#he may be ancient but when he dusts the cobwebs off those cracking bones of his peepaw has moves!!!!!

[merakiui]

thinking many thoughts about introducing the trio to ddr. i just know azul would be seething with bitterness because he would try to impress you with a difficulty that is above beginner/basic because obviously he’s much better than that! only to fail abysmally and the twins are crying with laughter because azul is so genuinely speechless he’s sputtering. they’re all equally terrible at it, but floyd has the most fun with failing because he likes the pretty arrows and the upbeat music and it doesn’t matter how many times he messes up he just likes dancing. jade’s technique is so stiff; he doesn’t even try to loosen up and he just accepts that not everyone is going to be good right away, especially when you’ve only had your human legs for a few years.

[thenightling]

Pumpkin Spice (A very short Sandman fan fiction)

A very short Sandman fan fiction for @sorry-for-the-chocolate

                                              Pumpkin Spice    

 The bride walked down the aisle.  It was a beautiful wedding in a grand cathedral, an ancient one she had only seen in movies and books.  She didn’t question how she could possibly afford this.  It didn’t matter.   It was perfect.   Everyone was here.   Her mother, her high school math teacher, Wonder Woman, and even Robert Smith from The Cure. At least…  He looked like Robert Smith. She made a note to talk to him later.

 She carried her bouquet of live lobsters (which smelt like roses) toward the room. He was so handsome there.  Was she marrying Tom Hiddleston or Loki?   The hair style screamed Loki of the Marvel Cinematic Universe but he didn’t feel like Loki.        

             The man in front of them was a vicor from a famous fantasy movie.  She recognized the dialogue.  “Mawiage is what bwings us here twogether twoday.  Do woo take this…”

           The panic was washing over her.

           “Love,” Tom Hiddleston asked her gently, “Are you all right?” with his famous concern and politeness.

           “I- I need to get out of here!”

           Poor Tom Hiddleston-Loki looked so confused.  He didn’t understand her fear of commitment.   Even if he was the most gorgeous man she could think of.      

             She nearly stumbled over her own long wedding dress.  She lifted the heavy skirts to keep from stumbling and she pulled free from Tom’s gentle grasp.  She ran down the aisle and toward the great big glass doors.   She was now no longer in the ancient, Gothic cathedral but instead in a bustling shopping mall, the way they had been when she was a teenager in the mid-90s.   Oh, there was Swam Goody!  She missed Sam Goody. She bought the Lost Boys soundtrack there.   It was the first album she ever owned on CD…

             She had no time to shop though.  The wedding party was chasing her.  They had torches and pitchforks like in an old monster movie. And they were coming for her.  She ran through the crowds, dodging old school friends and then she realized she had run so far she was no longer in the 1990s shopping mall but was now in an early 2000s high school.    It smelt of pencils and chalk and cleaning chemicals.  Those odors would forever give her anxiety.

             Marnie woke with a gasp.  She was in her own bed in her apartment.   She looked to the nightstand.   The pumpkin spice latte she had before bed must have caused those strange dreams.   Yes, that’s what it was… Pumpkin Spice…

              In the castle of The Lord of Dreams Morpheus was not pleased…

He sat on his Nightmare throne, an ornate and Gothic thing with wax-dripping candles mounted upon it.   His raven, Matthew, was perched behind him.  The throne was comfortable, with a blue cushion seat and most of it was dark wood. A set of small stairs lead up to the throne and those steps were fringed with small spiders and a plain pumpkin or two.   Cobwebs also decorated the throne to add to the decidedly Gothic ambiance.  

             “Mervyn?” Morpheus said firmly, his improbably thin, bone-white, hands resting on the arms of the throne.  Morpheus was a very thin figure that looked more emaciated than imposing.  He had wild, dark hair that was almost feathery. His eyes were black as midnight skies with a tiny star-like pupil in each one.  He wore dark yet elegant robes.”

                  The creature before Morpheus looked nervous. He was a jack-o-lantern headed scarecrow figure in green corduroy overalls.  He wore a bow tie and a white shirt.  His body was constructed from pumpkin vines.  The jack-o-lantern face looked worried. And he fidgeted.  “Yeah, boss?’

