ladyofastolat: (sneezing lion)
We've been roleplaying all week. At one point, my character persuaded a notable NPC (formerly a brief stand-in PC) to doubt his life-long loyalty. This led very swiftly to his death. I promised that his name would live forever more. This is my promise kept.

The ballad of Gyula, or The Song of the Urdish Men )
ladyofastolat: (Winter is coming)
We spent Easter adventuring in Westeros - or, rather, Essos. This write-up will be of no interest at all to anyone who wasn't there - and of minimal interest to those who were, since, well, they were there. However, it's good to have a record for future reference.

How to annoy people in Essos )
ladyofastolat: (Night gathers)
Some years ago, during a session of our intermittent, ongoing A Game of Thrones roleplaying campaign, our characters had cause to approach village full of suspicious wildings (collectively called Brians, on the grounds that they were all played by Brian Blessed. It turned out to be a bad idea to call them all Brians, since between one year and the next, we got Evil Brian and Good Brian confused, with near-fatal consequences.)

Anyway, our method of easing their suspicions was to disguise ourselves as humble fishermen. For added verissimilitude, we tried to catch some fish. As I wrote at the time, "The fishing did not go well, since none of us knew how to do it, and it turned out that "how hard could it be?" had the answer "very." However, enough fish-like things were caught that we managed to persuade this Brian of our good intentions by heroically waving a diplomatic fish at him, while shouting "We've got fish!" This was the result of One Good Die Roll of the Island of Skagos.

Here is the picture of the heroic moment )

Now, a few weeks ago, there was an episode of the Game of Thrones TV show in which... Spoilers! )
ladyofastolat: (Jayne hat)
We spent last week adventuring in the far reaches of space (or the not-so-far reaches of space, since Space is Big.) This was the continuation of the campaign we started two years ago, which culminated in a super-powerful Ancienty chap telling us that All The Things were at risk unless we joined him in his fight against The Destroyer. We decided that said super-powerful Ancienty chap was a capricious, arrogant twit. We suspect strongly that other characters in other campaigns have tangled with said Destroyer, who is also a capricious, arrogant twit, but our current characters don't know this. "Can we have a year to think about your job offer?" we asked, and, faced with the news that All The Things were potentially under threat... we decided to ignore it, and continued to visit wacky tourist attractions, search for elephant tusks, buy quirky robots and go to concerts.

Duct tape was the prevailing weapon in our arsenal, most notably when we spent about two hours trying to work out how to detain 4 prisoners in the toilet of our passenger shuttle. Few guns were fired, and these often ineptly. One of the few fights we engaged in involved using pasties as a weapon. (It made a strange sort of sense at the time, honest. We were on a mining planet, you see?) The most passionate debates - apart from the duct tape/toilet thing - revolved around PR and marketing strategies, HR and recruitment issues, childcare, contract law and the financial management of ailing steel farming companies. Can we conclude from this that we are getting old?

We found the elephant tusks, and all finished happily for every past owner who had become fond of them during their chequered career! We rescued an 8 year old telepathic girl from a life of brain probes and hideous tesssts! We saved a planet from being crashed into by a comet! We launched the career of a rubbish film star! We discovered a boy band! We captured a pirate! (This was the long-term nemesis of Pellinor's character. I thought that he would feel a little sense of sadness at finally being rid of his nemesis, but he is made of less sentimental stuff, and captured him without a qualm.) We even got a medal ceremony! I have always argued that all games should end with a medal ceremony, ever since I took 2 days destroying the Death Star, only for the game to cut instantly to credits without letting me bask in my hard-won victory.

As well as fighting fictional pirates, most of us ventured into Plymouth - most of us in appropriate costume - for a pirate-themed metal gig, which was fun, but very very hot. Two days later, the dreaded lurgi began to sweep through the party, clearly the fault of those pesky pirates. It reached me on the journey home. I thought I was past the worse today, and ventured into work, but was sent home after a few hours, on the grounds that I was "as white as a sheet," and was sitting inside shivering in two coats, while everyone else was in short sleeves and saying how hot it was. Illness is giving me interesting dreams, though. Last night, I dreamt a long and very vivid adventure prompted by the government making possession of 20-sided dice a capital offence...


Nov. 14th, 2013 08:37 pm
ladyofastolat: (sneezing lion)
I haven't yet got round to writing up last week's roleplaying adventures, fighting assorted horrors and secret societies with confusingly similar names on the Orient Express in an AU version of 1934. ("I didn't understand a single word of that," someone said at work, when I gave a brief summary of What I Did On My Holidays. Subsequent questions by other people were therefore answered with a, "Sat on the couch and ate a terrifying amount of food, occasionally venturing Outside to walk dogs," which seemed to go down a lot better.)

