Back in February, I ran another Itras By scenario at the Tanelorn winter meeting. I gave a brief account of it in my Shortcuts report of that meeting, but I felt the urge to write an actual diary for the session, because it was lots of fun once more, and I have a feeling that the Itras By community out there might perhaps be interested.
Did I think it hurt when George ate my music box? Dios, Alcazár, how naïve can you be. But how should I have known. I’ve never had third degree burns. Until now.
Damn. I have to distract myself somehow. Have to try, at least.
Writer’s block. I can’t believe it. I’ve never had writer’s block in my life. Jamás. Niemals. Jamais. I know exactly what caused it, but that doesn’t make it any better, dammit. It’s George’s fault. And I can’t even actually be mad at the little burro, truth be told.
Of course it had to happen right at the point when Sheila or the publisher might approach me with requests for changes to Faerie Storm any day now. Ah, well, I wouldn’t have time for that right now, anyway.
But I have to write something. And if I can’t work because this damnable writer’s block won’t get out of my head, I’ll have to distract myself some other way. By writing my diary, for instance, which I’ve neglected for much too long anyway. And who knows, perhaps it’ll help; remove some mental boulders or something. Weiterlesen
Since 2010, we’ve been playing a campaign in Jim Butcher’s Dresdenverse using the Dresden Files RPG by Evil Hat Productions. We usually meet only every two or three months, but then play for an entire weekend (i.e. Saturday from about 3 p.m. till about 11 p.m. and Sunday from about 1 p.m. to 6 p.m. or so). Weiterlesen
I kind of hinted to the English-speaking „Itras By“ community on the Web that I might translate my diary for the „Itras By“ session which we played at the Tanelorn summer meeting at some point. This is that point. So if you have read the German version, you already know the below text. Weiterlesen
“I think I’ll call it a day”, Springthorpe announced. “Nothing new tonight anyway.” Nobody answered, which annoyed him. Peter Springthorpe was, as they say, going down on the fast track, or so it seemed to him, at least. He hadn’t been very successful recently, and he had a feeling that if he didn’t do something about it pretty soon, he wouldn’t be for some time in the future either. Weiterlesen
He lived. In a way this was the strangest thing of all. He had felt coming alive gradually, as a light, thin, slightly greasy substance had settled on his body. Had it been dust? No, too – well, humid. But not water either. It had been too dry for water. Anyway, there he was, with his newly found conscience, wondering what he was doing out in the cold at night looking at a semi-high wall and a little park beyond it. In front of the wall he saw a pair of railroad tracks leading to a tunnel somewhere to his left. No; he was in a city, he felt, so these had to be streetcar tracks. Weiterlesen