AJoeOfSubjectiveQuality

@DriftingAsh May we assume Ari's presence even if you're not around to play her to fulfill reasonable service requests such as food or drink orders at the bar? Also, is her presence ubiquitous? That is, could there be a circumstance where a character walks into the bar, sees it empty, and goes around to pour their own drink, or maybe even act as an ad hoc bartender?

Ordering was a no-brainer: beef steaks, rare and medium rare. He'd let her choose which she wanted, if either. Also mashed potatoes and green beans, just to see if she was omnivorous, and water, milk, a pale straw lager, and a glass of wine. Then, feeling stupid, also a plate of whatever her people preferred if Ari knew that. While they waited, he looked at her. He had a million questions for her, and wished she could answer them. She was obviously bright and a very fast learner, but he didn't know what and how to teach her. Several times he caught himself wanting to reach out and touch her, to stroke her cheek just to see if her skin was as soft as it looked. He found that he was pretty hungry himself now, and wondered how much longer for the food. She'd let him know; she could probably smell it coming a mile ... She's part wolf?! Can she smell how much I want her??? Damn. He felt like a schoolboy caught trying to look down his teacher's blouse. But also relaxed. He felt sure she knew and at least wasn't repulsed by his rut. He relaxed a bit, even allowing himself to be able to face her more directly on the stool as he tried to think of how they could communicate better.

He felt badly for her as she made what looked like an attempt to speak but failed. His instincts were to pat her on the knee or give her a hug, but then she adjusted her seat to match his posture. This seemed to make her happy. Her smile and wagging tail made him happy in a way he hadn't felt for many years. Okay, next steps. Why was she here, now? Think it through. This was the public room with people in it at this time, but it was also the room where you could be served ... Ayers looked at her, and asked, "thirsty?" As he did, he pantomimed raising a glass to his lips. After a moment, he tried again with, "hungry?" whilst rubbing his belly.

She still didn't speak, but shrugged. He bit his lip as he tried to figure out how to proceed; teaching was never his strong suit. "Jason Ayers," he said, gesturing to himself. As he did, he slowly sat on the stool next to him, using his left arm on the bar to show her how to support herself and turn the stool towards her. Well, that was the plan. But now he could really see her for the first time. Her big ruby eyes contrasted with her silver hair, thick enough so that he wanted to run his fingers through it. As the scent of Ari struck him again, in his mind's eye he could see them in the bath together, her looking up at him as he washed that silky mane, her slim legs wrapped around his waist ... God! No way was he turning towards her now; he scootched his lap a bit more towards the bar to hide is growing arousal from her. What the hell is wrong with me?!?

Movement to his right; Ayers turned his head to see the young wolf-girl clambering onto a stool and being startled when it began to spin. He couldn't help but smile. One can't expect a wolf to know how to use a barstool, I suppose. She looked the same as he'd first seen her. Surely Ari has given her a room by now? Has she gone to it yet? Does she even know how to operate a doorknob and a key? He had questions, but he hadn't heard her speak yet. Can she speak? He gave her a moment to calm herself, and then ventured a soft, "Hello." As he was slowly extending his hand to her, he had an idea and angled it slightly so that she could either choose to take it or sniff it. Something else occurred to him in that moment; wasn't Okami the Japanese word for wolf? It had been many years since he'd heard or spoken that language, but still remembered some of the basics. "Konbanwa?" @Chiyako

Jason Ayers enters the bar at the Hotel California. It's well after Midnight on his first evening here. Pausing at the door, he briefly surveys the room and nods his approval. Moving to the bar, he disregards the stools and stands next to it. "Good evening, Ari. Do you have a blended Scotch whiskey brand called Famous Grouse, by any chance? If not, may I please have a glass of any blended Scotch available that you don't use to strip varnish, neat?"

