dhaustin.bsky.social
Writing is easy. Writing goodly is the hard. RPG enthusiast. GM in training since 1976. Loves Romance, Adventure, Fantasy. He/Him
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Can you imagine a charity fundraiser that gets four or five of the biggest live play groups on stage at the same time, all in the same dungeon!
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Is there a published Roleplaying game (traditional fantasy or other) where many small parties of adventures are racing after the same treasure
"It's a mad, mad, mad, mad, roleplaying game"
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I, to, was created in 1963.
And believe me when I say there are not many who will put up with me for two and a half hours either
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For some, writing is a curse
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loose and messy.
"I've got five thousand dollars here. It's all I have. I want to buy your services, and I'll work on earning your trust."
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"Well, Sister, that's where you make your first mistake. Anyone who knows my name, knows what I do, knows I can't be trusted. I do what I'm paid to do and trust is rarely part of the deal."
She took her hands, slowly, out from her garb and she was holding a stack of hundreds, no rubber band, just
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looks and just could tell I was going to be in trouble if I didn't get the dame out of my life, and fast.
"Can I help you, Sister?" I asked, playing along with her get up.
"I need help, Mister Anderson, and I think you're the only one I can trust."
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cut from just below her waste that ran all the way down. The doll was wearing fishnets and black leather, high heels, that kept no secrets.
The white of the cowl around her face was like a soft halo. She had a long face, soft brown eyes, and red painted lips. She had one of those not do innocent
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guest.
I pushed the door with my left hand.
She had her back to me and was standing by the desk. She was dressed in a full habit, but the outfit wasn't cut for a nun.
When I cleared my throat, I lowered the pistol. She turned slowly, her left leg escaped the long black fabric through a high slit
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black letters that spelled the words, Parker Anderson, Investigations.
I did not expect Jean to be in early, so something was up. I drew my c ninety-six from the holster under my left arm and kept my finger off the trigger as I tried to keep a normal walking pace, hoping not to alert my unwelcome
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The ceiling lights in the second floor hall of the Cargen building had turned a dull yellow from neglect. The brown and red carpet, thread bare down the middle, smelled of whiskey and old socks. My office door was ajar and the lights in the office made the glass of the door glow surrounding the
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When I grow up I want to be a cranky, lonely, noir, private eye who narrates regretfully taking the case of a mysterious person who dresses as a slutty nurse.
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Exactly, the tool is a great way to map that kind of change
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I have always been a fan of classic alignments as a tool. I do not believe it should be used as a constraint, outside of how the player uses the tool to help guide the character.
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Where there a defining moment, some kind of epiphany, that maybe you have already shared, when you knew you would reboot the comic,
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I'm trying to break the game by playing a human bard who doesn't want to sleep with everyone.
Second night at camp
Well, shoot.