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November issue

This is perhaps the best numbers of our blog. Tales powerful, sharp and at the same time with a veil of'ironia. The editors of the equator to the east extends the most sincere congratulations to the authors and warmly thank all those who have bombarded our e-mail accounts. Continue to do so, the blog is becoming one of the most important means to discover talent and provide an opportunity for everyone to let them find out. Thank you very much. Continue to write, to comment, vote and above all to read.

Greetings from the east of the equator.

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THE PRESS Massimiliano Colucci

It takes strength, I explained. As with many things in life. You learn to walk and not fall when the legs are strong enough. We learn to chew and swallow mouthfuls increasingly large and bitter. Only learn to sit and stay still when he has absolutely no desire. Yet this is strength.
Life is a huge harvest. Aspects of the fruit for months and only in one day, sweet swollen slit them under the warm rays that make the leaves shine frayed and the back of small glossy green spiders fleeing disturbed. Then the mill, the vats where the juice is fermented and boiling it breaks the head of the first breath, if you're not used to - but you know you never try fortigna greatest pleasure of intoxication that is mixed with the sweat and warmth of lazy 'Autumn at the door, as you penetrate into the skin numb. Finally, the press, the terrible and majestic press that impress me as much as a child, which squeeze the juice soaked in dark and bitter seeds and stems, and the taste of a life hidden secret that you can never fully understand .
The press is the crucial word: most of the must cloudy and ambiguous, and the laughter of children that follow each other under the domes of the vineyards. The iron bar that runs between your fingers, kidney and groan with every swing, the blisters begin to form, dry and formulaic "ta-tlak" that fills the air along with the thrill frothy that filters through the dense axes Wood, cola bubbling on the plate, sliding along the metal nozzle from the tank. The newest wine ... It 's always been my favorite. Perhaps because it ended a cycle, and gave his best, showing no signs of fatigue. Maybe because you were forced to produce the best of yourself. After that do nothing but throw pies skins tablets scratching chickens, and wait until November when the Cut branches watery sap, gray and silent in the afternoon to sniff past the fog.
It takes strength, I repeated. He wanted to try at all costs. I looked at her, smiling as it grew purple in the pull towards the cylindrical bar scraped by many hands. I helped her. Together create the sound that I loved so well remembered and was a kind of spell regenerated. Only there was no longer my grandfather, his land, my parents, uncles, and cousins, there was no one, apart from her, even the vines were cut and left to die because no one had more time to deal with it. It 's a shame that has come before in my life. It would be fun: I would have liked it to belong to this world of my youth, with his magic at the end of summer. Might have understood a lot about myself ...
Back home, stappai one of the bottles that we had given our friend. She had a vineyard enough to generously cover the needs of a year. The bottle was last year. Wine press, the last one. And 'one of the few who, like me, without understanding why, he always bottled separately.
poured the wine into a goblet. I looked at him. It was warm, dark and rubescente like blood. Glowing crystal, similar to an ancient stone. I breathed. The aroma load stunned, but goes deep, making its way slowly, slowly, es'insediava intact with all its strength from some part of the soul and memory.
She moved into the room. There was something that stirred me in the head, perhaps a memory, a thousand thoughts, a feeling unknown but important enough. I lifted the cup, and watched through that filter Ferrigno. I watched its soft shape and intoxicating moving swells of life and physicality. Immediately felt the desire to grow in me. I brought the cup to his mouth, and without taking his eyes off you drank it slowly, savoring every drop as if it were the last, listening to descend into the gorge, down to the stomach, and penetrate into the blood with warm and hot wave that dilated on the skin.
I got up. I went to her. I took it and pressed it, greedy. I kissed her. It takes strength in life and the life that flowed in the veins and the flesh was mine, and I wanted to. I like the press the last yearning wine grapes left. Perhaps this was the secret despair of that machine: a huge, voracious desire for life and drunkenness, not to feel the loneliness and absurdity of existence.
I kissed her. I returned the kiss. Her lips parted on mine. Broke off suddenly when he felt the pain I had caused, biting. Inadvertently, perhaps. Perhaps unintentionally, the bites to hurt you ... I moved her hand. A drop of blood slipped on the bend of the lip. I apologized. I went over and kissed her gently right on the wound. It was a drop of his life, his privacy, to slip inside. Dark, hot, dense and as a last rubescente wine. The same flavor.

