Glitter + Ashes

by Dave Ring

  RAMON: What three things are in conflict in the enclave? I’m

  drawn to food justice, personally. I imagine that Rabbit sees feeding people as important spiritual work.

  IAN: That’s cool – maybe that’s also part of what my gang

  does, liberating hoarded food from supermarkets and private storehouses. Like Robin Hood, but for canned goods.

  CARLY: Food justice it is! But I imagine that would pull a

  lot of unfamiliar faces into our community, and Cookie probably doesn’t screen people very carefully before putting them up in the boarding house. Maybe that worries some people, who wish we were more careful about our boundaries and borders. Scarcity thinking?

  RAMON: That sounds more like the need for purity to me.

  CARLY: Oh, yeah, good point. Okay, food justice is in conflict with

  the need for purity. What’s our third point in this triangle?

  IAN: Well, we already know that Impala’s gang is stuck on the

  issue of murder and violence. Maybe the use of violence is our third point?

  CARLY: I can totally see it... but it also means our community is

  constantly embroiled in really serious conversations, and I wonder if it’d be better to choose something with a bit more levity?

  RAMON: Rabbit is always organizing esoteric festivals, community

  feasts, and sacred orgies. Maybe party culture could be the third one?

  IAN: Oh, that’s cool. What if: Impala is always liberating food

  with this idea that it’ll be rationed and redistributed, but then Rabbit ends up throwing big parties where it gets eaten overnight.

  RAMON: I love it. And obviously the parties pull in strangers from

  all over, which freaks out the people who worry about protecting our borders.

  CARLY: It sounds like we’ve got our triangle: food justice, party

  culture, and the need for purity. Let’s start drawing stuff onto the map.

  Follow Your Curiosity

  As everyone defines the community, use the remainder of the worksheet to start sketching a map. Everyone can draw, though one person emerging as the de facto cartographer is fine too. Leave lots of empty space to fill in during play. Talk about where people sleep, where they get their drinking water from, where they seek quiet moments of reflection or prayer, and more.

  As the map is being sketched and the community is being fleshed out, you enter into a mode of play called Idle Dreaming. This is a time for questions and curiosity, for tangents and musings. Talk about whatever is interesting, or unknown, or scary, or beautiful about this place that you’re building together. Make up details about the landscape, its history, and its residents. Setup becomes play, one flowing directly into the next.

  To get you started in the process of idle dreaming, each character role contains a short list of questions to ask to person to your left, located at the bottom of the middle column. Answers can be short and simple, or lead into conversations of their own. In the process of asking and answering, you may find yourselves eager to plunge into a scene. Go for it!

  With everyone asking questions and excitedly contributing their vision, scene ideas will soon emerge. Maybe something seems especially poignant. Maybe the answer to a question is clouded by uncertainty, or it just feels too big to make an arbitrary decision about. Maybe two players are figuring out why their characters recently broke up, and it’s like: hey, this should totally be a scene. I want to witness this happening in real time. Maybe it happened by the river?

  Idle dreaming stokes curiosity and excitement, and that leads into scenes. If ever a scene concludes and there’s uncertainty about what might happen next, it’s always fine to return to idle dreaming until a compelling answer rears its head and demands attention. With that said, it’s common that once the first scene emerges, the session quickly builds momentum and never returns to that starting place of idle dreaming.

  RAMON: Now seems like a good time to ask Rabbit’s question to the

  left. Impala, why did we break up?

  IAN: Oh, what? We were dating?

  RAMON: Seems like it, if that’s cool with you!

  IAN: Yeah, it’s great. Let’s see... I think we initially bonded

  over the fact that we’re both providers for our community, and that’s how we started dating. But over time, I got more and more frustrated with how it seemed like you were always squandering whatever bounty I brought in: food from the raids, yeah, but eventually I started seeing that dynamic everywhere in our relationship.

  RAMON: Into it. I feel like Rabbit’s the sort of person who is really

  generous in lots of ways, but entirely clueless to the ways that he’s selfish or overbearing.

  CARLY: Did it come as a total surprise then, when Impala dumped

  you?

  IAN: I feel like this should be a scene! Impala dumping Rabbit.

  RAMON: Ooh, definitely. How about it takes place in Rabbit’s

  dinner tent? He’s placing a bowl of cucumber-nettle salad in front of you, with a roast squirrel skewer alongside it.

  IAN: Rabbit’s always making these sort of gestures, whenever

  we’re alone together. Which makes it all the more difficult to say what I feel needs to be said: “Rabbit, listen. We need to talk.”

  Scenes

  The first scene emerges from idle dreaming, when curiosity and excitement lead to a situation that people want to dive into and explore. Scenes can start with a line of dialogue, with a description of a cellar stuffed with old potatoes and garlic braids, with action - whatever feels right. But as the scene unfolds, make sure details emerge. Where is this taking place? Who’s in the middle of the action, and who’s quietly watching on? What smells waft over from nearby kitchens? Is someone fiddling? Is it early evening, and have the clouds finally parted to make way for sunset?

  Scenes might take anywhere from two minutes to twenty. Some scenes will revolve around a conflict, and others won’t. They might stand alone or flow organically into one another. They end when it feels right for them to end.

