This is a blog collecting my foray into solo RPGs and journalling games. There is currently only one active game, but hopefully there are many more to come.
This is the introductory/pinned post collecting links for easy browsing.
Information - Information such as credits.
Rye's Floating Bookshop - Follows the journal of Rye the Bookseller, using the game Fox Curio's Floating Bookshop.
I welcome you to follow my attempts at this and I welcome any questions about the games or the characters.
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It is a rough night, as the strong winds whistling outside make it hard to sleep, rocking the bookshop on choppy waves. My body aches after yesterday's work, and I have to force myself out of bed with the promise of a strong cup of tea.
After a breakfast of herbal tea and clover oatcakes, I go to open the shop only to see the deck outside cluttered with blossoms that have been shaken loose from their trees by the wind. Even the gutters are full of them! With a sigh, I flip the sign by the door to "open" and go to fetch my broom to start clearing out the debris.
It is a slow day, due to the strong winds buffeting anyone who leaves their cozy abodes to go about their errands, which allows me some time to slowly work on the outside of the bookshop.
A couple of hours after opening, an elderly wallaby enters the shop, glad to get out of the weather. I welcome her with a smile and am asked to help her with her bags as she browses the shelves. I help her find a book suiting her tastes, struggling under the weight of the bags and wondering how this old creature managed to walk around with so much. The wallaby leaves with a mystery book, The Scarlet Clock, and thanks me warmly for my time.
After managing to clear the gutters of the gathered blossoms, I allow myself a break at the counter up front with a cup of willowbark tea and a small plate of oatmeal cookies. It does well to ward off a bit of the chill from the windy weather outside.
A few minutes into my break, I hear a yelp at the door and look up from my cup of tea. A young racoon has entered, nursing his tail that seems to have gotten pinched in the door. I quickly get up, putting my teacup down, and ask if the young man requires any aid. He waves me off with a "thank you, but all is well" and encourages me to go back to my break. I continue watching him as he wanders through the store—bumping into customers and shelves wherever he goes—and hope I will not have to spend too much time picking up after him. The mess he leaves—even though he tries to pick up after himself—is not as endearing as that of the schoolchildren from yesterday.
There is a huge crash coming from the non-fiction shelves, and I rush over to find the young raccoon on the floor, with books cluttered around him. With a guilty look he explains that he saw a book he wanted on the top shelf, but as he couldn't reach it he decided it was better to climb the shelf than to ask for help! I bring over the stepstool that stands next to the shelves, bring down the book—The Art of Thinking: Exploring Philosophy and the Quest for Meaning—and hand it over to this clumsy customer. I have to push down any frustration and irritation that I feel towards the customer as I decline his offer to help with the cleanup, saying that I will take care of it. While he finishes his browsing I clean up and put the books back on the shelf. When he joins me at the counter he does so with another book—Exploring Existence: Navigating the Nuances of Modern Philosophy—and apologises profusely as he pays for his finds and leaves. I breathe out a sign of relief as he does so and congratulate myself for managing to keep my emotions in check, even though I could have handled it better.
While I stand outside, sweeping away the rest of the blossoms of the deck, a squirrel approaches me with a fake smile and a briefcase in hand. It seems this lady is not a customer at all, but is in fact trying to sell me something. They show me a collection of beautiful crystal decorations—masterfully crafted depictions of frolicking animalfolk—and try their best at selling them to me. I point out that my domicile is a floating home and is therefore affected quite heavily by the whims of the river. Any such items would inevitable fall off whatever shelf they would be stored on and therefore get smashed against the floor. I also tell them that they are a bit extravagant for my tastes, even though they are beautiful pieces. The squirrel salesman tries for a few more minutes to sell them to me, before I excuse myself by saying that I have customers inside who might need my help. She makes a sound of indignation, closes her briefcase, and leaves without saying goodbye. How rude!
