Quincunx

(Several floors up, in a calibrated round tower of the Pen) Tzimfemme lay sprawled out over her pile of soft warm underwear, mouth still snoring-open but with wide, alert eyes. "Did I--no," she mumbled into her nest, not willing to vocalize 'snore myself awake' even with nobody around to hear her. She pulled her arms through the nest and propped her chin up on her hands while listening; the lab equipment hummed and whirred, the wards on the chocolate pantry sizzled as they zapped a wayward fly, and the air outside crackled with curses. Tzimfemme tilted her head. About half of that vulgarity was lyrical. . . Several seconds later, she shook off the last of the underwear caught on one leg and bolted out of her chamber, flinging the door open and peering out into the hallway. Nuncio cut short the well-balanced curses but Guido, half a second faster, confronted Tzimfemme first. "Peredhil?!" "Don't know, haven't seen, put that thing down!" she yelped, seeing the gun. ***** (In the Conservatory) "WhoaoaohhhWHEEstartedsingingitnotgonnafallnowNOOOOOOOOOYES!Freedom!" The four-way deadlock between Zool's obliviousness, Wyvern's center of gravity, Kaitlyn's virtuosity, and Minta's necromancy had dissolved when Valdar ricocheted through the room and out again. Wyvern had extricated himself from the heap and raced away as soon as he could pry his horns loose, whereas Kaitlyn just lay there continuining to sing and Minta chimed in, "Now can I sing along too?", and Minta's zombies sidled towards the door, holding Zool's portrait sideways between them as a blind. ***** (Upstairs) "--can't do that kind of magic. Take that ring off and hold still," Tzimfemme ordered Guido. She held up her hand and thought grimly about the divisions between this persona and the next, and muttered her own names to herself. A wisp of silver coalesced around her hand, and Tzimfemme lifted a hip and didn't so much waft the wisp into a kiss as propel it at Guido like a dart from a blowgun. It splashed against his fur and extinguished itself. Her eyes flicked in all directions, and she blurted, "That makes no sense. He's everywhere. Can't trace him, the stones knock together and say Peredhil while they settle, the air goes in and out with Peredhil breathing. Nobody, but nobody, holds that power here. Not Rune, not Orlan, not anyone crossing the borders. Self-contained. Stuff spinning." She slid down the wall seeing bright gold flashes, but Guido and Nuncio had already beat feet.

Qab-dhali Hannas Height: Looks most men in the eye Weight: Thick in the middle; tiny wrists, ankles and feet Color: Henna--some natural, some not Caste: Eclipse Title: Magicchant-bittersweet (euphemism used in the South), the Sun Vulva (to herself) Concept: Nameless no longer For eastern tribes in exile, where every encounter ran the risk of enslavement, even patriarchy had to bow to survival. Four widows could conjoin their families and act as a single male head of household; they might even marry slave women, although the children of a foursquare union were always hannas, barren and un-nameable. Canny foursquare fathers sold their non-heirs in cities, to sewer companies, debased criminal syndicates, and other fates unfit for real people. Enlightened foursquare fathers kept in contact with their un-nameable children and reaped profit from being the only human contact they had. The Qab-dhali shop sold advice-giving magical chants, medicinal rum with violent effects, dried alligator penises (ground for men, whole for women), and replacement sutures for non-virgins; could an un-person care about morality laws? She was old, over thirty although she never went through puberty, when Nexus campaigned to clean itself and stop the spread of the Solars. Each neighbor swore on his grandmothers’ graves that he did not help pull the official off of his horse, no, no, although he saw plainly that the official set the poor orphan girl on fire, yes! While the investigation stagnated and developed a latrine stink, Qab-dhali (now the woman) wrapped a fresh cloth around her head, tuned her storytelling rattles, and decided to take a short vacation. Roleplaying notes: Qab-dhali is a depraved old maid with a little girl’s voice and a mouth like an open sewer. (“This sewer ain’t open! Come back when you get your peach fuzz!” was the final line to said pesky official, with illustrative gesture.) Young, old, man, woman, they all get what’s coming to them and a bit more. Bluster aside, Qab-dhali has heard more dirty secrets than anyone in the district, and kept them, and dealt with them; she’s a step above the un-person’s tolerated status and maybe, secretly, appreciated by non-Easterners. The newness of being a named person has made her giddy and childish, though, and willing to stick like glue to the first poor soul who treats her as an equal. [EDIT: Formatting and smoothing out an inconsistency.]

Questions for YanYan: What were the stories behind those "code flowers" I see popping up here and there? How did Wiggly Cabbages and purple fuzzies originate? Why is it "Belignorant" instead of just ignorant? Who first used "confuzzled" on Pen territory? (Bit of a trick question, there. I think it came here via the Shoutbox, but that record only goes back a certain number of lines.)

