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Grumblykins
grumblykins
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Just a little blurb I wrote tonight, after listening to music on the ride home.


Annabelle's blood is hot, wet, and everywhere.  It clouds my vision; my eyes can discern only viscera red; my skin can feel only the howling wind across my face.  Blinking away sweat and gore, I try to get my bearings, and ignore the feeling of the gun barrel at my back.
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Lately I've been having trouble getting into Madrigal headspace.  I've missed the, as Amos put it, "quaintness" of the older days; Grum misses them too, especially now with all this talk of the end of all things.  He and I have both clung to the ideal of, 'just being a guy' and it's made it really, really hard to progress into anything resembling character development.  But on the way home from the last event, it finally (finally!) occurred to my dumb ass how to get him (and me) moving again.

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So when I'm not subsisting on beer and my wife's sweet cooking, I live on stories.  It's time I read some more.  If you've never written one, give it a shot.  If it's been ages, pick up the pen again.  Doesn't have to be LARP related, but those are awesome too.

Get to it :)

For the fifteenth time in the last half an hour, Thousand Roads hit the forest floor, legs and arms akimbo.  Forlorn, forgotten, his staff rolled away into the undergrowth.  His opponent smiled, scarred face stretching into an even less appealing shape.
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Chases the Sunrise fidgeted nervously to herself in the corner, eying his approach.  For one master to lose control of his novices was one thing, and not uncommon; but for the same master to ask another's help in bringing them under control...well.  There was nothing in the old scrolls about that. Whatever the day held in store for her, if nothing else, was sure to be interesting.
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Another bomb goes off; smoke spills over the road, and the air is filled with shards of bone and rock.  The sky spins overhead.  Clutching my head in one hand, Frozen Smoke in the other, I stagger back from my opponent; he is equally unsteady, his clawed hands momentarily withdrawn back into his arms, the remaining skin covering his skull a rictus of pain and temporary rage.  A metal snake, my blade slides into his ribs, and up, up, forever up, spreading his dusty guts over the road.  My enemy receives no bow, no whispered prayer to find a better path upon The Wheel; there is no time.  The Shattered City brawls, kicking and screaming along this forest road, and there is no end to our enemies.
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Hey, so does anyone recall if the Monk skills originally allowed for one sword to be a monk-equivalent weapon?  I seem to recall that it used to be that way; now my Kensai/Samurai/Monk fit seems slightly derpy!  Hooray derpy fit!

Grumblykins

This was originally supposed to be a part of the Follingsworth background; it still is, but things didn't happen quite this way, turns out. :)  Still, worth a read, and the bits with Mark and Tristan are spot-on anyhow.

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I have Mirror Mirror floon and a desire to write about the event from TR's PoV, but I don't know what to write about.  Thoughts are welcome.

God damn it.  I had really hoped to have a terrible time at MM this weekend, because my dumb ass is PCing three larps, I really need to drop one and Mirror Mirror was gonna be easiest since I don't have a team.  But NO.  No.  I had to have a frigging awesome time and be jonesing for the next one.  THANKS, NPCs.

Highlights!  In no real order except what I jotted down on my arm at work today *cranes head*

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