However, moustaches seemed to be a recurring theme, since almost every NPC we met sported a fine example. (We tended to view the rare moustache-free people that we met with extreme suspicion.) I was therefore amused by this compilation of mostly 1930s newspaper headlines collected by the BBC History magazine:

A moustache... may help getting a job as a "gigolo" or sheik, but there are practically no openings for them during a depression. (Nottingham Evening Post, 1932)

German Ban on English Moustache. (Aberdeen Journal, 1936)

A moustache should make a man look manly, and not like a monster or a clown. (Lichfield Mercury, 1936)

A quarrel between two men as to who possessed the more handsome moustache resulted in the death of Morton Norbury. (Western Times, 1910)
ladyofastolat: (We do not sew)
We spent the long Easter weekend adventuring in Westeros, finally wrapping up the plot that started some six years ago. Despite many of us proving incapable of throwing any number that wasn't a 1, we managed to piece together the evidence and conclude that Balon Greyjoy was about to rebel against King Robert. In our part of the world, this was to take the form of an enormous attack on the Wall by land and sea, done by wildings and the Brians of Skagos, all armed and coordinated by Iron Islanders. We sent out ravens hither and yon, and all the right people were warned and took appropriate action. Westeros was saved. Yay! Go us!

Yeah, so we possibly woke up and enraged the Others along the way, but who how hard can they be? We also broke the skeleton of the legendary hero who might one day rise with his legendary entourage (also broken) and wield his legendary axe (which we kind of, er, stole) against fell enemies that only he can slay, but who believes in such legends nowadays? Oh, and thanks to our warnings, the Lannisters are far more powerful than they would have been had the Greyjoys hammered them, but they're loyal subjects of King Robert - long may he and his descendants reign - so this can only be good, right?

Along the way we learnt:

- That maester training allows maesters to unerringly hit the 140 character limit of a raven message with no rephrasing or crossing out.
- That there is a very fine line between gnomic wisdom and utter nonsense.
- That walking into a wilding camp saying, "Hi! I'm friends with your sworn enemies!" isn't a very sensible idea. However, if you're accompanied by someone who has just finely honed their bluff skills by getting a bun from the kitchen (no, I don't know how this works, either), the seemingly inevitable disaster can be... er... evited?
- That mastiffs are less effective than they're billed. (Alas, poor Gelert!)
- That off-duty Iron Islanders spend an inordinate amount of time ferrying around loaves of bread
- That the hornier the helmet, the tougher the foe
- The true meaning of "slighting" a castle
- That everything is more difficult when you have wet underwear


Oct. 22nd, 2012 02:54 pm
ladyofastolat: (Jayne hat)
Although I spent most of the week doing healthy and improving things outside in lovely scenery (*ahem*) we did spend a small amount of time lounging on cat-covered couches, eating cheese and throwing dice.

Roleplaying )


Oct. 22nd, 2012 01:49 pm
ladyofastolat: (Misty Glastonbury)
This post is an attempt to convey the impression that I haven't just spent 9 days sitting on a couch eating cake.

Pictures of Outside )


Oct. 14th, 2012 09:14 am
ladyofastolat: (Jayne hat)
So, we've found a mysterious, deserted ship, full of dazzling technology the like of which we have never seen before, with vast corridors full of plants we have never seen before, and what do we focus on to the point of obsession? The toilet facilities. Some people probably don't deserve to be a roleplaying party. :-D
ladyofastolat: (Jayne hat)
Yesterday morning, while sewing pies, I was watching David Attenborough's Life of Birds, which I found on some obscure channel. (It's amazing how often I can go through several hundred channels and fail to find a single thing that I'm willing to watch while sewing.) Honey liked it, too. Then, at the end of the third one I'd watched, he told us that the next episode would be about birds feed on mammals. The next episode started with ducks, and then moved on to herons and divers and the like. I find this all quite worrying. All these years, I've been treating ducks as mild-mannered pretty things that jostle for bread, but all along, they've been slaughtering voles and kittens under the cover of their dabbling and comical quacks.

Then, in the afternoon, we did our first role-playing game conducted via modern technology. We only had occasional technical problems - a microphone that wouldn't work, and an attack by a fake virus scanner that claimed that the laptop was riddled with threats, and refused to shut up about it until we handed over our credit card details to buy the solution. (We didn't do this, I hasten to add.)

Apart from that, it all worked very well. We had an online dice roller, we could have a seven way conversation via Skype, and people could type private messages if they wanted to plot without the others knowing - probably even more subtle than grabbing the GM during a real game and walking into another room. Strangely, although we all had the ability to talk to each other, many of us spent half the time communicating with the group by text. Since we were all sitting at our computers, any idle question that came up could be answered always immediately by a breathless messenger from the monastery of Saint Wiki, who fortuitously came racing up to our party and told us the answer to the question we'd just been musing about.