  If a scene ends and it’s not immediately clear what the next scene will be, you can always return to idle dreaming. Follow your curiosity. If there are still questions to be asked to the left, give people a chance to ask them. Scenes will soon emerge again.

  RAMON: Rabbit bunches up his flowing skirts in order to kneel

  down next to Impala. He’s getting older, and so his motions are a little bit slower as he lowers himself down.

  IAN: Hm. I think watching Rabbit struggle a little bit with

  that movement reminds Impala about how they’re just really different people. Not only in terms of their age gap, but also how they participate in community. Impala’s world is all rooftops and break-ins, risk and passion. Rabbit is slower, plodding even. They share a community but live in different worlds.

  RAMON: “What is it, my sparrow?”

  IAN: Impala stares down at their food for a long time, bites into

  the squirrel meat to buy a few more seconds to think over their words. “I... want someone who can go with me, wherever I’m going.”

  RAMON: Rabbit nods, but clearly doesn’t grasp what it is you’re

  trying to say.

  IAN: “I want someone who can go with me where I go. I want

  to feel like, when I’m out in the world and I’m heading into danger, I’ve got my whole heart present in one place.”

  RAMON: Rabbit’s heart sinks, realizing that he’s being dumped.

  And then it sinks again, realizing that Impala is trying to spare his feelings in the process. “You don’t have to try to make it sound pretty, Impala. That’s not how you talk.”

  IAN: Impala stares down at their salad. “I want to break up

  with you.”

  RAMON: Rabbit stifles a whimper, before rising to his feet and

  moving toward the kitchen. He comes back with another bowl
of salad and squirrel meat, and joins Impala at the low table.

  IAN: And the two of them eat in total silence –

  RAMON: Wash the dishes in total silence –

  IAN: And part ways without saying another word.

  Narration

  It’s fine to narrate in first person or third. Describe your character’s appearance and mannerisms, narrate their actions, and speak their words. Play to find out who they are and what they do next.

  Each character role comes with a set of three tips. These tips can help guide players in how they play their characters.

  Everyone at the table also shares in the responsibility of narrating the world around these main characters. Describe the smell of mildew in an old cabin, the strange beasts prowling in the woods, and the roaring of engines in the distance. Narrate what minor characters say and do. Introduce conflicts and obstacles. Twist the plot in new directions.

  As you play, pay attention to whether everyone is being given equal space to talk and contribute. If you notice one or two voices taking over the conversation, you can shift the spotlight by asking questions of the players who’ve been quieter. Sometimes a question like “Okay, so Monique has been there in the shadows, watching this argument go down… what’s going through her head?” can change the dynamic and make sure everyone is included. That said, some players prefer being a little more quiet; make sure everyone is being given equal opportunity, but don’t demand that everyone make equal contributions.

  Customarily, players will speak their character’s words and embody some of their affect and gestures, but their actions will simply be described while the player remains seated. Players don’t touch one another, even if they’re describing how a character grabs another by the shoulder or tenderly strokes their wrist. If you want to play by different customs, discuss it as a group and figure out where people’s boundaries are.

  Distraught, Rabbit eventually finds himself at Cookie’s place, drinking homemade bourbon out of a grimy jar. It’s gotten late, and they’ve managed to talk about everything other than Impala. They’re sitting on the boarding house porch, and the streets are now so quiet and empty that their voices are echoing off nearby buildings.

  RAMON: Rabbit is starting to trail off more and more, getting

  distracted by the moon, or the wispy fog starting to roll into the street.

  CARLY: Cookie is starting to feel the weight of the day on his

  eyelids, but feels like he hasn’t yet done enough. He hesitates before offering awkwardly, “So, you want to talk about it?”

  RAMON: Rabbit swallows, and turns toward Cookie. He’s

  suddenly got this really weepy expression on his face. “Are you sure? I mean, it’s late. I don’t need to burden you.”

  Carly isn’t sure what Cookie would say in this moment. Was he the sort to ask twice, to try and coax hard feelings out of people? Or would he take the easy out, and let Rabbit come to him in his own time? What sort of dagger daddy was he? Looking at the three tips for playing the Hawker, foolishly overextend yourself from time to time jumps out.

  CARLY: Cookie reaches an arm around Rabbit, pulling him in

  slightly. They’re about the same age, and even the same height, but they’re built so differently that Rabbit still manages to become tiny in Cookie’s arms. “You know papa’s here for you. Go on now.” He’s already so sleepy, but he feels like he still needs to give more to Rabbit.

  RAMON: With that, the floodgates open. Rabbit starts sobbing,

  tripping over his own words, sputtering questions without pausing for the answers. It goes on for hours.

  CARLY: And increasingly, Cookie is falling asleep. He’s cradling

  Rabbit, running fingers through his hair, but he’s slowly nodding off. Eventually his “mhmm, ...mhmm” turns into gentle snoring, and his head slumps down to rest on the back of Rabbit’s neck.

  RAMON: Not knowing what else to do, I think Rabbit just keeps

  on talking to himself, listening to his own sad words echoing across the street until dawn breaks.

