Nozbat

I would abstract it Joerg because you also will get... ..otherwise you will get drawn into all sorts of interesting laws of kinetics which I, for one, am glad I left behind long ago. I still think you can make it exciting by allowing the players to make all sorts of difficult or specialist manoeuvres using their drive or ride skills with various penalties attached. Opposed pursuit rolls for drive or fly would allow you to escape or catch up. Want to do a handbrake turn on your Ox pursuit-wagon ?.. Drive oxen and -50% modifier. Try an inside loop with your pegasus.. Ride Pegasus and a -80% modifier. Making high risk manoeuvres gives you an advantage.. you surprise your opponent by appearing behind her. Failure might mean your pegasus has stalled and you are open to attack. Players could practice unique skills or manoeuvres like the pilots in WW1 dogfights and mark the kills by tattooing victims on their vehicles (or animals). Lots of fun to be had without delving into Kinetics (anyway I can really only remember straight line motion.. so no turns or figures-of-eight manoeuvres) And surely Pythagoras theorem was about right angle triangles... the only use I've seen is when my German partner calculated if we could get a new large sofa in through our apartment door... we couldn't.. so had to opt for a modular design.

The huge raven alighted on the branch that buckled under her weight. The object of her attention was a man leading a horse through the forest at the edge of the lake. The raven was ravenously hungry, anticipating a feast of eyes, tongue and liver when the Rusalka was finished with him. The thought of the Rusalka made the raven nervous. She shifted on the branch making the man with the horse look up suddenly. "Stop following me, bird," shouted the man, breaking the silence. He looked around for something convenient to throw at the raven but unable to find anything but contented himself with muttering some curses. "The gods have forsaken this land. There are no animals or people anywhere.," he mumbled, “except for that demon pretending to be a raven.” The raven looked at him curiously, paying a bit more attention to her prospective meal. She could hear other being’s thoughts if she concentrated although she seldom did so much these days. Sometimes in the past she had been more curious about people. She often had flashes of a different life but when it happened it made her uneasy. The best way to get rid of those intrusions was by hunting and eating. The past was the past. The present was what mattered. The raven focused her attention on where she thought the Rusalka would be. When it started singing she had better get out of hearing. She would come back for the meal when the Rusalka had finished with whatever it wanted with the man. The two predators had worked together from last Spring and the raven saw no benefit in becoming one of the Rusalka's victims. The unlikely partnership was what had allowed the raven to stop the endless searching. She had forgotten what she was searching for which made it hard to find whatever it was. The raven croaked in what might have been a laugh if her vocal chords could have made the sound. Maybe partnership was the wrong concept, the Rusalka was unlikely to enter any sort of partnership, she was the most powerful predator in this region. But Autumn was here and with food becoming scarce she might have to resume her endless flight. The Rusalka seemed to be getting sleepier as the colder days arrived and was less active. That meant less food and more active hunting for her. The raven turned her attention back to the man. The horse he led was lame and both seemed wet, hungry and exhausted from the recent incessant rains. It was unusual to see people travel in late Autumn. The man must have a pressing need. The raven listened to the man. Perhaps with her acute hearing she could hear sub-vocalisations or perhaps she could hear his thoughts. She never really was interested to find out which. The man was thinking of his wife and three daughters. He was calling them over as he pictured himself sitting in a comfortable seat beside a fire. He was explaining to them that the Boyar had asked him to take a message to the Prince of Kiev and that it could not wait for Spring. His words or thoughts changed and seemed to move to the present. He was telling his wife that he missed her and feared he would not return. She needed to look after the girls and make sure that Boyar Yaromir found them good husbands. He cursed Yaromir and wished him all manner of unpleasantries. In the middle of his monologue he slipped and fell, twisting his ankle on an exposed tree root. He cursed the gods, cursed the marshes, cursed the lakes and in particular, cursed tree roots. What I need he said out loud is Baba Yaga's hut. His thoughts and words were interrupted by singing. The raven started, stretched her wings and flew off. She did not want to be caught by that beautiful, unearthly song. Her brain was fogged by images of wellness and desire. She had only to find the source of the song and she would have anything she desired. But the Rusalka lied. She always lied. The only reward for anyone who believed the song was a watery death. From a safe distance she watched the man drop the horse’s reins and swollen ankle forgotten, move at almost a run towards the source of the sounds. A short time later the music stopped and then an ethereal shout of ‘Elena’ echoed through the empty woods rising to a crescendo and then fading like the wind in the empty night. The raven knew it was time to eat. She soared over the cold, deep lake, quickly spotting the body. Landing beside it, she chased off several other scavengers who wanted the fresh meat. They all gave way to the outsized Raven. She started with the eyes, the juiciest parts and would finish with the liver. She was interrupted by a bear but it backed off. The raven ruffled her feathers, proud that she was powerful enough to scare a bear only to be quickly corrected in her assumption. "I am curious," said the voice behind her. The raven shifted position to look at the Rusalka sitting on a rock observing her. “I am curious about a raven that is not a raven," said the Rusalka. "So am l," said the Raven." but I can't help you with the answer." "Do you get sleepy too in the winter? I find I grow very sleepy in winter and my memories fade. In Spring I awaken refreshed and remember who I am, who I was" "Not at all, this is not similar for me” answered the raven, "and l have always been a raven.” "But that is not what I see," said the Rusalka smiling," I think l was once a woman, who was warm and loved. Maybe I loved too much. But the memories are dim. I think you also were a woman, but did not love like I did." The Raven looked anxiously around, judging if she could escape the Rusalka. "Fear not!' said the grinning Rusalka, "I am sated and warm after I fed on your meat’s soul, I will not harm you. I can see you were once something else. Have you been ensorcelled?" "I have always been a Raven. I do not recall any other existence but there are sometimes dreams." The Rusalka seemed to lose interest in the conversation. She began to look around. The raven became wary. "Maybe you would like me to sing for you," said the Rusalka. The Raven did not wait to reply. She stretched her wings and flew. Her flight was followed by the sound of soft laughter.

