon – but also no signs of life aboard and did not respond to hails to clarify the claim. The prospect of the recon value of a visibly intact ship was far too tempting to pass up, so they docked with the derelict and prepared to board.

Enjee was taking care of some routine ship repairs aboard the Rock, waiting to be called out to head over to Aces Low and troubleshoot the dead ship’s systems once the rest of the crew had declared it clear. But time started dragging on with no call. No answer to her calls. Radio silence. A day passed in eerie silence.

All at once, the docking portal opened up and the Captain staggered back through, dragging the pilot behind him. Both were wounded, weak and sick, the pilot unable to even stand as she clutched the gash in her side. After she was tucked in her bunk and some quick computer commands were entered, the Captain tried to explain, stuttering and stammering, tripping over his own words as he spun the story of finding shards of valuable noqual, a starmetal that his computer said was highly demanded in certain trade circles. The crew split up to try to locate more piles of this strange substance, and that’s when the screaming started.

The first sign the captain had of something wrong was when he teamed up with the ship’s gunner, Howie, to search together for a bit, only to find a glorious complete mass of noqual, glimmering green like crystal in the dim beams of light. And inside the pod of starmetal, he could just see something moving. As they started to haul this massive motherload, it began cracking, with a blue clawed paw tearing out. The Captain shamefully admitted that while the Howie stayed behind, the ship’s leader ran and didn’t see what happened exactly. Instead he retreated back to the airlock to ensure the noqual they had collected so far had not been disturbed and to regroup with anyone else who might have also had unexplained encounters.

There was no one else there, but a hefty pile of noqual had started to form. After an hour of eerie silence, the Captain used the suit comms to try to reach Howie. No reply. Nothing from the pilot, Filippa, either. Something seemed to be blocking the comms on this ship, when even the science officer Dr. Kraft could not be raised. Unwilling to leave his crew behind, he transferred the norqual back to the Rock, equally unwilling to lose the profit it promised, and headed back to where his reliable gunner had been left.

By this point in the story, the Captain was clearly not aware of Enjee anymore. His eyes were distant, his breathing strained, as if he were reliving the events of the previous day.

Howie, space suit torn and helmet missing, seemed to be crouched in the corner of the room facing away from Captain Brady, scattered remains of noqual still taking up the center of the floor in the familiar pile of shards from other finds, instead of the mass they had seen before. In response to the Captain’s entry, though, Howie struggled to his feet, moving awkwardly as if unfamiliar with his own body. When he spun around, a long blue tongue, engorged and tentacle-like, lashed towards Brady. The details of the fight were glossed over, but while the zombie-version of Howie got some hits in, ultimately the Captain put him down for good.

In trying to return to his own ship after the encounter, Brady found his exit blocked by a blue creature, almost feline, with a mane of waving tentacles. His description was vague, voice tinged with horror at what he had seen. Once gain the Captain fled, frantically calling over the comms for anyone’s aid. Nothing but silence.

Dr. Kraft was found huddled in a storage closet, and nearly shot the Captain on entry. Something had fundamentally broken in the good doctor, as he muttered to himself endlessly and would not look directly at Brady. It seemed like Kraft was reading a scientific article stored in his brain, over and over, but all the captain could make out was phrases like “Void Death” and “Akata reproduction” on repeat. Taking the doctor by the arm, they started to make their way back towards the airlock, hoping the creature had moved on from their only path to home.

It had not gone far. From a side passage it leapt onto Kraft, but not without getting a good bite into the Captain first, and then Brady was hauled bodily into the nearby crew quarters from behind, as a wounded Filippa came to the rescue. While they could hear the screams, they remained in their barricaded room until the noises stopped. Thumps against the door eventually ceased.

