My #NaNoWriMo word count as of this evening is just over 23,000 words! Fantabulous!

You can track my progress here: http://nanowrimo.org/participants/s.....the-third-gate

You can read the (very rough and craptacular) chapters here: https://www.sofurry.com/browse/folder/stories?by=124864&folder=48446

Enjoy!

Yours,
Sylvan Scott

Okay, I revised a bit of the earlier post I made. This is more. I've completed about 3,200 words, today, in my NaNoWriMo story, "the Third Gate". Follow my progress if you like at http://nanowrimo.org/participants/s.....the-third-gate .Tell me what you think:

Aches and pains were six years gone, now. Provided the landscape of his life was not a tapestry rewoven by insanity and delusion, Adam hadn’t felt this good in ages. Physically, he never could have run so far, pushed himself for so long, without stopping for rest. And yet, he was in agony. What, at his age, would typically be called “aches and pains” were replaced by honestly earned agonies of stress, flight, running, and fighting. Unlike his past life, a life spent making columns add up to a predetermined number, his pains had been acquired not by walking up and down stairs or taking an extra-long walk at lunch but by chasing those who had taken Eris. Her absence had spurred in him a rush to action he’d not experienced since college. But that was the fact of it, wasn’t it? Here he was, climbing over tumble-down rocks in a tremor-wracked landscape of wind-worn hills and rising peaks, in a body scarcely beyond puberty. But sometime, in the years since arriving in this exploded-view version of a world, he’d crossed the line into fifty.

Halfway there.

His brother would have said he was “halfway there”.

It was what everyone had said when he had turned forty. He would have expected his fiftieth birthday to provide the same joke.

But that would have been a joke for humans in a human world. It would have been a joke to a member of a species that spent the first sixteen, eighteen, twenty years of life coming to grips with adulthood only to die in their seventies, eighties, or nineties. Those rules no longer applied. He was of dragon blood, now, and scarcely into adulthood as far as his body was concerned.

So his ten-day journey in pursuit of Eris and her kidnappers felt like it should be impossible. But his young body made it exactly the opposite. Not only was this chase possible, it was inevitable.

And Adam hated Eris for it.

Northeastern Dorath was sparsely populated. He hadn’t seen anyone since crashing here. The crew of the Amberglass had put up a fight as soon as they had spotted him. The cloud cover had been too sparse. But if he hadn’t attacked, hadn’t shredded their sails and ripped several air crystals from its hull, the airship would have been able to get out into the Deep Blue.

Adam wasn’t strong enough a flier to take on that kind of pursuit.

Imperfect sky cover, scatterings of grey against a dawning day of light rain, had been his only true protection. The scraps of leather he wore might turn an ill-aimed arrow but a direct hit would pierce his hide almost as easily as if he wore nothing. But the crew of the ship had known how to handle fliers. The fought back and put three bolts through his left wing; another through his right.

They went down, too; just later than Adam had. The damage he had wrought had been at least that effective.

Yesterday, he had caught up to the torched remains of the ship. Apparently, they had decided to leave no evidence. To Adam sight sent a chill of foreboding through him. The burned husk meant the raiders were committed. It meant they had another way out. They could afford to put their ship to the torch to not risk being judged for participation in the illegal slave trade. In short, they had a “Plan B”.

And with injured wings, Adam had pursued them on foot.

Why they had come this way, why they pushed so hard to reach the mountains, he didn’t know. But they were getting dangerously close to the edge of Dorath. He could only assume they would meet up with another ship. Eris and the rest would be taken to sell in far-off lands. They would be as good as dead to him if he couldn’t catch up.

He wouldn’t let that happen. Eris was the last connection to home that he had.

The island, barely the size of one of the lightlands high above the rest of Kellendar, was criss-crossed with fractures in the north. As such, only the deeply-buried earth stones kept it together. But every now and then, several times per day, the ground would tremble as the thin layers of rock shifted and tried to give in to the ever present pull of gravity. But the chunks and plates would shift, twist, meld, and reform keeping it whole while the air stones kept it aloft.

The constant tremors kept few from living in this part of the island. It was probably why the raiders had chosen their flight path over this landscape. Few of the mounted or aerial knights that patrolled Dorath would be likely to see their ship or report on its illicit cargo.

There were a few long-abandoned farms, here and there. Adam spied several tumbledown remnants of cobblestone fences and deteriorating homes dotting the wilderness. But the settlers who had made them had long-since given up hopes of taming this land. At least, today, there had been no quakes.

