I've had enough coffee today.
So instead, I decided to visit Bespoke Blends in quaint little Threadwyke -- which is conveniently located wherever I need it to be!
There, I enjoyed a rather marvelous tea.
As I was looking for a spirited blend to see me through the day -- the coffee having done nothing -- I pointed to the shelf of options and uttered a barely coherent grunting sound to indicate my needs. The proprietor nodded sagely, understanding completely, and got to work.
Here's what I had:
A green tea fortified with peppermint and cloves, and an inspiring dash of orange peel. In a fit of inspiration, she then added a complimentary twist of candied lemon, which I found most refreshing.
Now, no one dares deny that such a blend is unique, to say the least, but its singularity is to be celebrated! For I have never before sipped so marvelous an elixir and, without question, Bespoke Blends is a most extraordinary & exclusive tea shoppe.
I shall have to schedule subsequent visits to determine if it truly deserves the title of the most celebrated tea shoppe in the county.
But I suspect that it does.
Hi, I'm Craig.
I don't know how to be alone.
I don't care that I'm an unwanted third wheel, either, because Beth scheduled two dates in one night and I'm not going to let her get away with it.
What's really messed up is the other guy's name is Craig, too, and he totally looks like me only better looking and funnier and more accomplished and he has a six figure income -- like a real six figure income, one to live on in this stupid city where everything costs about as much as a new car, including the ice cream.
Who does that? I hate you Beth and Other Craig. I mean, really, who does this?
I'm going to make her regret doing this at least as much I regret doing this, which is enough to step on this here *uuurggggh* oh god oh god what the ... f--! This is the stupidest looking dice I've ever seen and who put it there? Who makes a dice with only 4 sides? What stupid kind of game would use such a stupid thing? Worse than Lego...
Anyway.
I met Beth on LinkedIn because I was impressed with the training modules she created and wanted to pick her brain about strategic and tactical challenges through every stage of a product life-cycle.
Over ice cream, of course. At Bar Ape. Because I'm a vegan and hate myself.
I also hate this interminable line, which seems to grow rather than contract -- much like my loathing for Beth, who won't shut up about her birthday after one of the staff asked somebody else if it was their birthday.
Shut up, Beth, it's not your birthday, and you're not getting free ice "cream".
Hell, the way this line is not-going, you're not getting anything at all whether you pay for it or not. And please be assured that, no matter what, I'm not paying for it.
Equal Rights = Equal Fiscal Responsibility , Beth.
Anyway, now that we're in the Hellzone of Beth being an absolute lunatic to the staff about her birthday, I figured I'd really put my foot down and make her -- and myself -- miserable, because life is barely worth living when your nemesis is doing so, so well. I'm speaking of Other Craig, btw, whom I'm not sure I mentioned is the senior VP of marketing at the firm I used to work for before he fired me for "unacceptable internet searches during company time".
What does that even mean, Craig?
And now my mom is asking me about gooning, which is awkward AF, but almost simultaneously Melissa texted me a funny video and-- wait, is maybe that what I got fired for? oh god, it's pumas! This is hilarious!
God, Melissa. I--I think I love her. So what am I so afraid of? This morning I woke up with this feeling I didn't know how to deal with and so I just decided to myself I'd hide it to myself and never talk about it.
Anyway, Melissa. I think I do need to talk about it. Maybe tomorrow, after therapy.
Regardless, my mom's awkward AF texts at least gave me a great idea. Tomorrow, I'm going to message Melissa. I'm going to say:
Melissa. I think I love you, but I'm afraid that I'm not sure of a love there is no cure for.
But first I need some alone time to figure this out.
Bye Beth.
Enjoy your totally not ice cream. I hope it gives you a tummy ache and the dribbles.
No time like the present:
Hi Melissa. Your video montage of pumas dancing through Mardi Gras confirmed what I already knew. I'm going to ask you to your face if you think I have a case. I think I love you.
Time to goon.
