Solo d6 Fantasy: Session 3

Clean up the mess and then head down the trail to the lair...

Solo d6 Fantasy: Session 2

Mort & Vin decide to inquire about adding a member to their crew, and then end up hiring Aranngort, a venturist that appears a little less sure of himself. Vin mumbles to Mort that at least he will take an arrow or two before falling and then they would not have to pay him...

Aranngort

They head out on the road...

And immediately encounter some trouble!

Thank you Veterans

 

Thank you to all the Veterans who have served. Not everyone will stand up for those people they will never met and ensure we all wake up to freedom and liberty every day, but to those that do and continue to serve, I thank you with all my heart.

The Pit of Despair: Map25.03

Decades ago, Metcalf the Surgeon had a fantastic idea. Using his extensive biological knowledge and alchemical wizardry, he could create guard creatures, owls to deliver letters and a host of other interesting 'minions' as he called them. This did well until a dark-faced man came into his shoppe and asked for more, he wanted something larger, more powerful, more dangerous. Something sinister. An like that Metcalf realized he had discovered an entirely new business: custom-made golems! Thus was born Metcalf's Minions!

 

Due to disagreements with the local administration, Metcalf was forced to retreat a secret lair, deep in the forest. Being a dedicated loner, deeply into his work, he slowly lost his mind and create more and more wild and dangerous golems, selling them for massive profits.

He eventually ran out of fresh sources of material for his golems and began kidnapping passing merchants, captured goblins, cattle, and wild creatures for his creations. He is extremely paranoid and always has a few minions on hand to protect him and his lab. He is currently hard at work...and well behind the deadline...for a powerful customer. He would not appreciate being interrupted at this time.

Solo d6 Fantasy: Session 1

 

Mort & Vin enter the village of Bramblgulf. In a chance encounter they met Pollard a local merchant who gives them a quest. I used the Solo d6 system as is as much as possible and only resorted to using the provided oracle when things got murky or I was just stuck.

Matt's Note:

I have decided that I am likely not going to write up much for the blog and probably just let the photo speak for itself. I may include things like thoughts on the system, or perhaps why I did something a particular way, but I want to keep the workload of these blog postings to a minimum. Some might enjoy reading them. I am also going to include some goofy AI artwork just because. 

As I was working through this, I decided I wanted to use the map I drew, something I rarely do much anymore. As it happens, the random rolls to determine the quest lined up almost perfectly so I decided to run with it.

Mortbello

Vinarys

Azzod's Temple: Map25.02

Another work break map, a simple remote temple inside a mountain or hill. The hermit-like monks run the temple for dedicated followers on a pilgrimage to a holy place in their religion.

Solo d6 Fantasy: Session 0

I took some time over a break at work to use the Solo d6 Fantasy system for a spin and created two characters for an actual play. I used the rules exactly as stated and based the character cards on the ones in the photo in the rules.

System is pretty robust and allows you to create unique feeling characters (especially with the trait table to help flesh out the character's personality) with just a few rolls and notes. One thing to note is that this is a player-facing rolling game, so all rolls are made by the players. This may sound logical given that this is primarily meant for solo play, but this is also FOR the characters, meaning all rolls are made on behalf of the characters. You roll to attack and you roll to defend from the monsters’ attacks. Which I thought might be a problem for me as I have never really enjoyed that sort of thing but I have to tell you, I love it! The fact also that a character can choose to dodge an attack OR block it (block using STR and dodge using FIN) allows a greater feeling of control and creative license to be tactical in the attributes you use. 

I will probably at some point create an additional equipment table as the included one is short, no doubt so it could be included in the small footprint of the game. The Expanded version includes excellent random tables for terrain, encounter activities, treasure, NPCs, a selection of common monsters….enough to let any solo play really bite into and create a solid gaming session.

I generated a basic quest presmise and starter village from the tables and after randomly roll some tables realized I could utilize one of the maps I have created. So Vinarys & Mortbello are set to head out for the first adventure!

The Bandits' Defilement: Map25.01

Another friend and I were lamenting that we missed the creative process that was fulfilled by gaming back in the day (both of us have stepped away due to the politicized gaming community). 

Christian smartly said: “Don’t do anything grand, fellas. Field notes map doodles, star block, adventure seeds, etc. Quick little bites for a daily creative check in, but leave it at that.” 

And you know what? He was exactly right. I immediately stepped back, pulled out my field notes, and tossed this together. No grand “I am going to publish this!”, no “I am going to throw this into Affinity and clean it up, add color!”…just a notebook and a pen.

