In the wake of what has occurred on Ziziphus, the Storyteller has not appeared for this night's sharing of tales. The campfire is ever-present, but a morose air hangs over the flames nonetheless.



There will be no voting this time around either. It seems the Storyteller is due for a break - and so are the rest of you.

( You know what comes next, adventurers. )

Something is wrong.

This may not very well be obvious, at first. The Storyteller is not present to put forth yet another diatribe, informative or apologetic, and the backdrop of guttering flame and sandy campfire is as present as ever...albeit briefly.

( Wait...what does come next, adventures? )

This should, as of the last dream, be a far more familiar setting than it was prior. The flames flicker with an almost hypnotic effect, and round slabs of driftwood form log-like seats around the bonfire. This time, however, you are not alone with the elephant or rabbit or dog or Storyteller in the room - and they are in the room, taking whatever shape they deem most suitable for the situation.

This dream is shared.

One by one, you will each have the opportunity to share your stories. Stories have a certain power that cannot be replicated or cast aside. As far as those for whom this is their first Storytelling, the Storyteller will not require that the story itself take place in LifeAftr, though all Storytellings from this point onward will.

If you prefer to keep your mouth shut, that's always an option, though you're more liable to benefit if you do. Perhaps you'd rather not relive any of your history, varied and variegated as it must be. Or maybe you're something of a compulsive un-truther, prone to embellishments and long, fanciful tangents. As long as the core of the story is true to its spirit, you are free to spin your tale however you like. Longer, more entertaining anecdotes will be far more appreciated - and, indeed, useful, - than the verbal equivalent of a third grader's "What I Did On Summer Vacation" essay.

So choose your tale wisely.

[In the late evening of the 15th, you find yourself sitting at a campfire, surrounded by total darkness. The cheerful light and warmth of the flames emcompasses but a few feet from it’s source, the rest of the world hushed and perhaps...absent entirely.

Beside you, a white(?) rabbit, almost as tall as yourself while sitting down, finishes dutifully cleaning one ear with a sigh, staring out into that pitch black with an almost forlorn expression.]

The problem, when one is a god, is that time… time is a much smaller concept, [they say.] One century, you can be at the peak of your splendor - and yet one tiny, thousand year nap, and everyone forgets about you.

I realize you all have many questions. I would like to make an attempt to address them.

( From the same point of view )

Mm, yep. This sure is a tagcloud.