Sunday, July 29, 2007

Off The Road

Been on it quite a bit lately. In hope, in frustration, in reflection, in anticipation. There will be journeys in a few weeks but now it's time to sit still. Don't suppose that'll stop me, though.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

New Game

"Fagin's Gang" was playtested yesterday with some popularity. Stealing is harder than you think. You have to be in the right place at the right time - not easy with the policemen moving you on and the other players stealing your turf. Deceptively simple and frustratingly complex.
A winner.

Sunday, July 15, 2007

Rain rain go away come again another day

I suppose it really was a bit much putting the beer festival on Friday the 13th. Asking for it, you might say. Wetter outside than in, and so forth. Still Saturday was nice, made up for it, beer hadn't all run out, with a good band who seemed to have borrowed my record collection at one point. Get your tickets early next year.

And today is St. Swithin's Day. Which is not going to be good news for all those living on flood plains.

Friday, July 13, 2007

Travelling On

The Black Knight returned from the Great Archery Tourney at the Seaside. He unstringed his bow, broke his arrows and burned his quiver. He took off his armour, which had never really fit anyway, and gave it to his squire.

He kept the sword, for he'd need that, and he bought a new lance. He whitewashed the shield and repainted it in rainbow colours. Ready now.

Friday, July 06, 2007

Lances Leaving

The Black Knight turned his horse around for a last look at the Great Castle. From here he could just see the Keep. As the last of the light glinted off his broken lance, a fire could be seen in the Great Hall. It seemed smaller and darker somehow.

The Black Knight sat still for a moment and reflected.

The jousting was complete, the banquet demolished. The parchments were all scribed and the banners furled. Not all the maidens were rescued and not all the dragons slain, and there were a few ghosts left too, but a quest had been made. A promise honoured. The Great Book held the story.

The enchanted cave, off to one side, was silent, waiting for another to carry the Golden Bough. In the twilight it looked more like a tomb. The Black Knight sighed as he remembered his days as a squire. He'd carried the standard once. No more. The flags were bright then, the days long, the armour polished, and the carousing ... oh, the carousing.

In the distance, from the stables, a soft neigh. Or was it imagination? No, it was the wind of change rustling the trees.

The Black Knight dipped his lance briefly in mute (and mock) salute, drew his broadsword and hefted it against an unseen enemy in the night, then galloped off without a backward glance. A mace at his side, an open field, witches in their lair, what else would be found?

There are always more windmills to tilt at.