Magicians at The Table
French Toast is my gaming group, and last Saturday was the first day of Play-testing our new card game. This is version three of the game, as the last two (2006 and 2009 respectively) were too rough to hold up to more than a few games.
But this version…this is version III.
100 cards, new rules, original artwork AND nice looking boxes to keep our decks safe and pretty.
We spent the afternoon casting Spells across the table, watching them glitter and spit whenever they collided.
I raised a Lich, his head crowned with flame, from the eternal abyss of death itself. But Paxson stole it from me, with the help of a seductive Queen. Sakroka won the last battle, as he always does, with a well placed timing of Spells. Fireworks, popping and shattering against each other, forging them in a phalanxic bolt of doom.
We played for hours, on a table long enough for a medieval feasting hall. Most of the time I was standing up, pacing the room in excitement. I could play this game all day, every day, until I died, without realizing I had wasted any time.
God Damn, it feels good to be playing again.
Tomorrow I resume the novel. I’m sure I shall find it creeping out of the laptop, growing like kudzu across the house. Affecting all the other properly finished books of people I admire; strangling the published words for some form of written nourishment.