Nobody really understands what dark is until you've gone underground, where the sun has never been. The last embers of his cigar finally vanished, leaving only the void. He leaned his head back against the wall. He had the worst headache of his life, and he could feel the world spinning even if he couldn't see it. He'd puked his guts out, but wasn't even dry heaving now. The stench of rotten eggs had faded some time ago, and he knew what that meant. The Stinkdamp was killing him faster now. Just another six weeks to mine a couple of hundred more pounds of Garnets in this Alaskan hellhole; that's all he'd wanted. Just enough to be able to cache in national parks across the country for when he needed a new stake, and then he was going to sell this hole to a big corporation and move on to something new. He'd told nobody of this find, and thus nobody was coming to help. He doubted they'd be able to even if they did know. The earth had heaved so violently that it had bounced him off the ceiling of the tunnel at least twice before he'd passed out. He'd awoken covered with stone; the shaft had collapsed, and the air and lights had failed. He'd cleared his upper body from the rubble but stopped there because his back was broken. Then the smell came. Well, better than slowly dying of thirst for over a week. He closed his eyes and just went to sleep. Ayers sat up in bed, sweating profusely. This place was definitely getting into his head; he hadn't had that nightmare in years. He needed a drink, not from his flask. He wasn't going to be sleeping anymore for a while, so he might as well dress and explore his new home. He'd known that he was off his game when he tried to fetch his luggage only to find that he'd walked right past the crates stacked neatly in the corner of the sitting room. He'd spent the rest of the day unpacking and arranging things to his liking. The armoire full of suits in its familiar spot in the bedroom, and his armchair looked out the window across the grounds. His Lorica Squamata was back on its stand, with the balteus, gladius, and galea back in their usual places. The cutlass and marlinspike were on the wall, as was his gun belt and Colt Peacemaker. It wasn't home, but it was at least familiar now. Making one last check that his tie was knotted correctly, Ayers left in search of the bar.

Ayers entered his suite. A small sitting room, and moving through it the bedroom. Closed door, probably the bath. He placed his valise on the bed and began stripping off his suit. His head was swimming. Even though he’d had a few months to get used to this new place, the encounter a few moments ago was nearly overwhelming. The last person to walk in stunned him, bringing him back to the stories of his youth. A faun? He couldn’t understand; was he getting closer to home, or so far away that even legends were commonplace? And if the latter … this place is called the Hotel California? And what did the young … he didn’t know her race yet … say? “Your stay will be long indeed.” And Mother Meixiang? “I believe the bill has been paid … for all of us.” Are the rumors true, then? Is this place the Eagles’ song made real? If he were trapped here, what would happen when the magicks collided? Could he finally find peace? As he reached for some clothing more appropriate for the work to come, he caught sight of himself in the floor mirror. Nothing he hadn’t seen before thousands of times. A lifetime of exercise and manual labor left him in better condition than many professional athletes. Save his age and the burn scars, he might have been considered an adonis by some. But his cock? Not erect, but not as flaccid as it had been in recent years. It was a respectable 15 cm long; he’d never be a AAA porn star but he’d never had to be shy in the baths, either. But he was uncut, and it was almost 7 cm in diameter. He was girthier than he was long, and most women recoiled from him in the bedroom. Some even fainted. Nearly all wanted nothing to do with it. But he’d just come from the most sexually-charged room he’d ever been in, and the faun coming into the picture only promised that it would get worse. At least one part of him felt that things were going to be different here. He thought about the four persons he’d just left. Mother Meixiang, a Chinese(?) Valkyrie moonlighting as a Dominatrix. She’d rubbed him the wrong way a bit, but he was willing to reassess. After all, people aren’t always at their best at the end of travelling. But he sensed that they were subtly alike in their dominance, and that might lead to problems later. Fire and flamboyance against quiet, cold steel. That could lead to interesting things. The young woman who’d checked him in. She was likely both a bottom and a subbie, and not terribly shy about making it known to all of us. She practically screamed ‘take me’, but it was obvious that Mother Meixiang had set her sights on her, and the girl wasn’t displeased. Well, he had plenty of time to see where that went. The faun made him both wary and nervous. Hedonists, tricksters, and very lustful if the stories were true. He’d give her the benefit of the doubt but be on guard nonetheless. He wondered if he were even up to the chance of getting out of any webs that she wove. And then there was the Ookami girl. She was intriguing, even intoxicating. She looked to be forbidden fruit in a myriad of ways: too young, too innocent, too hurt. And yet none of the above. Her eyes were older than her appearance, she moved with the wariness of a huntress, and her scars didn’t appear to hinder her at all. Like his, blemishes to offset too much beauty. A wolf? A waif? Or both? Even a week ago, wanting to make love to a non-human would have been unthinkable, but now that didn’t seem important anymore. He sat on the bed, head in hands. Breathe, he told himself. You are a man, not some young boy being dragged about by his balls. Control yourself! Sighing, he dressed and left to fetch the crates.

