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lydamorehouseA week or so ago, I started a new role-playing game with the friend of mine who preferred to correspond by email. We'd tried out Stay in Touch, which is the play-by-mail game that I've written about here before and which I'm still playing with several other folks (and having an amazing time!) But, for whatever reason, he and I burned through Stay in Touch too quickly via email (and had some other issues with it in that format) and so I went looking for one that's designed more for email.
I found this one called When the Messages Began and I'm having WAY too much fun with this.
It helps that the other player, who is playing the part of the Sender actually has a role that supposed reply with short and word salad-y responses. So the pressure is off him to try to compete with my writerly brain. I feel sort of badly sometimes because I worry that with these writing-focused games I go HARD into world-building in a way that is potentially a bit intimidating to my fellow players? But in this one, I have no fear of impinging on his world-building since the Receiver (me) and the Sender (him) don't need to be in the same kind of community at all.
I kind of want to share with y'all some of my replies, so they will appear under the cut for anyone interested. I clearly need to just give in an write an epistolary novel.
And you can sure tell that I've been listening to a lot of Old Gods of Appalachia... the notes are getting more and more Southern in their diction.
I'm just going to post my two most recent replies. All you have to know is that, initially, my character had hoped that the computer that had sprung to life had done so because a community member who was lost (what I'd rolled) had found a way to reach out. This person I'd initially named Chris--I have not read the section for the Sender, so I have no idea what their agenda is and so I offered a unisex name in case the other player wanted to become Chris or use that name in some fashion. In the character creation section, I rolled that our community is shunned by others due to our physical appearance.
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Entry Two:
The Elders don't want me to talk to you, especially since you're not Chris.
The fact that you're not Christian means that he's probably dead. I sort of thought he might be. I'm not sure why I even hoped that he might have made it somewhere safely and started writing back. The thing is, the Elders always like to remind us that the others shun us because of how we look, but you can't see me through this box, can you? So, you have no reason to kill me.
My name is Steadfast Goodone. As usual, I'm not living up to my name. I've been sneaking back out under the chain-link fence and through the broken crates at night to see if anyone has replied.
Don't worry. I won't get caught. No one from our Tribe goes out at night. The compound is locked down against the Ferals, so we've never bothered with a nightwatch. Elder Yoman tells stories of the way long ago when we had eye-spies, something he calls "camera security systems," but those stopped working before I was born. Anyway, this area is technically inside, so I'm not breaking any rules. Not really. I've always been a night owl. Everyone knows I'm prone to roaming at night. If anyone asks, I'll tell them that I've been doing what Elder Patience told me to do--disassembling this machine.
I'm sorry that the people you were expecting to be here are gone.
I think they must've left here before we moved in.
There are not many machines left in the compound. Our blacksmith, Elder Virtue, has melted most of it down over the years. Chris and I used to scout the places unreachable to the bigger folks for metals and useful things, but now it's just me crawling through the air ducts and wriggling under and around half-closed hatches and bunker doors. That's how Chris found the tunnel that led outside. I probably should have agreed to go with him, but my mama's been sick and I was afraid to leave her alone. The compound has no use for the infirm and those unable to pull their share of work. I've been doing her duties on top of my own, at least until she gets better.
Ortega is an interesting name. If you don't mind me saying, it sounds like something to eat! Like Rutabaga! At least, that is, if I'm saying it rightly. How are your people?
I should caution you not to come our way. My tribe are good folk, but the sun's red light has changed us. The Elder's aren't wrong. We don't look like regular folk anymore. Our eyes are different. Really different. People on the outside call us demons. The couple of times I've gone topside to go to market with my mama when she was feeling better, they even threw rocks at us and made signs like we're the devil's kin.
And sometimes I think they aren't so wrong.
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Entry Three:
I'm sorry it's been so long since my last reply, but there was a raid.
Most of us are okay. They nabbed our blacksmith, Virtue Ironhand, along with Granny Yama. Granny's full name is Yammer Warcaller. She used to be a military communications expert in the Before Times. She knows Morse Code and used to do something called surveillance and signal analysis. I have no idea what that is, but that's why she knew all about this "computer." The raiders took our fuel, too. So, it was a resource run, I guess. Happens from time to time. Last time we lost our midwife, all her herbs, and six battery packs.
Fuel and people. It's what they always take. Luckily, we started hiding extra fuel caches in those places only I can reach. So, we're not in dire straits yet.
