#dd — Public Fediverse posts

Daemonwastes – The People

https://timmaidment.com/2026/08/10/daemonwastes-the-people/

Daemonwastes – The People

https://timmaidment.com/2026/08/10/daemonwastes-the-people/

someone gave me a non functioning m.2 ssd which was labeled as 512GB in size. They said they couldn't get a computer to even boot to bios.

20 minutes and sudo dd if=/dev/zero of=/dev/sda status=progress bs=4M and I'm now running a fresh install of void linux on it ;-)

#ssd #linux #foss #diskdestroyer #dd #voidlinux

someone gave me a non functioning m.2 ssd which was labeled as 512GB in size. They said they couldn't get a computer to even boot to bios.

20 minutes and sudo dd if=/dev/zero of=/dev/sda status=progress bs=4M and I'm now running a fresh install of void linux on it ;-)

#ssd #linux #foss #diskdestroyer #dd #voidlinux

The big announcements from GenCon 2026 [with sparkling analysis]

https://web.brid.gy/r/https://www.rascal.news/the-big-announcements-from-gencon-2026-with-sparkling-analysis/

The big announcements from GenCon 2026 [with sparkling analysis]

https://web.brid.gy/r/https://www.rascal.news/the-big-announcements-from-gencon-2026-with-sparkling-analysis/

Weekend Update: 8/1/2026

https://cannibalhalflinggaming.com/2026/08/01/weekend-update-8-1-2026/

Someone once told me that, at the mental ward they work at, a number of patients had Dungeons & Dragons books. They dangled correlation like an accusation. This is like seeing lots of thirsty animals around an African watering hole and concluding water causes dehydration.

#ttrpg
#D&D
#DnD

https://www.wacoca.com/games/1423073/ 40日後に迫る破滅を止めるため，水中迷宮に挑む。死者は二度と戻らない水中ホラーアクション「DIVE or DIE – Children of Rain」本日発売 ##GAMING #DD #Game #GameNews #games #GamingNews #PC:DIVEOrDIEChildrenOfRain #ゲーミング #ゲーム #ゲーム攻略 #ゲーム最新情報 #システム:プレイ人数：1人 #ジャンル:アクション #ジャンル:アドベンチャー #ダイヴオアダイ #ダイブオアダイ #テーマ:ホラー/オカルト #テーマ:海洋 #プラットフォーム:PC #ライター:蒼之スギウラ #掲載日:2026/07/2122:31 #記事種別:ニュース #記事種別:ムービー

Daemonwastes – The Phantom Saloon

https://timmaidment.com/2026/07/21/daemonwastes-the-phantom-saloon/

Daemonwastes – The Phantom Saloon

https://timmaidment.com/2026/07/21/daemonwastes-the-phantom-saloon/

Teach me how to backup a layered volume

https://piefed.blahaj.zone/c/techsupport/p/875815/teach-me-how-to-backup-a-layered-volume

[ressources] Culture & Développement Durable DD https://www-cd.org/culture-dd/ #culture #festival #spectacle_vivant #Développement_Durable #DD #écologie #transition_écologique #publication_site_wwwcdorg #wwwcdorg

[ressources] Culture & Développement Durable DD https://www-cd.org/culture-dd/ #culture #festival #spectacle_vivant #Développement_Durable #DD #écologie #transition_écologique #publication_site_wwwcdorg #wwwcdorg

On Today: Games Day Extravaganza

https://web.brid.gy/r/https://theorkneynews.scot/2026/06/27/on-today-games-day-extravaganza/

On Today: Games Day Extravaganza

https://web.brid.gy/r/https://theorkneynews.scot/2026/06/27/on-today-games-day-extravaganza/

[ressources] Culture & Développement Durable DD https://www-cd.org/culture-dd/ #culture #festival #spectacle_vivant #Développement_Durable #DD #écologie #transition_écologique #publication_site_wwwcdorg #wwwcdorg

Daemonwastes – The Law and The Lore

https://timmaidment.com/2026/06/08/daemonwastes-the-law-and-the-lore/

Daemonwastes – The Law and The Lore

https://timmaidment.com/2026/06/08/daemonwastes-the-law-and-the-lore/

ddrescue saved my data from a failed NVMe, great piece of software from 2004. Using it for space-efficient backups now.

#linux #backup #dd

🎩🤡 Breaking news: someone discovered USB drives aren’t magic! If you ever wanted to know how to make your live Linux USB slightly less useless, here’s a guide that explains it all with the excitement of watching paint dry. Apparently, it involves partition tables and the magical incantation of "dd" – who knew? 🙄🔧
https://sigwait.org/~alex/blog/2026/05/28/smdBC8.html #USBdrives #LinuxGuide #dd #Command #TechTips #PartitionTables #HackerNews #ngated

🎩🤡 Breaking news: someone discovered USB drives aren’t magic! If you ever wanted to know how to make your live Linux USB slightly less useless, here’s a guide that explains it all with the excitement of watching paint dry. Apparently, it involves partition tables and the magical incantation of "dd" – who knew? 🙄🔧
https://sigwait.org/~alex/blog/2026/05/28/smdBC8.html #USBdrives #LinuxGuide #dd #Command #TechTips #PartitionTables #HackerNews #ngated

Daemonwastes Lore Drop: Couriers and Deliveries

https://timmaidment.com/2026/06/04/daemonwastes-lore-drop-couriers-and-deliveries/

Daemonwastes Lore Drop: Couriers and Deliveries

https://timmaidment.com/2026/06/04/daemonwastes-lore-drop-couriers-and-deliveries/

Statistics don't lie

https://piefed.social/c/rpgmemes/p/2113898/statistics-don-t-lie

Statistics don't lie

Body counts

https://piefed.social/c/rpgmemes/p/2112333/body-counts

Body counts

Sly Flourish - Defending Out of the Fun

https://piefed.zip/c/rpg/p/1541052/sly-flourish-defending-out-of-the-fun

Sly Flourish - Defending Out of the Fun

https://piefed.zip/c/rpg/p/1541052/sly-flourish-defending-out-of-the-fun

New post from my blog...

