Under Construction Of Dungeons & d'Orleans

[Valdus]

Work in Progress- Stay tuned for edits.

Bio:

I am an ancient role-player. Way way back to the 1980's, rolling dice, crawling through treasure-laden labyrinths. I've been doing it a long long time.

Now I live in New Orleans, where people role-play for real, and don't need the naive nesting of the table top. Here, life is a role-play, finding darkness and adventure in the nearest shotgun or crumbling Greek Revival. (No, never got into World of Darkness, in NOLA it would be redundant) So my strict roleplaying has switched to play by post, chat or somewhere in between.

In the muddying of waters, my writing and roleplay has fused into something called "Dice-writing". Often with a random number in one hand, I'll and see where the random takes me (dice, oracle, table- what have you)

If I were to pick fictional parents: Star Trek is my father, and Dungeons & Dragons is my mother.

Genres:

• fantasy dungeon-crawling,
• Dragonlance-style epics,
• post-apocalyptic mayhem,
• deep-space "alone we are not alone" musings,
• First-person De Profundis community writing

Ideas:

• The Collaborative Company- an idea of writing about a mercenary company. Instead of round robin the writers take different mantles/aspects of that character.
• I have been thinking of DMing an old school one-shot here in chat using the WB: FMAG rules-ish. Not to worry, I am no rules-lawyer.
• I have spin-offs of the above ideas in genre buzzing about my head. As they get to my fingers I will post them here.
• Just about anything having to do with this Crescent City I'm up for.
• The Gymnomicon- A purely lustful and hedonistic romp of an elite gym whose members exercise either in the nude or worse (you know what I mean). A smutty plot, pure erotic writing exercise to wake up and let the juices flow (yeah that's a purposeful pun). No matter the time of day or night, everything ends in a bubble flood from vents in the ceiling (there may be electrolytes in said bubbles).

Writing Style:

• Let the Muses point the way! I usually don't go passed 500 words, hovering at a casual 250.
• Here is something I did a few months ago as a GM for a pbp:

Spoiler: Writing Sample

The sound of the banjo rings like a bell under the Stranger's Lantern. That instrument, a nearly unknown in these regions, is immediately met with wonder. It is almost like a call to arms, a call to celebrate even.

Almost immediately the sound of tinkling coins hits the hat, soon sounding against each other. While everyone is festive, in the periphery some do see it as an unnecessary distraction, especially those in the red robes.

But a plump pastry baker hands Arvi one of the larger meat pies in gratitude, occupying a hand for a moment. The crowd (and it goes from a group to a crowd quickly) finds it amusing and gestures to one and the other.

"Hmm this attention is not something I like," says Wilhye. "Though in my old pick-pocketing days I would have made a fortune with a crowd like this..." He says this, winks, rubs his nose, a keen eye could see that about half a dozen street- kids run about the crowd. With that gesture he motions to 'Thenry' to move away from Arvi and his banjo. After Crows clears his throat, Wilhye looks at 'Thenry' as if saying 'do you know this guy?' "This one looks like he should be defending the vineyards against the night-hordes..." Then his eyes bulge when Nia talks to Henri, he looks Nia up and down, now smiling at his friend knowingly, even a nudge in an approving manner.

"Haven't lost your taste for the exotic have you, Thenry?" He approaches Nia with a leering gesturing, hanging over her as if she was the edge of a cliff. "But the scent is what really intoxicates, ah, even with the smell of those damn meat pies I could smell this one. She smells as if she works for that apothecary- damn hands in all of people's potions..."

Gender & Sexuality:

• Note this is last.
• I like stories, and usually play a male character. But if the story is good let's see where it goes.
• As far as sexuality, in my fiction I usually do the heroic- fantasy practice of fading to black, of leaving the character alone and let them do there thing. But if a muse slaps me in the ass, I can go as far as previous checks go.
• Anything goes with the Gymnomicon.