Everyone else seems okay. I guess they didn't know my mama is our mechanic. Maybe they thought she was too sick to bother with, but she's been eating and drinking again, so she'll recover. Thanks for the offer of medicine. I would like to accept it, but, you might be starting to see why my Tribe has a lot of fear of outsiders. No one comes here that doesn't want to take from us. That's why my kin don't want me talking to you. I haven't confessed yet that I'm still in communication, and I sure as hell ain't told them that you already seem to know our location. I'm afraid if I did, the Elders would insist that we try to move deeper inside the compound or maybe even bug out entirely and go somewhere else. Then I'd never get to talk to you again.
It's nice of you to hold out hope for Christian Thingfinder, but he's useful, too. If he's not dead, then he'll be co opted like the others, pressed into service or whatever they call it.
I don't know where these raiders come from. They're not Ferals. Those are different things entirely.
It's hard to believe the ones who raid us are the local topsiders we trade with from time to time. They're all farmers. I can't imagine old Jamari Seattle would have a need for a Warcaller. Might take the blacksmith or mama, since they have a few horses that need shoeing and a strong call for a lot of mechanical work with the grow lights and hothouses for the crops. But, we give that in trade, so it seems cruel to take and hold forever what we offer 'em fair and square. Anyway, they're friendly enough, even if they do call us devil children and make warding signs against us. You'd think if it were them, they wouldn't act like we were so tainted and wrong. You'd think they'd be eyeing us up more hungry-like. Asking our names all the time, instead of cringing away in fear. Plus, you think we'd see our own in chains somewhere in their camps, but we never do. Maybe they hide them whenever we come around, but I can't imagine not one of us, especially Strength Surefist, wouldn't have broken out and made a run for the compound in all this time. Still, the raiders do seem to know who among us is Useful.
I haven't really come into a skill, myself.
Goodone is just the name you get when you're born. Steadfast, that's the kind of name everyone gets, the thing your folks hope for you--Christian, Virtue, Patience, Independence, Peace, and like that. I've been half-afraid I might get stuck with Smallfellow or Wigglebender or something worse, but thank goodness no one has tried something like that on me yet. Names have a tendency to fix tight and stick on, even if they're meant as a joke. I mean, just ask Grandpa Cussesmuch.
If it's not a vegetable, what's an Ortega? Or do your people have a different way of naming each other? I know some of the topsiders call each other things like "Lieutenant Colonel" and "Brigadier General," or apparently just "Sir." ("Sir" must be their version of "Goodone," you know?) You only got the one name, Ortega? Not two? Or do you have a whole mess of names like the topsiders, with their whole "Brigadier General Philip Henry Smith Sir"?
The farmers, they name themselves after the town their people came from Before. The funnest one to say is Anna Minneapolis. I always say hi to her when I see her at the trading, mostly just so I can say her name. She never even waves back. It's the eyes, you know. I don't take it personally. Hell, even I can see how I might be creepy whispering her name under my breath some times just to hear the sound of it.
I don't know how you can live all alone, Ortega. We have to have three dozen people just to make sure the lights say on, the clean water flows, and the air circulates. I hope you're going to be okay. I'm glad you found those plans and things. It's not right for folks to be all by themselves. It's not healthy! If you decide to come this way, you tell me how you're Useful. Maybe my kin might trust you more if you had a name they understood.
I found this one called When the Messages Began and I'm having WAY too much fun with this.
It helps that the other player, who is playing the part of the Sender actually has a role that supposed reply with short and word salad-y responses. So the pressure is off him to try to compete with my writerly brain. I feel sort of badly sometimes because I worry that with these writing-focused games I go HARD into world-building in a way that is potentially a bit intimidating to my fellow players? But in this one, I have no fear of impinging on his world-building since the Receiver (me) and the Sender (him) don't need to be in the same kind of community at all.
I kind of want to share with y'all some of my replies, so they will appear under the cut for anyone interested. I clearly need to just give in an write an epistolary novel.
And you can sure tell that I've been listening to a lot of Old Gods of Appalachia... the notes are getting more and more Southern in their diction.
I'm just going to post my two most recent replies. All you have to know is that, initially, my character had hoped that the computer that had sprung to life had done so because a community member who was lost (what I'd rolled) had found a way to reach out. This person I'd initially named Chris--I have not read the section for the Sender, so I have no idea what their agenda is and so I offered a unisex name in case the other player wanted to become Chris or use that name in some fashion. In the character creation section, I rolled that our community is shunned by others due to our physical appearance.
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Entry Two:
The Elders don't want me to talk to you, especially since you're not Chris.
The fact that you're not Christian means that he's probably dead. I sort of thought he might be. I'm not sure why I even hoped that he might have made it somewhere safely and started writing back. The thing is, the Elders always like to remind us that the others shun us because of how we look, but you can't see me through this box, can you? So, you have no reason to kill me.