             “I explicitly told you she was to dream of her wedding in Notre Dame Cathedral. She was to carry a bouquet of white gardenia flowers.”

“Yeah. Got a perfect Dream Hiddles and dusted off Lynda Carter for ya too.  Just like you asked.”

“I did not mention the cast.  I was talking about the cathedral itself.”

“Yeah, that was the cathedral, all right.  Got it right down to the stainglass an-“

           “Why was there a shopping mall?”

           “Uh….  Well, you never asked me to install external Paris.  I had to improvise.  And the mall was the only set readily available…   I didn’t know she was gonna skip out.”

           “I see.  And the school corridor?”

           “Uh…. Well, you see, you gave me so much work these last few weeks that I…” the pumpkin was being sheepish.

           “That you, what, Mervyn?”

           “I…Uh… Never finished the mall.   So I transitioned it into a left over school set…”

           Morpheus sighed.  “You did not give Notre Dame an exterior even though you knew it might be necessary so you compensated with an unfinished mall and compensated with that using an American High school.”

           “Yeah…  When you put it like that…”  Mervyn Pumpkinhead was rubbing the back of his neck.

                       Morpheus put a hand to his temples. “I expect you to complete the dreams as I request them, Mervyn.”

           “Yeah, boss… Sorry boss.”

           “I am not sure why I tolerate  your foolishness, Mervyn.”

           “Well, I think you maybe sorta like me. Hehe.”

           Morpheus lowered his hand to glare at the Pumpkinheaded servant.

           “He’s got a point.” The raven said abruptly, as if to remind all present that he could talk.

           “You know how everyone says you have no sense of humor?” The raven continued.

           “Everyone says that?” Morpheus asked warily.

           “Yeah…  Anyway, I think you HAVE to have a sense of humor.  You created him after all!”  The raven gestured with his wing toward Mervyn.

           Morpheus raised his eyebrows.

             Mervyn gained some confidence and spoke up.  “Let me quote or ..er… paraphrase Jeff Dunham for ya, boss.”

           “Who?”

           “A comedian.”

           “Ah, yes.” Though Morpheus didn’t really sound like he knew who he was talking about.

           “Merv, don’t.”  Matthew The Raven warned.

           “Relax.  I’m not going to quote his bit directly, just paraphrasing a little.  It’s not copyright infringement!  Also what’s he gonna do?   Sue The Dreaming?  Anyway, Boss… You don’t do crack, right?”

           Morpheus, blinked, not quite understanding the reference and then realized it was some sort of narcotic.  “No, you know me better than that.”

           “Ugh.” The raven sighed.

           “You don’t do crack.  Okay. Do you do heroine?”

           “No, though that one is derived from a flower many associate with me.”

           “Yeah, yeah.  Save the botany class for later.  You’re spoiling the bit.”

           Morpheus looked irritated.

           “You don’t do crack, you don’t do heroine. Do you do pot?”

           Morpheus looked confused again but answered simply.  “No.”

           “Do you do LSD?”

           “What?  No.”

           “You don’t do pot, you don’t do crack, you don’t do Heroine, and you don’t do LSD?”

           “I do not need, nor do I take, any mind altering substances, Mervyn.”

           “Then how the Hell did you create me?!”

           For a moment both the Pumpkinheaded servant and the raven were worried their master might be infuriated by the joke.  

           Morpheus made a waving gesture with his hand. “You may go now, Mervyn.”

           “Never can take a joke.” The jack-o-lantern headed servant grumbled as he sulked away.

           As soon as Mervyn was gone the raven fluttered down to get closer to Morpheus. “Why DID you create him anyway?”

             Morpheus did not answer though should you, dear reader, find yourself dreaming of an apple orchard that suddenly turns into Disney World, or an unusually warm snowy landscape, or a beach off the coast of Mount Everest or perhaps a forest in your laundry room, you will know precisely who to thank.

 The End

[doycetopia]

Ravenloft Ironsworn, part 13, Dinner with the Baron

Dinner with the Baron

Okay, here we go with the next part of the Delve.

In the Delve rules, I’m categorizing Castle Ravenloft as an Ancient (Theme) Stronghold (Domain). Before I progress, I check the oracle for that theme and domain and see that I’m progressing toward a “Large Hall.” Cool, that tells me where to go, in general, based on what GM-me knows of the place.

