Thursday, March 28, 2013

Better late. Always better late.

That’s it, the OSR is dead.

The names are almost worn away on the marble mausoleums of long lost blogs like Chogwiz, Society of Torch Pole & Rope and Rustmonster Ate My Sword. Grognardia is a shadowed presence on the hill, rotting timbers giving way to empty rooms. Ravaging trolls sally forth from the Caves of YDIS to harry the few remaining farmhouses like Tao of D&D and Pornstars. The Eternal Keep has dropped its portcullis to adventurers and now drills strange and savage warriors in its courtyard. The psychedelic strains of Cyclopedean and Strange Music have vanished leaving an emptiness ringing in the air. Only merchant princes like LoFP and Goblinoid travel the land freely selling their wares.

The fiefdom of Blogger lies in disarray.

OSR v.2 carries on in a new dimension, on the strange planes of G +, where once I traveled to adventure in Ur with A Horrible Night to Have a Curse, but was driven back by the cacophony of voices ever calling out.

As always, I am late to the party. A day late and a dollar short.

Just the way I like it.

So now I throw open the Tomb of Tedankhamen, from whose musky depths once a week I will issue forth…


Scenarios for my first gaming love, Stormbringer. The old, unbalanced, unhinged beauty that still holds my heart. And Cthulhu, her dark twin.

Philosophy on why and how I game, and how this sits besides my 40 something life. Musings on fitting gaming onto an already full plate. On how to make our shared worlds work so that we all come away from that Cheeto encrusted table smiling.

Art just a step above that which I scribbled on my middle school notebooks waiting to get back to the Moorcock or Asimov novel in my bookbag as soon as class ended.

Drafts and idea from my heartbreaker, Iceships and Inuit. And yes, I am serious. As a son of frozen Labrador with Inuit blood in my veins.

Fiction born from my frenetic inner world pushing back against the demands of impending age, fatherhood, and professorship. Just as it pushed me to write 300 verses on my other digital demesne, Cro Magnon Poetry.

System free adventures with a quirky sense of style and story.

Into this once great, half empty land I venture, to hang out my shingle and enjoy the quiet life and occasional passerby after 5 years of passing by the shops of others like Jeff and Gorgonmilk. Thanks to those here and gone who greeted me warmly at their doors, apologies to those who felt my lurking presence unwanted.

Welcome to the Tomb of Tedankhamen.