Glass Bird Games

In Crimea, Ivan Shishkin When I was very young there was a stretch when I was absolutely obsessed with Prokofiev's Peter and the Wolf . For those unfamiliar, the piece is a narrated children's story accompanied by an orchestra, with each character represented with a specific instrument and theme. I loved  it, and would listen to it over and over again until I had every bit memorized. Not so much every word, or even the specifics of the story, but every turn of the music was etched into my imagination. The characters spoke to me not through their literal actions, but through the way they were portrayed by the orchestra. Soon I was imagining entirely new stories, new configurations of characters and their interactions based on the way their themes were woven together as the narration rattled on, entirely ignored. Music has such a deep-seated emotive effect, even for kids (or adults!) with no formal musical literacy to speak of. We should be leveraging this inborn sonic empathy be...

Boat by the Shore (1888), Torsten Wasastjerna  Death is common in most fantasy games. Whether the PCs are in danger of crossing the veil or are regularly sending the deserving (🙄) monsters of the world to meet their maker, Death is a presence. A character in and of itself, especially when we decide to anthropomorphize it. Gods of death are numerous, and generally of a familiar vein. They are evil, spooky, loaded down with skulls and crows and other on-the-nose paraphernalia. Or they're cosmic and unknowable, dark and empty and unyielding, just barely recognizable as something intelligent. The ultimate void. But death is not an enigma. Not really. It's something, someone who we all know to some degree. Who we will all know intimately, one day. So why should they be sinister, or terrifying? Death is an old friend, awaiting our return to their quiet company. That's why my Death is different.