Brigitte looks around the chapel. Two of the smaller side archways seem to lead into alcoves that (she guesses) either dead end or lead into stairwells – probably up the dark balcony overlooking the chapel itself.

The main double doors are what draw her attention.

“These should lead us back toward the central portion of the castle,” she says.

“You say that like it’s a good thing,” Ismark says, though he helps her pull the doors open.

Mark progress. Okay. Looking around at the other options non the table tells me that this is fairly middling result – nothing particularly good or bad. Fair enough. How do I see envision the next section?

In my case, the Delve the Depths move tells me sort of where I should end up, and from there I’m using some of the “Oracle” of the Ravenloft module to get me there.

The double doors open into a long hallway: dusty, long unused, and lined with statues whose eyes seem to follow us as we move past them.

The doors at the western end of the hall are bound in heavy bronze, but aren’t blocked or locked. We swing them open and move into the great entry hall of the castle.

Cobwebs hang from dust-covered columns that line this hall, illuminated by lit (?!?) torches fluttering in sconces. The dust and webs cast strange, moving shadows across the faces of stone gargoyles squatting atop the columns, all around the rim of the domed ceiling of the room. The cracked and faded ceiling frescoes are largely impossible to make out after what may be centuries of neglect. To the north, a broad staircase climbs into darkness.

Sad and majestic organ tones float from a lit hallway to the south.

Okay. Lots to process here. Double doors to the west probably lead to the entryway of the castle. Fine. The stairs seem broad enough to be meant for “public” traffic, so that’s probably going to take us to some kind of big receiving space or a grand hall or dining room or … something.

South is tricky, because on the one hand, it’s lit and more welcoming and generally seems ‘interesting’ because there’s music coming from that direction, but on the other hand there’s the thing where it seems like we were expected and that whole direction seems to scream “COME CHECK THIS OUT IT IS WHERE YOU ARE MEANT TO GO.”

By the same token, I do NOT want to hang around this room, because those gargoyles make me REALLY NERVOUS.

So. Yeah, I’m heading for the trap. Let’s follow the music. I’m not burning all my momentum just for a Weak hit, so I’ll take the miss and Reveal a Danger.

I can work with that.

Torchlight flutters against the walls of this vaulted hall. To the east, a dark and forbidding hallway runs into darkness. Beside that opening, a suit of armor, oiled and glistening, stands on display in a shallow alcove – the first thing we’ve seen not covered in dust. To the west, large double doors hang slightly open, a steady bright light escaping through the opening. Swells of organ music come from behind the doors, spilling a melody of power and defeat into the hall.

I’m definitely going to check out the slightly open doorway, and I want to be sneaky, which (like my last Delve the Depths) is based on Shadow, which so far as been a total disaster for me. But nevertheless… Okay, I’m taking this as a Weak hit, in which I am “delayed or lose advantage (-1 momentum).” I think falling for this lure means I’ve somewhat dropped into the channel Strahd has set for his visitors. Here’s what we see through the crack in the door.

This is a magnificent 40-foot-square room, brilliantly lit by three massive crystal chandeliers. Pillars of stone stand against dull white marble walls, supporting the ceiling. In the center of the room, a long, heavy table stands covered with a fine white satin cloth. The table is laden with delectable foods of every type: roasted beast basted in a savory sauce, roots and herbs of every taste, and sweet fruits and vegetables. Places are set for four (one at the head of the table) with fine delicate china and silver. At each place there is a crystal goblet filled with an amber liquid. At the center of the far west wall, between floor-to-ceiling length mirrors, stands a massive organ. Its pipes blare out a thunderous melody of greatness and despair. Seated before the keys, its back toward you, a caped figure pounds the keys in raptured ecstasy.

Slowly, the music winds down and the caped figure turns on the stool before the organ to face the door, seeming to look directly at us. I hear Ireena suck in a sharp breath.

Now, I’m a genre and rpg nerd, so there’s a great big Vampire Lore clue in this scene, but when I ran it with my daughter, she totally missed it because she didn’t KNOW it – so I’m introducing it as one of those “weird vampire things that may or may not be common knowledge,” and seeing if Brigitte catches it. I’m doing this as a Gather Information.