Roll for Architecture: What D&D Taught Me About Software Design
https://barretblake.dev/posts/development/2026/05/roll-for-architecture/ #architecture #dd

New post from my blog...

Roll for Architecture: What D&D Taught Me About Software Design
https://barretblake.dev/posts/development/2026/05/roll-for-architecture/ #architecture #dd

From the Notebooks of Jaspera von Kaupferthal, Part 4

Previous entries in this series

• From the Notebooks of Jaspera von Kupferthal, Part 1
• Field Notes from an Expedition to Brugh na Ciorcal, Part 2
• Field Notes from an Expedition to Brugh na Ciorcal, Part 3

Blossombud 28th

Cinni was not fooled.

It was the first thing she told me when we woke up today.

If I promised to join her companions and play the little sister for a few months. She promised not to reveal me. She even promised to finish my research notes.

Not that I can make them any more.

With all the mind modification magic I used on myself, I am in no position to refuse or return home on my own.

I agreed.

This is my last entry.

I considered turning this into a diary, but decided against it.

I can barely interpret my own drawings anymore.

Blossombud 28th

(Subsequent entries attributed to Cinnibara von Kupferthal)

My mom has, somehow, turned herself into an incredibly adorable wyrmling.

And I’m thinking about getting some little ones of my own.

Strange how fate sets up these little opportunities

I gently convinced her to take a vacation from her endless research expeditions and tag along with me and my cohorts for a few months.

I think she would benefit from having the childhood she never had and a mother figure who would not eat her.

I may even convince her to call me “mommy.”

(I am only half joking.)

I promised to continue her notes, and I think I understand the crayon scribbles she was using as notes.

I am, admittedly, an archaeologist, so this sort of sociological observation is not my specialty—but I believe I can manage.

Garnette, the Eochaid daughters, and I spent the day helping to the best of our abilities with the preparations for tomorrow’s Beltane celebrations.

The girls and Garnette spent the day weaving the traditional floral crowns.

I used my prestigious stature to help hang strings of lanterns and flower chains between the brughs. Everything smells like fresh blossoms and cut greenery.

A Beltane pole was erected in the center of the green, and long tables were erected around it.

I could smell the preparations for the feast; it would be the traditional vegan fare most Fey communities serve at this time of year.

No meatfruit or meat, however. That made me sad. I can eat vegetables, but I would rather have meat.

All in all, it is a fairly typical Beltane celebration for the highlands—though somewhat more industrious in preparation than most.

—Cinnibara von Kupferthal

Beltane

That was… an eventful day and night.

The folk of Brugh na Ciorcal really know how to host a celebration.

Garnette had an absolute blast playing games with the other children.

My companions—Gunaakt the warrior, Akhealis the witch, Grunk the thief, and Primrose the druid—seemed to enjoy themselves.

However, as I was also recording the events for prosperity on behalf of my mother, I cannot help but notice certain disparities between the fey Beltane celebrations I have attended elsewhere in the region and those held here.

Some of those differences are worryingly off script.

It started off typical enough.

The druids led the entire village in a procession to the altar site, with its effigies of the Young Lord and Lady and the sacred bonfires.

The invocation of names from the days of the old fey empires was spoken aloud, and protocols announced.

Then the first deviation from the script. The druids sacrificed a lamb to the Lord and Lady. There was no shock, no horror—only solemn reverence as the beast’s neck was slit. Only Garnette, my companions, and I showed any adverse reaction to the scene. Garnette practically started crying for the little lamb, and my companions did their best to hide their disgust and horror.

It was the sort of thing I would expect to be depicted on the walls in human temples or tombs that my crew typically delves into.

Not in the middle of a fey enclave.

(I may need to revisit my mother’s conclusions. She may have underestimated how far this enclave has drifted.)

After the sacrifice, the townsfolk made the traditional cleansing passage between the bonfires, and the fun and games started.

Musical instruments were broken out, ale started to flow, and the children and Garnette wandered into the fields to play.

The second deviation was that the headman, Sir Labhruinn, held a tournament of sword, bow, and lance.

How very Arthurian of him.

It was a miserable affair; nobody had any real skill. If Gunaakt were not restricted to a bench by his injuries, he would have taken home the “knighthood” that was the prize.

The feast was okay, no meat, just bread, roasted vegetables, and soup. It was a relief to see the Fey had not become carnivores after witnessing the sacrifice, but I would have liked a meat dish.

Giorsail approached me privately and asked whether I would take her and Luthais with me when I return to the city, saying Garnette had told them I could introduce them to our mother.

Mother’s notes are a little hard to read in the last few entries, but I do remember seeing something about the two having trist.

Given what I know of the headman, it would be for the best if they get out of town before he learns about the two of them.

Once Gunaakt can walk again, we will leave—and they will be coming with us.

Greenleaf 4th

Well, that came apart faster than anticipated.

Why could it wait one more day?

Sir Labhruinn finally bent to his wife and mother’s demands and confronted Luthais about his relationship with Giorsail.

It escalated into a shoving match, then a fistfight.

Luthais lost control and let loose one of the verses of power.

The bolt of fire missed just barely, but the damage was done.

There was no deliberation.

Luthais and Giorsail were banished from the village.

It is ironic that Sir Labhruinn, a man so wrapped up in the myth of chivalry, would banish his own son for choosing Merlin’s path over Lancelot’s path.

We also decided to leave since we might be overstaying our welcome.

We strapped Gunaakt to my back so he would not slow us down, and said our farewells to the townsfolk.

I had to carry Garnette out of the village by the scruff of the neck, flailing and wailing all the while. She did not want to leave.

I am not sure she understood why she had to.

But I’m glad to leave the fey village that was too mortal for my tastes.

Much later that year, I found myself reflecting on Brugh na Ciorcal.

As much as I hate to say it, Brugh na Ciorcal is not an isolated case. I began noticing similar deviations in other fey enclaves, nothing as extreme as in Brugh na Ciorcal, but noticeable nonetheless.

It is worrying, but I am not sure what to make of it.

That will be a task left to my mother.

