two chicks write some larps

or just daydream about them

stuff we've written - stuff we're running - stuff we're planning - stuff about us


Pipe dream time. These are games that we're planning, plotting, or possibly scheming. Maybe even writing bits of. But there's no guarantee any of these are actually going to happen. We did at least pull down the ancient ossified really stupid ideas from eight years ago that had built up on the previous version of this page, so this is only recent semi-stale stupid ideas at worst.


Come, all you who gather here round the Caves of Shadow, in this time when day and night stand in perfect balance, when the harvest ripens and the geese fly and all things must change towards winter and war.

Come, Speaker for the Republic of Cataja Del Sol. Come, new-crowned Demon Queen of Ashitun. Come, self-declared Emperor of Kritos reborn. Come, death-singers of the Skellywoods, raiders of Blood Ridge, stormriders who serve the Wraith of Salt in the deep desert. And come, all you that wander without home and hearth, and you who bring solace through the Golden Spiral.

We who wield shadow invoke this council and hold this festival. Let trade and creation flourish. Let duelists and chefs compete for the acclaim of nations. Let old friends be reunited and new friends be made. Let enemies have one last chance to negotiate before planning their winter campaigns. And let all who come here find what they seek and bring forth their true selves, for the last day of summer is a day of profound change.

The Last Day of Summer is an eight-hour, forty-four-player secrets & powers larp with themes of destruction and recreation, trauma and recovery, obsession and power, and other fun things. Expect plenty of chances for feelings, discovery, drama, and shenanigans, with the extended playtime for deeper roleplay and denouement. Gameplay will include both player-driven and GM-driven conflict. This game takes place in a post-post-apocalyptic science fantasy setting where social constructs of gender are typically loose to nonexistent. And yes, there will be a break for dinner!


There's also a side game, set in the same world as The Last Day of Summer, that's much less plotty and more feelings-and-characters-driven, and is pretty much an inpatient group therapy game except in a fantasy setting.


Remainder:

  1. (n) A part, number or quantity that is left over.
  2. (v) To destroy or dispose of a book at reduced price.
  3. (n) An interest in an estate that becomes effective in possession only when a prior interest (devised at the same time) ends.

Once, you were six normal high school students. (Don't most stories begin this way?)

You meant well. (Doesn't everyone?)

You fucked up.

Most stories don't end with two of you dead and alien weapons of mass destruction pointed square at Earth.

No, I mean you really fucked up.

But maybe your story doesn't have to end this way.

When things were at their worst, the four of you remaining were contacted by a mysterious being, who claimed they could turn back time. You were given a second chance. But power demands sacrifice, and second chances all the more so.

  1. Each of you must face what you have done, in front of all the others. Your memories are blurry right now, but that won’t last. Soon, your worst and most private of moments will play out like a full-sensory movie with an audience of four.
  2. You must pick a moment to return to. The decision must be unanimous. Those of you who return will remember everything that came before. No one else will.
  3. Not everyone will return. You must choose one among you as sacrifice to this failed timeline. That person will be wiped from existence. This decision, too, must be made unanimously.

The Remainders is freeform game which makes use of some meta-techniques. It contains semi-pervasive themes of suicide and PTSD, so caveat emptor.


IN A WORLD...WHERE EVERYBODY, SOMEWHERE, HAS A DESTINED SOULMATE...WHO THEY WILL RECOGNIZE THE MOMENT THEY SEE THEM...what is this actually like for people, personally and culturally? a.k.a. Tory and Lily have a lot of feelings about romantic soulmate tropes in fiction and ways in which they can be interesting.


Lily is working on, or at least back-burnering, a ten-player game about initiation rites, guilt, holding people's lives your hands, destiny, and other fun things. Which may or may not include hallucinogenic drugs. On the parts of the characters. Or maybe Lily. We're not sure.


So one day we found ourselves sitting around and asking "how could we write a parlor murder mystery involving poncy people in a poncy house where characters are actually motivated to take the law into their own hands and become paranoid and shank-happy instead of poncing about solving a murder in a civilized fashion?"

We're reasonably sure we have a tight game outline. Though Tory made a typo when saving the notes file, so now we can't talk about it without giggling because it's called "muder at loser island."


You and your comrades have been through a lot together by now. One adventure after another, triumph and loss, friendship and betrayal, all that jazz. Now you find yourself in a mysterious maze of rooms. Enter a room, accept a challenge to continue, rinse and repeat. You know that if you reach the center, you'll find something you need. Even if the details are a little fuzzy on what that might be.

Your little band is clever. Brave. Powerful. But can you handle the challenges issued to your hearts?


Everybody's writing boffer litform games these days, so Tory has to do it too. There's also a lot of player demand for getting tortured. She feels like she can accommodate this...


COOKING COMPETITION REALITY SHOW: THE LARP

a.k.a. the first time we've ever considered writing a game with workshop character creation.


We do still know pretty much exactly how we'd go about writing a prequel to The Sound of Drums, though whether we ever will is another question.


It has also just occurred to us that an old-style locked-in-your-hotel-room Iron GM writing session could make for a great locked-room murder mystery, especially with some meta/freeform elements.

Excuse us, muder.


When thee is a child, thee is singular, alone, growing. When thee has grown enough, thee goes to the sacred circle and appeals to the high spirits, until one chooses thee and alights within thee and becomes one with thee. From then on, thee becomes complete. Thee becomes you. You are a greater being, and you carve the mask of your spirit, and you wear it until your dying day. And this is how you become an adult...

That was--years ago, though, wasn't it? You're already an adult, so why is your mind so empty? Why can't you remember who you were--both of you, all of you? These people around you...you feel as if you should know them, but you don't, and your masks lie at your feet, your faces naked in your shame, and you can't even remember which one was yours...

The Twelve Masks of Autumn is an amnesia game with no set characters, where your actions and choices in-game determine what you remember and who you become.


Tory is working on, or at least back-burnering, a six-person game about adolescent ennui, coming-of-age, exploration, and conformity. And video games. Not that the characters play. That the characters are in. More or less.


At some point the thing on this page about an inpatient therapy game and the thing on this page about a boffer litform game had a mutant child which is neither of these games but which does involve fighting crunchies who make calls like Paralyze by Dissociation.


Tory still reserves the right to write her idea for a serious horde game, which is to say probably the most fucked-up and trauma-ridden game she'd ever write, because in her opinion, the way to do a serious horde game is a truth and reconciliation committee.


Weekend-long time-loop game. Your characters are bouncing back through the same stretch of time, again and again. Only each time they're different, because the entire pre-game continuity is a Chrononauts timeline, and chunks of your character sheets are the cards. Oh, and the way to flip cards involves murder.

Excuse us, muder.