Ayers takes his key and nods to the young ... woman? behind the desk. "Thank you, miss. If you don't mind, I'll come back down when you're less busy and arrange payment for my stay. The louts from the moving company refused to bring my baggage onto the property, so I'll excuse myself to fetch them to my rooms now before it rains or some scoundrel steals it." Looking at the others (including our newly-arrived satyr), he says, "If you will all excuse me now. I do look forward to making acquaintances when time permits," and withdraws.

Let's go back to Korea and Dorothy. There was a small pillbox-looking thing on the road to the main post, just a square hole dug in the ground covered by a rudimentary roof. I never met anyone who knew when it had been built; it might have dated back to the Japanese occupation of the country. But it was just there, something you noticed the first time you saw it and never paid mind to again. It wasn't even worth going over to look at just for curiosity's sake. It was a summer Sunday in the ROK, and Dorothy and I were walking back to the main post. We were passing that little hole in the ground when the skies opened up. Have you ever been caught in a sudden storm where the sun is shining, and then it becomes dark in minutes, and it's like someone threw a switch from 'Clear' to 'Monsoon' because all the water on Earth is suddenly coming down on you? That's what happened to us; we were instantly soaked, but worse the rain stung. It was warm, but it was harsh on the skin. Thus, instead of running back to the main gate we ran to that little pillbox because it was closer, even though rumor control said it was off-limits. Any port in the storm. It was old and dirty, but it kept the rain off of us. Looking out, you couldn't see anything at all because it was coming down so hard. We could hear vehicles driving less than a hundred feet away and couldn't even see a shadow of them. To this day I'll never know why the situation got me so turned on; the sound of the drops beating on the roof like hail, or Dorothy bending over to lean on the lip of the ground and look out at the rain. Her soaked t-shirt was molded to her back and sides, and she was unconsciously wagging her jean-covered ass at me slowly from side to side. But I suddenly felt this primal urge to fuck; not make love, not have sex, but to FUCK like an animal in rut. I pulled my shirt over my head and threw it at the wall next to her, where it thwacked wetly and slid down to the dirty concrete. She was startled by it, and was about to turn to look at me but suddenly I was having none of that. Until then I'd never had any interest in domination or rough sex, but in the moment I was consumed. I grabbed her by the back of the neck and something like, 'Look there!' Afterwards, she told me that tone had set her off too and she was instantly into what was going on. I kicked out of my sneakers and pulled my jeans off, and tossed them onto the pile along with my socks. I grabbed her hips and pulled her ass back against my cock; she knew I was naked and hard behind her, but she kept looking out. She never said a word as I lifted her feet off the ground and pulled off her sneakers and socks. She held still as I grabbed her jeans and panties and yanked them off her and tossed them onto the clothes pile. She wasn't really ready for sex yet but neither of us gave a damn. I just shoved my cock into her pussy and she kind of yelped. She warmed up quickly enough though; Dorothy lived for sex. She was bracing against the wall against me, grunting with our skins slapping together. I stopped for a moment to stand her up and pull her t-shirt off, and then her bra. We were both naked in that little pillbox thing; on a clear day anyone could have seen us and what we were doing. But here and now, the rain gave us our own little world. We fucked like that for a few minutes. She was bent over and I over her, mauling her tits from behind. Then she laughed, and got us apart long enough to climb outside so she could brace on the roof instead. The rain was like being blasted by needles and if anyone had braved it to take shelter in that place we were completely exposed and caught. But the rain didn't slacken at all; people drove right past and never saw. When I was ready, I spun her around and was going to go all over her face and tits but she hated that. She dropped to her knees and gobbled me because she loved cum in her mouth. Even after I was done, she kept sucking me in a kind of desperation to get me hard again. I didn't mind so much, and we fell into that position that the Kama Sutra calls the 'congress of the crow'; basically 69, but on each other's sides. She came a couple of times until I got hard again, and then we were fucking right out in the open, her legs on my shoulders. We had to move back inside when the rain began to stop but we kept going on the dirty floor with our clothes as our bed. We both got off, and I shot in her pussy. I rather brutally fingered her until she actually begged for me to stop. Then we got dressed and just laughed at ourselves (she never let me forget that I'd ruined her bra, either) until night fell and we could sneak out of there. We never did it again in that nasty little place, which was probably a good thing; that was another once-in-a-lifetime experience and we knew it would never been that amazing again. Maybe one day you'll be at home and the rain will come down. Take a chance, get naked and run outside and just feel the storm against your skin. Drag some people out with you and just go to town. Hopefully you won't get sick the next day, but maybe you'll get to feel the storm from the inside-out like I did all those years ago. My story will never come close to what we experienced that day, so you'll have to trust me in that it can be an unforgettable experience.

