Let's play a game.

So.  For a game I'm running, I'm designing a very large, elaborate house for an adventuring party to explore.

Think of it like an Elizabethan Gothic version of Bag End that's been the home of a secretive and slightly incestuous clan of nobles, alchemists and sorcerers for four hundred years.  Before that, it was the badger set of the Faerie Lord of Badgers.

It has over two hundred rooms.

Tell me in the comments what sort of rooms you think should be included, and why.  From the mundane to the esoteric, the fantastic to the horrifying, the straightforward to the baroque.  There's room in there for all of them.

... and then they made me their chief.

So last night, rather than have one dream with many incoherent narrative shifts, I had half a dozen distinct stories. After each of them I woke up and said to myself “ooh, gotta remember that one.”

 

I remember two.

 

In one of them, a meteor was going to crash into the planet. I blame <lj comm=”thoughtformed”> for this. No other details remain.

 

In the other dream, I was at home – only home was the Bunker Hill apartments on Yankee Doodle Road in Eagan, which hasn't been my  home since I was between the ages of three and twelve. I was younger (but not twelve). There were other significant changes, too.

 

Namely, the apartment building and surrounding neighborhood were on Tattooine. And I was some combination of Luke Skywalker and the Protagonist from Persona 4. A giant boar-wolf-thing kidnapped me and my little sister (Central Casting sent Nanako from Persona 4 to play the part, but her name was evidently Mari – given my recent Evangelion fascination, I can only assume Mari Illustrious Makinami? Who knows?) and took us (across real geography in Eagan that only became a desert when I remembered later this was Tattooine) to its lair under a derelict mining vessel. (a t4-a, my brain said in the dream. I searched Wookieepedia and did not find a mining vessel of that description). In any case, we escaped up into the cargo bay of the mining ship, where we found that it was the home of a young Boba Fett. Holding us as hostages in a friendly sort of way, he challenged me to spar against him using his extensive collection of gaffi sticks, and gradually trained me until I was quite good, and we were friends. At one point, in a fit of bad temper, he opened the cargo bay doors and nearly dropped us into the creature's lair, but afterward I shamed him into returning us home.

 

And then I woke up.

I endorse this.

Commemorate the birthday of the man who saved the world.