—Cinnibara von Kupferthal

NMR 499

Looking back on my time as Garnette, I can say it was some of the happiest days of my life.

I did not have a childhood. My mother was an unthinking, feral dragon with a notorious reputation. I might have followed the same path had I not been taken in during my eighth year—perhaps too late, in truth. Being so old, my infancy dragged on for a little bit longer than most, as Ozimaev the sorceress worked the feralness out of me. By the time I was able to talk, she already considered me an apprentice or a familiar rather than a daughter.

It was study, study, study after that.

The two years I spent with Cinni as her little sister, Garnette, healed some old wounds I was unaware I had. I was able to wander about, wide-eyed and curious, as if I’d never done so before. With the construct in my mind gently guiding me away from my adult knowledge, I experienced the world anew. For the first time, I was able to play the silly games of young children alongside them, not as an adult but as an actual participant, and it was wonderful.

I think it also healed my relationship with Cinni. She settled down for a spell in a kobold possibilium mine not too far away from Sliberberg to raise my first batch of grandchildren.

I visit regularly to play with them.

Maybe Garnette should pay them a visit, too.

From the Notebooks of Jaspera von Kaupferthal, Part 4

Previous entries in this series

• From the Notebooks of Jaspera von Kupferthal, Part 1
• Field Notes from an Expedition to Brugh na Ciorcal, Part 2
• Field Notes from an Expedition to Brugh na Ciorcal, Part 3

Blossombud 28th

Cinni was not fooled.

It was the first thing she told me when we woke up today.

If I promised to join her companions and play the little sister for a few months. She promised not to reveal me. She even promised to finish my research notes.

Not that I can make them any more.

With all the mind modification magic I used on myself, I am in no position to refuse or return home on my own.

I agreed.

This is my last entry.

I considered turning this into a diary, but decided against it.

I can barely interpret my own drawings anymore.

Blossombud 28th

(Subsequent entries attributed to Cinnibara von Kupferthal)

My mom has, somehow, turned herself into an incredibly adorable wyrmling.

And I’m thinking about getting some little ones of my own.

Strange how fate sets up these little opportunities

I gently convinced her to take a vacation from her endless research expeditions and tag along with me and my cohorts for a few months.

I think she would benefit from having the childhood she never had and a mother figure who would not eat her.

I may even convince her to call me “mommy.”

(I am only half joking.)

I promised to continue her notes, and I think I understand the crayon scribbles she was using as notes.

I am, admittedly, an archaeologist, so this sort of sociological observation is not my specialty—but I believe I can manage.

Garnette, the Eochaid daughters, and I spent the day helping to the best of our abilities with the preparations for tomorrow’s Beltane celebrations.

The girls and Garnette spent the day weaving the traditional floral crowns.

I used my prestigious stature to help hang strings of lanterns and flower chains between the brughs. Everything smells like fresh blossoms and cut greenery.

A Beltane pole was erected in the center of the green, and long tables were erected around it.

I could smell the preparations for the feast; it would be the traditional vegan fare most Fey communities serve at this time of year.

No meatfruit or meat, however. That made me sad. I can eat vegetables, but I would rather have meat.

All in all, it is a fairly typical Beltane celebration for the highlands—though somewhat more industrious in preparation than most.

—Cinnibara von Kupferthal

Beltane

That was… an eventful day and night.

The folk of Brugh na Ciorcal really know how to host a celebration.

Garnette had an absolute blast playing games with the other children.

My companions—Gunaakt the warrior, Akhealis the witch, Grunk the thief, and Primrose the druid—seemed to enjoy themselves.

However, as I was also recording the events for prosperity on behalf of my mother, I cannot help but notice certain disparities between the fey Beltane celebrations I have attended elsewhere in the region and those held here.

Some of those differences are worryingly off script.

It started off typical enough.

The druids led the entire village in a procession to the altar site, with its effigies of the Young Lord and Lady and the sacred bonfires.

The invocation of names from the days of the old fey empires was spoken aloud, and protocols announced.

Then the first deviation from the script. The druids sacrificed a lamb to the Lord and Lady. There was no shock, no horror—only solemn reverence as the beast’s neck was slit. Only Garnette, my companions, and I showed any adverse reaction to the scene. Garnette practically started crying for the little lamb, and my companions did their best to hide their disgust and horror.

It was the sort of thing I would expect to be depicted on the walls in human temples or tombs that my crew typically delves into.

Not in the middle of a fey enclave.

(I may need to revisit my mother’s conclusions. She may have underestimated how far this enclave has drifted.)

After the sacrifice, the townsfolk made the traditional cleansing passage between the bonfires, and the fun and games started.

Musical instruments were broken out, ale started to flow, and the children and Garnette wandered into the fields to play.

The second deviation was that the headman, Sir Labhruinn, held a tournament of sword, bow, and lance.

How very Arthurian of him.

It was a miserable affair; nobody had any real skill. If Gunaakt were not restricted to a bench by his injuries, he would have taken home the “knighthood” that was the prize.

The feast was okay, no meat, just bread, roasted vegetables, and soup. It was a relief to see the Fey had not become carnivores after witnessing the sacrifice, but I would have liked a meat dish.

Giorsail approached me privately and asked whether I would take her and Luthais with me when I return to the city, saying Garnette had told them I could introduce them to our mother.

Mother’s notes are a little hard to read in the last few entries, but I do remember seeing something about the two having trist.

Given what I know of the headman, it would be for the best if they get out of town before he learns about the two of them.

Once Gunaakt can walk again, we will leave—and they will be coming with us.

Greenleaf 4th

Well, that came apart faster than anticipated.

Why could it wait one more day?

Sir Labhruinn finally bent to his wife and mother’s demands and confronted Luthais about his relationship with Giorsail.

It escalated into a shoving match, then a fistfight.

Luthais lost control and let loose one of the verses of power.

The bolt of fire missed just barely, but the damage was done.

There was no deliberation.

Luthais and Giorsail were banished from the village.

It is ironic that Sir Labhruinn, a man so wrapped up in the myth of chivalry, would banish his own son for choosing Merlin’s path over Lancelot’s path.

