Who am I, again? A hopelessly romantic smuggler in space? A member of the resistance, or a traitor? A bureaucracy demon having had a proposition of the most alphabetic firesome in history turned down by the hottest vampire in the castle? A teenage witch with werewolf-ghoul-fae-human friends? A scientist occasionally passing through heaven? A meeple fleeing from owlbears in the world of necronomiconomics? A president loyalist, or a terrorist?
Trying to regain sanity and a sense of my own identity after a weekend filled with gaming convention. Back in Sweden my favourite convention LinCon is celebrating its 30th birthday, but I can’t find it in my heart to feel the least bit disappointed for having missed it. I’ve been to an admittedly smaller, but still very excellent, one in my current hometown: Buckets of Dice. Awesome games, awesome people. Fun times were had! And I even won a prize for communicating only through interpretive dance when my character lost its ability of speech for the remainder of the game during a larp.
The post-convention feeling of euphoria coupled with exhaustion is the same on this side of the world, I’ve found. It is the best way to meet people, hands down. Totally worth the social overload. Now, time for food, tea and some silence. Possibly also stop being incoherent, but probably not.
Love and gaming conventions,
Winterdragon