Our game setting was 1453 in Constintinople, currently assailed by 100,000 Turks. (The number was stressed so often that we became desperate to kill just one of Turks, to mess the number up.) Our vitally important mission seemed to involve an awful lot of time hanging around the baths in a brothel. Actually, we should probably have stayed there, since when we ventured out of the brothel, we ended up fighting a killer crocodile in the sewers, with rather serious consequences for various party members' limbs. But it all ended happily, because I found my One True Love, and we are now going to be together forever more, and anyone who tries to part us will feel the sharp end of my rather small dagger. So there.
ladyofastolat: (Winter is coming)
The last few days have been spent adventuring in Westeros. Food wise, I had good intentions that crumbled shamefully quickly in the face of lemon cakes and beef and bacon pies. Game wise, I had good intentions that shamefully crumbled in the face of too many 1s. However, we did manage to use most of the various sails and figureheads that I spent the last few weekends making. Pictures below the cut.

Longships and Brians )
ladyofastolat: (Winter is coming)
This weekend, a doughty band of heroic adventurers set off to rid the eastern Westerosi coast of pirates and slavers. Departure was delayed for a while since, to paraphrase Spinal Tap, no-one knew who they were or what they were doing, but eventually everyone managed to find themselves in a vat of Lego men. The ensuing epic voyage was one that bards will sing for years to come, distinguished by many deeds of startling competence and heroism. However, since I am nothing if not modest, I will record a few tiny little lessons that need to be learnt:

Epic adventuring )
ladyofastolat: (Jayne hat)
Sorry for post overload, but here are some pics of strange goings-on over the last week. Image heavy post alert!

Pics )


Sep. 28th, 2008 06:52 pm
ladyofastolat: (Default)
After eight days in which Internet access has consisted of snatched moments on the ten inch screen of the teeny tiny laptop, my desktop monitor seems so scary big that I want to sit at the far end of the room and type with bread-sticks.

I suspect the last week will be one of those things that will take so long to write up properly that I will never quite get around to it. It involved unimaginable horrors in various places, comedy accents, heroic trans-dimensional dunny men, a posse of redshirts, cats of various degrees of evil, real dogs, putative dogs, sleeping with fishes, Outside, sparring, shooting people, cake, crisps, zoider, lovely food, horrendous cacophony, dodgy geographical skills in Trivtionary, peregrines, dead rodents, and much, much more. All in all, it was great fun, though I do wish I could persuade my body clock to adapt to the same time zone that everybody else lives in.
ladyofastolat: (unbowed)
Well, three solid days of A Game of Thrones role-playing is over. The fridge is full of cheese. The kitchen is full of brownie and empty bottles. The living room is scattered with Lego. The cats are beginning to emerge from their hiding places. Weekend )

EDIT: Well, we're not back from Outside, and I suddenly realise that I never actually listed who was here this weekend, but just did a vague mention of "we." So here, with pictures, is this weekend's cast list: Cast, with pictures )

And here is Pellinor's account of the villains and NPCs.
ladyofastolat: (Jayne hat)
Well, we're back from a long weekend of Traveller role-playing, chez [ profile] bunn and Polo. It was great fun, though I now have a worrying urge to eat healthy food and go for a long bracing walk on a hillside, somewhere a very long way away from cakes, crisps or alcohol. And to sleep.

Traveller weekend )
ladyofastolat: (Default)
1. One pun about chips is one pun too many
2. Tulips aren't very suitable for arranging, apparently
3. Orang-utans don't like being called monkeys. If you call them that, they pick you up and dangle you upside-down.
4. There is very little difference between greyhounds and cats
5. Some beer is actually very nice, especially wheat beer from the St Austell brewery
6. If you are a very manly man, you are liable to have your trousers ripped off by your fellow adventurers, as soon as you pass out under a table in an alien bar, "just to make sure he's really a man." (Or so they say)
7. Tessa Wyatt was in Robin's Nest, and used to go out with Tony Blackburn. She is very hard to draw when playing Trivtionary. Marilyn Monroe, on the other hand, can be indicated by a picture of a barbecue.
8. Intelligent computers can talk the hind leg off a... monkey
9. It is possible to have too much ham
10. It is not possible to have too much Traveller merchandise, apparently.
11. Outside exists. It has balloons in it.
12. When deciding who is to fly a spaceship, it is better to choose the person with a better piloting skill, not the person who is better at rock, paper, scissors
13. All the best spaceships are named after sweets
14. Most groups of role-playing characters are far too busy plotting to stab each other in the back to ever fire a shot at the enemy
15. Never ask a lion about his epic poetry, unless you have a very very very very long time to listen, and ear plugs.
16. Planets that were bombed into near-oblivion a few generations before don't have very good folk songs.
ladyofastolat: (Default)
This weekend I have mostly been reading… "A treatise on the majik of destruction," by Regius of House Flambeau, "Dominating the weak of mind," by Cygnar of House Tytalus,…. oh, and "Memories of ice" by Steven Erikson, far more so than I ever intended.

Read more... )


ladyofastolat: (Default)

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