(no subject)

It occurs to me that a week from now, the beast will either be dead or coughing up blood in its final death spasms. For all the grumbling I've done over the past few months, a little bit of me feels sad at the prospect. It has been a long journey, starting with peering over colonel_maxim's shoulder at a brief he was struggling with for NWO Levant, and thinking that it was something I could help with. A page and a half later and I was crewing for the event, and shortly thereafter, on the writing team for NWO Thebes, Transylvania, Rome and now the Grand Tribunal. It's been a long, long haul and the events have grown more complex as they progressed with awful inevitability towards the Fourth Crusade in 1204.

By and large I think we've done well. Perhaps things could have gone better at NWO Transylvania, but while the team fretted, the players seemed not to notice and enjoyed themselves. Rome far surpassed expectations, and I hope that what we have written for our final outing will do that justice and at least equal it even if we cannot out do it (although at this stage, I believe we will).

It is surprising simultaneously both how few plot lines have survived the sequence intact, and how many others have. This isn't a contradiction, but it is symptomatic of how the games morph and evolve as player interaction twists the plans of the writers over a weekend, leaving plot strands dangling where they should not, and unearthing avenues for inspection and further exploration that were previously closed. That is the bit that remains exciting and challenging.

This time next week, anyone who is at the event, and who is interested will get to find out in the debrief precisely what has eluded them over the sequence, and we shall all kick back with a beer or two and relax.

And then we shall keep it all in our memories and forget the sheer bloody hard work of it all.

Until some one says "I have an idea..." at which point he (or she) will be pounced upon without mercy. I can't do this again, wistful reminiscence not withstanding.

(no subject)

It occurs to me that a week from now, the beast will either be dead or coughing up blood in its final death spasms. For all the grumbling I've done over the past few months, a little bit of me feels sad at the prospect. It has been a long journey, starting with peering over colonel_maxim's shoulder at a brief he was struggling with for NWO Levant, and thinking that it was something I could help with. A page and a half later and I was crewing for the event, and shortly thereafter, on the writing team for NWO Thebes, Transylvania, Rome and now the Grand Tribunal. It's been a long, long haul and the events have grown more complex as they progressed with awful inevitability towards the Fourth Crusade in 1204.

By and large I think we've done well. Perhaps things could have gone better at NWO Transylvania, but while the team fretted, the players seemed not to notice and enjoyed themselves. Rome far surpassed expectations, and I hope that what we have written for our final outing will do that justice and at least equal it even if we cannot out do it (although at this stage, I believe we will).

It is surprising simultaneously both how few plot lines have survived the sequence intact, and how many others have. This isn't a contradiction, but it is symptomatic of how the games morph and evolve as player interaction twists the plans of the writers over a weekend, leaving plot strands dangling where they should not, and unearthing avenues for inspection and further exploration that were previously closed. That is the bit that remains exciting and challenging.

This time next week, anyone who is at the event, and who is interested will get to find out in the debrief precisely what has eluded them over the sequence, and we shall all kick back with a beer or two and relax.

And then we shall keep it all in our memories and forget the sheer bloody hard work of it all.

Until some one says "I have an idea..." at which point he (or she) will be pounced upon without mercy. I can't do this again, wistful reminiscence not withstanding.