Spider-Man eats Fruit Tingles

In yesterday's timeline of imaginary dungeoneering and dragon-slaying, I neglected to include the period during which I GM-ed at my Sydders FLGS every Saturday afternoon for MONTHS. What a colourful bunch of players they were, from the lasses who would diligently paint minis, link chainmail, etc. as we gamed (while still paying full attention) to the chap closer to my age whose character was like a dodgy New Age faith healer.

That admission was an oversight on my part. However, I didn't try to and couldn't possibly note every different group with whom I've played "D&D" only 1-3 times - irrespective of how well it went. For instance, the one-off adventure run by RS1 for BS, MM, KT and myself.

Memory modules, Part 14

R. had borrowed the handbooks from KT and written a fiendish 1E/2E scenario. The venue was M.'s apartment. We feasted on Macca's and other junk food. Looking back, the quest was very videogame-esque. It was also very rad. Lots of undead. Foes employing degenerate combos such as Short Sword Of Quicknesss/Boots Of Striding And Springing (hope I've got that right). My chara was a cleric and, because I knew Call Lightning, I kept asking about the weather. Eventually, as we approached a living demonic gate made of bones a la a Motorhead album cover, R. gave in and said, "There are storm clouds overhead." I cast the spell and rolled so ridiculously on a handful of dice that the carefully constructed obstacle was blasted to smithereens from a distance, amid much laughter.

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A top spook (Fassbender) is given a list of five people who could be a traitor...one of whom is his wife (Blanchett). Preposterous, slick as fick as far as visuals and dialogue (Soderbergh), and not entirely predictable.

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This arrived on Monday. I've read the first short module (of four). It's charming! Echoing the events of the show to a degree, while absolutely feeling like the sort of dark, gonzo trial a rebel metalhead would design. The scribbled notes from Eddie to Dustin - as his potential successor chairing the club - scattered throughout the text are the silver icing on the jet-black cake.