I think too often my desire to create morphs into a desire to create things useful to others. My enjoy moves from the most important thing for me and is replaced with others' needs. I think I have let this dominate the way I create things for so long that I honestly do not know how to just do for me. This left me feeling very much unfulfilled as a creator, gamer, heck...person.

After a month away, and discussing this with my other good friend Bill, I realized what the problem was: I missed gaming for me. Doing what I enjoy and (sorry) reader/others be damned. I need to do what brings me joy. I have always enjoyed mapping, so I followed Christian's advice and took five minutes or so at work and drew a map using what I had handy. Luckily, I always have a Field Notes style notebook, pens and a marker.  The result is what I posted at the top of this page. 

Is it perfect? Heck no. Might someone use it? Maybe? Do I care? Not really. Around the same time I stumbled upon Solo d6 Fantasy. Now, I love me some d6s and a simple system and I have tried dozens of them and they just felt lacking, this one though, I really liked. Just deep enough to be interesting, but not so deep that it kills the speed of play for me. I am going to play it for a while, goof off, and have some fun. Some of you might like it, most probably won't but you know, I don't care.

So I guess what I am saying is...

"Hi. I am back. I am going to have some fun for me and enjoy some creating and gaming, my way."

Solo d6 Fantasy: Expanded

 

I discovered this little gem after spending some time away from gaming for a while. This is a great little system with enough depth to really get you into the game without weighing you down with needless pages of rules.

Solo d6 Fantasy: Expanded is available on itchi.io. I have created characters, played two sessions and I am having a great time. I may post some actual play in the future but for now, I just thought I would share this neat little game I discovered.

Wyllow & Brannoc, session 0 (Arneson Gaming)

Playing around and doing some playtesting of the AG rules, whipped up (rather quickly) some basic fantasy types to go on a little adventure. I used some random tables I came up with to serve as a 'kit' to get a jump start on creating an interesting character and 'rolled' up two characters. I figure with this little bit of information I should be able to run a full game. Let's see how this goes...

Arneson Gaming, revisited?

Well, I have been rummaging around for about six months, trying out various things, new systems, anything to get my creative juices flowing again and I stumbled upon that little gem on my Google Drive that I wrote nearly a decade ago and, well, it sort of would not get out of my head. So, screw it, 

I am working on some more details, creating a phone version of the PDF for easy use while mobile. I am also thinking about some 'kits' for different genres of gaming such as fantasy, scifi, Gothic Noir, post-apoc, etc. Not sure yet, but we will see where this goes.

Halflings (ODD Race)

I discovered a handful of recent stripped down D&D hacks online this last week. One immediately jumped out at me, probably because of the old school aesthetics they used in its layout. I mean, look at it!

You can check out One Depth Deeper here: https://blk-feather-press.itch.io/odd

Now you are probably thinking, "Another D&D clone....ugh. Why???" Well, because we keep playing around with rules and ideas and this one has some interesting things that change it (some drastically) from what you think of when you think of D&D.  BUT first, I have to take care of one serious problem:

NO HALFLINGS!

Seriously, like wtf. So I wrote one up. Not sure if it balanced or anything but who cares. Games must include halflings for me to read/play. I am still reading through the rules but I am liking what I have read so far. Perhaps I will find the time to actually play a game!

Turand Kamlat Monastery

 

A return to form? I do not know, but I received a new Apple Pencil and wanted to give it a go so what better way than to draw a map. Last night I watched "Season of the Witch", not a fantastic film but somewhat fun and the end battle took place in a remote monastery so I think that subconsciously guided me on this one. 

The Moathaus

 

Been a loooooong time since I picked up my tablet and drew a map. I started working on this map well over a year ago. Today I replaced my Apple Pencil (likely stolen by goblins) Not finished but made a lot of progress over where I previously had stopped. It was based largely on a map I found somewhere on the internet and I just wanted to do my little spin on it in my usual style.

Anyone recognize this one? No-prizes if you can identify it!

May she forever fly free

 

Let's play some Fuckin' D&D, part III

Chronicles of Stone & Blood – Part II

After clawing their way out of the ossuary’s grip, the Saintly Bastards returned to Greymire with battered limbs and quiet minds. For all their swagger and cynicism, something in that tomb had whispered to them. Something had watched.