Both of them felt exhausted, nauseous, and terrified. Filippa had been hurt from multiple encounters, and was getting worse quickly. It was agreed that they would trade off taking watches while the other slept, before starting the race back to the Rock. Brady took the first watch, but when he tried to wake his pilot, who barely stirred in response, it dawned on him that she was further gone and wouldn’t be watching anything for a while. With the doctor dead, there was no one to treat her. Despite feeling ill himself, he decided there was no choice but to try to make it back to the airlock with her in tow, and hope the creature, or creatures, were far enough away that they could make their getaway.

Luck, for once, was on their side. Very little details were given, but obviously that short dash with the barely conscious Filippa being hauled along resulted in a return to their ship. Needing medical aid, the Captain had turned on the SOS and detached from Aces Low.

Enjee offered to take over monitoring the bridge, so the Captain could get some much needed sleep. His pallor had gotten paler through the story, his body sagged in his seat, and he was obviously sweating. With no medical knowledge, all Enjee could recommend was rest.

NUFF was waiting outside the crew quarters for signs of anyone waking up as Enjee began solo piloting away from the cursed ship. Once they were limping out of the asteroid field, she began to grieve for her friends Kraft and Howie – lost to the void.

Things seemed safe for a day, though Filippa was getting worse, bedridden and thrashing through fever dreams. Captain Brady spent most his time watching her, not well himself. Internal ship comms restored function as they drifted towards the outskirts of the belt. Enjee kept checking to ensure the SOS was still broadcasting, in case they found someone to help as the hours stretched on. Enjee wasn’t comfortable with setting up Drift travel yet, but it didn’t look like Filippa would be returning to the bridge soon and Captain Brady was reluctant to leave her side.

A ship moved in to censor range with no IFF, but obviously a Vesk freighter, and Enjee amplified the SOS, waiting for them to come acknowledge and offer help. To Enjee’s view, they had to help – which is why she was so surprised as they came close enough to scan the Rock, and then vanished into the Drift themselves, without a single word of response to the calls for help.

The Captain has become less responsive as the day wore on, lost in his own thoughts. Unexpectedly, over the comm, came his voice simply saying “We lost her.” Through NUFF’s camera Enjee saw the Captain pull the sheet up over Filippa’s head. The Captain locked himself in his quarters and refused to respond to Enjee’s plea that he return to the bridge to program their Drift course.

Once again the proximity alerts showed a vessel approaching the belt, an identifier showing them as a vessel registered from Absalom Station called the Excelsior, but as before it left, this time diving into the asteroid field, without responding to Enjee’s increasingly desperate communication attempts, nor the standard ship’s SOS. It hurt to see so few willing to help, so finally Enjee buckled down and started to carefully plan a Drift course back to Absalom.

In Drift space, things became strange aboard the Rock and a Hard Place. As NUFF had not been given any orders since being told to watch Filippa, it remained hovering in the crew bunk area, camera trained on the sheet-covered figure. Captain Brady was still locked in his cabin, non-responsive to any communication. NUFF suddenly started blaring a warning to Enjee when the formerly-dead figure stirred and staggered out of the bunk – blue tentacle tongue waving threateningly. Remembering the threats described by Brady about Howie’s changes, Enjee retreated from the bridge to Engineering, where she felt most safe. The move was likely a life saving one, as it gave her access to the small conduits a larger creature could not enter. As formerly-Filippa entered the room, Enjee was able to duck and dodge her way free of the attacks and into a space even the pervasive tongue-tentacle could not reach.

Frantically Enjee tried to notify the Captain, but there was no response. Without being able to leave her little conduit, Enjee couldn’t drop out of their scheduled Drift course, and communication within Drift wasn’t possible, so the ship proceeded to fly on towards Absalom – unresponsive to the drama unfolding within.

Using NUFF, Enjee “followed” the husk that had been her pilot and friend as it prowled the corridors. She crawled deeper into the ship, unarmed but unharmed, unable to fight back or be reached by the attacker. Finally she recalled NUFF and curled up with her tiny drone to watch out, catching what sleep she could.

When she awoke, still in silence, the drone was sent on another expedition to find Captain Brady and demand help, to no avail. While the small Skittermander was sleeping the Captain, or what had been her Captain, had emerged from his quarters… changed as Filippa had been. Together the two formed a small hunting pack, seeking the life emanations they could not reach deep in the ship.

