Red Moon Roleplaying

Vanessa has left to live with Max the lunatic. Might be just as well. I am not to be trusted around relatives. She is perhaps better off without the crazy guy in the basement who enjoys blood, babes and the Clash. Vanessa was constantly going on about how men ruled the world. I always told her that Victoria was a woman and Elsa would go “but she is just one.” I tried to explain that our empire has been ruled by women for 100 of the last 150 years...

I am doing the hippie guru thing. Without letting the sunshine in. One of my pupils is this 13-year old runaway. She is very gifted, but I do not think she understands that we are related. Perhaps better keep it that way. Magic is in the streets. Some crazy kids even claim streets are disappearing. Sounds strange, but considering what is underneath the illusion here, who knows? Vanessa and some other kids told me Oxford Street was missing and I had to see for myself...

We had the amazing opportunity to play the upcoming Nibiru - a sci-fi RPG of lost memories with its creator Federico Sohns as our GM. Nibiru is on Kickstarter now, check it out here: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1459616119/nibiru-a-science-fiction-rpg-of-lost-memories Nibiru. A massive space station, submerged under the sea of debris orbiting the Star of Fomalhaut: A steel-clad vulture feeding of the corpse of a thousand unborn planets...

I loved swinging London. I loved every silly minute of it. The parties. The abundance of drugs. The spirit of rebellion and exploration. The childish songs and the teen decadence. All these rebels in their twenties. These bratty working-class kids with their heads full of technicolor dreams. The anti-war movement. The crazy political ideas. They kicked open the gates to Metropolis by sheer numbers. I loved that. Hyde Park melted into another Hyde Park. And the sun machine was coming down...

I am actually finding a balance. I am healing. Recovering. It is good. I feel that I am back to being what I should be, in a new way. Dead but still alive. Still dead. Still alive. I miss Elsa a lot. And Seymour. Sometimes. Last year I did a tart from Wembley on her wedding night. The fireworks beside her drunk husband resulted in a child. Seymour would have had a lot to say about that. Not to mention Donovan. “Our kind cannot breed…” I blame it on Elvis. Elvis is cool...

In Rossumovi Univerzální Roboti, a play from 1920 by Karel Capek, we are introduced to the idea of artificial people called roboti that are used as workers. The R.U.R factory makes these roboti from synthetic flesh and blood, even enabling them to think for themselves and be mistaken for human. The word "robot", especially its use in sci-fi, come from these roboti...

Sex gets boring. Passion gets boring. Even digging around in Gamaliel’s most twisted dreams gets repetitive. It wears you down. This extended lifespan comes with the extra risk of going crazy. It fucks you up like it did with Donovan. Or am I just fucking and being fucked by the wrong things? This Dracula-cliché is getting silly. I need to find something radically new. Some drug I haven’t tried yet...

And they all came down. In a matter of a year or two. I cannot believe how much has happened the last few years. You can say a lot of things about world wars, but things do change fast. There had been so much change in the air. So many people believed in the men in black. Hod's men. The voice of law and order. And now they are losing, the Italian one being killed by some commoners and hung up like a piece of meat. Soon there will be only Binah’s thugs left...

In the beginning of the 1900’s the villagers in Rupal in western Nepal were being routinely attacked and eaten by a Bengal tigress. The attacks happened in broad daylight and life across the region became paralyzed as men refused to leave their huts for fear of the attacks. Hunters and soldiers were sent after the tiger and managed to chase her into India, where she began her killing yet again. When finally shot in 1907 it was estimated that she had killed 436 people...

The Strand was a monthly magazine published from 1891 to 1950 featuring fiction, illustrations and puzzles. At its peak it sold half a million copies every month. Sir Athur Conan Doyle’s character Sherlock Holmes began its life in The Strand through the serialization of “The Hounds of Baskervilles” and it was during that time the magazine reached its peak in sales. Other contributors included Rudyard Kipling, Winston Churchill and even Queen Victoria herself...