The town greeted them with little more than flickering lanterns and muddy streets. It was a place on the edge—of the hills, of history, and now, of something darker. While Grobnar, Sleevax, and Pimm made straight for the Saucy Tart tavern, Sister Malady sought solitude and reflection.

In the quiet upstairs room of the Dustmere Inn, Malady laid out the cursed relics they’d claimed: the whispering skull amulet, the gilded hand, and the cold black iron hand. The candlelight danced over them like spirits. Then came the tapping—soft and deliberate at her window. Unstartled, she approached, candle in hand, and drew the curtain.

There was nothing outside. Yet the window was fogged from the outside, and traced across its surface was a sigil: a perfect circle, crossed by three vertical slashes. As she watched, the symbol pulsed with a cold, pale light. The skull amulet whispered in response, its voice like many murmuring as one.

Malady saw a vision—not reflected, but revealed. A stone throne buried deep beneath the earth. A mass of shadow coiled around it, too many eyes watching from its folds. Upon the throne sat a figure wrapped in iron and linen. One hand of gold. One of black iron.

She recorded it all in her journal before extinguishing the candle and surrendering to sleep, her god’s sigil gripped tightly in her palm.

Back at the Saucy Tart, the others sought comfort in drink, meat, and exaggeration.

The tavern was a sagging two-story structure of dark wood and low ceilings, thick with pipe smoke and the scent of spilled ale. The hearth roared with a greedy flame, its glow painting every wall in gold and shadow. A stuffed wyvern’s head hung over the mantle, its glass eyes dulled by time and grime. The floor creaked like an old boat, and the air buzzed with the hum of half-drunken conversation.

At one table, a pair of caravan guards argued over dice and debts. Near the bar, a merchant’s clerk loudly recounted how he once chased off a bandit with nothing but a ledger and a mean stare. Two locals nursed mugs in silence, eyes flicking toward the Bastards with something like respect—or fear.

Grobnar slumped into a bench like a sack of boulders, banging his tankard on the table. “Meat,” he growled. “Bleeding if possible.”

Pimm flopped beside him, pulling out his lute and plucking at it with distracted fingers. “Don’t expect applause. This crowd has no taste.”

Sleevax, naturally, occupied the best seat—boots on the bench, arms stretched wide, speaking just loudly enough for everyone nearby to hear. “So there we were, facing down a wall of shrieking bones, and who do you think takes the first swing? Not Grob. Not Sister Doom. Me.” He grinned. “Naturally.”

A barmaid named Kella brought their plates—mutton pies steaming and lopsided, trenchers of thick brown stew, and a round of foamy local ale that tasted like old boots but hit like a crossbow.

“That thing over the fire ever move?” Grobnar asked, eyeing the wyvern head.

“Only when you’ve had enough to make it interesting,” Kella said, smirking. “First round’s on the house. Second’ll cost you your soul or a song.”

Pimm grinned. “We’re already short on souls. Better make it a song.”

But even in the noise and warmth, the Bastards felt a hollow edge to the evening. The bone dust was still under their fingernails. The air outside still carried the breath of the tomb.

That’s when Pimm saw the old man.

He sat in the farthest corner, half-shadowed, nursing a mug of something dark and bitter. His eyes didn’t wander. They studied.

Curious as ever, Pimm rose and snatched Sleevax’s mug right out from under the elf. Now armed with two drinks, Pimm wandered over. Behind him, he heard Sleevax bark, ‘Hey, you damn little gnome! That was mine!’

He offered it without preamble. “For the thirst,” he said, sliding onto the bench. “You look like a man who’s seen more than most and talks less than he should.”

The man took the drink. Didn’t thank him. But after a long pause, he spoke.

“You one of ‘em?”

Pimm nodded. “From the tomb. And you?”

The man’s story spilled out in pieces—of a cave found years ago, of a throne buried in ash, of the gold and iron hands laid like relics on an altar. Of a humming in the dark that felt like a memory trying to surface.

“The gold one whispers,” the man said. “And if you pick wrong… you won’t die. You’ll wish you had.”

Pimm’s smile faltered, just slightly. “Charming fellow. Bet you’re great at parties.”

The old man looked into the fire, lost in it. He did not utter another word.

Pimm returned to Grobnar and Sleevax with the tale. No one laughed. No one finished their drink.

They left the tavern in silence and made for bed, each haunted by a sigil none of them had drawn. No one laughed. No one finished their drink. The night was lost.

They left the tavern in silence and made for bed, each haunted by a sigil none of them had drawn.

