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magicaddictThat would be Valour Added Tax, then.
Caroline's murder mystery birthday weekend went off with games, booze and more bad puns than Frankie Howerd could shake a flagellum at.
The various guests arrived on Friday night to be assailed with beer, wines and the entirety of one of the best spirits lockers I've ever seen, as well as pawing over a selection of some fifty-odd board games, some of which I hadn't played for over fifteen years. Blast from the past doesn't even begin to cover playing Treasures & Trapdoors with vindictiveness honed over the years from the youthful exuberance it once was.
Witht the inception of Saturday, it was on to the murder mysteries. With the help of some very, very poor vocal talent on the background tapes, terrible character names and a strangely comical episodic type of mystery, the eight of us contrived to put on bad accents aplenty and ignore serious sleuthing for any opportunity to pun.
In game one - Murder by Magic - I played world-renouned hypnotist and psychotherapist Dr. Wilhelm Wakeup, at a conference of the Magic Ring, presided over by Lord David Coppertone. At the conference, he attempted his most famous, and dangerous illusion: escaping from an iron maiden (given that a fair number of fans have been trying to do this for years and failed, people were interested to see how he would achieve it). As he was shut inside, there was a scream and blood started pouring from the device - someone had change the fake spikes for real ones.
Game two - Murder In The Baths - involved Caroline's ever-providing parents laying on a barbecue while we set about some of the worst Roman puns ever seen outside of Up Pompeii. Highly-esteemed gladiator Maximus Gore enjoyed slowly divulging the secrets of his torrid love affair with Poll Taxus, wife of Devius - once the Senator, now dead from parboiling due to someone having thermally tampered with his personal frigidarium. Conversation surrounding barbarian wode-rage and the empire striking back managed to completely forget the dead senator in the corner and everyone ended up getting some variant of pissed as a bastard and actually agreeing with the eventual murderer's reasoning.
The final game - Murder On The Piste - happened around Sunday lunchtime and involved Richard Pickle being blown up by an exploding snowman as he shooshed past it on his morning ski in Kloisters. French helicopter pilot and society mountain rescuer Jacques Frost (sporting a costume any Indiana Jones impersonator would have been happy with) was in the frame for the killing, as was Walter Emmental, his former business partner (they went great together), and Ona Toboggan, ski shop owner and drug dealer to the rich and famous. The vast majority of people were deeply hung over by now, and the game lurched from comedy to confusion and back again as people tried to keep their minds on things, but it didn't matter. We had pizza, booze, more games, pool and finally left thanking Caroline's entire family for an excellent weekend. I also left with seventy-five pounds worth of Caroline's hard-earned birthday money with strict instructions not to come back from the Gathering without a larp sword for her personal use. I'm not going to Tallows for it, so there should be change.
In other news, I've recently started playing along by ear on the keyboard to whatever is playing on my winamp. I used to do this at Wills but my skills have lapsed so terribly that I currently sound like two dead cats and a porcupine in a large hessian sack beating at the keys like they owe money. Not the best situation in which to be doodling around the soundtrack for my dream ritual and a couple of songs that need writing, but when the mood takes, the mood takes.
Meh. It's hopefully going to be years before I have to do anything about them anyway.
Caroline's murder mystery birthday weekend went off with games, booze and more bad puns than Frankie Howerd could shake a flagellum at.
The various guests arrived on Friday night to be assailed with beer, wines and the entirety of one of the best spirits lockers I've ever seen, as well as pawing over a selection of some fifty-odd board games, some of which I hadn't played for over fifteen years. Blast from the past doesn't even begin to cover playing Treasures & Trapdoors with vindictiveness honed over the years from the youthful exuberance it once was.
Witht the inception of Saturday, it was on to the murder mysteries. With the help of some very, very poor vocal talent on the background tapes, terrible character names and a strangely comical episodic type of mystery, the eight of us contrived to put on bad accents aplenty and ignore serious sleuthing for any opportunity to pun.
In game one - Murder by Magic - I played world-renouned hypnotist and psychotherapist Dr. Wilhelm Wakeup, at a conference of the Magic Ring, presided over by Lord David Coppertone. At the conference, he attempted his most famous, and dangerous illusion: escaping from an iron maiden (given that a fair number of fans have been trying to do this for years and failed, people were interested to see how he would achieve it). As he was shut inside, there was a scream and blood started pouring from the device - someone had change the fake spikes for real ones.
Game two - Murder In The Baths - involved Caroline's ever-providing parents laying on a barbecue while we set about some of the worst Roman puns ever seen outside of Up Pompeii. Highly-esteemed gladiator Maximus Gore enjoyed slowly divulging the secrets of his torrid love affair with Poll Taxus, wife of Devius - once the Senator, now dead from parboiling due to someone having thermally tampered with his personal frigidarium. Conversation surrounding barbarian wode-rage and the empire striking back managed to completely forget the dead senator in the corner and everyone ended up getting some variant of pissed as a bastard and actually agreeing with the eventual murderer's reasoning.
The final game - Murder On The Piste - happened around Sunday lunchtime and involved Richard Pickle being blown up by an exploding snowman as he shooshed past it on his morning ski in Kloisters. French helicopter pilot and society mountain rescuer Jacques Frost (sporting a costume any Indiana Jones impersonator would have been happy with) was in the frame for the killing, as was Walter Emmental, his former business partner (they went great together), and Ona Toboggan, ski shop owner and drug dealer to the rich and famous. The vast majority of people were deeply hung over by now, and the game lurched from comedy to confusion and back again as people tried to keep their minds on things, but it didn't matter. We had pizza, booze, more games, pool and finally left thanking Caroline's entire family for an excellent weekend. I also left with seventy-five pounds worth of Caroline's hard-earned birthday money with strict instructions not to come back from the Gathering without a larp sword for her personal use. I'm not going to Tallows for it, so there should be change.
In other news, I've recently started playing along by ear on the keyboard to whatever is playing on my winamp. I used to do this at Wills but my skills have lapsed so terribly that I currently sound like two dead cats and a porcupine in a large hessian sack beating at the keys like they owe money. Not the best situation in which to be doodling around the soundtrack for my dream ritual and a couple of songs that need writing, but when the mood takes, the mood takes.
Meh. It's hopefully going to be years before I have to do anything about them anyway.
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no subject
Date: 2006-07-24 09:10 pm (UTC)And you've set me thinking now - a dangerous thing to do. I'll get back to you with specs.
no subject
Date: 2006-07-25 09:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-24 10:48 pm (UTC)His new line of rapiers and sabres are out of this world to fight with and look pretty darn nice too
regards
mike (not the one making the weapons)
no subject
Date: 2006-07-25 09:46 am (UTC)