Lost Coast Gaming

He'd kept to his quarters most of the time, thus far. Qamala frowned thoughtfully as she pulled food and other comestibles from the data cards in the galley. They were only two days into this trip and she wasn't really sure what Lawrence Bourne the Third would like to eat, but certain he needed more than alcohol in his system if he was going to survive this trip.

Eventually, Qamala realized that if she wanted to get to know Jacob, she was going to have to ambush him.

So shy, so insecure about himself and his size, she mused, making her way down to his last known location -- a node where several electronics systems merged, the likeliest place to chase down some answers over that security system. She'd seen the way Willa and Morgan looked at the man and could intuit why he felt so poorly about himself. Humans have such strong emotional reactions to the strangest things sometimes. Leeda says he's healthy enough for his size. He just looks cuddly to me.

Go!

OOC: Whoa, Nelly! Slow down! Where does Reid's showing up fit in time wise with Moriarty and Chow's search for the missing girl? Is he catching them while they are on their way out the door for Wickenburg, or some latter time after the case is ancient history? How is this to work?
Okee Dokee... Assume they've been to Wickenburg, but have not yet found the girl. For whatever reason, they are at the office. I imagine they'd go there occasionally to enjoy the atmosphere.

N. Robin Crossby, creator of Harn, passed away yesterday after a long battle with cancer.

I first got exposed to Harn in a serious way when I met Blackhawke, who was then using it as a campaign setting. Although the gritty-dark realism didn't suit my personal tastes I could see immediately what attracted him to the product -- the maps. Vivid, detailed maps. Artistically rendered maps, not only of the island of Harn but the entire world of Kelestia, all the way down to the castle at Chybisa. I'm a sucker for good maps; if the world they represented had been a tad less grim, I'd likely be gaming there still.

Two Weeks Ago...

The humanoid figure sat in the darkness watching the television screen as scenes of the New York Knights press conference played out upon it.

.... but it may not be what you think.

Most of you saw this coming and probably dreaded the day. Through the good offices of Project Wonderful, LostCoastGaming.com has officially entered the world of online advertising.

Is it because I think I'm going to somehow make a buttload of money off the traffic on this site? Hear that snickering laughter?

That answer would be a solid "No." But then, why?

Days on the Audacity had turned into weeks, the tedious routines passing time for most until they could lose themselves in the more enjoyable activities of getting to know their new crew. While everyone struggled in their own way, most of them had formed some tenuous personal bonds to help sustain them in the vast nothingness of space.

The six heroes found themselves trapped between the challenging roar of some unknown beast and a seemingly endless path ahead of them. Their new companion, Calypso had warned them about the dangers of the forest, and how it was alive in a very real way. It was the quest for the key that drove some, the heroic drive to save a damsel in distress for others, and a palpable need to locate the overwhelming melodic aura that drove the youngest among them.

Being a gamer, you understand a bit as to what writers must go through when the Muse strikes them. You get flashes of character, or scenes that appear in your mind rather like Athena from her father's skull, and alas the headache isn't always optional. Little Wren and I have an ongoing game between us, taking characters that started over twenty years ago, and we've been writing adventures and tales with them and their world for a decade now. Songstress was involved a little too, at the beginning, and other characters were brought in and explored.

Following are some colors that work well with the LCG background. I'm posting them here as a quick reference. I'm sure that there are more! If you find some, give me a holler and I'll add them to this list.

"How do I look, brown?"

"How do I look, crimson?"

"How do I look, red?"

"How do I look, indianred?"

"How do I look, magenta?"

"How do I look, hotpink?"

"How do I look, purple?"

And, courtesy of kyriel:

Please feel free to right-click and save to your machine, then upload it wherever it would be welcome to help spread the word. You can find more ideas on how to do that by clicking here.

~~ The Guardians and Sniper ~~

Sniper heard a beep. In a lab, on nearly the other side of the Botanical Gardens, no such sound chimed. Instead, that tell-tale chime sent an invisible radio signal coursing through the airspace around the gardens. A signal, quick and fast, received by a similar device sitting in the loading bay.

By the time they arrived at The Twins Audacity was a very different ship than when they'd started. In addition to the initial problem that nearly sent one half of the ship off 256 times the speed of light faster than the other half, and the inoperative security system, a litany of other problems kept everyone busy through the entire length of the run.

Wu Long was due back any moment.

Mercedes stood and stretched, reaching for her cigarette case and lighter more out of boredom than any real need for a butt. Boredom was the curse and the bane of her family, made the finely balanced inner workings of her mind want to run cannibal and start to feed on one another. There just weren't enough truly interesting puzzles in this city to keep her challenged -- debunking phony mediums and fortune tellers wasn't much of a life's work. She liked to tell herself it was just a start.

"Charlie, my boy, glad you could make it." Dean Stanton, Charles Cobb's department head at the Smithsonian, looked marginally glad for once. He sat behind the broad, antique, leather topped table, looking at Charles Cobb with smiling eyes and the vaguely lustrous skin of those with more luxury than is typically their due. His voice, stentorian as always, had tonalities in it that indicated Ivy league education, old money, and afternoons in the club. He carried the extra weight upholstered by his own lifetime out of the field and surrounded by chalkdust.