Dawn came like a verdict. And the tomb still waited beneath the hills, whispering through stone and bone.

Let's play some Fuckin' D&D, part II

 

“Ain’t no gods here, just gold and ghosts.” – Grobnar, probably

HELL. YES. The Saintly Bastards are geared, drunk, and morally compromised enough to kick in the tomb door of the Fuckin’ Lich King himself. Presented here in all-natural, RAW fashion. Enjoy.

The Tomb of the Fuckin' Lich King

Part One

They called themselves the Saintly Bastards—four vagabonds bonded by coin, sarcasm, and a mutual dislike of authority. Their journey began not with a trumpet blast or a royal summons, but with a half-remembered tavern tale and a map stained with ale and regret. Beneath the jagged hills of the Dunmarch lay the whispered resting place of the Fuckin’ Lich King, a name spoken with equal parts dread and drunken laughter.

Grobnar the Hateful led the way—an ogre-blooded brute whose solution to most things involved smashing them. Behind him stalked Sister Malady, a Tiefling cleric draped in faith and menace, her whispered prayers often sounding like threats. Sleevax the Bastard, ever-smirking, ever-armed, followed with blade and innuendo ready. Pimm Whistlesprocket brought up the rear, his gnomish frame light, but his ego far heavier.

“You sure this place is loaded with treasure?” Sleevax muttered, eying the shadows. “The last ruin you dragged us through cost more in bribes and bandages than it paid out.”

“And it smelled like wet goblin balls,” Pimm added with a scowl. “Grob’s hair still smells like ass.”

“Shut it,” Grobnar growled. “This one’s different. Feels right. Smells wrong.”

“That’s probably you,” Sleevax said, smirking.

Sister Malady ignored them all. “Keep bickering. I’ll save your souls—if there’s anything left worth saving.”

The tomb’s entrance was a mouth of shadow. They stepped inside, torches sputtering, the air thick with ancient dust and distant echoes. The first chamber—the Screaming Foyer—lived up to its name. Grotesque stone faces lined the walls, erupting into ear-shattering howls every few seconds. The Bastards spread out cautiously, inspecting the grim decor.

Malady’s sharp eyes found a hidden prize—a skull-shaped amulet that whispered secrets only she seemed to hear. “Ooh,” she murmured. “I can feel the power inside this! It whispers to me.”

Sleevax stepped back. “Yeah, no thanks. That thing’s giving me bad vibes. You keep it, Sister Creepy.”

With torchlight flickering and bones vibrating from the infernal shrieking, Pimm deciphered the arcane riddle etched above a sealed iron gate. He grinned. “I remember now—‘Pay in pain or piss in blood.’ Said it was just a joke, but look at that…”

Grobnar squinted at the gate as it melted. “Bitchin’. Guess I didn’t need to bash it down... this time.”

Beyond it lay the Hall of the Bone Choir.

Dozens of skeletons stood frozen in macabre performance, mouths agape and arms poised with decayed instruments. It was a trap—they knew it instinctively. But Grobnar, ever the impatient, scuffed a bone with his boot.

The choir erupted into a death hymn, a hellish cacophony of scraping bone and phantom shrieks that split the air like a blade to the brain. The sound clawed into their skulls, unraveling thought with each discordant note. Pimm clutched his ears, swaying as blood trickled from his nose. Sister Malady dropped to one knee, her lips moving in a half-formed prayer. Grobnar roared, more from rage than pain, and swung blindly at the air. Only Sleevax stood still, face pale but eyes sharp, lips curling into a grimace. Blood trickled from ears. Only Sleevax kept his footing.

“That is mildly annoying. Slightly out of tone, if you ask me,” Sleevax said, unfazed.

The Bastards reacted the only way they knew how: with violence. Grobnar charged first, bellowing with rage, his greatsword cleaving through ribcages like firewood. Bone splinters rained across the chamber. Sister Malady followed in righteous fury, her mace cracking skulls while scripture poured from her lips like a litany of vengeance. Pimm, nimble and feral, darted between the chaos, using his sling and short blade with surprising precision, occasionally pausing to kick a tibia out of his path with a gleeful snarl. Sleevax danced through the fray like a shadow, his rapier flicking between joints, separating limbs from torsos with surgical grace. The skeletons retaliated with unnatural coordination, their fingers clawing and instruments wailing as if mourning their own destruction. Dust rose thick as the last of the choir fell silent, shattered beneath the Bastards’ fury. Bones shattered beneath Grobnar’s swings, Sister Malady’s mace, and Pimm’s boots.