Two more days passed as the ship sped on, Enjee traveling through the small passages in an attempt to reach supplies, control of the ship, or safety, with limited results on any front. After her first foray into the crew’s kitchen, one of the creatures nearly snagged her. From that point forward she used NUFF as her eyes before she would venture out anywhere. She was able to use her limited access to the computer from her location to reprogram the Rock’s communication array, redirecting it’s input to her control rig tablet, giving her the power to call for help when they finally dropped out of Drift space. Control of the piloting had to be done from the bridge, and any attempt to access it was quickly met with interference from the hungry creatures.

A day before the scheduled arrival at Absalom, the first of the terrors began slowing down, and then encasing itself in green crystal, Enjee recognizing it as matching the norqual currently stored down in the hold. Slowly Enjee realized the “motherload” of norqual that Howie and the Captain had tried to haul back had been a pod holding one of these things, waiting to attack. And now her crew had become the horrible threat. This pod stood right near the airlock, waiting for anything to enter the ship and continue the disgusting cycle.

While hungry and distraught, she recorded a message to call for help as soon as she was out of Drift space, even if that happened while she was asleep – with warnings as best she could of what waited anyone boarding the ship. The second creature also formed a pod of its own, a green cocoon on the bridge, ensuring Enjee could not get to the controls without outside assistance, as she had no weapons in her hiding spaces and no confidence she could take on one, much less both, of these things.

Time ticked by, and though only one standard day passed it felt to the Skittermander as though it were weeks crawling by. NUFF would try to comfort her, as best it could, but Enjee felt hollow and bereaved by the loss of the crew she relied on. Worse, the attacks from what had been her friends felt like betrayal of the highest order. Left to dwell, nearly alone and utterly scared, she recorded message after message for the rescuers she hoped to find, telling them as much of the story as she knew. The unwillingness of the earlier ships to respond had her fears magnified that she would not be recovered  – that either it would be safer to destroy the ship as a whole or to leave her adrift until she became one of the horrors, lost in space with no sense of self left.

Exhaustion had set in again, and despite her efforts to fight it, Enjee was sound asleep when the ship reached the programmed destination and dropped back into normal space near Absalom. By the time she knew what was happening the comms were alight from Station Flight Control, demanding more information in response to her pre-recorded pleas.

As best she could Enjee answered the barrage of questions, gave as many warnings about what the creatures could and would do as the listeners would put up with, and pleaded for them to come take her away as soon as possible. She was afraid to leave her hiding places, despite being hungry and weary. It would take another two days for the station to find a pair of adventurers from the Starfinder Society willing to take up the assignment, but in the meantime the station had made efforts to keep the ship in isolation, as well as reach out to Enjee regularly with updates.

When the Starfinders arrived, it was with tremendous sound and fury, as they quickly dispatched the remaining two creatures – doing most of the damage before the terrors were even fully disengaged from their cocoons. The two heroes had brought along a camera drone that they posed for regularly, apparently a live feed back to the news crews back on Absalom, who had become very curious as soon as the ship was off limits. Most of the reward the Starfinders expected was in the form of marketing deals and exclusive footage sales – though they had been promised the two cocoons of norqual as well. Introducing themselves as Waite and Derby, the two humans attempted to interview Enjee on camera, though she still found it hard to come all the way out of her hiding place and they were forced to send the camera drone in to her to record her answers. Still feeling deeply unsettled, they assured her she would be able to leave the ship soon, so she gave them the best answers possible, never knowing that the recordings were streaming to the various entertainment and news networks of the station.

Returning to the station and finding herself a temporary celebrity was disconcerting. She was hailed as ‘The Skittermander Survivor’ and those same news networks reached out for more detailed personal interviews. She turned them all down, was connected to a small Skittermander community on board Absalom, and began speaking regularly with a counselor until the fifteen minutes of fame blew over. As quickly as the attention had built, focus turned elsewhere and Enjee became just another mechanic for hire, with NUFF still in tow.