He paused for a brief moment, trying to understand her accent and pronunciation. "Not at all, Mother Meixiang. Please pardon me if I mis-pronounced your name; no offense is intended. By all means, proceed; I have nothing but time." Stepping back, he spies the young Ookami standing there, and raises an eyebrow. "And the young miss, as well."

A tall man steps into the lobby, removing a Bowler hat as he crosses the threshold. He's wearing a tailored double-breasted tailcoat, a vest with a pocket watch on a chain, trousers, and Oxblood shoes. After blinking to allow his eyes to adjust from the bright sunlight to the indoor dimness, he notices Ari at the desk and blinks several more times in surprise. Smiling, he strides over. "Good Day," he greets her. "My name is Jason Ayers, and I'm wondering if you had a small suite of rooms for long-term let, say five years or so? Hopefully that I could add a bit of decor to bring it a bit closer to my own tastes?" Suddenly, his eyes close and nostrils flare as he tastes the scents in the air. "My, you are ... quite the unusual and fetching lady," he murmurs absently.

Name: Jason Ayers Age: ~45-50 Race: Human(?) Gender: Male Sexuality: Generally heterosexual Bio: Jason Ayers is a tall, fit man who appears to be in his middle to late 40s. He stands 185cm tall and appears to weigh about 95 kg. He has large hands and feet with well-defined forearms. His muscular definition is more akin to a powerlifter than a body sculptor. He generally dresses in double-breasted suits of early 20th-century style, wears Oxblood shoes, and uses braces to hold up his trousers. He tends to drink blended Scotches, smoke fine cigars, and can often be found enjoying these whilst reading hardbound books. He is generally friendly, but one will eventually notice that his smile does not extend to his eyes which are both penetrating and show world-weariness at the same time. Sharp-eyed beings will notice some old burn scars on the left side of his neck; when shirtless, these can be seen extending down to his left shoulder and shoulder blade. While he seems to be wealthy, he is not profligate in his spending. If the hotel has a public fitness center, he will be seen there working out six days a week in the early hours of the morning.

Traveler is one of those games that I'd heard a lot of good things about back in the day but just never had a chance to look at, and I'd completely forgotten about it until now. Hopefully I'll remember and look for a cheap copy knocking about somewhere so I can check it out. I'll also take a look at the freebie materials for Ironsworn, but $70 for a core rulebook is a bit off-putting to be honest.

Suggested restriction: there are at least four individuals on the boat, and one chooses celibacy.

I lie here in my bed, resting. The rhythm of my heartbeat, slow and steady, is in my ears. She bends over me, cooling my flesh with a damp cloth. Her touch is gentle, and she smiles at me. That smile takes me back in time. I see the smiles in my memory, of lovers and not-lovers alike, lovers and friends, sometimes foes. It's funny how the years can wash away animosity; the negativity fades and you can only see the missed opportunities, the chances for peace not taken or missed. What could have been, should have been. My breath hitches at the thoughts. There have been a lot of them. My journey through Life has been long, my loves many. Nearly all are gone now, though. The tears well in my eyes as their faces flash by. My pulse quickens as I sob quietly. The cool, damp cloth hesitates as she senses my distress. She bends over me, and I gaze at her delightful breasts in the dim light, a gift to me. Soft and warm, large enough to fill one's hands with delight, and capped with pretty pink nipples begging to be kissed. It's difficult to be sad when presented with the ultimate comfort, for who can really not love a woman's breasts? Our first nourishment, a cradle for your head when the world is too strong, a landing zone for endless kisses. My heartbeat quickens further at the sight of such loveliness, Ah, but only if I weren't so tired now. But my eyes are getting heavier now, and she moves off. I feel the loss, the pang in my chest, and the tears come freely now. The thudding of my pulse diminishes as the light fades and sleep comes for me. She speaks, but I cannot understand through my drowse. She is persistent, though. She pulls back the sheet and straddles my hips, leaning forward, her hands on my chest. I can feel the heat between her thighs warming me, her nether lips caressing me through the cloth that separates us. Were I not so tired, she would be bringing my hardness back to its youthful glory. Her hands on my heart, pressing firmly, quickening, but I am going to sleep now. As I drift off, I am vaguely aware of the room filling, people shouting, spoiling an old man's last moment with an angel. For no sick person has ever thought any less of a nurse than an angel. But still, it was a fine last few moments before my long rest. Her heady perfume is the last scent as I drift off. It was a good night.