My name is Steadfast Goodone. As usual, I'm not living up to my name. I've been sneaking back out under the chain-link fence and through the broken crates at night to see if anyone has replied.
Don't worry. I won't get caught. No one from our Tribe goes out at night. The compound is locked down against the Ferals, so we've never bothered with a nightwatch. Elder Yoman tells stories of the way long ago when we had eye-spies, something he calls "camera security systems," but those stopped working before I was born. Anyway, this area is technically inside, so I'm not breaking any rules. Not really. I've always been a night owl. Everyone knows I'm prone to roaming at night. If anyone asks, I'll tell them that I've been doing what Elder Patience told me to do--disassembling this machine.
I'm sorry that the people you were expecting to be here are gone.
I think they must've left here before we moved in.
There are not many machines left in the compound. Our blacksmith, Elder Virtue, has melted most of it down over the years. Chris and I used to scout the places unreachable to the bigger folks for metals and useful things, but now it's just me crawling through the air ducts and wriggling under and around half-closed hatches and bunker doors. That's how Chris found the tunnel that led outside. I probably should have agreed to go with him, but my mama's been sick and I was afraid to leave her alone. The compound has no use for the infirm and those unable to pull their share of work. I've been doing her duties on top of my own, at least until she gets better.
Ortega is an interesting name. If you don't mind me saying, it sounds like something to eat! Like Rutabaga! At least, that is, if I'm saying it rightly. How are your people?
I should caution you not to come our way. My tribe are good folk, but the sun's red light has changed us. The Elder's aren't wrong. We don't look like regular folk anymore. Our eyes are different. Really different. People on the outside call us demons. The couple of times I've gone topside to go to market with my mama when she was feeling better, they even threw rocks at us and made signs like we're the devil's kin.
And sometimes I think they aren't so wrong.
---------
Entry Three:
I'm sorry it's been so long since my last reply, but there was a raid.
Most of us are okay. They nabbed our blacksmith, Virtue Ironhand, along with Granny Yama. Granny's full name is Yammer Warcaller. She used to be a military communications expert in the Before Times. She knows Morse Code and used to do something called surveillance and signal analysis. I have no idea what that is, but that's why she knew all about this "computer." The raiders took our fuel, too. So, it was a resource run, I guess. Happens from time to time. Last time we lost our midwife, all her herbs, and six battery packs.
Fuel and people. It's what they always take. Luckily, we started hiding extra fuel caches in those places only I can reach. So, we're not in dire straits yet.
Everyone else seems okay. I guess they didn't know my mama is our mechanic. Maybe they thought she was too sick to bother with, but she's been eating and drinking again, so she'll recover. Thanks for the offer of medicine. I would like to accept it, but, you might be starting to see why my Tribe has a lot of fear of outsiders. No one comes here that doesn't want to take from us. That's why my kin don't want me talking to you. I haven't confessed yet that I'm still in communication, and I sure as hell ain't told them that you already seem to know our location. I'm afraid if I did, the Elders would insist that we try to move deeper inside the compound or maybe even bug out entirely and go somewhere else. Then I'd never get to talk to you again.
It's nice of you to hold out hope for Christian Thingfinder, but he's useful, too. If he's not dead, then he'll be co opted like the others, pressed into service or whatever they call it.
I don't know where these raiders come from. They're not Ferals. Those are different things entirely.
It's hard to believe the ones who raid us are the local topsiders we trade with from time to time. They're all farmers. I can't imagine old Jamari Seattle would have a need for a Warcaller. Might take the blacksmith or mama, since they have a few horses that need shoeing and a strong call for a lot of mechanical work with the grow lights and hothouses for the crops. But, we give that in trade, so it seems cruel to take and hold forever what we offer 'em fair and square. Anyway, they're friendly enough, even if they do call us devil children and make warding signs against us. You'd think if it were them, they wouldn't act like we were so tainted and wrong. You'd think they'd be eyeing us up more hungry-like. Asking our names all the time, instead of cringing away in fear. Plus, you think we'd see our own in chains somewhere in their camps, but we never do. Maybe they hide them whenever we come around, but I can't imagine not one of us, especially Strength Surefist, wouldn't have broken out and made a run for the compound in all this time. Still, the raiders do seem to know who among us is Useful.
I haven't really come into a skill, myself.