The ship’s existing cargo, including the recovered norqual from Aces Low, as well as the ship itself, were decided to be property of the young Skittermander – though the station did extract a recovery and rescue fee from those profits. Never wanting to board Rock and a Hard Place again, Enjee quickly found a buyer that was entranced by the newly infamous nature of the ship – rumors abound that it was haunted or cursed, and yet that drove up the price instead of down. This funded her living and adventures, as well as her therapy sessions, at the station for over a year, by which point she had decided that station life was too land-locked for her, and she needed to be out amongst the stars again, meeting a better breed of alien life than the Akatas that had left a nasty mark on her mind. In defiance of the things she’d seen, she presented an upbeat front to the world.

Her next gig would be aboard the Vigilant with the Captain Nathaniel Wingate, where she elected not to provide the details of her former ship-life, instead relying on the reputation she had built over the last year on the station and a demonstrated knowledge of ships. It seemed to work, since Wingate took a chance on the seemingly chipper Skittermander.

The Sound of Silence

Things get busy, and you miss a post or two.

You had one in mind, but you were waiting for some pictures that took overly long, you planned to write about big events like your cruise but it got away from you, and sometimes ideas or words just wouldn’t come. But after a while, you realize how long it’s been.

With that, you suddenly have to explain, but there’s no good explanation for the silence. Moreover, what you do finally post has to be worthy of that silence, but nothing you’ve written lately is. And once you start again, you can’t go back to the silence.

So you wait a bit longer, and the black hole grows, the shadow gets longer and darker, which means the explanation has to be still better, the post has to be that much stronger, and the commitment to avoiding future gaps will be more robust. And it just can’t.

So here we are.

Yes, friends, it’s been a quiet time, but I have nothing to explain, I have no fantastic writings to stand up for the quiet, and no promises that it won’t happen again. That’s life.

Welcome back.

Good bye (for now) Beard Bros

Back in about February of this year, my friend Karl mentioned that a local game store (Beard Bros) was having board game nights every Wednesday and I might like to drop by. Advantage for him, the store was walking distance from his home (a long walk, but for someone who doesn’t drive walking distance is a pretty good range!) and only a short drive for me.

And it was FUN! Getting to hang out, talk gaming, play games, every week… well, I started doing work-from-home days on Wednesdays so that I could fulfill my gaming need without stressing over traffic or struggling to get to the game store in a timely manner. That turned into a weekly KBBQ for Karl and I, time to catch up, vent about our week, and get our meat-food cravings satisfied! Followed by, of course, game night. My copy of Red Dragon Inn actually got PLAYED – since I was always having trouble getting coworkers to make time for it. Recently we added a Korean fried chicken dinner as a variation to our KBBQ tradition, and started the Pathfinder 2.0 playtest (https://paizo.com/pathfinderplaytest) on Wednesday evenings. It was great.

I started coming down other days, sometimes even my Saturday nights, to hang out and talk everything gaming, I even started to get back into Warmahordes (Warmachine/Hordes – the miniatures games) and mini-painting.

But all good things, as they say…

The owner of the store became not just a source for gaming good times, but a friend. However the store ran into some rough spots, and so he is having to close the doors as of the end of this month. It’s still his goal to run an area game store, so while it may be a while before a new opening I fully expect that some day Beard Bros game store will live again!

So let’s pour one out for the homies, and see how we can keep my Wednesdays as a great release valve for work/life balance!

To Beard Bros. *clink*

Annual Costuming Conundrum

I haven’t worked on anything special for Halloween. But that doesn’t make me bereft of costuming, not by a long shot.

So, I have a classic Halloween party on the Saturday before Halloween, a Witches Brunch the day after that party, the day of Halloween is a work from home/game store day, and then the Saturday after Halloween is a Day of the Dead/Halloween party.

