- I've got it again,
that feeling in my mind of crawling through subterranean promises of treasure.
- In the mood for the wondrous of snaking mazes and corners lit by torches. Just beyond the mist, minotaurs dwell around the corner.
- Their axes glistening in the hanging fire.
- Craving the graph paper with the unstoppable fog of war, never knowing what dwellings beyond that uninviting door.
It is a need that goes back so far, far into the unknown basement days of the 80's. Sitting for twelve hours rolling saves, eating pizza and drinking caffeinated stuffs that allow us to move through the corridors and chambers. There, beyond the torches and tombs, a lone god awaits for the heroes to arrive at the boss battle. Our lives held on a string at the end of a 20-sided die.
To die at the hand of dice, its what I crave. To be rogue-like with others, writing with others of my kin. With read packs of supplies and riches, going forth to plunder and loot. The master's tables declaring what we find, a list of fabulous adjectives linked to numbered faces.
To Crawl in a dungeon, to meander ad explore a place where treasure awaits. Surely in this world of so much, tis nothing to ask. For it all starts in a tavern, a space of words and kin. I seek others with the same under-realm need. A critical hit for those of like-mind, calling for a company of heroic sheets and stats.
A fire to light the way, a torch to bear against darkness, a chance to fight in an arena of imagination.