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Scott Kilgore
32 followers -
A teacher, storyteller, fly fisher, and dabbling artist
A teacher, storyteller, fly fisher, and dabbling artist

32 followers
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A Christmas present for my dad. Family crest and historical lands in Scotland. My uncle says our crest is not a dragon but a goat. Drawn in ink and watercolors.
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11/29/16
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Maps I rendered in sepia ink and watercolor on parchment. 
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11/29/16
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It's sideways. Regional map with a Turkish Fold.
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Real Dragons

In the seclusion of my basement
Gathered around black-bound tomes,
We should play Dungeons & Dragons™,
You & me.
Polyhedral dice colliding with pine tabletops;
Pen and paper moving in tandem.
We are collective storytellers weaving tales to span fictional lifetimes.
Experience is our prize.
And at the end of the day we can be what we always wanted to be:
saviors in our own story.

You see,
I think we fight enough monsters in this world.
Cancer lurks in caverns
Preying on people who matter.
Failure is a five-headed hydra.
To cut off one head only causes two more to grow in its place.
Abuse is a black magic that turns your heart
Into a stone.
Hordes of bills and responsibilities mount military campaigns,
Laying siege to our great defenses—
innocence and childhood.
A puppet master pulls the strings. He looks like us; attractive and charismatic.
He is a villainous vizier with many aliases:
Doubt.
Fear.
Regret.
Those evils are insurmountable and indefatigable.
When we think we’ve beat him back, he returns redoubled.
And our Dungeon Master is a ruthless referee.
She molds the rules to fit her plan and she blushes excitedly
With the adversity she casts in our path.
We’re rolling against each other.
There is little cooperation.
She rolls a critical success.
We critically fail.
She doesn’t care about the story.
She plays to win.
Total party kill.
There are no gods to intervene on our behalf, no mystical healers to bring us back.
And there we sit in the apex of our experience as weathered, snack-stained character sheets.
Words on a page.
Incinerated by real dragons.

So, we should indulge in fantasy,
You & me.
You can be what you want to be.
And if you roll low,
I’ll turn the other way and pretend it didn’t happen.
Because I’m good at pretending.
We’ll seek boons in rustic saloons and we’ll wander to rubble-reduced ruins
Where Tiamat lairs.
We’ll stand face-to-face in her house.
I’ll back your up succinct sword strikes with a reality-bending barrage of magic missiles.
Pew-pew.
Each head will fall.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Until the last one is left.
And no matter what gets thrown at us then,
We’ll return to tavern at twilight
As heroes—
saviors in our own story.



So... in an effort to be more discriminating with whom I add to Google+, I've found it impossible to use it practically.
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