Witches Brunch is easy – I have a wonderful maxi wrap dress from Elhoffer Design in Slytherin green and silver and a black and green sequined witch hat. Especially since I will probably be wiped out from the party the night before (and likely well into the morning of) the brunch, this should be easy to assemble. In a perfect world I would use some of the beautiful nail wraps I have in Slytherin house colors, but wraps tend to be worn for weeks, so one day is a bit much to theme around with so much else going on.

The Bombshells Catwoman is likely coming out for the pre-Halloween party, because I want an excuse to wear it and it’s a short enough skirt I can never wear it to work. Yes, the sunglasses are going to be difficult at night, but I’ll figure something out. Must iron the dress. Gloves mean nail wraps are not a concern.

So that’s two, of the four. This week I’m going to Disneyland, so I will be BB-8 bounding once more (as seen for my birthday a couple years back) 

That means my nails may be orange or white this week – and that could easily last through the rest of the month… provided that color works with everything else?

So now it’s game store consideration. Bombshells Catwoman again? Mara Jade with wig is a bit much for just going to the game store. My other Elhoffer midi wrap dress for a more casual witch – in my true house Ravenclaw blue accents? Easy, quick, comfy, cute… heavily winning in my estimation so far.

Finally, the Day of the Dead party – I have NO IDEA what to wear. More Bombshells? I do love that dress after all! I’ve never made it to this particular friend’s party – not sure how much of it is just late Halloween and how much is actually focused on Day of the Dead. This is the group doing the Witches Brunch, so no Slytherin, but I could Ravenclaw?

So I guess I have more of it planned out than I thought, without any more indulgent purchases!

Pen to Paper in Stormy Brain Weather

When I’m manic, writing is a blessing. My thoughts flow faster than my fingers, so I can use that to slow the brain-loops down as I record the stream of crazy. Sure, it needs editing later, but it gets words on paper. Ideas jump on top of each other to be represented and heard.

Depression is a blinking cursor on a mountain of white empty space.

Mocking.

Later, I’ll do it later.

Later never comes.

The ideas are there, but none of them have enough value.

Why bother.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink…

 

WonderCon 2019 – planning in progress

“WonderCon isn’t until March, why are you planning your costumes already?” Well, because I’m planning my Halloween 2019 costume already, and if I finish it early enough I’m wearing it to WonderCon. Duh.

“Wait, Halloween next year? It’s not even Halloween 2018 yet, why are you planning 2019 already?” So I can wear it to WonderCon? Kidding!

Mostly because I plan to join friends at Disneyland for a group costume spectacular in late September of next year, which means putting down dibs on my character to avoid overlap. The theme is Jedi/Sith crossovers with Disney characters… in my case I already own a purple lightsaber so I’m going with the Cheshire Jedi!

This harkens back to my pin trading days, where my screen name was “Cheshire Nomi” – Cheshire being the obvious Cheshire Cat that I collected pins of and Nomi being a reference to my common screen name Nomi Jade, a Star Wars fanfic character/nickname I had developed in High School and still use extensively to this day. Nomi was referential to Nomi Sunrider, a Jedi from the ancient Sith Wars. So Cheshire Nomi clearly ties quite cleanly to a pink and purple grinning Jedi, right?

The basic Jedi layering works well with alternating pink and purple layers to evoke the feel of stripes. But nobody makes Jedi tunics in pink or purple currently, so this is either a custom order from some Etsy vendor… or a sewing project!

Normally a sewing project involves showing up on my Mom’s doorstep with pictures and relying on her amazing needlework, but this is a straightforward enough project that my ambitious self is willing to, with extensive help of course, spend some of my holiday break this year… sewing! Well, botching attempt after attempt, but maybe coming out with something wearable in the end.

Because this is utterly non-approved colors by Rebel Legion or other official standards, I get to go off the reservation with style, as well. Part of me has considered a Satele Shan-esque look, or at least a sleveless Jedi tunic.

In a perfect world, I will acquire some pink and purple fur to back a set of fingerless gloves and make leg warmers to go over purple boots, then if I’m really crafty some fur-backed cat ears to clip to my head. Maybe a pink and purple wig?