As the evening and closing time approach the weather turns for the better—the winds calm down and warmth replaces the chill. I consider closing early to enjoy the sun now that my deck is clean, but seeing as how it is approaching the end of the workday anyway, I decide to simply sit out in the sun and enjoy it while waiting for any last customers to arrive. The fox kit from yesterday approaches me again, this time with some shyness. I welcome him with warmth, telling him how I am pleased to see him again, which makes him glow with joy. I ask his name, and he introduces himself as Darcy. He has come back with yet another question about my hometown, this time asking how it was to grow up there. I am more than happy to share my stories—even though I have to think to recall some of the details. I tell him of playing in the lower branches of the Undertree with my older siblings, running across the bridges between the houses built lower to the ground around its massive trunk. I smile a bit as I mention how angry our parents were with us when we came back covered in scratches after playing a bit too recklessly in the foliage around the base of the tree. Darcy listens with rapt attention, asking follow up questions occasionally. He laughs with me when I tell him—voice low and conspiratorial—of stealing pies that our mother had placed on the window sill of our home and running off to eat them at our favourite spot at a nearby creek, full of the kind of satisfaction only children get when doing something they shouldn't. I make sure to tell him to not get any ideas and to be a good kit, but I cannot help but smile at him as he claims that he would never do such a thing in a way that is clearly a lie.
We speak for a little while before an older fox arrives, who introduces themselves as Darcy's parent. I shake their paw, giving them my name in return, and tell them that Darcy has been a joy when they apologise for their son taking up my time. As they leave, I thank Darcy for joining me and tell him that he is welcome to come back, if his parents allow it. I wave as they leave and head back into the shop to finish the day.
After the last few customers leave, I turn the sign at the door to "closed" and do any paperwork and cleaning up that is required. I think of Darcy and find myself hoping he will return, as the company of the young kit reminds me of my nieces in a way that brings warmth to my heart.
I end the day out on the deck again, watching the sun set beneath the horizon, quite happy with how things are turning out so far.
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I wake up to the sun shining in through my closed curtains, the warmth of it tempting me to stay in bed. But my new life has to start and the shop need to open. I choose to start my day without stress however, taking me time to enjoy some scones with strawberry preserve, and a nice cup of mint tea sweetened with honey for my breakfast.
Even though I am a bit apprehensive about jumping into the work of running a bookshop—something with which I have no experience—there is an undercurrent of excitement to my anxiety. I have always enjoyed trying new things and having new experiences, and this is just that.
After my breakfast I head into the shop and feel a jolt of sadness at the thought of taking over my brother's work, but I shake it off to start my day. I decide to start the year with a sale to draw in customers, deciding on a theme to fit both my journey and the time of the year: New Beginnings. I set up a temporary sign on the front door announcing such and make plans to work on better posters throughout the day between customers. I do not get much work done however, as it is quite a busy day as the shop gets some foot traffic from pollen-dusted animalfolk curious about the reopening of the shop. I make sure to mention the upcoming sale to the customers who do end up making purchases, with the hope of getting the word out.
My first notable guest of the day is a young goose—a gander—who spends more time chatting at the counter than browsing the selection. I offer my help, which gets politely declined, and shift some of my focus to dealing with other customers and working on the posters for the sale while still trying to half-heartedly engage the young gander in conversation. It is tiring and the incessant chatter makes an already busy day a bit more stressful. I get to hear all about the weather—"It is quite surprising to get pollen this early in the year!"—and their plans for the day, which mostly seems to be going around and finding people to harass. I catch myself having such unfair thoughts and I push those feelings aside, chastising myself about letting my stress get the better of me. When he finds out that I am new to town he starts telling me about Hurst and its inhabitants, including his opinion on some of them—"That magpie at the bakery always looks so grumpy!"). I breathe a sigh of relief when a badger—dressed in the finest of clothes and tall enough to have to duck through the door—enters the shop and I get to excuse myself from the gander's chatter about their thoughts on the holidays celebrations yesterday. The young man huffs about the end of the conversation and leaves without buying anything.
The new figure introduces hirself as Oakleaf, the mayor of Hurst and gives me a warm welcome to hir town. They ask about what brings me here and offers hir condolences at the loss of my brother. I help hir with some recommendations—"I'm not usually a reader, but I want to support small business!"—and hir leaves the shop with a nonfiction book covering the history of the town of Thistle Down in the upper parts of the River.