(This is a world with any race that you can imagine in it.) It was a greasy spoon at a truck stop out in the middle of nowhere late on a Tuesday evening. The place was filled with tired drivers and their partners getting a bite to eat before retiring to their rigs for some much-needed sleep. Two waitresses scurried about, taking orders and delivering them to the single harried cook in the kitchen. Except for small talk or driver partners, everyone kept to themselves as they sated their hunger before retiring. Business as usual for this little corner of the world. Tonight was different, though. The door slammed open, and a group of burly men wearing sunglasses in the middle of the night entered. Two carried submachine guns, obviously guarding the men carrying heavy burlap sacks of the sort that armored car drivers used to transport cash. One man walked to the nearest bit of clear wall and slapped a timer onto it. The bright red LED digits on it read '12:00.' All conversation had quickly died at the point that a man and woman entered. Everyone instantly knew who they were; both were A-listers who were both hotter than hell and had made millions doing movies, Roy Nelson and Cindi Wagner. The man boldly walked up to the counter, stepped onto a stool, and stood on the counter. He helped the woman up and, completely ignoring the dinners that they'd either pushed to the side or were standing in, looked out at the small crowd. Wagner was the first to break the stunned silence. "Listen up!" she shouted. "I'm only going to say this once! Beside the guards if every single person in this place is naked and either makes one of us cum, or cums on or in us in the next twelve minutes, everyone gets twenty thousand buks in cash!" Two of the guards opened a sack and showed that they were filled with glorious money. "And we don't give a shit about being gentle or nice or our clothes being neatly folded. Shred the shit! Get naked and FUCK US!!! Starting now!" A guard punched the timer, which flipped to 11:59, and 11:58. 11:57 ... (Restrictions: 1-the two movie stars can only have their positions changed after three replies have been posted before yours. So if the first reply has Wagner doggy-style and is going in anal, you've got to figure out how to get in there and what to do that fits the scene if you're the second or third reply. On reply four, seven, ten, etc., you can flip Nelson on his back and feed him your cock while your partner rides him rodeo-style. 2-all clothing is there until someone says it isn't, so pay attention. 3-Wagner and Nelson are both human, but your character can be anything that floats your boat. 4- get in and get out! The clock is ticking.)

Thank you very much! LOL, I feel like I'm back in the 70s when banks would give free toasters to their 1,000th depositor. (Dated myself there.)

We worked on each other with those knives for hours, one careful slice at a time. As the clothing dropped to the floor in ribbons, we paused to tease. She lightly drew her blade from my jawline all the way down my chest. I stroked mine down her breast, tracing her nipple, and then caressing the underside. She kissed me while holding her blade against the side of my neck. I kissed her neck as I slid mine through the cloth down her back to her ankles. She had to be extra careful when she cut away my boxers, because my cock was straining to be free. I, too, had to be careful as I made her panties go away; her pussy was flushed with her arousal, and she was open like the most beautiful flower God ever gave to we humans. She drew the tip of her blade along the seam of my scrotum, up the shaft, and traced around the head of my cock; holding still was sweet agony. In return, I dragged the spine of mine along her pussy, letting the cold steel slide along her clit. The blades went to the side and were forgotten then. Neither of us could restrain ourselves by then. She leapt onto my lap, and I held her hips as she guided me into her. We kissed in a frenzy as we held each other close, nipples rubbing together, her vulva gripping me like a vise. We couldn't sit still; I got to my feet and braced my back against the wall as she used her legs and hips to meet my frenzied thrusts. I'm eternally grateful that she was as turned on as I was, because neither of us lasted two minutes I think. Her pussy squeezed me in a death grip as she came, and that made me shoot my cum into her like I was doing Death Kegels. I was down but not out, so I threw her onto her back and went down on her mercilessly, determined to make her beg for mercy. That didn't happen. When I was hard again, she twisted and went down on me as well. Another not-my-finest outing; she was an artiste when it came to blowjobs. She knew that I didn't mind a bit of teeth, and she knew exactly how much and when so I didn't last much longer than the first time. But that was alright. We fell asleep in each others' arms, nude amidst the rags, the end of a long, magnificent night which I've never forgotten. All of my Korean lady neighbors laughed at me for days, and all I could do was grin back. Worth it.