Between the chaos, Sleevax had retrieved a scroll. “Didn’t you once play Khawkaskie’s Melodies for a princess, Pimm? Or were you just boasting and full of shit?”

“Yes and yes,” Pimm grinned. “But I did play it. She cried. Could’ve been the hangover, though.”

With Sleevax’s cunning and Pimm’s theatrical performance, the cursed organ at the far end yielded to song rather than brute force. A stairwell opened.

Below, the Ossuary of Hands awaited.

Walls, ceiling, and floor writhed with skeletal arms nailed in eternal reaching, their yellowed bones twitching in fits and starts as though some buried instinct still lingered. The fingers flexed with impossible coordination, some grasping, others clawing at unseen enemies, the nails scratched raw and rust-colored. Each motion was jagged, like puppets animated by broken strings. The air stank of mildew, dust, and something older—like long-sealed crypts exhaling after centuries. The corridor pulsed with a kind of dread rhythm, as if the room itself waited to snatch the unwary into its brittle embrace. A narrow path beckoned. Sleevax led, Grobnar behind with the torch, then Malady and Pimm.

“Fuckin’ creepy guys,” Grobnar muttered.

“Think of all the people who gave up an arm to decorate this place,” Pimm whispered with a chuckle.

Grobnar, half-listening, reached out and brushed a wall.

The arms responded.

With a sudden lurch, the wall came alive—hundreds of skeletal arms erupting from their frozen poses. Grobnar had barely touched the surface when the nearest hand snapped around his wrist like a vice. Others followed, climbing over one another, clawing up his body, latching onto armor, flesh, and hair. They surged in waves, rattling like dry branches in a storm, dragging him backward into the wall itself.

He shouted—once—a guttural bellow of fury that turned quickly to a strangled grunt. The arms piled higher, smothering him, burying him in bone until the wall seemed to collapse inward, swallowing the brute whole beneath a tide of ancient limbs.

"Grobnar!" Malady hissed, already moving. The others were on him in an instant, pulling, hacking, kicking limbs away. The wall resisted, arms flailing and seizing anything they could reach.

With a final heave, they yanked him free, battered, bloodied, and limp. His chest barely moved.

Malady dropped to her knees beside him, fingers glowing with celestial fire. She pressed her palm to his sternum. With a whispered curse and prayer woven into one, the divine energy surged into his chest.

Grobnar groaned, his eyes fluttering open. "Ugh... fuckin’ arms..."

"You’re welcome," Malady muttered, already standing, her hand still faintly aglow.

Vax kicked him lightly. “Up and at it, big guy. That wench at the Saucy Tart’s waiting for me.”

“Hope she likes blood and bone dust,” Grobnar grumbled.

Sleevax drew his rapier and made a vaguely lewd gesture. “That’ll be the least of her worries. You coming, or do I have to do all the hard work?”

The arms calmed. Malady’s gaze swept the carnage, drawn to a strange glint beneath the shifting bones. She knelt and gently pried loose a gilded skeletal hand, its golden surface dulled by dust but worn smooth at the fingertips—as if reverently touched by generations. Not far from it, a second artifact caught her eye: a hand forged of black iron, unnaturally cold even in the close, torch-lit air. She hesitated before grasping it, a flicker of unease tugging at her gut. These weren’t mere decorations. They had been placed here with intent, and whatever lay beyond would demand their use.

They lingered at the edge of the room, ash and bone still settling in the torchlight. Sleevax was the first to speak. “We heading back, or are we letting Sister Creepy sniff another relic?”

“I say we press on,” Malady said, eyes locked on the darkened path beyond. “The auras here are ancient. Hungry. We’re close to something sacred—or damned.”

Grobnar grunted from his seat against the wall. “I nearly got turned into bonemeal. I’m gettin’ an ale and a nap. In that order.”

Sleevax scoffed. “You soft bastard. But fine. We’ll go tuck you in.” He turned and added with a wink, “Besides, that pretty little barmaid at the Saucy Tart promised to cry if I didn’t make it back.”

“Cry from relief, maybe,” Pimm muttered, rolling his eyes.

The Bastards gathered their gear, battered and bruised but not broken, and turned toward the exit. They would rest. Regroup. Return to town to drink, sharpen steel, and forget the song that still echoed faintly in the back of their minds.

The tomb had only begun to open.

And the Fuckin’ Lich King was still waiting.