Minta skipped-rope into the Conservatory, while a pair of ill-maintained zombies wearing sandwich boards tried to lurk in the doorway. Once she got several steps beyond the door, though, the air between zombies and neato necro gnomie girl grew thin--Akallabeth, walking towards the exit at the time, gasped for oxygen--and vibrated with a magical hum. The note abruptly stopped as the two zombies lost their grip on the doorframe and all the potential energy turned into the kinetic energy of undead being dragged behind Minta. She sang as she skipped and her zombies, unable to move their feet fast enough, fell and tumbled along end-over-end: "Zombie, zombie, from the ground, How long have you been around? Did you die just yesterday Or were you there for man's first day? Zombie, zombie, from the ground, How long have you been around? "You can have this back nownow," she told one zombie, handing over the skipping-rope, as it tried to feed the length of gut back into the gaping hole in its abdomen. "Hold me!" she told the other zombie, and bent double to touch her head to the ground, and then kicked upwards. That zombie caught her ankles and raised them up so Minta was doing a headstand, then lifted her slightly off the ground as the first zombie stepped forward, then lowered her down again so her head was comfortably resting on zombie insteps. "Okok, TIME!" shouted Minta, and the second zombie gave her ankles to the first zombie, then wandered around the room so that everyone could read its sandwich board: Head Standing Contest! I betcha I can do this longer than anyone An' you can use two familiars 'cause I did.

Minta hit Mynx's door with one hand, knock-knock-knock, at knee height while she reached down with her other hand and untangled kittens' paws from her robe. The paws disappeared under the door as Mynx opened. "Hihi!" Minta announced, "Can I have a bouncy ball pleaseplease an' didya think of a new best mouthful 'cause the onions weren't very interesting but it was kinda funny to watch the chewing an' Gyrfalcon won't give me a bouncy ball but that's probably because I laughed at him. . ."

Minta stretches up with one tiny fist and knocks on Gyrfalcon's door. "Hi can I have another bouncy ball--" she says to the crack in the door, before Gyrfalcon--veteran of demon possession, death and resurrection, warrior of the world who didn't flinch from the most horrific forces Terra had to offer, veteran of multiple Wyvern parties--slammed the door shut. She counted on her fingers as locks rattled and wards snapped. "I'm sure it's a very nice mouthful, but you don't have to show it to me this time," said Gyrfalcon. "It was a SUPER mouthful!" she yelled, "I had 25 color jawbreaker an' Doritos AN' I don't think I got all the mold off the jawbreaker 'cause it tasted funny." She put her hand in her pocket and drew out a fossilized lump of Dorito-studded jawbreaker gum, now sporting a fresh rind of pocket lint and mold. "Mynx appreciated it," Minta sniffled, and she went down the corridor cradling her prize.

Minta watches Appy bouncebouncebounce with shining eyes, an' hops up an' down a little bit with every bounce. "I"ve GOTTA get one of those!" she announces, and races out of the Cabaret Room in search of another bouncy ball!

The list is primarily concrete topics, so I will throw in a more nebulous one: the emotions of a spontaneous dance

AHA! The Character Creation Crib Sheet has short descriptions of all the options! Or nearly all--nothing about Abyssals. This Combat 101 primer should be required reading for all pre-revamp World of Darkness games. Have found a Core Rules review which explains the different categories of traits well for Solar Exalted, information which possibly carries over to other types, and a VERY brief synopsis of the dice system, easiest to grasp of the three links.

*from inside the sensory deprivation chamber* I HEARD THAT!

It might be worse, Zadown ol' buddy ol' pal. . .Consider. What if the Pen were developing TRENDS?! Status symbols? A distinction between thread dedication haves- or have-nots, or analytical feedback have- or have-nots, or instant messenger have- or have-nots--Pen image consultants, debutante party organizers, embossed invitations--I'm going to go sit in a completely white room until the shakes subside.

Vampire--Dark Ages greatly preferred (would submit Rosemary post-Archmage), could work Victorian or modern*; Changeling--haven't played but am willing to try, either time-frame; Mage--see Changeling; Exalted--have played and could play again but grimly**; Orpheus--Bores me to distraction; No opinions on the rest. Ok, I lied. How can Tzimfemme not be intrigued by Macho Women with Guns? And if someone has a d20 adaptation of 7th Sea, I'd put that up for consideration, but the original rules system was such a pain in the neck, especially combat. *Tanuchan, if it's any consolation, I bomb out of modern Vampire but blaze through Dark Ages, astrally speaking; I found it easier to sustain a character when I also had to consider the altered world around it. **Mmm. . .what type of Exalted, do you think, Deg?