Dorothy had rolled up the bed and pushed it aside. The room was filled with those little candles; almost as bright as if the electric lights were turned on, but softer in that magical way that only a fire can bring. She was wearing a full hanbok, the Korean version of a Japanese kimono, had her hair up, and had really put a lot of time and effort into her makeup. Charitably, Dorothy wasn't a beauty. She had a roundish face which suffered from childhood acne scars. But tonight she was breathtakingly exotic and sexy. I was wearing decent jeans and a nice Coca-Cola shirt, but I felt slovenly compared to her. There were two mats on the floor, and she was sitting on her knees on one of them; I intuited the other was for me, and so I sat, cross-legged (my knees couldn't take what she was doing.) She sat patiently, with a neutral expression, eyes demurely downcast. Between us were two Tanto knives, blades bare and glowing in the candlelight. We sat there, silent and motionless, for a time. It was probably less than a minute, but the anticipation I was feeling made it seem like an hour. Then, wordlessly she picked up her dagger, leaned forward, and with two flicks sent the buttons of my shirt flying. She then turned the point and sliced it from neck to hem in one smooth stroke. I couldn't breathe; the blade was terrifyingly sharp and was only millimeters away from slicing my flesh. But she handled it like a surgeon, placed it back on the floor, and sat back and waited. I knew what was expected of me, but now I was genuinely frighted ... for her. Unlike my shirt, the hanbok was thick and puffy with layers of cloth and I wasn't sure that I was up to the task she'd set for me now. But the tension in the air was incredibly arousing. I picked up my Tanto and, concentrating harder than I'd ever done in my life up until then, slit the sleeve of her hanbok from shoulder to wrist.

As a GI stationed in Korea, I was unusual in that I had an American girlfriend; I'll call her Dorothy. Being unmarried, we officially had billets on post but lived together in a small apartment in the local ville. Winters in Korea back in the day could be a shock even to seasoned Northerners. There are large flat plains, and at the time there were few trees so nothing would disrupt the cold wind coming down from the mountains in the north. It cut through any amount of winter garb and chilled you to the bone. I was coming home on a Saturday evening after stopping at the barracks to shower and change into civvies, but the cold night and a sixteen-hour shift didn't leave me in the mood for fun. I wanted nothing more than a warm bed. Dorothy had traded shifts with our mutual friend Julie to have the day off, but she didn't share what she'd be doing with it. Suits; Dorothy enjoyed travelling to Seoul for shopping and sightseeing, neither of which were my cup of tea. When I got home, there were lights on but they were dimmed. That was unusual, but I was too tired to really notice in all honesty. Getting inside changed that, though; the apartment was lit with a score of little candles floating in bowls of sweet oil, and it was almost tropically hot. My first instinct was to call out, but it didn't feel right somehow. The quiet and the stillness ... well, it just felt right. I shed my nylon and wool cocoon, took off my shoes, and walked over to the closed bedroom door.

Thank you very much!

I hope you all don't mind a newbie interloper chiming in, but this discussion sent me hurtling down memory lane and I just had to contribute. I enjoyed RIFTS in the beginning; I've got between 15-20 of the first sourcebooks on one of my bookshelves. But after C. J. Carella left Palladium I felt that the quality of the game was sharply declining and quit playing. Mage: the Awakening and Aberrant are probably my favorite WoD games, but I never found players for them. The Dresden Files is another fun game. Fourth-edition Champions is high on my list, but man was that a tough system to wrap your head around. Ars Magica had promise but there were a bunch of annoying little things that kept it from being high on my list. But I think I'll go with Classic Rolemaster/MERPs as my all-time favorite game: Iron Crown put a LOT of love into bringing Tolkien's works into gaming before succumbing to the 'publish or die' mentality of the industry.