Bored...Let's play some Fuckin' D&D, part I

 

I have had this PDF forever and never played it, suddenly had the itch after getting suckered into Joe's livestream last night, stumbled upon this, and well...magic happened. The mood of the game felt about right after the week I have had so I went with it. Came up with a few drunk fuckers who wanted to go get rich, or die tryin'.

 

Here is the party:

The Saintly Bastards

A crew of questionable heroes delving into the Tomb of the Fuckin' Lich King. Yes, I understand these are generic stock fantasy images but I don't fucking care. ;-)

---

Grobnar the Hateful
Lvl 1 Half-Orc Barbarian
AC 13, MV 9, HD 1d10, HP 10, #ATT 1
Gear: Chainmail, greatsword (d10), broken bottle (d4)
Bonuses: +1 to hit with any weapon (Half-Orc), +1 to hit with large weapons (Barbarian)
Backstory: Mean-as-hell berserker who bit his dad in a duel. Can’t read, won’t try. Loves smashing idols.

Pimm Whistlesprocket
Lvl 1 Gnome Bard  (yes....a fucking gnome...FLM)
AC 12, MV 9, HD 1d8, HP 8, #ATT 1
Gear: Leather armor, sling (d4), dagger (d4)
Bonuses: Can speak with woodland creatures (Gnome), casts all magic through song (Bard)
Spells (Today’s Rolls): TBD
Backstory: Overconfident gnome with a flute and foul mouth. Performs filthy limericks that cast spells. Insults animals.

Sister Malady
Lvl 1 Tiefling Cleric
AC 14, MV 6, HD 1d6, HP 6, #ATT 1
Gear: Chainmail, shield, mace (d8)
Bonuses: Darkvision and 1/day Darkness (Tiefling), +1 damage to undead (Cleric)
Spells (Today’s Rolls): TBD
Backstory: Cult escapee turned zealot. Glowing red eyes. Whispers prayers that sound like threats.

Sleevax the Bastard
Lvl 1 Elf Rogue
AC 13, MV 11, HD 1d8, HP 8, #ATT 1
Gear: Leather armor, rapier (d8), throwing knives (d6)
Bonuses: Never sleeps, creepy +2 to Lore (Elf), sneak attack x3 damage (Rogue)
Backstory: Smooth, smug, and dangerous. Robbed a noble, seduced their spouse, and stole the horse. Writes poetry about it.

24xx: The Deep

I have been interested in the 24xx series and wanted to play them but I could never get anyone I have been interested in the 24xx series and wanted to play them but I could never get anyone interested in them. Yesterday my wife wanted to head to mall for some shopping, I knew I would likely end up sitting in the middle section on a couch. I threw the PDF in Chat and asked Lyra to run a game for me. It is a long read, but what a wonderful game session!

The Deep on Itch.io

Sacrifice

 

Thank you to all paid the ultimate price to ensure our freedom and that our amazing country shall endure the tests of time.

A long, wonderful life

This week my wife and I said goodbye to one of our babies. Maddie had just hit 17 years old on Monday and left us on Thursday. It was heartbreaking as we watched her slowly decline over the last year. About a month ago things took a turn for the worse and we knew the end was near.. She was my constant companion over the last four years of divorce, depression, loneliness, and then the joy of a new marriage. My new wife took such good care of her in her very, very elderly years, treating her with kindness and love as the days got harder and harder.

She will be missed dearly every day, but I am glad of the time we had with her and the love she gave us. We all loved you, Maddie, and thank you for everything over the last 17 years. 

Maddie Jackson, May 5, 2008 - May 8 2025

Grimwall - new writing project?

 

Been doing a bunch of writing lately and I was perusing the ol' blog here and I came across the post with the grimdark pictures from the end of last year and it got my noggin' spinning with ideas. Trying for a The Blade Itself by Joe Abercrombie kind of feel. Bleak, gritty, grimdark...but with furry animals! 

Arneson Gaming

 

For whatever reason, this little game I wrote has suddenly become of interest around the world. Creators has translated the game into Portuguese, Czech, Italian, and now French!

Check it out here: https://mattjackson.itch.io/arneson-gaming

Update: Rock Johnson

 

Updated cover, courtesy of HuckSawyer'S excellent eye for editry.

ALSO:

I made my wife read it. I made her promise to tell the truth. She said it was actually pretty good. I made her swear it was the truth. 

A few typos to fix, a wee few things to tweak, and it will be ready for the presses!

And a sneak peek at a few pages!