Glass Bird Games

Inside the Forest, Under the Moonlight - Caspar Friedrich 1830 Once upon a time, as a younger, foolish man (like just over a year ago) I started a blog. There was a lot that went into that and a lot that led up to that, but let's leave it at this: it was something I'd always wanted to do, and getting emotional and writing nerd shit remains something I want to pour myself into for a lot more years. (The next few paragraphs are some more weepy personal blather because apparently this blog also doubles as therapy for me, so feel free to skip down to the title below. TL;DR: here's a project I've been toying with and plan to start working on in earnest.) I set myself some rules/goals/principles when I got started. I called them The Cares of a Carelord , which I still think is a pretty good descriptor. And one of the chief amongst them was the promise to show my work: "I care about showing my work, in every sense...for me it's so valuable to see how the sausage is ma...

Road, Ivan Shishkin The Road goes ever on and on, Down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, And I must follow, if I can. I have been on a journey. I have walked the road, first one foot and then the other. Through chilling wind and snow, down many errant trails, and o'er the most treacherous peaks I have taken my way. And though my destination still awaits me many, many miles down the track, I am here . On the path that is every path and no path, the grand river delta of earth and stone and root that branched out from my front door the day I took my first step. I cannot return to that home. None of us can. But there are homely places on the path, and a home at the end of every branch. I am not ready to rest my weary feet. I will keep walking. Packing  is key. Now, I'm hardly a roadly expert of any note, but I do know that if you're a halfling of any sense you'll need the following on your travels, at the very least: A solid walking stick (4d4)...

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.

I'm an aspiring wanderer of wildernesses that have never been. I'm a dreamer who doesn't get very much done, at the end of the day. I'm a nervous wreck of a carelord. I'm an unbelievable, insufferable, absolute fucking  nerd . Don't believe me? Check out this essay I wrote about my history with RPGs, due to appear in Knock Issue #2 ( still mid-KS until the 24th ) - the Knock version has the bonus of fantastic art by the talented  Evlyn Moreau  and the incredible layout madness that the Mushmen are known for. ------------------- Istus is the goddess of fate and destiny in good old Gary’s Greyhawk campaign setting. She spins the tapestry of the universe from strands of potentiality. She bears the weight of penning the future, down to the most minute detail. She is all-seeing and all-knowing. And I used to think I was her. From the beginning of my RPG obsession, my experience GMing (as a preteen roping my too-young brothers and my tolerant mom into a stumbling, fum...