Not long after noon the sound of excited children can be heard down the wharf and soon a group of boisterous schoolchildren enter the shop. I welcome them warmly and offer my help in case they wish for it. I look over at them occasionally, smiling fondly as they remind me of my nieces when they were in that age, and choose to look past the mess that they make. I can always clean it up after and I don't want to get in the way of the interest in books that they display. I patiently ask any questions they might have, even when I have to answer the same question from multiple children, and am thoroughly charmed by their chatter and the little stories they tell me. One of them shows an interest in the romance section, and I direct their attention to the more age appropriate shelf of the same genre. The child thanks me and when the group leaves they can be seen happily clutching their new book to their chest.
It feels like I'll never get anything done with the amount of customers and I do feel my patience start to wane at times. Running a shop is harder than I thought and it's a very busy first day. I get a few breaks from the stress, such as when a young fox approaches me with a question. He speaks to me about how I'm new and asks about my hometown, wondering what it is like, as he has never heard of it. I tell him about the town of Undertree and the giant tree that rises above it. I reminisce happily about the Festival of Light held when the sun starts setting before 6 pm and the sound of the wind rustling the leaves in the forest around the town. He does grow bored of my reminiscing however, after I get caught up in the memories, and ask for help finding a book. My cheeks burn with embarrassment as I realise that I've been acting like the young gander that I judged earlier in the day, and apologise for the ramblings of an old mouse before directing the fox to the fantasy section. He leaves with two books and bids me a good day.
At times I consider closing the shop early, feeling overwhelmed by the amount of work on the first day, but how could I have any hope of successfully running the shop if I can't handle a busy day? I want to honour the memory of my brother and feel proud of my work, so giving in so early would feel like a failure. I gather my energy, and after preparing myself a glass of chilled mint tea I face the rest of the afternoon with renewed enthusiasm. This enthusiasm is sorely needed, as the next customer to need help is an older frog gentleman who approaches me with a lot of questions about the store, the stock, and my recommendations. He shows an interest in crime fiction and while it is not my favoured genre I do give him the information I do have, and I also recommend him a thriller with similar themes as the ones he expressed interest in. He heartfully expresses his thanks as he leaves the shop after a good half hour, with a large amount of books precariously stacked in his hands.
The day nears its end when my last notable customers enters and approaches me for conversation. A small mouse, barely big enough to see over the counter, reveals that they are a scholar who travels the land in search of additions to their library. They tell me of a few of their rare finds, including a book on the mating habits of the blue suncatcher—a fish found in warm patches of water during the first half of the year. Today they are looking for mystery books, of the nonfiction kind, and I spend some showing them my selection that fits what they seek. Regretfully they find nothing that interests them that they don't already have, but they thank me for the help and express a hope that we see each other again before they leave.
The sun starts setting when the last few customers leave and I get to close the shop. After tidying up I slump into one of the couches around the fireplace, taking the chance to breathe. With all the work and customers I had today there was not enough time to finish the posters for the sale, the supplies for which are stacked neatly on the work surface at the front desk. I wonder if there is a point in trying to finish them tomorrow. I'll have to see how much time I have left over, because if it is another day like the one today I doubt I'll be able to work it into my schedule.
While today was stressful and a bit overwhelming, I am happy with the day and am hopeful about my ability to keep going.
I look forward to seeing what tomorrow brings.
I am Rye Everbloom, a harvest mouse and the second child of Juniper and Alder Everbloom. I was born under the brisk moon, on the fourth day of Awaken (Brisk 19th), and raised in the town of Undertree nestled at the root of the tree from which the town gets its name, some weeks of travel outside the region of the River.
I was a traveller once, never settling in one place and doing odd jobs to find room and board for the time I spent at my destination. But after the passing of my brother Moss I have chosen to take over his bookshop on The River, both to honour his memory and as my old bones tell me it is time to end my travels and settle down.
It is with a heavy heart that I begin this next step of my journey. The weather—mild and sunny, hinting at the thaw that creeps ever closer—lifts some of the gloom that has settled over my day. I still mourn the loss of my brother Moss, but I find some comfort in continuing the work that he loved.