We also decided to leave since we might be overstaying our welcome.

We strapped Gunaakt to my back so he would not slow us down, and said our farewells to the townsfolk.

I had to carry Garnette out of the village by the scruff of the neck, flailing and wailing all the while. She did not want to leave.

I am not sure she understood why she had to.

But I’m glad to leave the fey village that was too mortal for my tastes.

Much later that year, I found myself reflecting on Brugh na Ciorcal.

As much as I hate to say it, Brugh na Ciorcal is not an isolated case. I began noticing similar deviations in other fey enclaves, nothing as extreme as in Brugh na Ciorcal, but noticeable nonetheless.

It is worrying, but I am not sure what to make of it.

That will be a task left to my mother.

—Cinnibara von Kupferthal

NMR 499

Looking back on my time as Garnette, I can say it was some of the happiest days of my life.

I did not have a childhood. My mother was an unthinking, feral dragon with a notorious reputation. I might have followed the same path had I not been taken in during my eighth year—perhaps too late, in truth. Being so old, my infancy dragged on for a little bit longer than most, as Ozimaev the sorceress worked the feralness out of me. By the time I was able to talk, she already considered me an apprentice or a familiar rather than a daughter.

It was study, study, study after that.

The two years I spent with Cinni as her little sister, Garnette, healed some old wounds I was unaware I had. I was able to wander about, wide-eyed and curious, as if I’d never done so before. With the construct in my mind gently guiding me away from my adult knowledge, I experienced the world anew. For the first time, I was able to play the silly games of young children alongside them, not as an adult but as an actual participant, and it was wonderful.

I think it also healed my relationship with Cinni. She settled down for a spell in a kobold possibilium mine not too far away from Sliberberg to raise my first batch of grandchildren.

I visit regularly to play with them.

Maybe Garnette should pay them a visit, too.

[ressources] Culture & Développement Durable DD https://www-cd.org/culture-dd/ #culture #festival #spectacle_vivant #Développement_Durable #DD #écologie #transition_écologique #publication_site_wwwcdorg #wwwcdorg

What Can We Learn by Reading the Appendices?

https://alexanderkeane.com/2026/05/25/what-can-we-learn-by-reading-the-appendices/

Daemonwastes Faction: Stone Speakers

https://timmaidment.com/2026/05/20/daemonwastes-faction-stone-speakers/

Daemonwastes Faction: Stone Speakers

https://timmaidment.com/2026/05/20/daemonwastes-faction-stone-speakers/

Field Notes from an Expedition to Brugh na Ciorcal, Part 3

Previous parts

• From the Notebooks of Jaspera von Kupferthal, Part 1
• Field Notes from an Expedition to Brugh na Ciorcal, Part 2

Blossombud 26th

I need to find the time to fix the mental construct. I am enjoying being a wyrmling again too much.

But with Giorsail’s around, I cannot do it here, and my hostesses are loath to let the ‘princess from the big city’ out of their sights.

Anyway, observations.

For the first time, I was able to observe the druid perform a ritual up close.

Saraid’s water broke.

I was lucky enough to be within smelling range.

I immediately bolted for the master bedroom, assuming (correctly) that the birth would occur in there. I hid behind a large trunk (thank goodness for this stupid collar.)

The druids were called for, and they arrived promptly.

I witnessed the birthing ritual in full.

The druids started to murmur in an antiquated dialect of fey similar to the runic tongue of Faerie used in spellcasting, but not quite.

Fortunately, I am fluent in most forms of fey, including this particular dialect of the Runic Tounge of Faerie

The structure was formal—almost bureaucratic. Titles were announced, permissions invoked, and roles acknowledged.

There were invocations of various spirits with names like “Viscount of the Third Root” and “Steward of the Western Wind”—titles that sounded precise but whose referents I could not identify. These include invocations of the elements, references to what sounded like royal court proceedings, and the presentation of a visiting noble to another noble’s court.

I would once have laughed at its absurdity. I am no longer certain that would be appropriate. Again, I hate how the spell is making me act.

I have a theory that the rituals the druids perform are leftover bits of protocol from the Faerie kingdoms of yore.

My friends at the Natural Philosophers Society in Silberberg have coined the term “Cargo Cult” to describe how newly contacted stone-weapon-wielding tribes on the continent of Yohualtlan react to explorers wielding modern technology. They perceive the explorers as gods and start to worship them, especially when the explorers trade spare axes and other tools for rations.

I suspect a similar process may be at work here—rituals preserved long after their original meaning has been forgotten, retained for form rather than function.

However, I am not sure how typical what I saw is compared to other enclaves. It may be worth some follow-up expeditions.

Back to the observations.

The new member of the Eochaid clan was a boy. Once the druids filled out, the family filled in to witness the new arrival. I took this opportunity to slink out of my hiding spot back into the brugh.

I unfortunately ran into Giorsail and Luthais sharing an… intimate moment in the central hall. She’s… a lot younger than I first assumed, maybe a few years older than Luthais, which makes her all the more terrifying that she can pull off seeming like she’s in her mid-20s all the time. From the sound of it, they were serious about the relationship.

Fey have been known to have flings outside their species, but inter-species love affairs are beyond rare.

It’s the sort of thing that they write epic poems about whenever it happens, the sort that either ends with love conquering all through magic, the lovers eloping, or mutual suicide.

Of course, they noticed me.

Luthais lifted me off the ground by the scruff of my neck as though I weighed nothing. He threatened me, saying that if I said anything, he would prove himself a dragonslayer to his father. I found myself genuinely afraid.

Giorsail, by contrast, was calm—watching me in a way that suggested she saw far more than I would have liked. She said that my “mother” was an important person back in Sliberberg. There was some discussion. It sounded like they were planning to run away to the big city.

I took my chance and said that my big sister, Cinni, was out adventuring in the area, and she would surely help them if I asked nicely. It seemed to placate them, and they let me go on my way.

The only other thing of note was a large feast in honor of Gòrdan’s birth. Thankfully, there was no meat at the feast, just normal veggies. All I could say about it is that it was a bigger version of the usual dinner served in the Eochaid clan’s brugh. 