My kingdom for a Strong Hit.

Okay, weak hit, the information complicates the quest or introduces a new danger. +1 momentum.

The figure at the organ raises a graceful hand. “Please. Be welcome in my home. Come in. Dine.”

Ireena trembles at my side, but I barely notice – what has my attention is the fact that Strahd can be seen in the mirrors on either side of the organ. Everything the farwardens have ever been told about these fell creatures of the night say that should not be the case.

“It’s some kind of illusion,” I whisper. “A vampire casts no reflection.” I indicate the mirrors, through the cracked doors.

“Please,” alleged ‘Strahd’ says, “come out of the shadows and into the light. Let me see you.”

“Illusion it may be,” Ismark whispers back. “But it’s no mindless thing – it knows we are not yet in the room… or whatever controls it does.”

It’s not a comforting thought, but I feel Ireena calm herself somewhat, realizing she is not facing the monster of Barovia directly. I turn to her. “It is nothing, see? Only a trick. A puppet show.”

It is not Ireena who replies, but the figure of Strahd. “A puppet show? Oh, delightful!” And it laughs: long and loud and mocking, and then vanishes.

The moment the figure disappears, a fierce, bone-chilling wind roars through the halls, blowing out all torches and candles. We hear the screech of ancient hinges and the solid thud of heavy doors slamming shut, one after another, off into the distance; a portcullis clangs down in the middle distance and, ponderously the tired groan of the aged drawbridge pulling up.

Crystal sings in the darkness of the dining room as the great chandeliers rustle in the sudden wind. The fragrance of food wafts its way through the darkened hall.

“I think we may have offended our host,” Ismark mutters. “We should move.”

“One moment,” I say, shoving doors open, much to my companion’s surprise. Ismark manages one aggrieved “hssssst!” as I stride into the now dark room, following my nose and unslinging my pack.

We’re being taunted by the smell of food and right now my Supply is at 3, so…

Oh screw you, dice. What the hell, man.

Fine. The game wants me to burn momentum so bad, I will. Strong hit on Resupply says “on a strong hit, you bolster your resources. Take +2 supply.

Worth it.

I scoop the fruit and some of the least messy foods, working mostly by smell and touch, wrap them up in cloth napkins probably worth more than all the clothes I’m wearing, and jam them into my pack, then stride back to the door, where Ismark has got a torch going.

“Now, we can move on.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I’m angry,” I say, though my face and voice are calm, my eyes scanning the area. “This Strahd is picking the wrong sort of fight.”

I’m going to Delve the Depths again, and roll the Oracle to get an idea where I’m headed: a 97 means “Something Unusual or Unexpected.” Duly noted, Oracle. Thanks. Now then…

I’m Delving based on Observation and Intuition (what I can see, and what my gut tells me), so that means +wits – to heck with any more of this +Shadow nonsense.

That’s fine. I roll and get a 43 on the results table, marking Progress on my way to “Something Unusual or Unexpected.”

Brigitte takes in her options. Heading back to the main hall with the gargoyles looming seems like a bad plan, the only other option then is the dark, narrow hallway just across from the dining room of Vampiric Fuckery.

Theory: Vampires are melodramatic as a form of behavior-based informational security. While their ridiculous collection of odd mannerisms make it easy to tag them as vampires, it also makes it extremely difficult to tell which of those mannerisms stem from an esoteric weakness or limitation on their powers, and which are just them being fuckin extra. In this essay I will…

A chilly wind rushes down the circling stairway at the end of this short hall, seeming to kill the very heat of the torch Ismark carries. The stairs spiral both up into the castle and down into the depths.

I do NOT feel like going down into the depths right now, so it’s up one floor and an unadorned wooden door…

Dusty scrolls and tomes line the walls of this room and are scattered across the floor. In the center of all this clutter stands a huge accountant’s desk. A old man slouches atop a tall stool, scratching a seemingly endless scroll of paper with a dry quill pen. A rope hangs next to the old man from a hole in the ceiling.

And… that’s where I’m stopping for now. Next time, we’ll meet Lief Lipsiege, accountant. (Something unusual or unexpected.)

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