Antihero, FictioVal and Brast Issinn

Yesterday, I sent the text for Antihero to the scenario team at Fastaval. Hoorah! That’s that bad conscience off my chest – now I can concentrate on all the others.

Like this blog. I’ve not written enough on here recently. Partially, this has had to do with me having a busy life, partially it has to do with me not really having much to say – not least because I haven’t had a lot of chances to play a lot of roleplaying games.
The first is a matter of priority, the second is a matter of making sure I’m challenged. For this reason, I’ve invented a form for myself: FictioVal, a fictional, non existent, con, for which I’ll be writing previews for scenarios that don’t exist. Of course, some might come into existence if I like them enough (or you can either ask me to write your favorite, or ask for permission to write it yourself). Some are going to be serious, some will be tongue in cheek or satirical. Quite a few are likely to be somewhere in between.
The first such preview is already written; the second is right here:
Brast íssinn

Ragnhildar looked up from the pot. The smoke in her face had made her eyes water. Or was it something else? Hálfdan wasn’t sure. He looked down. He heard the hut creak under the strain of the wind. He’d go out and feel the wind on his face, but he knew the wind carried rain, and that even a small gust would sting and freeze his skin. He looked up, and Ragnhildar caught his eye. Her mouth was tense. She narrowed her eyes. He stood up and went out.

Olav took another step. He liked being on the ice. The ice was nice. Smooth and hard.
He took another step. Suddenly, the ice creaked loudly. Olav let out a little cry. He felt the ice move underneath.

Life in the village is good in summer. The food is plenty, the men go raiding and the children play outside. In winter, the food is scarce, and both men and children stay at home, shielding from the cold and the wind. Children grow bored, men grow restless, women grow irritable. And until the melting ice announces spring, everyone in the village must tread lightly or risk shattering the fragile peace.

Brast Ísinn is a jeepform scenario about little irritations accumulating during the long winter. A scenario about keeping your cool. About treading carefully.


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