Foothills rose in cracked majesty. Filled fissures criss-cross the land more frequently as he progressed northwards. Their contours both paralleled and crossed the boundary from plains to mountains leaving cliffs in their wake. But game trails, left by the seldom-seen deer and askanabi, provided him some path to follow.

That and the corn husk doll he’d crafted and wore on a string around his neck that pointed in Eris’ direction.

Some times it seemed he had lost her. But a few hours of running, later, and the fetish would twitch to life and point, anew. He didn’t know how long it would last. He feared the time it would falter and never pick up the trail again. At least, now, he had an overland path to follow as ten to twelve raiders herded their captives higher and higher.

The morning crept into noon as the sky cleared. The sun warmed him and made his patterned hide gleam, dully, in the cold light. Red and black stripes and whorls covered his shoulders, hips and torso. Spots of deep blue, resembling scales, completed his look. His long neck and narrow-muzzled face echoed these colors although his eyes were slitted and flecked with metallic green. Small raised ridges, almost akin to vestigial horns, crowned his brow and travelled down the back of his neck. There, they spread along his injured wings.

But although he resembled a human crossed with a dragon, he was neither mammal nor reptile. Honestly, he didn’t know if the classifications from back home could identify exactly what he was. He was warm-blooded with external sexual characteristics but had a thick scale-free hide, instead of skin, and wings that sprouted from his upper back like a stained-glass image of an angel.

...Or a devil.

Strange that this world had those concepts, too. Its pantheon of gods were plagued by infernal forces from below and aided by servants from above. Similar to the religions of Earth, it surprised him. Eris would often tell him not to worry about such things. But he couldn’t help it. Everything, here, was like a patchwork of beliefs with new and unsettling things thrown in for good measure.

And that was the nature of a world like Talvali: it was all a patchwork.

And he was merely one of the most recent patches in that tapestry.

The passage of the raiders led up. It twisted and turned around the fractured foothills until, finally, coming to a broad arroyo flanked on both sides by unbroken cliffs. For the first time in his ten days of pursuit, Adam stopped in startled awe.

Large steps were carved into the far side of the arroyo, leading up into the hills. Each was carved with bas relief skulls around which ancient, spiraling letters served as an unintelligible frame. Moss and gross covered them, making spans of the stairs resemble miniature, terraced farms. But while small cracks and breaks appeared in them, the large, heavily-hewn blocks were, for the most part, intact. Some twelve or thirteen of them proceeded up an incline until they became flanked by tall spires of enormous, carved skulls. Still shadowed by the cliffs, these also seemed undamaged save in the most superficial of ways.

He slowed his pursuit. It did not look like a place in which an ambush could take place but Adam didn’t want to take any chances.

As tall as he was, the stairs were still a challenge to ascend. He climbed slowly, casting his emerald gaze about, carefully, looking for any hiding place the raiders might have selected. There were none that he could see and eventually, he reached the spires. Here, he saw he was wrong before. There was damage. Stones that he had taken for another step were obviously the fallen remains of a crossing arch that had once joined the spires. In centuries past it must have crumbled and scattered across several of the winding stairs.

His quarry had definitely come this way. The few animal tracks that had led him this far also ascended the fractured stones but were mostly rubbed-out by the passing of many feet.

“Kastri-fathi; mo’uon si templis car sorathes.” He intoned the words under his breath and focused his will to bend the ambient energies of the arcana majiere to his will. Drawing his blade, almost reverently, he pointed its tip at the rubble. “Mastani-arath; koe mun a’ lasatar. Hovath car sumnali si savasti’is.”

While the doll at his neck pointed onwards, up the stair into the hills and mountains, the sword in his hand throbbed with an inner heat only those versed in elemental magics could detect. To his mind’s eye he could see the footsteps and shadows of the feet that had cast them. Stone had a long memory. And although much of it was cracked and reduced to sand, it virtually sang when he tapped into it. He saw them, at last: the raiders and their captives. Like phantoms captured in amber they hiked upwards. The spell he had learned to reveal the past gave him hope. They had passed this way less than six hours ago. Further, there were fewer slavers than he had thought: eight, by the looks of them, and with seven chained captives.