However, I caught Sir Labhruinn and Samthann talking about me, saying that he loathes to let me leave the village until my mother or my older siblings come to collect me. Samthann was delighted to have the princess from the city stay a little longer.

This complicates matters.

I was planning to stay until a few days after Beltane and then head back home once I started to wear out my welcome. But apparently, the Eochaid clan loves me and is looking for an excuse to have me stay a little longer, or more likely, meet my “mother.”

As I said, my daughter, Cinnibara, is somewhere in these hills with her mortal friends. I could possibly contact her to be my chaperone. But on the other hand, I would rather not.

She does not approve of my methods.

Ironic since her cohort are ruffians more interested in coin than research.

Her finding a wyrmling version of me would be an awkward conversation.

I could sneak out of the village. Maybe spend some time exploring. I really enjoy being little again, and it’s tempting to go exploring in this form and experience the wide-eyed wonder I had when I was young.

More tempting than it should be.

Ugh, the construct is affecting my judgment now.

I will sneak away in the morning and fix this mess—before I lose the inclination to do so.

Blossombud 27th

NO, NO, NO. This has gone very wrong.

I was reworking my spell beneath a tree outside the village when I smelled another dragon.

It was Cinni.

She had her adventurer friends with her, and they were coming straight to the village.

Everybody knew that she was coming, and the first thing she did was introduce herself using her full title.

She would see straight through me if my disguise were not perfect.

I panicked and miscast the spell.

The construct is now even stronger than before. I can get to my adult knowledge if I really concentrate, but I cannot hold on to it for long.

Worse, the suggestions that the concentrate are really intrusive now. My attention span is gone. I am even more impulsive. 

I can still read my crayon drawing notes, but just barely.

I feel… smaller. Simpler. Thoughts slip away if I do not hold onto them.

I may have made this more difficult to undo than intended.

I am not sure I want to.

I am, it seems, going to be the wyrmling Garnette von Kupferthal for the foreseeable future.

At least I do not smell like myself. That is good. It means the disguise may hold.

I snuck back in town and found my new friends. They brought me to meet my “big sister.”

My reinforced childhood was enough to fool her—at least, I think it was; her delight in meeting her youngest sister was genuine. I am sure of that.

She immediately doted on me as though I truly were her little sister. She even removed the shrinking collar I had been saddled with over the past few weeks.

It is so strange to have our relationship inverted, with her acting like the mother and me the daughter.

I do not think she would approve of this version of me.

She, I, and my new friends spent the rest of the day together, playing and making floral crowns for Beltane. She even shrank herself down to horse size so we could play together without frightening the others.

We are now sharing a room in my friend’s house. She is fast asleep, curled around me as I once did when she was little.

I like it when she holds me like this.

We are going to be staying here for a while

Her last delve went poorly. She is uninjured, but her companions are not.

Gunaakt, the orc landsknecht, will be bedridden for several days.

Once he recovers, they intend to return to Sliberberg—and take me with them.

I will go.

I may have to accept that this is no longer a research expedition.

It may become a… vacation.

Perhaps one that is long overdue.

That thought is… concerning.

Field Notes from an Expedition to Brugh na Ciorcal, Part 3

Previous parts

• From the Notebooks of Jaspera von Kupferthal, Part 1
• Field Notes from an Expedition to Brugh na Ciorcal, Part 2

Blossombud 26th

I need to find the time to fix the mental construct. I am enjoying being a wyrmling again too much.

But with Giorsail’s around, I cannot do it here, and my hostesses are loath to let the ‘princess from the big city’ out of their sights.

Anyway, observations.

For the first time, I was able to observe the druid perform a ritual up close.

Saraid’s water broke.

I was lucky enough to be within smelling range.

I immediately bolted for the master bedroom, assuming (correctly) that the birth would occur in there. I hid behind a large trunk (thank goodness for this stupid collar.)

The druids were called for, and they arrived promptly.

I witnessed the birthing ritual in full.

The druids started to murmur in an antiquated dialect of fey similar to the runic tongue of Faerie used in spellcasting, but not quite.

Fortunately, I am fluent in most forms of fey, including this particular dialect of the Runic Tounge of Faerie

The structure was formal—almost bureaucratic. Titles were announced, permissions invoked, and roles acknowledged.

There were invocations of various spirits with names like “Viscount of the Third Root” and “Steward of the Western Wind”—titles that sounded precise but whose referents I could not identify. These include invocations of the elements, references to what sounded like royal court proceedings, and the presentation of a visiting noble to another noble’s court.

I would once have laughed at its absurdity. I am no longer certain that would be appropriate. Again, I hate how the spell is making me act.

I have a theory that the rituals the druids perform are leftover bits of protocol from the Faerie kingdoms of yore.

My friends at the Natural Philosophers Society in Silberberg have coined the term “Cargo Cult” to describe how newly contacted stone-weapon-wielding tribes on the continent of Yohualtlan react to explorers wielding modern technology. They perceive the explorers as gods and start to worship them, especially when the explorers trade spare axes and other tools for rations.

I suspect a similar process may be at work here—rituals preserved long after their original meaning has been forgotten, retained for form rather than function.

However, I am not sure how typical what I saw is compared to other enclaves. It may be worth some follow-up expeditions.

Back to the observations.

The new member of the Eochaid clan was a boy. Once the druids filled out, the family filled in to witness the new arrival. I took this opportunity to slink out of my hiding spot back into the brugh.

I unfortunately ran into Giorsail and Luthais sharing an… intimate moment in the central hall. She’s… a lot younger than I first assumed, maybe a few years older than Luthais, which makes her all the more terrifying that she can pull off seeming like she’s in her mid-20s all the time. From the sound of it, they were serious about the relationship.

Fey have been known to have flings outside their species, but inter-species love affairs are beyond rare.

It’s the sort of thing that they write epic poems about whenever it happens, the sort that either ends with love conquering all through magic, the lovers eloping, or mutual suicide.

Of course, they noticed me.

Luthais lifted me off the ground by the scruff of my neck as though I weighed nothing. He threatened me, saying that if I said anything, he would prove himself a dragonslayer to his father. I found myself genuinely afraid.