I suspect that's where my PCs will end up as they are actually a bunch of anarcho-syndicalists who will be rather quickly become Enemies of the State and Mierce is likely to be the only place they will find peace from the various feuds and outlawings that they will be accused of or actually commit. They have asked to see a laecce to ask some questions of the Spirits so I'll be filling them up with discorporating herbs and while in a chemically altered state they will take the first steps on the path of anarchy (I should utter an evil cackle at this stage but am content with a mere smirk)

I might also be interested .. timing permitted and time difference compatibility.. and I (unlike some who failed their deceit roll) haven’t read any of the above for at least 30 years and have just checked my bookcase and my copies have been stolen!!!

That campaign has obviously been running for a while... I'm introducing a heretical sect of Jötunn worship which has an alternative view on Woden as a self-seeking, psychopathic narcissist only intent on delaying Ragnarok to preserve his own life and when mine catches up with your timeline maybe we will introduce our PCs to each other and see what they do...😇

Thanks...I'll try that and see if there are people willing to collaborate. I've written a fair amount already.. possibly enough for a number of sessions and did out some maps today... I even went hunting for some colouring pencils

Rose this sounds like a Psychology paper?

In my (very short) Broo interlude adventure there was a two headed Broo called... Jake and Elwood Broo.. they did hate Illinois Nazis though

Angrboða closed the door into the main hall where the Jötunn still drank, boasted and tried to outdo each other in feats of strength. It was sadly often the case at the Yule feast. Angrboða sighed and turned to her companions. “Boys will be boys, Angrboða, you can’t change the way they have acted for millennia”, said Sívör. “But girls will be woman”, replied Angrboða, “ and as ever, we need to plan for the coming year to counter the Æsir. Our men are too busy swinging their dicks to consider what needs to be done.” “Tell the others what you told me about Óðinn, Gnissa”, said Angrboða taking her seat at the head of the table where the other twelve Gýgjar and Trollkvinna sat. Jötunheimr is a matriarchy. The Jötunn like to pretend otherwise and the Gýgjar are content to let them believe that but everyone knows where the true power lies. If it was not for the Council of Thirteen, Thor would have long ago reduced the Jötunnr to extinction by pulp. The Æsir deny power to the Ásynjur, preferring to believe they alone have the power to rule the nine worlds and prevent Ragnarök. Angrboða often thought that if the Ásynjur would revolt against the patriarchy, both could bring peace to Miðgarðr. Instead, Angrboða had to consider absolute destruction to bring about change. That is the meaning of my name, she thought, ‘she who offers sorrow’. Angrboða turned away from her inward thoughts to listen to Gnissa as she was explaining how once again Óðinn was consulting with Mímir's head to try to understand the last days. “My fylgja, Hreysiköttr, sat unseen in the lower branches of Yggdrasil as Óðinn questioned Mímir’ head. Mímir would not tell Óðinn directly of Ragnarök, but Óðinn has drunk the Mead of Kvasir and he was able to discern much of Mímir’s dissembling.” “Óðinn once again shows that his only purpose in life is to preserve his own and that, at the expense and detriment of all others. All of the nine worlds suffer for his selfishness and his self-preservation,” said Angrboða, “However, we have learnt something new. Tell us Gnissa.” Gnissa stood as she addressed her sisters as she felt that the occasion warranted more formality. “What we have learnt is that in Ragnarök, the patriarchy will die but there will not be absolute destruction but arising from the ashes and sundered seas, new worlds will arise. These new worlds will not be ones of sorrow, hunger and death for those that will once again dwell in Miðgarðr, but a land of plenty. It will not be overseen by the self-preserving Æsir, but by a council of Vanir and Gýgjar.” There were sharp intakes of breath and Angrboða rose and motioned for silence to quell the questions beginning to form on many lips. “I have cast the rune-sticks and we have a new hope in Járnviðja.” “Járnviðja? My youngest daughter and heir;” said Gnissa, smiling.