His eyes rested on Eris’ image. He felt a twinge of guilt. No more human, anymore, than he was, she was small, covered in brown fur set with badger-like markings of tan and black. Scarcely an inch over three feet tall, her normal clothes had been replaced with tatters and rags. She was chained between two others: an auranathi man with an injured leg and a strange, surreal creature that looked like a slapped-together construction of avian and feline. A whimsey, no doubt. Constructed by magic for specific labors but considered free and independent people here in Kellendar’s Dorath client-state. He looked at Eris’ face for a long time. She didn’t look concerned but he knew she often hid her feelings beneath a blustery bravado that typified members of the tahvic race that she had become.

The mental image flickered and died as he resheathed his sword.

Adam glanced at the tall spires, remnants from a long-forgotten civilization, and frowned. Once, he would love loved to explore the remnants of the towering stones. But, now, he had to catch up and figure out how he was going to overpower eight skilled raiders and free Eris.

At least none of the raiders were physically intimidating. He had that going for him. None were fliers and most looked like they had at least some form of injury: probably owing to the crash of their airship.

He considered his options as, galvanized, he resumed his pursuit.

The cool, dry air of the foothills chilled even more as he ascended the stairs. A few wind-twisted trees lined the recessed climb. Stripes of umber and black threaded through the cliffs on either side showing layers of epochs, before. Dust swirled in dust devils as the wind blew off the plains, below, and was channelled up the stair after him. The fallen, yellow and brown leaves along his route grew less common as the hills gave way to the more sheer heights of the barrier mountains.

If he had had his wings, as uncomfortable as he was with flight, he could have ascended the slopes quickly and gotten ahead of his quarry. As it was, he knew enough about his new biology to bind his wounds but not easily treat them. Nor did he know any magics or rituals that could stitch himself together. There were ungents and enchanted dusts for such things but they were expensive and relatively rare. A farmer, the head of a large family, would often buy one to see their way through a growing season as a way to address unexpected emergencies. But Adam was, at best, an apprentice … unemployed in any real sense of the word. In fact, his abrupt departure in pursuit of Eris probably meant he would have no apprenticeship to return to. What little money he had would probably have to be spent on getting Eris back home. He doubted he’d be fit enough to fly her the sixty-or-so miles from the floating island of Dorath back to the larger aerial continent of Kellendar, proper.

Still, the stairs twisted and turned, ascending along natural contours in the black stone of the mountains. Here, the fractures from the plains and foothills, below, were less common. But Adam knew the edge had to be getting near. He could see the twisted and torn clouds, high above in the peaks, reacting to the conflicting winds both rising off the plains below and to the east as well as from the shell of winds, ahead. The mountains had probably been sheared in two when the island first came to find itself in Talvali. He doubted these stairs had been built after that so it seemed likely he was traveling in a truly long-forgotten ruin from some alien world, far away.

A forbidden thrill beat in his heart and he pushed it down, guiltily. Focusing on his mission was the most important, the only thing, that he should be focusing on. Adolescent fantasies of adventure were far before his time. Even if he was barely an adult as a dragonkin, with possibly centuries of life ahead, he couldn’t help but feel guilty every time he indulged an enthusiastic distraction or fantasy.

That was more in Eris’ nature.

As the autumn day wore on, shadows crept down the face of the mountains. He took a risk, resting for just a few moments, and tested his wings. The crossbow bolts had torn through their leathery membrane, barely missing structural bone and maneuverable muscle. But scabs had formed along the holes. Adam had patched them with bandages and gum resin mixed with a numbing sap. It was a simple curative and helped prevent infection. It was something he’d learned early-on. But even though his wings had gotten two days of rest, they were nowhere near being able to fly, let alone support his weight.

Broad, talons spreading across old, worn stones for support, he resolved to finishing his trek on his feet.

As the sun set beyond the heights ahead of him, he could see the mountains’ shadows stretch across the fractured grasslands behind him. Above, though, he saw something glint as the sun waned. With the small, blue moon Kormoran rising ahead of him, he caught sight of what, in a moment, looked like metal armor glinting against the sunset near a pass at the summit. The larger, red moon of Briac would be rising closer to midnight while Shotef and Khetef had already gone by during the day. But even as the light faded and blue washed down over the cliffs, Adam saw it: another pair of pillars.