Purse gets tricky, no ideas yet. What day to wear it at WonderCon is also a bit tricky – though having a wig makes it almost a guaranteed Saturday outfit, since that’s the day I have the room the whole time for retreating and re-adjustment.

Crowded Cranium – Character Creation

New characters – new names – new backstories.

I’ve been playing the same characters in our every-other-Sunday game for 14 years. Sure, we’ve paused for a few interlude games, but over all my effort has been focused on these three – Flynn, Ivonna, and Ciara. Last year I took a background I had been playing with in my head (and on paper) to join a Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition game, but since the game is mostly combat focused, the back story doesn’t really matter, it’s more a test for how the character plays in those situations.

That means I haven’t put the major thinking into a new fully fleshed out and ready to play character in some time.

Then we start moving towards a point where Flynn may retire as a character. So I start writing up Wren, the Cygnaran noble writer. Doing a lot of research since I have not played a Cygnaran, a noble, nor a writer (Bard without music? Vigilante? Other?) in this setting before.

While that’s still bouncing around, I join a casual Saturday night game themed around the ‘Welcome to Nightvale‘ podcast – but given a fantasy setting twist. So I take advantage of the unusual setting to play a race I’d never have access to otherwise – a Sylph (descendant of an air elemental in Pathfinder’s setting). To add to the wispy aloof nature, I make her an Inquisitor of the church. In writing out backstory I played with trying a very different ‘voice’ and since I’m not quite happy with it, the story continues to ricochet around in my mind.

To add to the madness, a friend invited me to join an In Nomine game on a live stream – you can actually watch the first game on September 16th at Back In The Deck’s Twitch when we kick off the campaign! So in letting concepts kick around, I generated a more modern take on the role an Ofanim (the messengers of Heaven, who have a true form that manifests as a wheel of fire) might adopt in a vessel form – the restless energy in the form of an Uber driver, working for Yves, Archangel of destiny – as she tries to encourage people to get to their true destiny, while driving them to their actual destination. But that’s another being who needs to be given some depth occupying the corners of my crowded skull.

When you’ve played a character for a long time, it gets easier to slip into their skin, you know their quirks and issues. A new character takes a great deal more concentration as you learn who they are and how they tick. I can honestly say a few times my own characters have surprised me with the people they actually are once put into play. Balancing three at once is a feeling that borders on disassociative personalities populating my madness muddled mind.

Whew!

Costuming Procrastination

So I am going to Labyrinth Masquerade Ball for the first time EVER this year! (This is a thing I have wanted to do for many years)

This ball can be attended in formal wear and a mask, but costumes are distinctly encouraged, and they more elaborate or absurd, the better! So even though it’s my first year, I decided to put SOMETHING special together. The trouble is finances – I have a relatively short time frame, limited crafting ability, and not a big budget.

So with a little brainstorming I decided to convert an existing dress:

Image may contain: Willow M Hawker

Into an Orca!

Image result for orca

Okay, yes, it’s a little weird. So am I. I had planned to document my crafting efforts (dorsal fin, blow hole hair style, mask modification) here… you may have noticed there have been no ACTUAL posts of this.

That’s because I’m being lazy. Work is stressful, lots of gaming outside work is happening, and so crafting just… isn’t. I have the mask I need to modify (black mask, turning the eye hole rims white), I have the blue hair lights (yes, you heard me – hair lights), I know what fin I want to order to recolor and change the straps on, but none of this is actually, you know, going forward.

I haven’t even taken the dress to the dry cleaners.

I have two weeks. This has to happen.

Oh no, I just thought about the fact that I need to work on makeup, too!