Giorsail, by contrast, was calm—watching me in a way that suggested she saw far more than I would have liked. She said that my “mother” was an important person back in Sliberberg. There was some discussion. It sounded like they were planning to run away to the big city.

I took my chance and said that my big sister, Cinni, was out adventuring in the area, and she would surely help them if I asked nicely. It seemed to placate them, and they let me go on my way.

The only other thing of note was a large feast in honor of Gòrdan’s birth. Thankfully, there was no meat at the feast, just normal veggies. All I could say about it is that it was a bigger version of the usual dinner served in the Eochaid clan’s brugh. 

However, I caught Sir Labhruinn and Samthann talking about me, saying that he loathes to let me leave the village until my mother or my older siblings come to collect me. Samthann was delighted to have the princess from the city stay a little longer.

This complicates matters.

I was planning to stay until a few days after Beltane and then head back home once I started to wear out my welcome. But apparently, the Eochaid clan loves me and is looking for an excuse to have me stay a little longer, or more likely, meet my “mother.”

As I said, my daughter, Cinnibara, is somewhere in these hills with her mortal friends. I could possibly contact her to be my chaperone. But on the other hand, I would rather not.

She does not approve of my methods.

Ironic since her cohort are ruffians more interested in coin than research.

Her finding a wyrmling version of me would be an awkward conversation.

I could sneak out of the village. Maybe spend some time exploring. I really enjoy being little again, and it’s tempting to go exploring in this form and experience the wide-eyed wonder I had when I was young.

More tempting than it should be.

Ugh, the construct is affecting my judgment now.

I will sneak away in the morning and fix this mess—before I lose the inclination to do so.

Blossombud 27th

NO, NO, NO. This has gone very wrong.

I was reworking my spell beneath a tree outside the village when I smelled another dragon.

It was Cinni.

She had her adventurer friends with her, and they were coming straight to the village.

Everybody knew that she was coming, and the first thing she did was introduce herself using her full title.

She would see straight through me if my disguise were not perfect.

I panicked and miscast the spell.

The construct is now even stronger than before. I can get to my adult knowledge if I really concentrate, but I cannot hold on to it for long.

Worse, the suggestions that the concentrate are really intrusive now. My attention span is gone. I am even more impulsive. 

I can still read my crayon drawing notes, but just barely.

I feel… smaller. Simpler. Thoughts slip away if I do not hold onto them.

I may have made this more difficult to undo than intended.

I am not sure I want to.

I am, it seems, going to be the wyrmling Garnette von Kupferthal for the foreseeable future.

At least I do not smell like myself. That is good. It means the disguise may hold.

I snuck back in town and found my new friends. They brought me to meet my “big sister.”

My reinforced childhood was enough to fool her—at least, I think it was; her delight in meeting her youngest sister was genuine. I am sure of that.

She immediately doted on me as though I truly were her little sister. She even removed the shrinking collar I had been saddled with over the past few weeks.

It is so strange to have our relationship inverted, with her acting like the mother and me the daughter.

I do not think she would approve of this version of me.

She, I, and my new friends spent the rest of the day together, playing and making floral crowns for Beltane. She even shrank herself down to horse size so we could play together without frightening the others.

We are now sharing a room in my friend’s house. She is fast asleep, curled around me as I once did when she was little.

I like it when she holds me like this.

We are going to be staying here for a while

Her last delve went poorly. She is uninjured, but her companions are not.

Gunaakt, the orc landsknecht, will be bedridden for several days.

Once he recovers, they intend to return to Sliberberg—and take me with them.

I will go.

I may have to accept that this is no longer a research expedition.

It may become a… vacation.

Perhaps one that is long overdue.

That thought is… concerning.

[grannus] Blogparade: Drei Dinge, die mir jede Rollenspielrunde versauen

Dieses Jahr lädt Bartimeaus zur Blog-Parade ein und da ich noch nie einen Rant geschrieben habe, bin ich direkt dabei! Los geht’s, Abfahrt!

Der Trend zu One-Shots

One-Shots degradieren das inhärente Risiko im oldschooligen Spiel zu einem billigen Slapstick-Gag. Oh, Erfahrungspunkte für Schätze? Großartig! Was kaufe ich mir davon? Ach ja, nichts, denn das Spiel endet um 22:00 Uhr.
Ich plädiere verdammt noch mal für die Kampagne. Egal ob eine Sandbox, die Zeit zum Atmen braucht oder eine längere Abfolge von zusammenhängenden Abenteuern. Ich will nicht nur den einen miesen Dungeon sehen, den der Spielleiter gestern Abend hastig aus einem schlechten Blog (hust hust) kopiert hat. Ich will die lebendige, schmutzige Welt da draußen spüren. Ich will, dass meine Entscheidungen Narben hinterlassen – in der Spielwelt und auf meinem Charakterbogen.

In einer Kampagne hat das Gold, das wir unter Einsatz unseres Lebens aus den Gewölben schleppen, plötzlich einen Sinn. Es baut Burgen. Es besticht korrupte Wachen. Es finanziert Söldner, die sich im nächsten Dungeon vor uns in den Tod stürzen dürfen. Das Domänenspiel – eigentlich ein Herzstück von D&D und doch reden viele drumherum und haben es noch nie erlebt. Eine Kampagne verwandelt eine Gruppe von zufälligen, austauschbaren Abenteurern in eine legendäre (oder bemitleidenswerte) Truppe mit echter Geschichte. Da schmerzt der Tod des Stufe 4 Diebes, den man monatelang durch den Dreck gezogen hat, noch wie ein echter Verlust – und ist nicht bloß ein statistischer Schulterzucker wie beim One-Shot.

Hört auf, Rollenspiel wie ein Tinder-Date zu behandeln, bei dem man nach dem ersten Treffen direkt die Nummer blockiert. Habt mal wieder den Mut zu einer festen Beziehung. Lasst uns eine Kampagne spielen, verdammt noch mal.