At his distance, he found it hard to see them, shrouded as they were in the shadows of twin peaks to either side. But, squinting, he thought they, too, were carven skulls reaching up to an intact arch. It looked like a giant gate without bars. He would doubtless find out more as he got closer. As good as his sight was, he was no gryphon. And although he no longer needed glasses or bifocals, he was ill-equipped to see in the increasing night. Wolfen, like half the raiders he pursued, would be seeing things far more crisply and clearly than he could. Like the leonine auranathi, they were at home in twilight and dusk. It was something more he would have to take into account.

As for the glint of metal, it was gone as quickly as it had come. He hoped they had reached the summit and were now making camp. Perhaps it had been a glimmer from one of the raiders’ armor. Possibly the glint off a shield. If they were camping, Adam could catch them by pushing on.

Despite how tired he was, he resolved himself to do it.

Making his way in the dark was difficult, even with the soft blue light of Kormoran coating the stair.

Another hour passed.

Then, another.

With perhaps two more to go before midnight, he spied the flickering of firelight reflected off the inward-facing surfaces of the spires. The illumination lent a ghastly, infernal cast to the skulls.

The stairs were leveling off with small side trails and paths winding off into narrow meadows and passages. Adam set his jaw and decided to take a risk.

Setting off to his left, he followed several paths to get closer. In an hour, he had found them.

Perched at the terminus of a narrow rise, still fifty or sixty yards from the stone gate, he saw their camp. Five raiders surrounded even more captives. A trio of lean-tos had been set-up against the howling winds that moaned up from the dark night on the other side of the mountains. There, as Adam had suspected, was the edge of Dorath. The floating island just stopped, maybe a hundred yards from the peak where the arch spanned the ancient stair. Below was darkness: the Great Blue. Beneath floated larger continents and, below them, the dark, savage world of terrestrial Talvali.

Whether or not the slavers had known about the ancient stair was irrelevant. Clearly, they had made their way here, to the edge, to meet another ship. And if it wasn't here, yet, it would probably not be far off. Proud that he’d caught up to them, Adam now faced the difficult choice of what to do about it. Where the missing three raiders he’d seen in his vision, before, had gotten to, he wasn’t sure. Possibly taking posts along the lower stair watching for pursuit; Adam figured they’d eventually make themselves known. But by then, all eight may be in the same place, again. That would make the odds much worse.

He had his sword, his tough hide, his magic: but that didn’t make a fight with eight enemies any more even. Even against five, he was out-numbered. He had to even the odds.

Carefully, he watched and thought.

Following is what I wrote in the opening moments of National Novel Writing Month, 2015. It is for a story that, so far, is being called "the Third Gate". It stars a humanoid dragon, so far, named "Adam". These 600 words were written in the first 20 minutes of the annual contest. For now, I need bed. I'll continue this, later.

---

Aches and pains had been gone for six years, now. Provided the landscape of his life was not a tapestry rewoven by insanity and delusion, Adam hadn’t felt this good in ages. Physically, he never could have run so far, pushed himself for so long, without stopping for rest. And yet, he was in agony. What usually would be called “aches and pains” were replaced by honestly earned agonies of stress, flight, running, and fighting. Unlike his past life, a life spent making columns add up to a predetermined number, his pains had been acquired not by walking up and down stairs or taking an extra-long walk at lunch but by chasing those who had taken Eris. Her absence had spurred in him a rush to action he’d not felt since college. But that was the fact of it, wasn’t it? Here he was, climbing over tumble-down rocks in a tremor-wracked landscape of wind-worn hills and rising peaks, in a body scarcely beyond puberty. But sometime, in the years since arriving in this exploded-view version of a world, he’d crossed the line into fifty.

Halfway there.

His brother would have said he was “halfway there”.

It was what they all said when he’d turned forty. He would have expected his fiftieth birthday to gain him the same joke.

But that would have been a joke for humans in a human world. It would have been a joke to a member of a species that spent the first sixteen, eighteen, twenty years of life coming to grips with adulthood only to die in their seventies, eighties, or nineties. Those rules no longer applied. He was of dragon blood, now, and scarcely into adulthood as far as his body was concerned.

So his ten-day journey in pursuit of Eris and her kidnappers felt like it should be impossible. But his young body made it exactly the opposite. Not only was this chase possible, it was probable.

And Adam hated himself for it.

Northeastern Dorath was sparsely populated. He hadn’t seen anyone since arriving here. The crew of the Amberglass had put up a fight as soon as they had seen him. The cloud cover had been too sparse. But if he hadn’t attacked, hadn’t shredded their sails and ripped the air crystals from its hull, the airship would have been able to get out into the Deep Blue.

