![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
morslaIt's almost over. I'm making a little progress - enough to see, now - but time is moving far faster than I'd like it to. This time last week, I organised a spur-of-the-moment dinner thingamajig. Right now, I'm considering hiding from all life until I finish writing.
The Thesisaurus is a large and unwieldy beast, and it's coming together in fragmented pieces. Much like excavating dinosaur bones, I keep coming across small pieces of work done throughout the year - I know they have something to do with the project, but I'm not sure where they fit in. Will I wire together the skeleton only to add in limbs that never existed? Guess I'll only know after the fact, when some smartass turns up in twenty years to say "Well, I disagree with all the previous work conducted in this field - and here's my proof."
In other news,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bishi_wannabe has started me thinking about stories of the Fae... two games ended on the weekend, and in a few weeks I'll be free enough to try filling the void that's crying out for new stories. Plus, I've been listening to lots of Talvin Singh, and thinking about madness in great detail ;) And I do like a setting that can stretch characters and players to breaking point...
A few of you have heard me raving about the Exalted: Fae book that's arriving by the end of the year... a setting where the fae are most certainly not all cheerful pooka and pretty pink fairies. The Raksha have dreamed themselves a physical form, and waded into creation trailing all the ravages of the Wyld in their wake.
The world is mutable, and the characters immortal. Close to the Imperial Mountain, creation is anchored firmly - but towards the fringes, the edges, the world is unravelling. Out in the madness, the Raksha rule - twisting their surroundings as they desire, to provide a beauty that appeals to their jaded tastes. Love and loss, grief and joy are as vivid as colour and sound - and woven with gossamer, they may be as solid as stone. Yet, infinite control over the changing tides of the Wyld is not enough. Stronger than chaos stands virtue, and on virtue the Wyld Host may feed.
Not all are ravening devourers, ravaging the solid lands until they pale and bleach of life. Many are artists, devising grand works spanning centuries and continents. They are utterly alien in their outlook, and the solid lands of creation are as a wound in the Wyld that will not heal. Into this world, a rare few travel - abandoning their palaces in Rakshastan to seek their destiny in creation.
I plan to run a game - a series of one-shots set in the Bordermarches, where the Wyld is surging into creation. To shamelessly borrow an idea from RPGnet, I'll be running a series of stories within a story - each session forming one tale, like the Arabian Nights. The characters are Raksha who have bound themselves to creation - not nearly so stagnant as the mortals within it, but they will likely never return to the true wyld. They have fixed some elements of their nature - abstract concepts, images, motifs - and these are as constant as the "personality" within.
The stories will be set around the world, and the appearence of the protagonists will change - but their abilities will not. In each Dream, a new story will be told, in a new location - from the coral atolls and endless ocean of the far West, to the glassy sand and burning sky of the South, to the frozen glaciers and howling winds of the farthest North. I'm planning four sessions to start with (Water, Fire, Wood and Air), but I can add extra one-shots when the idea takes me.
More details will have to wait until the book is released (mercifully, after I hand the thesis in) but that's my basic framework at the moment...
The Thesisaurus is a large and unwieldy beast, and it's coming together in fragmented pieces. Much like excavating dinosaur bones, I keep coming across small pieces of work done throughout the year - I know they have something to do with the project, but I'm not sure where they fit in. Will I wire together the skeleton only to add in limbs that never existed? Guess I'll only know after the fact, when some smartass turns up in twenty years to say "Well, I disagree with all the previous work conducted in this field - and here's my proof."
In other news,
bishi_wannabe has started me thinking about stories of the Fae... two games ended on the weekend, and in a few weeks I'll be free enough to try filling the void that's crying out for new stories. Plus, I've been listening to lots of Talvin Singh, and thinking about madness in great detail ;) And I do like a setting that can stretch characters and players to breaking point...A few of you have heard me raving about the Exalted: Fae book that's arriving by the end of the year... a setting where the fae are most certainly not all cheerful pooka and pretty pink fairies. The Raksha have dreamed themselves a physical form, and waded into creation trailing all the ravages of the Wyld in their wake.
The world is mutable, and the characters immortal. Close to the Imperial Mountain, creation is anchored firmly - but towards the fringes, the edges, the world is unravelling. Out in the madness, the Raksha rule - twisting their surroundings as they desire, to provide a beauty that appeals to their jaded tastes. Love and loss, grief and joy are as vivid as colour and sound - and woven with gossamer, they may be as solid as stone. Yet, infinite control over the changing tides of the Wyld is not enough. Stronger than chaos stands virtue, and on virtue the Wyld Host may feed.
Not all are ravening devourers, ravaging the solid lands until they pale and bleach of life. Many are artists, devising grand works spanning centuries and continents. They are utterly alien in their outlook, and the solid lands of creation are as a wound in the Wyld that will not heal. Into this world, a rare few travel - abandoning their palaces in Rakshastan to seek their destiny in creation.
I plan to run a game - a series of one-shots set in the Bordermarches, where the Wyld is surging into creation. To shamelessly borrow an idea from RPGnet, I'll be running a series of stories within a story - each session forming one tale, like the Arabian Nights. The characters are Raksha who have bound themselves to creation - not nearly so stagnant as the mortals within it, but they will likely never return to the true wyld. They have fixed some elements of their nature - abstract concepts, images, motifs - and these are as constant as the "personality" within.
The stories will be set around the world, and the appearence of the protagonists will change - but their abilities will not. In each Dream, a new story will be told, in a new location - from the coral atolls and endless ocean of the far West, to the glassy sand and burning sky of the South, to the frozen glaciers and howling winds of the farthest North. I'm planning four sessions to start with (Water, Fire, Wood and Air), but I can add extra one-shots when the idea takes me.
More details will have to wait until the book is released (mercifully, after I hand the thesis in) but that's my basic framework at the moment...
Talvin Singh - Soni
on his back he laid with his eyes to the sky
with his pain released from his earthly ties
from his children, cries, from the fear
and the cold in the world of lies
her tears came fast and her words came slow
life mirrorred by the tragic flow
in her pain she wept from day to day
in the haze of her love she would never obey
to put on her coat
she began to stray
in the pain of the sun and the heat of midday,
the blood ink in red, on the paper she penned
to the one she would never see, and then
with her veil pulled tight she crossed the bridge,
again, over the river of tears of what might been
like a distant dewah, on a lotus leaf
drowned as she was in the body of grief
and in the blood red dust the flame grew higher,
unbound by the rage of the funneral pyre
she uttered no breath, nor tear nor sigh
as the cresent moon rose into the sky.
on his back he laid with his eyes to the sky
with his pain released from his earthly ties
from his children, cries, from the fear
and the cold in the world of lies
her tears came fast and her words came slow
life mirrorred by the tragic flow
in her pain she wept from day to day
in the haze of her love she would never obey
to put on her coat
she began to stray
in the pain of the sun and the heat of midday,
the blood ink in red, on the paper she penned
to the one she would never see, and then
with her veil pulled tight she crossed the bridge,
again, over the river of tears of what might been
like a distant dewah, on a lotus leaf
drowned as she was in the body of grief
and in the blood red dust the flame grew higher,
unbound by the rage of the funneral pyre
she uttered no breath, nor tear nor sigh
as the cresent moon rose into the sky.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-10-19 09:50 am (UTC)*looks at [Unknown site tag]* 'Ello. I'm Suzie. I don't roleplay, but I do enjoy laughing at Simon when he gets attacked by his housemate's kitten.
wanna be friends, then?