I'm imagining Count Orlok (a vampiric copyright loophole!) playing Padel with Jackie Daytona (human bartender!) as his partner and I'm giggling.
Jackie D. "He's my best friend, he's my pal, he's my homeboy, my rotten soldier, my sweet cheese, my good time boy!"
Ball hits fence.
Count Orlok. "You are my affliction."
Jackie D. "BAT!!!"
Hmmmm. Good question!
I think that, like any good horror story, if our heroes gang up on a Night Thing before The Final Conflict, it's just as dangerous -- if not more so -- than if the fight took place one-on-one. That's just kind of the way horror goes. So I'd make everyone resolve individual Conflicts according to how they're fighting the Thing. The heroes stumble over each other, get thrown into each other, scream as their friends are Torn Up and their grasp on reality utterly Fractured.
In short, you're better off Helping your friends, rather than everyone just kind of jumping in without a plan. After all, only fools rush in.
Observe, think, plan—then act.
That said, you could also do group RPS contests, with losses stacking up on each other. It mostly works pretty well. For example, let's say The Scholar, The Sweetheart, and The Scoundrel are all fighting a Night Thing. For simplicity's sake, let's assume they all only need one "win" to succeed in the Conflict.
They throw as follows:
Scholar: Rock
Sweetheart: Scissors
Scoundrel: Scissors
Night Thing: Paper
The Scholar Suffers Distress as the Night thing defeats him. But The Sweetheart and Scoundrel both defeat The Night Thing, driving it off... at least for now. They Accomplish What They Want, which is probably a) driving it off, and b) gathering something useful, like water or food or a goddamn clue.
And if the Sweetheart had thrown Paper too? Well, maybe she accidentally stabs The Scholar in the neck with a hotdog skewer. Combats are chaotic, and friendly fire is almost inevitable when everyone gets involved in a nighttime fracas with Night Things.
In any case, once The Night Things Cometh is finished, you could combine it into the base Campfire Stories game: Player-controlled Night Things could also Be Diminished, become more Putrescent -- they might even Suffer Something Awful. Or be Burned by Fire or Blinded by the Light.
Thanks for the question!
I admit I have not yet played this one -- it requires multiple people and, while I could always fracture my psyche to accomplish that feat, I think I'll gather some friends over a video call and debate the meaning of existence with them instead.
I do have one question though: You say that the game takes place over 7 days. Does it? Does it really? How do I know it does? The sky is fractured, the calendar is stuck, and the pantry is full.
I'm pretty sure you're lying to me.
You big, beautiful, lying bastard.
So many interesting mechanics in use here! I particularly like, "... roll 1d4 on this table from the last entry used". Such a clean way to have randomness, avoid duplicates and re-rolls, while ratcheting up the danger and escalating the narrative stakes. Nicely done.
As for ending the game?
Here's what I said to their parents:
"..."
Nothing. I said nothing. What could I say? I promised I wouldn't lie to them, but the truth would destroy them.
I brought one kid out -- one. And they aren't talking. In a way, I think that kid, too, is still Elsewhere, stuck with the others, with 'mummy' in the Glowing Valley just beyond the Final Fracture.
Maybe we all are. Maybe The Elsewhere is all there ever was -- and all we ever knew.
Regardless, my eyes are open now. I see things, I know things, and I know this: Sarah said there was an angel in The Elsewhere, protecting them. The way she figured it, I was that angel. Sarah's gone.
And I'm no angel.
I'm sorry.
I like how streamlined this is - easy and intuitive, though a certain amount of shared 'language' of assumptions is necessary to make it shine.
That's not a criticism, I'm a big fan of games that trust players to leverage their experiences and expectations, shared or otherwise.
Will be sending this to camp with my daughter, so she can friends can play during lunch. I'm betting they have a great time!