Adam wasn’t strong enough a flier to take on that kind of pursuit.

Imperfect cover, scatterings of grey against a dawning day of light rain, had been his only true protection. But they’d known how to handle fliers. The fought back and put three bolts through his left wing.

They went down, too; just later than Adam had.

Yesterday, he had caught up to the torched remains of the ship. They had decided to leave no evidence. To Adam that meant more, though. It meant they were committed. It meant they had another way out. They could afford to put their ship to the torch and not risk being judged for illegal slave trade. In short, they had a “Plan B”.

And with an injured wing, Adam had pursued them on foot.

Why they had come this way, why they pushed so hard to reach the mountains, he didn’t know. But they were getting dangerously close to the edge of Dorath. He could only assume they would meet up with another ship. Eris and the others taken to be sold in far-off lands would be gone to him if he couldn’t get them back.

He wouldn’t let that happen. Eris was the last connection he had.

So, with NaNoWriMo coming up, I am considering doing a live writing stream. It would have music and, possibly, some map/game-building, too.

What are the best, simplest, FREE tools for sharing video/audio content?

What do you suggest?

Yours,
Sylvan

I just found this great vid by Lindsey Stirling: "We Are Giants"!

https://youtu.be/1yUYvyAY954

Just a really nice thing, last night, were the Hugo Awards (given out at Worldcon each year) remembered Doug Winger in their "In Memoriam" section, calling him out as an artist who will be missed along with others in SF fandom (and all its branches) during the past year.

Yours,
Sylvan

Where are you staying?
Hyatt Regency Minneapolis (The convention hotel)

What day are you getting there?
Thursday morning.

How are you traveling?
I'm taking a taxi from where I live in North East Minneapolis, downtown, to the hotel.

Who are you staying with?
Me, Myself, and I.

How is the best way to find you?
Often, I'll just be in the Gaming Room, running tabletop gaming.

Are there any panels you might be attending?
None that I've made plans to attend, so far.

What do you look like?
I'm medium-height and rather wide with short dark brown hair (spotted with a little grey around the edges), rectangular slender-frame glasses, no facial hair (although I may grow a VanDyke by the con), hazel eyes, and often suspenders. I tend to wear polo shirts with pockets because pockets are a necessity in our modern world.

Will you be suiting?
Nope: I do not own a fursuit.

Do you do free art?
Not really; sometimes as gifts for friends who I know rather well.

Do you do trades?
I'd be open for it.

Do you do badges?
Since I am a writer, I could write a description for your badge (if you want to have it laminated) but I doubt that's what you're looking for.

What is your gender?
Male.

How tall are you?
5'10.5"

Can I talk to you?
Please do!

Can I touch you?
Sure; if you ask, first.

Can I visit your room?
Maybe. I'm working during the con so I'm keeping my room as something of a refuge.

Can I buy you drinks?
I don't mind. I don't really drink but am continuously trying new things. I've grown fond of Lambic Ale and the ever-popular Long Island Iced Tea (with plenty of Coke).

Can I give you stuff?
Depends on the stuff.

Can I hug or snuggle with you?
Hugs? Sure! Snuggles? Ask first; I'm a bit on the shy side around folk I don't know well. Besides, I'm very overweight ... I'm not usually asked for such things.

Are you nice?
I would like to think so, but I may be an unaware asshole and not know it. I do know that I have a nasty wit when I get angry.

Do you have an artist table?
Nope, but I'll be entering the Iron Pen contest!

Will you be going to parties?
Probably. Crowds are not my thing but a laid-back party with good conversation will draw me in.

Will you be performing?
Doing what? I don't really perform unless you count running games.

If I see you, how should I get your attention?
Tell me who you are and be friendly. :) I won't bite!

Where will you be most of the time during the day/s?
Tabletop Gaming.

Can I come with you for food/fun/etc?
Possibly; as long as the group I'm going with isn't already too huge! (Plus, I love it if my fellow diners are at least semi-adventurous.)

Can I draw in your sketchbook?
Please feel free: I only have one at the moment and it's rated G - NC-17 (Themed: "macro/micro/hyper").

Can I take your picture?
Ask, first, but I don't mind.

What's your goal(s) for the con this year?
Make sure that everyone enjoys the games we have to offer!