Goodone is just the name you get when you're born. Steadfast, that's the kind of name everyone gets, the thing your folks hope for you--Christian, Virtue, Patience, Independence, Peace, and like that. I've been half-afraid I might get stuck with Smallfellow or Wigglebender or something worse, but thank goodness no one has tried something like that on me yet. Names have a tendency to fix tight and stick on, even if they're meant as a joke. I mean, just ask Grandpa Cussesmuch.
If it's not a vegetable, what's an Ortega? Or do your people have a different way of naming each other? I know some of the topsiders call each other things like "Lieutenant Colonel" and "Brigadier General," or apparently just "Sir." ("Sir" must be their version of "Goodone," you know?) You only got the one name, Ortega? Not two? Or do you have a whole mess of names like the topsiders, with their whole "Brigadier General Philip Henry Smith Sir"?
The farmers, they name themselves after the town their people came from Before. The funnest one to say is Anna Minneapolis. I always say hi to her when I see her at the trading, mostly just so I can say her name. She never even waves back. It's the eyes, you know. I don't take it personally. Hell, even I can see how I might be creepy whispering her name under my breath some times just to hear the sound of it.
I don't know how you can live all alone, Ortega. We have to have three dozen people just to make sure the lights say on, the clean water flows, and the air circulates. I hope you're going to be okay. I'm glad you found those plans and things. It's not right for folks to be all by themselves. It's not healthy! If you decide to come this way, you tell me how you're Useful. Maybe my kin might trust you more if you had a name they understood.
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Date: 2024-02-06 05:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-02-06 07:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-02-06 09:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-02-07 03:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-02-07 03:56 pm (UTC)btw, ssc, i am torn between temptation to try this and the conviction that i would utterly fail at it.
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Date: 2024-02-07 04:16 pm (UTC)I highly recommend trolling through itcho.io's "physical games/epistolary" section (https://itch.io/physical-games/tag-epistolary) and seeing if anything appeals to you. A lot of the games on itch are independently created and SUPER cheap. I just bought myself another solo game to try because, like an octopus in captivity, I need a lot of enrichment. :-)
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Date: 2024-02-07 08:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-02-07 12:24 am (UTC)P.
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Date: 2024-02-07 03:50 pm (UTC)I just got the response and, yes, your instincts are GOOD. Better than mine!! (What a great surprise. I am really loving this game, honestly. I'm glad I didn't read the Sender information or this wouldn't have been as much fun.)
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Date: 2024-02-07 03:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-02-07 04:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-02-11 05:53 pm (UTC)I guess I did do an RP recently though now that I think about it, what with the Letter from Hatchlings thing on Flight Rising. It didn't last long though - I can't remember which of us stopped first. I'll have to finish the letter I had ongoing one of these days.
I've never tried RP-ing with info that's already been given - like something between having and not having a DM. Gonna take advantage of that link you put in one of the replies and see what I come across. Will see if I can find someone to try one out with sometime. If you have any good ones to recommend -
The "Brigadier General Philip Henry Smith Sir" gave me a good laugh btw XD
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Date: 2024-02-11 06:03 pm (UTC)I think the problem you've had where people just stop writing in epistolary games, is real. I do also always worry that I overwhelm my fellow players because creative writing comes Very Easily to me, and I worry that they send me two lines and I write 50, you know?
But, yeah, check out itch. It's a great site full of a TON of indy RPGs. I mean, because they are indy, some of them aren't masterworks, you know? But, I feel like almost anything can be a jumping off point.
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Date: 2024-02-11 06:52 pm (UTC)I mean, it's like almost anything that you start with another person tbh. It's so common for one person to stop and the other to be just like ._. (at least in my experience haha). I guess I wasn't expecting it to happen at the time because they were the one to suggest it if I remember correctly, but I was more confused than anything
"I mean, because they are indy, some of them aren't masterworks, you know? But, I feel like almost anything can be a jumping off point" Since I have absolutely not idea what a good base for a written RPG, I have no idea what a masterwork would even look like tbh. Guess I'll have to find out. It's just that it's a bit more pressure if there's another person because I can't help but care about their experience on top of mine o.O; Are there some that are single player?? That way I would know what I'm getting into genre-wise at least before I drag another person into it
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Date: 2024-02-11 08:14 pm (UTC)I reviewed a couple of them here before. but my favorite solo RPG right now is Last Tea Shop: https://springvillager.itch.io/last-tea-shop. But a lot of TTRPGs are coming out with solo options. My Star Trek game even now has a whole solo play manual.
So, yes! You can play by yourself. I'm also running a game called Axe-Wielding Cleric, in which I'm solo playing by writing confessionals. https://bannerlessgames.itch.io/axe-wielding-priest
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Date: 2024-02-12 02:54 am (UTC)