First of all, good to put an Author's Note on this before the essay; normally I frown on preludes, but it was helpful here. This looks quite like a school essay--a short, persuasive piece in need of slight polishing--and I'm going to give it a grade-worthy edit before adding my own reflections. I would have divided the paragraphs differently, fusing the two which explain the concept, the fragmentary "The basic idea, at least is simple. . ." to "Role playing originated in the sixties. . .". I would also fuse the next two, but in this case it's the second paragraph "It should hardly be suprising. . ." which is a bit weak to stand on its own. The paragraph on suicide and the one which follows on testimonials to lost time are also short, but would need to be slightly rewritten to be fused--or better yet, fleshed out with an extra sentence or two apiece. In the paragraph beginning "Additionally, because a player may design his own character. . .", I'd drop that phrase entirely, fuse the first two sentences, and then graft that paragraph onto the one which came before. In general, any time you wrote a turning-point phrase or sentence, you made it begin a new paragraph where it might have been just as effective without the white space. You do fairly well at avoiding controversy, sometimes at the cost of persuading the reader. The only word which cannot stay is "psychosis"--in context, it should be "psyche", and psychosis has a very negative connotation. You have the beginnings of a great anti-RP point when you describe character death and friends pillaging the bodies but don't firmly grasp it in the following sentence. (If it's too early to present anti-RP, consider moving it down in the essay. The callous nature of RPG is too much of a plum to go unnoticed*.) On the point of suicides, you can research Shawn Woolley as the most prominent case and use that information to support either side of the paper; however, if you use it as anti-RPG, that balanced against the strength of the paragraph on Satanic links might be enough to destroy the neutrality, and you'd have to revise near the beginning of the paper to add pro-RPG tones. The ending is a trifle weak; making the topic of that paragraph ("RPGs are neutral. . .") the final line of the essay will focus the wandering generalities. *So was D&D: The Movie, but you covered that one. -- Personal reflections: You did well in making the essay superficially neutral, but the research** given to the anti-RPG side, which you meant to make their position less shaky, highlights the lack of research on the pro-RPG side and seems like a personal opinion. If you meant the essay to be slightly anti-RPG, that's an extremely subtle and good job. Roleplaying games give all the benefits of superficial contact and learning networking, with the drawbacks of none of it being. . .eligible? in the real world. **Were citations your footnotes?

Hadn't all the pirates abandoned on-deck showering after that incident when the mutinous crew 'accidentally' swapped the shower-water pump with the bilge pump?

Wow. . .there's almost enough interest for two separate campaigns. Wonder if I could scoop up the people Falcon doesn't get and try running X-Crawl (televised, advertised, spectator-sport dungeon crawling). I had been building a pen-and-paper campaign involving the most minor of the X-Crawl minor leagues and could adapt that to online RP: start immediately once Falcon pulls together his crew and use freeform, or wait awhile and learn the structured post style?

Name: Donfyrda 'Doremi' Nonestitches Concept: Failed Bard Race: Gnome Gender: Female Eyes: Pale blue Hair: Covered in soot Height: 3'7" Weight: 39 lbs. The Nonestitches are a gnomish dynasty, which made its fortune on Great-great-great-and terrific-Uncle Dongopple's lunatic idea--making pants with metal rivets instead of sewing them together--that succeeded. Sales of riveted pants, known as Donnies throughout underground communities, have freed the younger members of the family from having to work for a living. Donfyrda's mother married a younger Nonestitches and passed to her daughter her own family's project, the all-in-one tinpan band with over-the-shoulder amplifier. 'Doremi' came from how many notes Donfyrda ever learned to play. . .Do. . .Re. . .Miiiiiiiiiiii *screeeeeeeeeeeeech* She'll figure it out eventually, and become the conductor of the Tynpanphonic Philharmonic wandering bard orchestra! Until then, she wanders the world with a prototype slung over both shoulders and belted to her waist and ankles, and a ready sackful of rotten tomatoes to take the competition down a notch. (Double tomatoes for other gnome bards who don't use a Tynpanphonic instrument.) Tell her that she's really a lipstick fighter in designer Donnies with a hobby strapped to her back, and she'll try to poke you in the kidneys with her sharpened banner-pole. The banner reads "The Divine Donfyrda, Bard for Hire, (rates negotiable)" and the javelin sticks up from the top of her prototype while she walks down the road. ooc: I love gnomes, but it is very difficult to type "gnome" after years of being Minta and saying "gnomie!"

Oh yeah, thought about signing up for this, but never did. Here now and looking for a partner!

