So my game group switched from 4th edition to Pathfinder about a year ago.

This meant that I had about 160 pages of my campaign book to edit back from 4th edtion D&D to Pathfinder (seems I lost my earlier 3.5 version…which had been updated from the Hero System).

Luckily I’ve only been working two jobs, one at 12 hours a week and the other half-time or 20 hours a week which left me with 3.5 days off and so I was able to make the complete change over to Pathfinder (165 page pdf for the players, but I’m not ready to make it publicly available, especially since I used a lot of proprietary artwork to flesh out the pdf).

Now I’m just working on the ‘flavor’ of the world, geographical entries, historical timeline, flora and fauna, etc. But I have over 260 geographical entries (forests, rivers, deserts, mountains, etc.) to write up quick descriptions and around 100 cultural entries…in addition to the historical timeline of the continent which is at around 60 pages and I probably have another 60 until I finish (and it’s slow going, see the previous ‘Updates’).

Additionally, I’m also creating the scripts for the various languages…which becomes intense as I’m working not only with alphabets but syllabaries and iconographs/hieroglyphs…and general descriptions of cultural architecture, as well as outlining important flora and fauna with biological kingdom, phylum, class, order, etc.

Add to that I’m also detailing a specific region around one small city for the initial setting of the game campaign once I start it.

All this to say, despite my lack of updates…I’m still very busy.

Brick wall. Late night brick wall. Did you see it. There, right there. I ran into it. Maybe it ran into me. Relative. Regardless, brick wall. In the face. Nose smushed to the left. I can feel the pocked indentations of the texture of the brick imprinting on the flesh around my nostril. Brick wall. I could taste it. Part my lips, stick my tongue out, drag it along the red brick and the white lined mortal. That’s the brick wall. It’s there, in front of me, as ifI’m laying on top of it, or it on me. Relative. And while I know, as a deep terrible desire-like emotional and intellectual knowledge, that I should walk away from the brick wall. It’s heavy. Or I’m heavy. Relative. The brick wall invites exploration, it beacons my fingers to slide along its surface, begging my eyes to map out every porous pit, demanding my lungs to expand and inhale through my one open nostril the dusty dryness. Brick wall. Late night. Move away, back off, but the brick wall sticks to my clothes like Velcro. Or my clothes stick to it. Relative. Sledgehammer, need to find that sledgehammer. I left it somewhere, it’s either in my bed, a book, or some start to some written work…hopefully not about brick walls. But what ever. Relative.