Friday's Birthday

Oh my! I had so much I wanted to say about Friday's birthday but now all I can do is sit here and smile. How dear it is to have her here nearby where I can enjoy her and share these special days.

Free Form Role Play

I know it's been ages since my last post but I somehow managed to lock how to log onto the site out of my mind and then pride

It started on a fall evening. "Friday" was home from school for the weekend and typing feverishly on her computer. I remember my first reaction was how much her typing speed had improved! As I peered over her shoulder I noticed she was in a chat room. Dialogue from other members of the room scrolled gently up the screen.

"What's this?" I asked.

"It's role play," she answered, her voice somewhat distant as if she simply glimpsed back to answer a mundane question out of the cloud of dramatic fantasy unfolding on the screen.

I looked closer. Her "character" was "Rylana" and this was the "Red Dragon Inn" on American Online. She gave stage directions in between double sets of colons (::Rylana crosses the room, her cloak billowing along the oaken floors as she walks::)

What fun! I sat and watched for hours as she attracted one character after another and they carried on short conversations. Turned out this role playing could be as complicated or as detailed as the writer wished. In time I began exploring the world of role play myself and created a character I called "Pomona of Elm Glen." That was simply ages ago but from time to time I get in a creative itch and wander through the role play world looking for a good story line. This last Saturday I sent out a missive to a character with whom I lost contact over five years ago. To my surprise, yesterday I received this response:

"A white pigeon with oddly viridian (a durable bluish green) eyes falls, more than wings, exhausted into the limbs of a stately elm. In extremity, its feet fail to grasp first one, then another branch. The ungraceful flailing of wings and scrabbling against bark attract the attention of a predator as the bird at last manages to cling to the next to lowest bough. Beak open, feathers tattered, her glazing eyes slowly blink, unaware of the housecat that even now stalks toward the tree and easy prey."
This morning I responded:
"She carries the last of the daily watch fire ash to the bin. Agatha, the portly yellow tabby and self-appointed mistress of the walled dwelling escorts her human across the cobbled way. Pomona talks as they walk, then realizes she no longer has audience. A poor tattered pigeon, yonder in one of the father elms has called upon the marauder instinct in Agatha who now crouches and inches her chubby self along. As long as the bird stays on its limb it is in no mortal danger. But then it looses its grip and topples to the ground, lying silently as its fate arrives in one pounce. Something strikes Pomona like the peeling of the bell that once stood above the dwelling. A sudden terror strikes her. She leaps after Agatha, gathers the nape of the animal’s fur and pulls it off her prey. Thankfully Agatha has only begun to toy with her prize. As Pomona lifts the limp little body a current travels up her arms. The bird opens its eyes and Pomona sees the odd bluish green color. Immediately she begins to pray. It must be a missive…but from whom?"

Now we wait to see if the character will play or not. It's a very interesting process. Once I played alongside a player for three years until he tired of it and allowed his character to be killed during the border wars outside Rhydin.

After so many years of play I decided to put together a story about Pomona, her family, and the world from which she comes. I called it “The Sisters of Eselgroth.” I suppose if I had a very good editor and one with a great deal of passion for my plight I might one day put the story into print. That’s for providences’ hand for the moment.

And thus ends another day,
Seriously