Alle Runden, alle Spiele mit dem gleichen Mindset

Oh, Überraschung. Da sitzen wir nun, bereit für eine düstere, moralisch graue Cyberpunk-Dystopie, in der jede Entscheidung das eigene Leben kosten kann. Und wer stolpert als Erstes durch die Tür? Genau. Der Typ, der seit exakt fünfzehn Jahren ein und denselben Charakter spielt. Er heißt diesmal vielleicht X-Phile_99 statt Gamli, aber das Mindset? Einwandfrei aus dem High-Fantasy-Baukasten von 2000 importiert. Es ist zum Steinerweichen. Diese Spezies von Spielern leidet an einer chronischen, unheilbaren Genre-Blindheit. Sie besitzen die faszinierende Fähigkeit, jegliche Atmosphäre, jedes mühsam aufgebaute Setting komplett zu ignorieren, um stur ihr einziges, abgespeichertes Verhaltensmuster abzuspielen. Da wechselt man extra das System. Weg von der epischen Fantasy, hin zu kosmischem Horror. Die Welt ist kalt, der Verstand bröckelt, die Monster sind unbeschreiblich. Was macht unser Mindset-Monolith? Er versucht, dem Cthulhu-Kultisten das Knie zu zertrümmern, um eine „Initiative-Modifikation“ zu erzwingen. Bei Lovecraft! Herzlichen Glückwunsch, du hast das Spiel verstanden. Nicht.

Oder die umgekehrte Fraktion: Die ewigen Taktiker. Egal, ob man ein erzählorientiertes Indie-Spiel über emotionale Bindungen oder ein lockeres Bier & Brezel spielt – sie sitzen mit dem Taschenrechner da. Sie optimieren. Sie suchen den „Build“. Sie wollen das System „brechen“. Wenn man ihnen sagt, dass ihr Charakter gerade eine tiefgreifende existenzielle Krise durchlebt, fragen sie, ob dieser Zustand ihnen einen Nachteil auf irgendeinen gibt. Man möchte sie einfach nur sanft an den Schultern packen und schütteln, bis die Würfel aus den Taschen fallen. Alternativ würde ich auch zu denen nach Hause gehen, um deren Fernseher aus dem Fenster zu werfen.

Diese Leute spielen kein Rollenspiel. Sie spielen ein persönliches, psychologisches Sicherheitsnetz. Bloß keine neue Denkweise zulassen. Bloß nicht auf die Prämisse der Welt einlassen. Lieber das System wie eine schlecht sitzende Jeans so lange dehnen, bis es sich wieder anfühlt wie die heimische Komfortzone.

Aber hey, das gab es früher bei mir. Mit meiner jetzigen Runde erleben ich sowas nicht. Die sind herrlich gut drauf und bereiten mir große Freude. Küsse und Grüße! Auch der nächste Punkt entstammt meiner Rollenspiel-Vergangenheit und hat nichts mit der Gegenwart am Hut.

So wenig Spielzeit,  so viel zu tun

Es gibt Leute, die verwechseln den Spieltisch permanent mit einer betreuten Kaffeefahrt für einsame Herzen. Sie wollen gar kein Rollenspiel spielen. Sie wollen eine soziale Selbsthilfegruppe, bei der zufällig ein paar Regelbücher auf dem Tisch herumliegen. Wenn ich eine Talkshow will, schalte ich das Fernsehen ein. Wenn ich eine Pizza-Party will, gehe ich in die Pizzeria. Wenn ich mich aber für eine Rollenspielrunde verabrede, dann erwarte ich, dass wir verdammt noch mal dieses Spiel spielen! Wir schaffen in einer Vier-Stunden-Sitzung gefühlte zwei Räume, weil jede Aktion von einer dreißigminütigen Meta-Diskussion und dem Austausch von Memes auf dem Smartphone unterbrochen wird. Am Ende des Abends packen alle hochzufrieden ihre Sachen und säuseln: „Hach, das war wieder so nett heute.“ Nein, war es nicht! Wir haben nicht gespielt, wir haben nur kollektiv Zeit totgeschlagen. Sucht euch für eure Plauderstündchen bitte ein anderes Hobby und lasst diejenigen an den Tisch, die tatsächlich die Würfel rollen lassen wollen.

So, Rant zu Ende.

-grannus-

[grannus] Blogparade: Drei Dinge, die mir jede Rollenspielrunde versauen

Dieses Jahr lädt Bartimeaus zur Blog-Parade ein und da ich noch nie einen Rant geschrieben habe, bin ich direkt dabei! Los geht’s, Abfahrt!

Der Trend zu One-Shots

One-Shots degradieren das inhärente Risiko im oldschooligen Spiel zu einem billigen Slapstick-Gag. Oh, Erfahrungspunkte für Schätze? Großartig! Was kaufe ich mir davon? Ach ja, nichts, denn das Spiel endet um 22:00 Uhr.
Ich plädiere verdammt noch mal für die Kampagne. Egal ob eine Sandbox, die Zeit zum Atmen braucht oder eine längere Abfolge von zusammenhängenden Abenteuern. Ich will nicht nur den einen miesen Dungeon sehen, den der Spielleiter gestern Abend hastig aus einem schlechten Blog (hust hust) kopiert hat. Ich will die lebendige, schmutzige Welt da draußen spüren. Ich will, dass meine Entscheidungen Narben hinterlassen – in der Spielwelt und auf meinem Charakterbogen.

In einer Kampagne hat das Gold, das wir unter Einsatz unseres Lebens aus den Gewölben schleppen, plötzlich einen Sinn. Es baut Burgen. Es besticht korrupte Wachen. Es finanziert Söldner, die sich im nächsten Dungeon vor uns in den Tod stürzen dürfen. Das Domänenspiel – eigentlich ein Herzstück von D&D und doch reden viele drumherum und haben es noch nie erlebt. Eine Kampagne verwandelt eine Gruppe von zufälligen, austauschbaren Abenteurern in eine legendäre (oder bemitleidenswerte) Truppe mit echter Geschichte. Da schmerzt der Tod des Stufe 4 Diebes, den man monatelang durch den Dreck gezogen hat, noch wie ein echter Verlust – und ist nicht bloß ein statistischer Schulterzucker wie beim One-Shot.