What's your food plan?
I plan on hitting Brit's Pub fairly often and having at least one dinner at Ichiban and one dinner at The King and I.

Hey there, furries,

This past weekend at CONvergence, the proposed Web series, "VERMIN", re-launched it's Kickstarter! It's a production by Fearless Comedy Productions, Gordon Smuder (of "Transylvania TV" or "TVTV"), and MST3K's own evil mad scientist: Trace Beaulieu!

https://youtu.be/N9xrzZEmnTM

I highly encourage you to go to the Kickstarter page and give it some monetary love: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/792672696/relaunch-vermin-web-show. Please consider it: it's gonna be worth it!

Yours,
Sylvan Scott

Whew...

What a day.

I, as an American, now have equal access to marriage no matter where I go or who I love. I've had this right in Minnesota for a few years, now, and I'm honestly not sure if marriage is right for me. But it is now, universally, an option.

I got the news when Twitter blew up. I got some stuff done at work but, after a half day, I got permission to take half a day off with some PTO. I had lunch at my favorite restaurant, came home, and prepared tacos for friends in celebration of this weekend's Pride festival.

Tomorrow I don't know what will happen other than meeting friends for lunch by Loring Park. I can only say I hope that the happiness I feel continues and, further, is experienced by everyone else who is in need of equality: no matter who or where they are.

Yours,
Sylvan

Doug Winger was my friend.

We met only once, in San Diego, at a con before the year 2000. Before then, we had corresponded in email and on FurryMUCK. We role-played and traded stories and art. His art was always better than my stories.

He knew how to be over-the-top, sexual, funny, and creative at all times. When going to meet him for the first time, I had no idea what to expect. It was certainly not a bespectacled, slender fellow who was shy with a faint smile and impish eyes. I hugged him, instantly.

He was one of the first to let me know that sex wasn't something to be afraid of. He taught me to never be ashamed of my fantasies and fetishes. He drew my characters, un-asked, and chatted with me about this strange, wonderful fun of anthropomorphics. He became Internet famous (or infamous) and seemed to love it. But he stayed out of the limelight. He was a gentleman pervert and showed many people that they could be the same with joy and enthusiasm.

Doug Winger and I haven't spoken in years. Once I left FurryMUCK, Tapestries, and Faibanx, we didn't have the same avenues to communicate. I spoke with him once or twice, since, but the conversations were unremarkable. Certainly no conversation would ever have been as remarkable as the man. He was a dear fellow, a quiet fellow, who lived a life of fun and unrepentant joy in fantasy.

I wish I could be even a tenth the man he was.

I'll miss you, Doug, and all the fantastic creations you once shared.

Be at peace, be at rest, and know that you will be missed.

Love,
Sylvan

I removed my last journal post. It was wrong of me to put it here. I have a blog (dusty and unused though it be) for that. My apologies for the unprofessionalism.

To all my FA followers with whom I'm sharing this: you should definitely Kickstart the heck outta this! I have and I promise: this is going to be fun! Take a look: https://www.kickstarter.com/project.....pet-web-series

They're a third of the way there!

https://youtu.be/aTOdU7ZNpfQ

Yours,
Sylvan Scott

"April Fool’s Day is to comedy as Saint Patrick’s Day is to Irish culture. That is to say it is a mockery of the very concept that usually ends in a fist fight."

https://youtu.be/kXYXuXX48m8

"Anyone who claims to be excited for April Fool's Day is probably a sociopath."

I used to enjoy April Fool's Day ... back when it was about humor, playing harmless jokes, or just enjoying comedy. I recall when huge swaths of online Web Comics artists would swap drawing/writing for that one day. It only happened for a few years but it was so fun!

Most April Fool's stuff, though?

Kinda crappy...

Everyone thinks they're a comedian.

But you're not a comedian (probably). Real comedians know what they're doing ... more or less. :)

Yours,
Sylvan Scott

This is making me happy right now:

https://youtu.be/nbr8L5a_b34

Hey there, one and all!

I've been following, with great interest, the father and gamer who has been building a furry tabletop RPG that younger people can play (which older fans will enjoy, too).

It's called "Vanguard: Varmisk Fallen" (no relation to my Super-hero Universe: "Vanguards of the Future").