I love matching drapes...

I just got an email from DriveThruFiction and King of Sartar is their Deal of the Day... but its a PDF https://www.drivethrufiction.com/product/176926/King-of-Sartar

As a bit of a diversion for my players and to get them out of their comfort zone, I've decided to run an AS Chronicle. Interestingly, there is some misgiving about roleplaying Saxons, Jutes or Angles at the time of Arthur as they feel they are no longer on the 'goodies' side. Anyways, I have both Logres and Waterlands Scenarios but was interested if any other GMs had done something similar with their own material and would be willing to swop information/ ideas? The PCs are three brothers, each with their own secrets. The basic premise for the first scenario is finding why their father's ghost has not been able to find rest. According to family tradition, he volunteered to act as rearguard and hold up pursuing enemies while allowing his Carls to escape. It was presumed that he fell heroically in succeeding to protect his men. So why does he appear to the PCs' mother in dreams, silently talking to her, covered in gore and blood with fatal wounds on his body? I want to create a fluid, multi-layered campaign that allows the PCs choice and feel that they are in control of their wyrds but also marks the passing of time in that they grow older, perhaps richer and more powerful, eventually die (maybe even in bed) and are succeeded by their children. They can then build up a dynasty So if anyone would like to collaborate ..I'd be only too happy to join in

I's certainly be interested in that... I'm still working on the Hanse campaign so this is all good stuff I need something to distract me as I'm off work after a night On call and it feels like this...

My allied spirit is Laphraoig ... it also helps with discorporation

Don’t get me started on Broo and Post-modernism...

"The show has been lauded for its realistic take on dealing with depression, trauma, addiction, self-destructive behaviour, racism, sexism, sexuality and the human condition" yep...that sounds Brooish

Oi-Boi definition: A person or animal who is particularly fat, lazy and sleepy, yet comforting, soft and kind-faced. Never thought of orcs as soft and comforting but I guess people change and evolve. Next we will have Walktapus Social Workers and Scorpion-people nurses However this picture is even more disturbing and insidious and shows how Broo infiltrated the 70's hippy culture posing in front of the ruins of the Big Rubble

My sister, who is an artist, has just sent me some of her older artwork to keep for her. Its a set of prints from her "My head is an animal'" She did a whole series of plaster moulds and subsequent bronzes and then took pictures of them and made prints I was thinking that perhaps Broo have evolved to be accepted in modern society.. for evidence I present the following .. his chaotic feature appears to be 'Like the Specials'. Those of us who are old enough will remember the particularly dystopian Ghost Town which I guess is how Broo sometimes see themselves.. outsiders, left on the shelf, forgotten and despised ...though I am struggling with Ska being associated with chaos

It’s Jar-eel’s teeth that evoke similarities

My Hardcover arrived today and hadn’t realised you can get a PDF free 😭😭😭

I was thinking about the best lines from players in my 30+ years of gamesmastering...some of my favourites are: On a week trip to the wilds of West Cork I ran a short number of scenarios where the players were Broo. Periodically the Malia Rune Priest showed up to check they were furthering the spreading of disease, chaos and general mayhem. On one such occasion, one of the Broo characters greeted the Rune Lord with, ”The pus in my soul rises up to greet thee, My Lord”.“ Or perhaps when Lord Harold (Harry to his mates) Cadwalader, and upper class twit dilettante, was asked to make a History roll in CoC. He turned to his Valet, Toby Perkins (run by another player) and asked him: ”What is my History roll, Toby?” ”I think your Lordship will find it on his Lordship’s character sheet, directly underneath First Aid”, replied Toby ”Would you be a good chap and roll it for me Toby? I have a glass of brandy in one hand and a cigar in the other and quite frankly this is what I pay you for.” Anyone else have any classic lines?

Correct

Two out of three...

I share a common fate with the sea, Spinning the months around in alternate cycles. When the glory of my light-forming form wanes, so, too, the sea loses its swollen flood tides No-one can see me or catch me in their palms I spread the noisy sound of my voice through the world; I can break to pieces the strong oak with my loud crashing voice, as I beat against the high poles of the sky and traverse the fields Formed in a marvellous way, born without seed I loan my sweet great with treasure from flowers; By my art the golden platters of Kings grow yellow; always I bear the small, sharp spears of cruel war And though I lack hands, my spear stings more cruelly than weapons forged by smiths

We need a new Character class.. Wordsmith or perhaps a Blatherskite ...and some new spells.. Dispel Pun Protection from Pun Counterpun Invoke earnest and for CoC Temporary Insanity of Paranomasia