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sociopath Roberto Saporito

I can not stand most people can not stand any more, humans give me a sort of existential hives, an itching in the blood. It 'also possible that I have become sociopathic or not, it is not me but they have become sociopathic, people, all of them have become sociopaths in my respect, you can not!
Way fast, and my footsteps echo on the cobbles of the street deserted, my leather soles pointy leather shoes of some inhabitant of some desert reptiles make my walk even more aggressive. Light emitting diodes
clock pharmacy mark the twenty-one hours and thirty-seven: are delayed by Time thirty-seven minutes of the meeting in writing to the publisher. And I'm never late.
brisk walk in the orange glow of street lamps of the old town, my shoes are aggressive knock knock knock. Crossing a girl who walks in, if possible, even more aggressive than me, his eyes traveling down, to understand the height of the tips of his boots high heel stiletto tic tic tic toc toc toc against mine. I am leaving behind Unrestricted a good aromatic, with citrus and honey and something else I do not recognize, but inviting and sensual.
I stop, look at the girl from behind, high and waving, from the pocket of my jacket and dark brown extract a packet of Gitanes. I opened the package, I extract a cigarette, I stuck it between his lips a bit 'cracked, take lighter, an old Ronson, on the other pocket and I light a cigarette. I put in my pocket and lighter package. Allotment.
So, I have sociopath or are they not important, the editorial meeting I would not go for nothing. These five meetings to decide which books to publish and what not not stand it any more: If I had my way I will not publish anything, I do not remember when was the last time I read a manuscript that was worth something: my sociopathy, if possible, is spreading to the books, or those who may become such, and their authors. And the other editors have questionable taste, no, questionable, Let's face it, they taste horrible, they do not understand a fucking emeritus of fiction, as Valeria that the other week I spent a huge manuscript (something like seven hundred pages) and tells me:
"This is the new Piperno,
" Why, one is not enough? "I asked myself.
"Come on, read it, and then tell me," said Valeria.
Well, 'I read it, all and the pages were settecentottantatre and settecentottantatre pages were unnecessary, a bad hole in a forest some dick (which I, in fact, forests even I do not give anything, it's just to say what they all say my fellow editor ecologists peace blah blah blah).
And tonight you should just decide whether or not to publish the hole in the forest, and since the decisions we take in the majority, and four others liked the book, I'm not going to the meeting: we going to do. And then the author is a friend or friend of a friend of George, one of the editors, one that can change the destiny of another Italian writer, turning a few court-clerk-accountant-gas station-baker-surgeon-architect- Hydraulic in writer.
Way increasingly sent toc toc toc puffing smoke from his nose like an old locomotive.
The other four editors are all writers (published, more or less), I do not, editors should not be writers, it is as if the priests were also sinners (I know, there are, but there should be no point) each should have its role, or do one thing or another they do, it's a bit 'as literary critics: the literary critics should not even be writers, should be forbidden to the critic to the writer, should you choose to be kind or here or there, not a foot in both camps, there should be laws, but laws really applied, with severe sanctions, corporal punishment, forced labor. Here is how it should be.
Way increasingly sent toc toc toc, telescoping front of the building where the headquarters of the publishing house that gives me something to eat. I do not stop and knock knock knock I hate being walked as if I had a really precise destination, as if you'll really get somewhere, as if there was someone who really can not wait to see me. But I do not want to see more none none none, without distinction.
Toc toc toc.