It is being Kickstarted, here: https://www.kickstarter.com/project.....varmisk-fallen

Please support it! Even a few bucks helps. In fact, every furry should help with this! It spreads our fandom and supports the younger fans of gaming at the same time. Plus: really cool races!

https://youtu.be/SsC5bQTtwy8

Take it from me: this is going to be awesome! :)

Spread the word!!!

Yours,
Sylvan Scott

Lately stress has been getting to me. So, for the past week, I've spent each evening before bed going into YouTube and searching for "playful XXAnimalXX" and finding videos of foxes, raccoons, coyotes, and other wild animals who have, for one reason or another, come to play with humans. This helps my mood incredibly.

Yours,
Sylvan

Good day, one and all!

You know me as Sylvan Scott. I have been in the furry fandom for about 20 years. But even longer than that, I've been a tabletop gamer. Yes, like many my age, I grew up playing Yahtzee, Monopoly, Clue, and Stratego. I also had an original copy of Mouse Trap! But in 1979 I was introduced to Dungeons and Dragons. Ever since then, my definition of "gaming" has been expanded.

It is with great pride that I announce I am once again in charge of Tabletop Gaming at FurryMigration. This con is Minnesota's first furry convention, put on by its incredible fan-base in MNFurs. This year it's being held in late August (just after my birthday) from Friday, August 28th through Sunday, August 30th.

What I'd like you to do is consider running a gaming event.

By "event" I mean "a game". Yep: it's that simple ... a tabletop game.

Settlers of Catan, Killer Bunnies, Forbidden Island, Forbidden Desert, Eurorails, Zombies!!!, FLUXX, Room Party, Betrayal at House on the Hill, Lords of Waterdeep, Dungeons and Dragons, Pathfinder, Ironclaw, Paranoia, Chess, Dungeon, the Dresden Files, FATE, Ticket to Ride, Smash-Up, King of Tokyo, King of New York ... ANYTHING!

If you own it, know it, love it, and think your fellow furries attending Furry Migration will want to play it, sign up to run it! All you have to do is fill out this form: http://www.furrymigration.org/progr.....gaming/submit/ . I'll get the results and get in touch to schedule you!

Seriously, this is going to be a fun time!

We have a new hotel for our second year, right in the depths of downtown Minneapolis, and we're looking forward to one heck of a great weekend.

You know you want to be a part of it, right?

Just join us and find out how fun these early-year cons can be!

Yours,
Sylvan Scott
2015 Tabletop Gaming Head,  FurryMigration

 Freder is one of those friends I've made who, at times, I feel I do not deserve.

He's a fine artist who keeps practicing, refining his style, and sharing his friendship in an open and caring manner. He has drawn several characters from my stories just because he was inspired! His generosity knows few bounds and, having had a few meals with him at cons, I can assure you that he's also (in person) a really great guy!

He posted this, recently: http://www.furaffinity.net/full/16004200/ which was inspired by my bunny character, Taylor Grey, in "Indelible" and "Inscrutable".

I was, as always, amazed.

He's such a sweet guy.

Please let him know just how sweet!

Hug him! Commission him! Get to know him!

He's worth your time as an artist, as a furry, and (best of all) as a fantastic human being!

You're the best, Freder; I love how generous you are and how fantastic your artistic senses have become!

Yours,
Sylvan Scott

Take the first three letters in your first name and the last three letters in your last name. Going down your "Friends" list, find the first whose name matches each letter, in the order they appear. The person should be someone you know fairly well or have had conversations with. (In the case of FA, use your "Is Watching" list.)

If there is no one with a name starting with the same letter, or you've already used it, use the next person in the list, wrapping around to the top if you reach the end.

In the Zombie Apocalypse, [your name] is...

...Defended by: [first-name-first-letter Friend]
...Arguing over "safety" with: [first-name-second-letter Friend]
...Saved, at the expense of their own life, by: [first-name-third-letter Friend]
...All broken up over having to put down: [last-name-third-to-last-letter Friend]
...Successful on a "weapons run" with: [last-name-second-to-last-letter Friend]
...Killed, after being bitten but before being able to turn, by: [last-name-last-letter Friend]

---

In the Zombie Apocalypse, Sylvan Scott (Sylvan) is...

...Defended by: Seph
...Arguing about "safety" with: Zexyz
...Saved, at the expense of their own life, by: MicahDobie
...All broken up over having to put down: Picklejuice
...Successful on a "weapons run" with: T-Chall
...Killed, after being bitten but before being able to turn, by: Teaselbone

I was slow to learn. For the first year or two of me posting the occasional story, here, I never really thanked people for faving them. As it is, I was blown away by it and very flattered. But for some reason, it just didn't dawn on me what should be done about it. After all, so many more folks faved the commissioned drawings I posted as opposed to my stories, I wasn't sure it was really personal.