My family and I are a few days in to a week long log, and here's what we've got:
6 = Backwoods hike-in camping instead of car camping
+1 (Accompanied) +1 (Outdoors), x3 (Familiar Era)
18 = Gathered fresh wild blueberries, rather than using raisins
+1 (Accompanied) +1 (Outdoors), x6 (Ancestral Era)
18 = Gathered fresh wild blueberries, rather than using raisins
+1 (Accompanied) +1 (Outdoors), x6 (Ancestral Era)
18 = Made fire-hardened spear for cooking and poking things
+1 (Accompanied) +1 (Outdoors), x6 (Ancestral Era)
18 = Made stone-tipped spear (with birch pitch) because stone beats wood and daughter didn't think it could be done!
+1 (Accompanied) +1 (Outdoors), x6 (Ancestral Era)
18 = Told campfire stories around the fire, rather than looking at phones or reading books
+1 (Accompanied) +1 (Outdoors), x6 (Ancestral Era)
18 = Fixed a broken handle using birch pitch instead of duct tape, because it works!
+1 (Accompanied) +1 (Outdoors), x6 (Ancestral Era)
18 = To freshen up, took one last swim in the lake -- rather than using the comfort stations on our way out of the provincial park to have hot showers.
+1 (Accompanied) +1 (Outdoors), x6 (Ancestral Era)
I'm sure there's plenty more, but this is what I wrote down.
Absolutely love this - nicely done!
We just got back from a few days in the backwoods of Northern Ontario, and amongst the many things we did I taught my daughter how to make a fire-hardened wooden spear, then a stone-tipped wood spear using traditional birch pitch and made by the campfire.
I think we scored some points!
I'm glad you're feeling the love!
The setting and gear being parallel to the real world situation makes it feel immediate, and ratchets up the tension. We played in the backwoods of Killarney Provincial Park, and I loved seeing my wife's face when she realised almost all her useful gear was in the tent, and our food was already 15ft up in a tree some 150ft or so into the woods.
Where The Night Things were waiting.
And I've never been so excited to hear my daughter say, "ok, I REALLY don't think I want to play this again".
Dear Mr. Emerson,
Agnes visited me again today, I fear for the first time. I did not catch her surname, sadly, as my table wobbles terribly after a recent fall. The leg, as you know, is in need of replacing.
It was in the beanfield that she first called upon me, though we retired to the cabin after a time. We did not speak, but I was struck by her appreciation for accuracy, unlike the clods in Charlestown. I suspect she wished to ask after my personal life but, alas, words defied us both.
My time here in the woods has been most peculiar, though I have achieved my desire to live deliberately; this, despite the best efforts of both Samuel and Harold, who have visited several times over the coming months in an effort to lead me awry. Samuel employs strange idioms in conversation, while Harold continues to write me letters using phrases pulled from my very own journals, private phrases and details of my personal life that no other knows.
Both men have referred to their "wireless", and wear strange clothing. Their teeth are unusually perfect.
Still, despite these peculiarities, I believe their nature to be inherently good, and their intentions towards me to be the same. They have done nothing and said nothing to suggest otherwise, and I must take them then at face value.
At times I suspect that I am stuck in wakeful dreaming, for the incessant cough, of course, keeps me awake most nights. Is it a dream, then, that brings these men to me? Is Agnes a dream as well? I hear her words in my mind, though I have not heard them spoken aloud since the first day we met, and then only in a whisper. I cannot shake her words, however, and thus hers are now mine to you: The capital of a man is not in money but in purpose, and the advertisement of a life well lived is in living it, not in declaring it so.
I shall write you again in the Spring. I look forward to your visit.
Yours respectfully,
H.D. Thoreau
This is great! It combines four of my favourite things: Camping, Tarot Cards, Art as Narrative Inspiration, and Storytelling games! It's like Dixit + Tarot + Journaling. Nicely done.
Shameless plug: My own One Page Jam submission is "Campfire Stories" -- I can totally see playing "Feed the Fire" first, telling the story of hapless campers that went missing long ago "right around these parts".
Then transition into Campfire Stories as we try to survive The Night Things that got them, and now come for us.
"Did you hear that? They're coming!"