I find the shop moored in the lovely town of Hurst, which is currently preparing the celebrations of the holiday Rinse, but I have some work to do before I can join the holiday cheer of the townsfolk.
As I enter the bookshop—struggling a bit to open the door which has jammed in the cold weather—I find it just as Moss left it; papers can be found strewn across the front desk, the books from the latest restock stacked high next to them, and the bookshelves are messy and out of order. My brother was never the tidy kind. The shop shows the signs of his passing, with a layer of dust covering everything in sight, muting the colours.
Although it saddens me that my nieces did not want to take over their father's business, I can somewhat understand their decision as I stand in his bookshop and feel the ghost of his presence and the weight of his absence.
I spend a few hours cleaning up—dusting, organising papers and cleaning up the mess of books that my brother has left. It is simple but hard work, distracting my thoughts from the grief. I could not escape it entirely, however, as the sight of his blue jacket hanging by the door and his favourite mug in the kitchen—bearing the words "River's Best Dad"—halts my activity and forces me to take a few minutes to overcome my emotions.
Once my task is done, the shop clean and my few belongings in place, I look upon the shop with satisfaction. While I have left much as I found it—the jacket still hangs where he left it—I have also made it my own. There is no point in forcing myself to linger in the grief, leaving the space untouched. A shrine can now be found in my living space off the side of the bookshop, dedicated to the Smiling God and centered around the figure I brought. Behind the front desk I put my odd decoration, the skull of the three-horned beast that I once came across in the travels, and I hope that it does not scare any customers who come visit.
I take a moment for quiet contemplation, breathing through my thoughts and feeling, before turning outwards. It is the first the day of the new year and the preparations for Rinse have been ongoing in the town outside. I exit my new floating home and look upon the town with its squat buildings, which add a certain charm to the surroundings. Animalfolk of all types can be seen milling around the riverfront, gathering around lit fires to get a break from the cold, and finishing opening the hole in the ice, which will be used for the celebrations.
I join the crowds, enjoying the chatter and the laughter of young children running around. Some have already started the celebrations, as I can hear yelps from the river as some start their Rinse, their swim in the river to wash off the remnants of the year left behind and cleanse themselves for the new year. While most do no more than a quick dip in the ice-cold water, some animalfolk take their time, enjoying the cold and the contemplation. Everyone, once they've risen from the water shivering and cleansed, join the groups warming up and enjoying the warm and spiced apple cider being handed out by volunteers.
I doff my clothing and walk into the water, joining the yelps of others as the cold hits me. I do not stay in for long, as the cold awakens the ache in my damaged knee, but I do take the time to ponder what it is I want to achieve this year. When I leave the water I have made a decision; this new year I will spend not wallowing in my grief, but instead live my life as my brother would have wanted. I will work on once again finding joy in the little things, of the daily ongoings, and the small joys in life.
As I join a group gathered around one of the fires, huddling under the blanket and enjoying the heat that slowly brings the warmth back to my body, a hare approaches. He is tall and lanky, and his brown fur shows similar signs of age as mine. As he hands me a mug of the warm cider he introduces himself as Angus Thisledown.
We talk for a while; I speak of my coming to the River and the bookshop—he remembers my brother and offer his condolences—and he tells me about the town and a bit about himself. He looks over at a group of hares around an adjacant fire fondly as he talks about his daughter and three grandchildren, who are also here celebrating. As he leaves to rejoin his family, he offers his warm welcome and hands me a memento, a bottle of the spiced apple cider to bring with me home.
As I walk back to Moss' bookshop—now mine—I feel the seeds of hope within me that perhaps this year will be better, more manageable. I spend the rest of the evening getting used to my new home—the soft lull of the river around me, the quiet creaking of the wooden frame—and have a simple meal before curling up with a cup of tea in the rickety rocking chair with its maroon cushion, enjoying the silence. It feels weird to slip under the covers of what used to be my brother's bed, and I can feel the vice of grief around my heart. But this too will pass, and I hope this coming year will bring healing. This year will be better.
| Belonging received: A bottle of spiced apple cider. |
| Total customers: n/a | Books sold: n/a (Inventory total: 500) | Earnings: n/a (Till total: 100) |