Hört auf, Rollenspiel wie ein Tinder-Date zu behandeln, bei dem man nach dem ersten Treffen direkt die Nummer blockiert. Habt mal wieder den Mut zu einer festen Beziehung. Lasst uns eine Kampagne spielen, verdammt noch mal.

Alle Runden, alle Spiele mit dem gleichen Mindset

Oh, Überraschung. Da sitzen wir nun, bereit für eine düstere, moralisch graue Cyberpunk-Dystopie, in der jede Entscheidung das eigene Leben kosten kann. Und wer stolpert als Erstes durch die Tür? Genau. Der Typ, der seit exakt fünfzehn Jahren ein und denselben Charakter spielt. Er heißt diesmal vielleicht X-Phile_99 statt Gamli, aber das Mindset? Einwandfrei aus dem High-Fantasy-Baukasten von 2000 importiert. Es ist zum Steinerweichen. Diese Spezies von Spielern leidet an einer chronischen, unheilbaren Genre-Blindheit. Sie besitzen die faszinierende Fähigkeit, jegliche Atmosphäre, jedes mühsam aufgebaute Setting komplett zu ignorieren, um stur ihr einziges, abgespeichertes Verhaltensmuster abzuspielen. Da wechselt man extra das System. Weg von der epischen Fantasy, hin zu kosmischem Horror. Die Welt ist kalt, der Verstand bröckelt, die Monster sind unbeschreiblich. Was macht unser Mindset-Monolith? Er versucht, dem Cthulhu-Kultisten das Knie zu zertrümmern, um eine „Initiative-Modifikation“ zu erzwingen. Bei Lovecraft! Herzlichen Glückwunsch, du hast das Spiel verstanden. Nicht.

Oder die umgekehrte Fraktion: Die ewigen Taktiker. Egal, ob man ein erzählorientiertes Indie-Spiel über emotionale Bindungen oder ein lockeres Bier & Brezel spielt – sie sitzen mit dem Taschenrechner da. Sie optimieren. Sie suchen den „Build“. Sie wollen das System „brechen“. Wenn man ihnen sagt, dass ihr Charakter gerade eine tiefgreifende existenzielle Krise durchlebt, fragen sie, ob dieser Zustand ihnen einen Nachteil auf irgendeinen gibt. Man möchte sie einfach nur sanft an den Schultern packen und schütteln, bis die Würfel aus den Taschen fallen. Alternativ würde ich auch zu denen nach Hause gehen, um deren Fernseher aus dem Fenster zu werfen.

Diese Leute spielen kein Rollenspiel. Sie spielen ein persönliches, psychologisches Sicherheitsnetz. Bloß keine neue Denkweise zulassen. Bloß nicht auf die Prämisse der Welt einlassen. Lieber das System wie eine schlecht sitzende Jeans so lange dehnen, bis es sich wieder anfühlt wie die heimische Komfortzone.

Aber hey, das gab es früher bei mir. Mit meiner jetzigen Runde erleben ich sowas nicht. Die sind herrlich gut drauf und bereiten mir große Freude. Küsse und Grüße! Auch der nächste Punkt entstammt meiner Rollenspiel-Vergangenheit und hat nichts mit der Gegenwart am Hut.

So wenig Spielzeit,  so viel zu tun

Es gibt Leute, die verwechseln den Spieltisch permanent mit einer betreuten Kaffeefahrt für einsame Herzen. Sie wollen gar kein Rollenspiel spielen. Sie wollen eine soziale Selbsthilfegruppe, bei der zufällig ein paar Regelbücher auf dem Tisch herumliegen. Wenn ich eine Talkshow will, schalte ich das Fernsehen ein. Wenn ich eine Pizza-Party will, gehe ich in die Pizzeria. Wenn ich mich aber für eine Rollenspielrunde verabrede, dann erwarte ich, dass wir verdammt noch mal dieses Spiel spielen! Wir schaffen in einer Vier-Stunden-Sitzung gefühlte zwei Räume, weil jede Aktion von einer dreißigminütigen Meta-Diskussion und dem Austausch von Memes auf dem Smartphone unterbrochen wird. Am Ende des Abends packen alle hochzufrieden ihre Sachen und säuseln: „Hach, das war wieder so nett heute.“ Nein, war es nicht! Wir haben nicht gespielt, wir haben nur kollektiv Zeit totgeschlagen. Sucht euch für eure Plauderstündchen bitte ein anderes Hobby und lasst diejenigen an den Tisch, die tatsächlich die Würfel rollen lassen wollen.

So, Rant zu Ende.

-grannus-

Game Day Extravaganza : June 27

https://web.brid.gy/r/https://theorkneynews.scot/2026/05/17/game-day-extravaganza-june-27/

Game Day Extravaganza : June 27

https://web.brid.gy/r/https://theorkneynews.scot/2026/05/17/game-day-extravaganza-june-27/

Love my #everquest ranger, but this song does feel very relatable. #youtube #music #d&d #dungeonsanddragons #ranger #mmorpg

Not Useless Today – A Funny D&...

Love my #everquest ranger, but this song does feel very relatable. #youtube #music #d&d #dungeonsanddragons #ranger #mmorpg

Not Useless Today – A Funny D&...

High-Detail RPG Avatar Icons Bundle #Rpg #Avataricons #Handdrawn #Png #Transparentbackground #Blackbackground #Dd #Gamedevelopment #AssetStore

https://u3dn.com/packages/high-detail-rpg-avatar-icons-bundle-237136

📰 NOVETAT

- Fitxa de DELTA GREEN en català

- Versió PDF per imprimir i Google Sheet interactiva i personalitzable

#DD-315
#DeltaGreen
#IEP

https://iep.lapesanta.cat/jocsderol/deltagreen/

📰 NOVETAT

- Fitxa de DELTA GREEN en català

- Versió PDF per imprimir i Google Sheet interactiva i personalitzable

#DD-315
#DeltaGreen
#IEP

https://iep.lapesanta.cat/jocsderol/deltagreen/