But that was wrong.

About four or five years ago, I adopted a policy that would serve others to follow as well, I think.

We're part of a community. Call it a "fandom", a "sub-culture", a "pack", a group of weirdos, a loose affiliation of n'er-do-wells ... I don't care. We're a community. And when someone makes me feel good by marking one of my original creations as a "favorite" of theirs, I should share some of that joy back with the individual in question.

My policy is this: if I create something original, I personally thank the person with a shout. If they publicly list my work in their favorites gallery, I'll even make more of an effort and, in my shout, mention the specific story to show that I noticed and really appreciate it. If they have some of their faves hidden from general view, I still leave them a "thank you".

We thank each other and lift each other up.

They say that everyone is a monster in the dark. I prefer to shine the light that good people have lit in me, back into those shadows to share some of the warmth where it belongs.

In the end, it builds a better community through honest appreciation.

So, to all of you: thank you!

You mean a lot to me.

Yours,
Sylvan Scott

This took me a long time.

This took me a VERY long time.

I wish I knew why it took me such a long time.

I don't know, but at least I finally finished it.

Of all the stories I have written, none have gotten the kind of response I saw to "Indelible". Not only did I enjoy writing this "ultimate tale of all things big" but it seems so did everyone else. That said, I didn't do any micro/shrinking stuff in that first tale. Given how popular it proved to be, I guess I should not have been surprised that someone commissioned me to write more.

 Yamaxanadu was more than patient as I wrestled with what to do next. In fact, I made a vow to myself that I would not work on (or post) any new work until I had finally finished that commission.

Who knew it would take two freakin' years?!!

The stories you've seen from me since then have either been very old tales or stories I wrote that had been promised or begun previously to this one.

It is with great pride (and no small amount of trepidation) that I share with you "Inscrutable" ... a short-story-length continuation of "Indelible".

I truly hope you enjoy it.

Yours,
Sylvan Scott

I finished it.

Whew.

Yeah.

Yours,
Sylvan Scott

1. Write every day,
2. Lose 8 pounds in January (and every other month)
3. Keep in touch with friends
4. Only eat non-home-prepared meals, at most, twice each week (but no McDonald's)
5. Notice and appreciate the minutia of life; start caring about things

2014 is in the past. Good riddance. 2015 is here. It won't be perfect but I'll do my best to learn its lessons, become happy, and take charge of my life.

Yours,
Sylvan Scott

Oh the traffic outside is frightful,
And the snow is downright spiteful,
But as long as I can work from home,
Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

I can't say that I'm angry, sad, or even perturbed. Mostly, I'm just confused.

Last week, I finished posting all the old furry stories of mine that I'd written (which I could still find). I left them (for the most part) in the same, crappy, sloppily-edited state I'd found them in. A few had some really, truly horrible punctuation bugs that I left in because, really, I didn't want to spend time on them.

These are old tales that I wrote back when I didn't think I knew what I was doing.

And I've gotten more faves and watches in the past week than I'd gotten in the last few years!

I'm ... flabbergasted!

What on Earth is appealing about these other than the porny bits? I really like doing porn now and then, but I've had a very hard time writing (at all) this past year. So is it just the fact that I've had a dry spell and furries will take anything? Is it that I'm fooling myself and porn is all people want from me? Is it that it's the time of year and all that mistletoe is doing too good a job on you crazy furry-people?

TELL ME!

<pants>

Okay, I'm getting sane, now.

I'm still confused but I'm sane.

Thank you, all, for spreading the word and liking all these old, old, old stories. It does make me smile and feel a bit better about my dry spell.

Be well this holiday season and be furry.

Yours,
Sylvan Scott

"Catharsis"
"Horse Sense" (yes; that one everyone knows)
"A Witch on Christmas Eve"
"A Hard Knight's Day"
"Introspection"
"In Love and With the World at Their Feet"
"Fire Fish"
"Running Scared"
"Lyon's Pub: Lone Wolf"
"Lyon's Pub: Final Curtain"
"the Couriers"
"From Beyond the Next Right Angle"
"A View From Below"
"Welcome to Halfway"