 

Traditions

Rosencrantz: Heads.
(He picks it up and puts it in his money bag. The process is repeated.)
Heads.
(Again.)
Rosencrantz: Heads.
(Again.)
Heads.
(Again.)
Heads.
Guildenstern (flipping a coin): There is an art to the building up of suspense.
Rosencrantz: Heads.
Guildenstern (flipping another): Though it can be done by luck alone.
Rosencrantz: Heads.
Guildenstern: If that’s the word I’m after.
Rosencrantz (raises his head at Guildenstern): Seventy-six love

What in the world am I on about today?

Every year a group of friends selects a Saturday night in late July to mid August to have a birthday party for the Zodiac Leos in the related circles of friends that intersect there. Aptly named, it is the Leo Party. It’s been running annually for twenty two years.

For fourteen of those years my every-other-Sunday tabletop group has been running a game set in the Iron Kingdoms/Warmachine universe.

While the latter group is (mostly) members of the former circles, the overlap is not perfect and the larger circles are not cognizant of the dates the latter group meets. In planning the schedule of the latter gaming group is not an element to map for.

This means that every year there is a 50/50 chance that the Leo Party will be followed by a game day.

For fourteen years, every Leo Party has been followed by an IK game.

Without fail.

Heads.

Serious Steel

A year ago I came across a writing prompt on Reddit:

“You’re at the largest Renaissance festival in the US when the zombie apocalypse starts.”

The song ‘Serious Steel‘ by Leslie Fish came to mind immediately, as did my experiences at Faire, so as a quick writing practice I came up with something I’m still a bit fond of…

“Damn, the Celts are looking more hung over than usual,” Sam muttered, hefting his pike as he headed out onto the field. Sure enough, the usually energetic band of opponents to the English in their daily battle pageant were groaning and dragging themselves onto the field.

“Sam, I don’t think they’re hung over…” Chuck said from behind him. In his real day job Chuck was a nurse at the local hospital, but at Faire he was called Charles and he wielded his bastard sword with ease in defense of Queen and Country. “They don’t look healthy at all, and I think they’re chanting something like, well, did Liam just say ‘Brains’?”

Instead of an organized charge onto the field, the camp of Celts oozed men and women out in drips and drabs without their weapons or armor as expected, all of them groaning and staggering towards the pikemen, at first accompanied by a rousing cheer from the audience – which quickly turned to mutters, confusion, and finally a single high pitched scream as one woman noticed Liam’s lack of a left arm, just a dry stump where ragged flesh hung.

But without hesitation the captain called the charge, Sam found himself joining the ranks marching forward, and while his stomach did flip-flops he realized the battle was no pretend-play this time. He felt the weapon make contact with flesh and he pushed on, digging it into the torso of the friend he’d drank with over many an evening. It was the beginning of the end, but his instincts lead him to try to protect the people who watched that day.

The next few hours were a blur. He’d taken up the sword after his pike had been shattered. Many of his friends were dead, and the barber surgeon was forced to play his part for real, bandaging as best he could and making the call when a soul was lost, with Chuck’s help. Decapitation was the order of the day, it was the only way to be sure, and it made everyone sick.

The hair braiding booth became an orphan-care, watching the children that had lost their parents or those whose parents were busy with other activities like manning the pyre, which had once been the site of the Maypole. It seems that after the initial push there had been a lull, but cell phones weren’t getting any signal, and anyone who had been sent away from the park had yet to return or send word back that anything was accessible. Many of the guests had fled, and the Faire workers were trying to keep a sense of calm for the rest. The food court was handing out meals sparingly, not sure how long they were going to make the supplies hold out. Strangely enough, the actress that had been playing the Queen was a great source of leadership – finding those who needed things to do and giving them tasks, providing comfort where she could, organizing the able bodies into turning the former Faire site into a camp for an unknown amount of time.

Sam was recruited for the defensive patrols of the perimeter, and as the sun sets on the world he knew as well as the day of horror, a determination to help see this isolated band organize, survive, and flourish began to spread through him. The blacksmith’s hammer could be heard ringing out, as more blades were prepared for those to be trained. The weavers were ready to make the garb into more practical clothes. Even the military camp was having councils of war. Who else, he reasoned, was more equipped to be ready for the end of the world?