Tzimfemme's Wile E. Coyote instincts leap to life as Ozymandias meep-meeps past in a blur, and she reaches for the nearest ACME catalog and a cell phone. . . Two hours, thirteen minutes, and fifty-five seconds later, she signs the FedEx clipboard and receives a heart-shaped ring box, labeled ACME Instant Plot Hook *boulder not included. She inserts the key into the tab, twirls the key, and slowly peels away the seal. The box pops open, revealing a tablet and a hand-held detonator with a button on either end. Tzimfemme twinkletoes to just behind Ozymandias and places the tablet delicately between his heels, then creeps into the shade behind a convenient boulder, leaving visible only her fist holding the detonator. She presses the green button. Above and behind oblivious Ozymandias unfolds a construction crane tipped with a vicious, glinting, double-edged hook. The hook and its cable descend steadily from the tip of the crane, and as you watch Ozymandias, you can see the shadow of the hook grow larger and fall over his face as the hook stops just behind his pants. Tzimfemme smiles broadly in full sun and presses the red button. The D8million from Werewolf IV ceases its upward flight. Shadow falls on Tzimfemme once more.

Short or nickname-friendly, compatible with common English names and spelling, not derived from the masculine, and pairs well with Maureen: one syllable will work, two syllables if the accent falls on the first, three syllables if the accent falls on the first--perhaps the second, but then the first syllable fades away entirely on the full name--and only if the name can be abbreviated. Seconding Gia (Gina doesn't quite work, not sure why), Olivia although it doesn't fit the guidelines, Elisabelle "Belle" or "Lizzie", Eva, Helen, Deanna "Dee". Adding Cora, Vera, Iris--delicate names of a more courteous era. Adding Patricia, Livia, Tania--multisyllables for the multi-faceted modern woman which can be chopped for nicknames. Adding Rosamunde, Eleanor, Victoria--old distinguished English names.

Auditions! So can I add my Perform skill to the audition roll? (dodges various simple missile weapons--mostly rotten)

More slightly old and under-used girl's names than I can count. . .Could I have this narrowed to an initial, please?

Deg--Ohhhhhhh yeah, I knew something was missing there. . .Second "what about the rolls?". . .ah, just second his entire post. Gnarlitch--THWAP! Shathward--I'm not comfortable with this either, but I am going to playtest it. You wouldn't be the only newbie. Falcon--Nice explanatory post. If Deg hadn't said "what about the rolls?", I'd have no questions about basic mechanics. I'll nuke those extra slashes out of the poll in a moment. I'll play, no setting preferred. I've played D&D for two sessions, ever, most of which was taken up by Minta arguing with a 15th-level goblin wizard ("Gobbie." "Goblin!" "Gobbie!!!" "Gob-Lin! Goblingoblingoblin!" It might have gone on for months had Exalted not been released). Any guidelines on what races/classes to play, or whether existing characters can be modified to fit the system?

A post against the hazards of reading from the bottom upwards: On the first pass of this thread, I started reading from the bottom upwards--can't explain why--and hit the unadorned gothic note first. "Ho-hum", I thought, and skimmed the rest. Today, I read the poem properly and enjoyed it much more, and was able to coast over the bumps as they came: 'Pebbles fading into Black Death'--doesn't fit with the rest of the imagery, because it is completely abstract while the rest are images of what's happening on the stage. If you meant it to be falling droplets of blood, removing the Black Death and making them red will work, or tie it into the following lines-- 'Blood dripping into a puddle/Staining the white fabric'--I misintrepeted this. Because it came after the dry heaves and I didn't have the image of falling droplets of blood, I saw it as dance-exertion bleeding soaking ballerina slippers. The lines themselves are fine, but you may need to slightly change the line order of the physical details. Don't move anything before 'A wounded flower'. I did pause on 'wonderers', because it's an unusual word that looks like 'wanderers', but the word itself is fine. 'On the floor a last dream is there' and following is also fine, and closes the poem nicely once I realized what happened on stage. Once again: with everything read in the proper order, only the half-line about Black Death is discordant.

Rydia's ears settle into a \o_o? while she thinks, and then shift over to a ?o_o/, and finally earshrug and flick back into place. "I don't remember anything about a joust," she confesses. "I saw one of the Rumbles that wasn't on blitz, and I was there when Snypiuer trussed Nim up. . ." she shivers, and constructs a pre-emptive forcefield in case saying the name is enough. ***** A bit earlier, in Minta Rose's room at the Pen Keep: "Ooooooo a joust! Can I ride point?" "Minta, there is no 'point' in joust. It's one versus one," Rydia explained, holding up the poster, on which two unicorns and their riders charged at one another. "There is too a point." Minta left a red fingerprint on the end of one lance, then burrowed halfway under her bed while tools started to spray out from underneath. "Bet I could make it superultraexplosivrooooooomy!" ***** ". . .understand that I'm just a little bit. . .cautious. . .about holding a joust," Rydia sidesteps, her ears vibrating. The forcefield creaks.

(The lid goes flying off of the jar of beetroot, to be pursued and pounced upon by two lively gray kittens.) Paranoia parties? Like the ones my college roommate used to host when X-Files had its season premiere?