Trick's Tales

I'm about low barriers to entry, where it takes less than 30 minutes to learn the rules. I'm about story gaming x OSR. I'm about emotions, performance, telling a story, the players as characters and audience. I'm about deconstruction, finding the limits of the hobby and pushing on them. I'm about experimentation, breaking the norms of my own manifesto. I'm about deeply-considered worldbuilding. I'm about embracing that feeling of strangeness that you encounter when you travel, when your assumptions about how things are are turned upside down. I'm about undertold stories of underrepresented people, writing in the nooks and crannies between the genre/culture heavyweights. I'm about anthropology, history, political science, linguistics, comparative psychology, decolonial studies, and maybe a dash of heterodox economics. I'm about breaking the rules of physics, vernacular architecture, tropical fruit, magical realism, pulling on one thread and seeing...

This is a GM-less, rules-lite, comedic storytelling game for 3-5 people that's heavily inspired by Fiasco. Has been used to run stories of undersea scams, horror in the alpine woods (featuring a llama farmer), and a call me by your name knockoff with identical twins ("call me by my brother's name"). Will post the Word Lists and Twist Table (necessary for play) later.

“No hay tierra para los ancianos”, dijo la voz que resonó desde la boca oscura de la puerta grande. El viejo se encogió de hombros y se alejó de la puerta, escuchando como se cerraba detrás de él. No esperaba nada de esta comunidad. Ser viejo en esta época era un pecado – el robo del aire y agua de los niños que no tenían culpa por el estado del mundo. En el pasado, él gritaba y maldecía las pisadas de los que lo rechazaban. “Yo no hice nada!” él pisaba y gritaba. El suelo debajo temblaba mientras la ira corría por sus piernas y pies. Las puertas nunca se afectaban por la furia del hombre, y con el tiempo y el viaje, él se convirtió en un viejo y comprendió sus defectos. Su existencia en las épocas anteriores era bastante. Sus años finales en este estado fueron apropiados. Los escombros en el suelo en esta área eran llanos por los pies de miles de viajeros que pasaban por ellos. El polvo se asentó alrededor de sus dedos de pie, y las espirales y las arrugas estaban negras de la mugre. ...

 In the old days, when they told you not to run, you sure as hell didn't. If you ran, your fate would be far worse. They would hoist you up like a feather-light thing, beat you til the word "mama" couldn't cross your swollen lips. I hate violence. Harm inflicted and for what? Not a new opinion, I know. In the old days, we were violent back. We harmed their weaker, more innocent associates. Like dog eat cat eat bird. Or big fish eat smaller fish eat smallest fish. Or like lifting Johnny up by his collar, the crippled one, and slamming him onto the road until he crunched, or at least his feet did. They got us back for that one, but we couldn't resist. They gave us the anger so we had to give it back. I hated that part of my life. And the people too. Red nosed cowards, all of them. Boys that the present forgets existed. I ain't complaining. To be honest, I wouldn't mind forgetting it all myself. Now is a dream, an unreality that's nearly, but isn't. O...

Key characteristics: Time repeats recursively (one month at a time). Timing seems linked to the Homeworld's (HW's) moon's months. The world appears to HWers as tilting sideways at a 35° angle. This is due to little-understood ristetic properties. Magic barrier: Required, to prevent one's body from imploding sideways. Climate: Moderate temperatures, moderate light, but very low visibility due to Fargaret's Fog (originally aer from Sominon Fargaret's interplanar travels). No edible food for HWers. Intelligent species: 1, made of mold (dubbed the Moldeans) that grow from the beginning to end of the month then resets. The status of any given Moldean's identity as an individual or community is unclear. Moldeans feed on Fargaret's Fog (and occasionally HWer flesh). Communicable via aer vacuum-transfer. Other flora and fauna: Unknown Notable cities or landmarks: Site #40023 "Ship's Death": HW-made, 51 years old, located at MP.32.1. Infinitely repe...

This is me using the bones of a short story to actually do fashion design. I'm more adept with words than pictures. Originally written for a competition on the Exilian blog.

Welcome to Aeloss, land of proud stonewomen, magical rainforest, cut-throat merchant houses, and a sea-worshiping autocracy. The main settlements and cultural notes on Aeloss will be detailed in this document. Along with Aeloss; Triltalepon, the Undergardens, and the Da’Laderan empire as it operates outside of Da’Lader are also covered in this guidebook. Please buy my other guidebook, a Visitor’s Guide to Da’Lader, to learn more about the homeland of the Da’Laderans.

It was not every night, but it was enough nights.

The city is a vertical city, not a horizontal one. Everything slopes. Buildings look like cardboard boxes stacked haphazardly. The steep hills throughout don’t help. The weather stays nice year-round, but the bay is a site of grotesque tragedies, the details long since forgotten less because of time than collective disinterest.

 There once was an unlucky Lenian boy named Risa. Risa was born into a notorious crime family in Len. His mother had a gift for stoneworking and used it as a front for the rest of the family's crimes. His father broke in and out of Talis Jail not once, not twice, but three times. His older brother was the best poisonmaker in Len, and his twin sister was such a talker, a man with rubies for eyes gave her the rubies so that she would shut up.

The 10 foot were dangerous. They were feared. Some of them liked human women. Some human women liked them. Not many. Collage by me. Giant (2025)

A level 1 puzzle adventure for pissing off murder hobos Drawing by me (2025). Unrelated to the adventure, of course.

Collage by me. Anthropocene (2024) Lucien had no sense of temporality. It was beyond him. He was 5’5 and overweight, and that was what mattered.