So I’m running a game at the weekend, yes i’m terrified, yes i’m excited. It’s a good feeling.
I thought i’d share some of the fiction from it, intentionally vague, but gives a feel for what it’s like and about.
The women stood before the howling storm.
That consuming thing, of darkness entropy and despair. It rolled and pressed against the island like some sentient thing creature prowling, looking for a way in, a way to consume.
‘It wont be so bad, I mean you can catch up with old friends’ the man chuckled. ‘Lets be honest, there are worse things in life’
He laughed again at that. ‘Well in death, I suppose. Hope for one, I do so detest that.’
She turned and looked at him, his eyes twinkled under the dead stars above.
‘Why do you so hate hope?’ she asked quietly.
‘Because it’s a virus, it infests everything. It’s false and hollow, it’s not real.’ he smiled. ‘and you are the Typhoid Mary of it.’
‘But why hate it? It does you no harm.’ her voice was still calm and quiet.
‘But it does,’ he snarled. ‘Every last drop of it. Bitter to the taste, will you tell lovers there is a happy ever after? That the sick will get better? Lies, there is no happy ever after, no better, just this’ He gestured theatricly around him arms wide, his smile returning.
‘No there is no hope, just the cold hard truth of the grave. Everything dies, love, people, even your precious hope in the face of this.’
The women turned. Her floral dress, that was so at odds with the heavy combat boots she was wearing, fluttered in the face of the storm. She pressed her hand against his face.
‘Who hurt you that you became this? What…’
He cut her off, ‘No, you do not get to poison me with this, I wont play your little games. Remember what I am missy P, I’m not one of your strays. We have a deal.’
She stepped back, her hand hovering for a moment before dropping to her side.
‘Step into the storm, it hurts less if you don’t look back and you get what you want, you get…’ his smile did not reach his eyes as he chuckled again.
‘You get hope’