Daniel Knight
First Post
Forward
The world is full of defining moments. It is said, that one could simply be sitting watching a beautiful sunset when it occurs that elsewhere, that very same sun is the cause of heat exhaustion and the very soon death of some poor sod who’s lost his way in the desert. Or that while the idea of shoving pinecones up ones bottom might be considered somewhat erotic in Al Kelyar, unless you have sufficient lubricant it can actually be quite a painful experience. Or that love, the greatest joy known to sentient kind, is actually the cause of depression and suicide when there is a lack of it. They are all things people would rather not think about. Especially the pinecones. But they are all things that occur.
Along the same lines, it can be said that in an infinite universe with an infinite amount of possibilities, not only will a room full of monkeys type out Hamlet but they’ll also put on a production to make Kenneth Branagh give up his silly obsession with Shakespeare and spend his new found time on something closer within his talents… such as black lit tapestry weaving. This is all using logic. Science is not only unable to dispute it, but seems to support it to some extent. Somewhere, out there, there is an alternative you that’s living a perfect life with their perfect partner. Not only do they have great sex each night, but they also happily go shopping for shoes with one another. With an infinite amount of possibilities, logic dictates that this is a truth. Even if it is depressing knowing that this you is out there.
With these thoughts in the forefront of our minds, we can now accept that that following story is true. The people, places, and events are all real and have occurred in the not to distant past. The strange thing about this set-up, is not that this true story contains magic, dragons, and the occasional pinecone, but that there are a group of people sitting around a table re-enacting the events they couldn’t possibly know has occurred. These Players of the Game, are convinced that they have invented a bunch of misfit characters, who’s fate is dictated by the roll of a dice. Occasionally they’ll get a bit of corn dip on their character, and file them away at the end of the night ignoring them for another week.
Meanwhile, in this location where our story takes place, the bard Zyphnobod, is sitting on a hill looking up at the stars. His companion, a half-orc warrior by the name of Grod, sits next to him decked to the hilt in arms and armour, trying to remove a stone from his boot.
“Do you know,” said Ziphnobod “That up there, there is probably a planet impossibly far away, where our life is re-enacted in the form of a game?”
Grod squinted up at the night sky with a critical eye. “I’m not entirely sure I understand you there Ziph. Are we talking a game of cards?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure.”
“You are of course referring to the gods, yes?”
“No, no.” sighed the bard, “I was rather thinking of a world without magic, or people attacking each other all the time with swords, and where people dream of our lives to escape the boredom of their own.”
Grod examined the stone from his boot, rubbing it between his beefy thumb and forefinger thoughtfully. “You been at the spice again, haven’t you?”
And thus the conversation continued throughout the night, until of course Grod had the sense of mind to slap Ziphnobod over the back of the head with the palm of his hand. The two later on went down into the village pub, and got drunk and had a bar fight - but that as it were, isn’t really important to the overall story arc of the Players of the Game sitting around their table, so won’t be continued here. That’s not to say that Grod didn’t get kicked in the ribs, or Ziph didn’t have ale spilt down his tunic, it’s just that no one on this planet really gave it much thought.
So, without further a due, you are presented here with the life stories of some people from another planet. It’s not a work of fiction (as science seems to dictate that fiction is an impossibility), but rather a coincidental re-enactment of actual events. Some of the events have been created by some Players of the Game sitting around the table drinking far to much Red Bull and Coke, and some have been written by a bored cinema projectionist wishing that all he had to worry about were dragons, instead of bloody relationships, sour friendships, and the occasional suicidal tendency.
To Be Continued...
The world is full of defining moments. It is said, that one could simply be sitting watching a beautiful sunset when it occurs that elsewhere, that very same sun is the cause of heat exhaustion and the very soon death of some poor sod who’s lost his way in the desert. Or that while the idea of shoving pinecones up ones bottom might be considered somewhat erotic in Al Kelyar, unless you have sufficient lubricant it can actually be quite a painful experience. Or that love, the greatest joy known to sentient kind, is actually the cause of depression and suicide when there is a lack of it. They are all things people would rather not think about. Especially the pinecones. But they are all things that occur.
Along the same lines, it can be said that in an infinite universe with an infinite amount of possibilities, not only will a room full of monkeys type out Hamlet but they’ll also put on a production to make Kenneth Branagh give up his silly obsession with Shakespeare and spend his new found time on something closer within his talents… such as black lit tapestry weaving. This is all using logic. Science is not only unable to dispute it, but seems to support it to some extent. Somewhere, out there, there is an alternative you that’s living a perfect life with their perfect partner. Not only do they have great sex each night, but they also happily go shopping for shoes with one another. With an infinite amount of possibilities, logic dictates that this is a truth. Even if it is depressing knowing that this you is out there.
With these thoughts in the forefront of our minds, we can now accept that that following story is true. The people, places, and events are all real and have occurred in the not to distant past. The strange thing about this set-up, is not that this true story contains magic, dragons, and the occasional pinecone, but that there are a group of people sitting around a table re-enacting the events they couldn’t possibly know has occurred. These Players of the Game, are convinced that they have invented a bunch of misfit characters, who’s fate is dictated by the roll of a dice. Occasionally they’ll get a bit of corn dip on their character, and file them away at the end of the night ignoring them for another week.
Meanwhile, in this location where our story takes place, the bard Zyphnobod, is sitting on a hill looking up at the stars. His companion, a half-orc warrior by the name of Grod, sits next to him decked to the hilt in arms and armour, trying to remove a stone from his boot.
“Do you know,” said Ziphnobod “That up there, there is probably a planet impossibly far away, where our life is re-enacted in the form of a game?”
Grod squinted up at the night sky with a critical eye. “I’m not entirely sure I understand you there Ziph. Are we talking a game of cards?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure.”
“You are of course referring to the gods, yes?”
“No, no.” sighed the bard, “I was rather thinking of a world without magic, or people attacking each other all the time with swords, and where people dream of our lives to escape the boredom of their own.”
Grod examined the stone from his boot, rubbing it between his beefy thumb and forefinger thoughtfully. “You been at the spice again, haven’t you?”
And thus the conversation continued throughout the night, until of course Grod had the sense of mind to slap Ziphnobod over the back of the head with the palm of his hand. The two later on went down into the village pub, and got drunk and had a bar fight - but that as it were, isn’t really important to the overall story arc of the Players of the Game sitting around their table, so won’t be continued here. That’s not to say that Grod didn’t get kicked in the ribs, or Ziph didn’t have ale spilt down his tunic, it’s just that no one on this planet really gave it much thought.
So, without further a due, you are presented here with the life stories of some people from another planet. It’s not a work of fiction (as science seems to dictate that fiction is an impossibility), but rather a coincidental re-enactment of actual events. Some of the events have been created by some Players of the Game sitting around the table drinking far to much Red Bull and Coke, and some have been written by a bored cinema projectionist wishing that all he had to worry about were dragons, instead of bloody relationships, sour friendships, and the occasional suicidal tendency.
To Be Continued...
Last edited:
Thanks. 
