11/05/2025
Been a while since I have been active on socials besides lurking and commenting, boosting the occasional post that causes my daughter to shriek 'Eww, why are you on my TikTok!?', soo...
Progress update...
Shifting Paradigms:
Extralibrium: 30%
Project Freefall: Plotted/Mapped
Taking Flight: 10% (Short Story)
Warrior, Brigand, Mage:
The Dragon's Challenge: Artwork re-commencing
Battle for the Highplain: Working on rough map
Scions of Aerth:
On hold for now to focus.
Riftstorm:
Mapping. Stay tuned.
Transit van:
Stocked, inventory increased accordingly.
Still need a few small setup tools, low priority.
Initial quotes for branding, will finalize soon.
Backup cam here, needs installed.
Looking for rooftop storage options.
In stores:
Rubiyat in Caldwell
The Art House in Ontario
Events:
This weekend at Nampa High for the Boosters event.
20th-22nd at Idaho Center for Canyon Christmas.
Jan 3-4th for ProCon.
Looking to do more events as the van makes it so much easier, less work, more options.
Finally moving forward again. Been stuck a long while. The new writing is pretty good, hoping for that to continue, but wanting to focus on pushing the game into production at the same time. Minor edits for rulebook needed, etc.
Bonus Excerpt:
Ok. This is the end of chapter one of 'Taking Flight'. He;s remembering things that happen in 'Project Freefall'(project name, working on title) that I haven't written yet, but have mapped out. It's a little rough, but I'm getting feedback on the whole chapter this week at critique group. Here goes:
Micah followed Wren toward the mess hall, the horrors of the last ten minutes still screaming in the back of his mind. Flashes of the battle back home, more than a year ago, echoed through his being, urged onward by the shock of Trent’s passing. Shrieks of the dying, the acrid stench of burnt flesh threaded through the mess hall chatter and aroma of hamburgers as his body moved on autopilot, sliding a tray down the counter.
He felt the subtle goodwill of those gathered around, dim flickers compared to the bright candle of faith at his side.
Memories of the twisted devotion of his former congregation, the force that had flowed through him that night, fueling miraculous healing and enabling shielding from their enemies' attacks, blurred behind his eyes as he took his seat at the table.
The practiced blessing he spoke over the food in the here and now faded as the intonations from an ally from the past rang hot in his ears.
The sharp words directed a deluge of holy power that smote several members of the rival church, turning the tide of their largest offensive battle in the fresh Decline to Micah’s favor.
Above it all, his father’s voice rang out, a clarion call screaming martial scripture from the rear of the clash, a war hymn twisted to sanctify bloodshed.
Micah took the offered napkin from Wren, forcing a smile.
Her hand lingered a moment, and she squeezed his, tilting her head as she looked at him. “You okay, sweetie?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
***
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