  Making Moves

  Whenever your character takes action, that’s you making a Move. Moves are how the story unfolds. By default, a lot of the moves you make are “take action, leaving yourself vulnerable.” But any time you’re called upon to act, you can look at your list of moves and choose a different one to inspire your narration.

  Making a move means taking the prompt and running with it, letting it guide what you say next and how you play your character. The move might point toward an outcome, but know that what happens next may still surprise you. You don’t always need to announce the move by name, but sometimes it can be helpful to do so, because it will help ensure that all the players are on the same page.

  When you make a Weak Move, you gain a token. Weak Moves show us your character’s vulnerability, folly, or even just plain rotten luck. But they also earn that token, setting you up to shine in future moments.

  In order to make a Strong Move, you need to spend a token. Strong Moves are the moments when your character’s skill, power, astute planning, or good luck come to bear and transform a situation. When you see a player make a Strong Move, honour the significance of that moment and play to their success.

  You start the game with zero tokens.

  Some moves on each list are italicized questions. While they’re questions about the characters and the story, they’re always asked from one player to another, with an honest answer given in response (even if their character remains cagey about it). The answer is knowledge that your character deduces, intuits, or manages to get out of someone through conversation.

  Why Tokens?

  The tokens create a narrative rhythm by ensuring that characters experience complications, stumbling blocks, and mistakes made as they work toward their victories and accomplishments.

  Tokens also help players coordinate expectations about what efforts will end up being successful, whether risky undertakings will succeed or fail, and what consequences will emerge from an action. If a player reaches into the centre of the table as they describe their character’s next move, the group knows that this is a moment of weakness or miscalculation. Everyone is on the same page: this would be a fine time for things to go awry. If a player spends a token, it sends a different message: let this character have a moment of glory, they’ve certainly earned it.

  It’s the night of an important harvest festival. Rabbit’s followers have spent all day in the gardens, harvesting the bounty of the enclave. Meanwhile, Rabbit has been at the bonfire, carrying out an important ritual: boiling the bones, a sacred protocol for cooking any animal larger than rodents or fowl. The community gathers, and Rabbit announces the proceedings.

  RAMON: “And finally, to grace our meal, adding to the bounty of

  our gardens, I unveil to you a cauldron of coyote and fox.” But when he steps toward the heat of the embers and lifts the cast-iron lid of the cauldron, a nasty smell wafts out. Maybe the meat was putrid to begin with, maybe it just never got hot enough while cooking. I’m taking a token here, because this is a weak move: botch a ritual, exposing yourself to risk or ridicule.

  Crestfallen and embarrassed, Rabbit explains that the enclave will not, in fact, be dining on coyote and fox this evening. Scorn and snickering ensue, but eventually the party continues.

  Later that night, Impala tracks down Rabbit amidst the revelry. They’re carrying their sibling, bloody and half-conscious.

  IAN: “Please, Rabbit babe. I don’t know what happened. We

  were running a raid on Buy-More. I went in through a window, they were supposed to stick to the cargo bay. Then all of a sudden there’s gunshots. I don’t know. I don’t know what happened. Please.” Impala starts talking in cycles and circles.

  RAMON: Rabbit gestures toward the grassy patch on the meridian,

  and says, “it’s okay, my sparrow.” Even though you just dumped Rabbit, he still speaks to you in a familiar, intimat
e sort of way. But it’s quiet, almost a whisper. What’s your sibling’s name?

  IAN: We haven’t established that yet. Let’s say it’s Riley.

  RAMON: Rabbit kneels by Riley, pulling their scarf and satchel

  strap out of the way to get a better look at the wound. Two shots, striking the collarbone and shoulder? Does that sound like what you were imagining?

  IAN: Yeah. That sounds good. Impala winces at the sight of

  the wound. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

  CARLY: I want to suggest that Riley is breathing shallow,

  trembling and shaking periodically. They don’t seem like they’re doing well.

  RAMON: “Impala, is there anything that you want to say to

  Riley?”

  IAN: “What? What do you mean?” But even as the words

  tumble out of their mouth, Impala knows. Their sibling isn’t going to make it, are they?

  RAMON: I’m going to spend my one remaining token, to make a

  strong move: soothe someone’s pain or duress. Rabbit leans forward, pressing his forehead to Riley’s. And suddenly, with that gentle-yet-solid touch, Riley’s trembling stills. They breathe steadily – long, smooth breaths that actually bring air into their lungs. The pain is gone for a moment.

  IAN: “You were brave, kid.” That’s all Riley would have

  wanted to hear, and it’s all Impala can manage to get out anyway.

  RAMON: And with that, Rabbit lifts his head back up. He rises to

  his feet. Riley is absolutely still. It’s over.

  Playing Setting Elements

  Both dreams carve their setting into six elements, which are distributed around the table. Everyone is responsible for one of the setting elements at a given time, though the elements may shift hands as play proceeds.

  Each setting element has a prompt for when to pick it up and actively play it. This signals that it’s time to prioritize narrating on behalf of the setting element, rather than your main character. For example, you pick up The Earth Itself whenever you want to describe weather, mutation, beasts, or the natural world.