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WEDDING Cristina Musciacchio

"Guys I'm loving it. I want to marry me. His name is John Bo. " When Uncle Alfred, spoke drunk on the night of Christmas Eve these words, the mother had fainted, his father poured on his face the very expensive brunello that was in the glass, uncle Salvatore stood looking at him with open mouth full of food, cousin and cousin Maria Lucia, coming to a vote, they touched the crucifix and began to pray, the little Carletto shouted against a dirty word. Only Aunt Betty laughed and clapped her hands as always used to do when something unexpected happens in the family. That night the great estate
not witnessed the exchange of gifts, or to drink for celebration. The evening passed between the arguments of his grandfather and grandmother who were accused in the events of the ill-success of their only son. Uncles approached him curiously asked if he would start to dress women. The cousins \u200b\u200bwere pressing because a priest was called.
The week following the revelation, Uncle Bo Alfredo invited John and his family to the estate, to begin preparations for the wedding. His family is in fact limited to only brother.
's brother Bo was the most beautiful man in the world. Newbie there was no country, city, village, forest, mountain, valley, island, river, lake, wilderness, mountain, plain, desert that his eyes had not looked. Every community he met on the way received him kindly, and was in despair when you share. Her beauty allowed him to go anywhere. He had visited the hidden rooms of the ancient royal palaces, was put to current from the oracles unheard secrets of the universe, had participated in the sacred rites of remote mystery religions. Every night told a different story: when was the guest of a nomadic people of Asia a desert, which practiced communism as a total totally ignore the meaning of the adjective possessive my, or when he knew the people of an island the common ground where all men are slaves and women queens, or when he lived in a village in a tropical forest where there were no laws, no crime, but one for which it was punished by death: to do 50. After a week that Bo's brother was with us at the seals, all cousins, including Maria Lucia's cousin and cousin were pregnant. Among the preparations for the wedding and the preparations for the new birth, the family was as crazy. Old habits were abandoned to give way to high. Who until then had taken the bitter coffee, they started making sweet, who used to sleep on the right began to sleep on the left, who had been quietly became agitated, who had lived to become a religious believer, who had brazenly changed in modest , who was depressed was gay, who was talkative fell silent, who was quietly began to sing. Only Aunt Betty always seemed to continuously even clapped and laughed.
the day fixed for the wedding was also the day when the children were born. And the family did not know how to divide between church and hospital.
At the time of birth the doctors were horrified: the children laughed.

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MY NEPHEW Danilo Power

Darkness is the only option for many, and there, even at the cost of invention, you must find the light. I have always believed that the soul lies the true strength of men, and soul regardless of age. Sunday morning, like every weekend I accompanied my nephew to the park in front of the house. I would like to bring in the most beautiful places, but I'm old and tired. After all, he does not count for much beauty. My nephew Mark is blind from birth, good for him is what causes the emotions. Today is eleven, and see him there, he would like to put my coat on its own but can not, it hurts. He takes his staff posed by the door, greets everyone with a smile. Sometimes I wonder if he has consciousness that is always smiling. I've stopped doing it for years. It occurs to me that only a few are granted, I intend to smile, to children, to love before the inevitable pain of fools.
go down the street, cross the road and take the driveway. The park is small, ideal for children and unleash the dogs. Behind us, three large poplars separate us from the road, and two plum trees provide shade in a bench-lined the driveway that crosses the park. A hedge undressed the fenced area. We come here because it is convenient and safe. We just want to get some 'of the sun, and that is the same everywhere.
morning Mark is more cheerful than usual. All around, children's voices attract his attention, but he knows that will not go away from them, at least alone. It's amazing how conscientious. Then I pull all the forces contained in exile with his right arm, while with his left hand is waving the stick in front of him.
- Come on, let's grandfather, is already late.
- Slow down, you know that I can not run.
Should I be just me not being able to run. We stop in two lime trees in the middle a flower bed. Marco laying his stick against a tree and runs off chasing the voices of senior children. He has the smile of someone who sees a loved one after years of sincere joy in order to wait. The sun completes its efforts to flood the eyes, but Marco's eyelids are tightened. The darkness remains dark if light can not see, but the darkness becomes light if you know to see light. Mark has it, Mark has a force capable of changing the world around him. He pushes his legs facing each other chasing the other items, open mouth to breathe faster and get right before they all disappear and end. I stand looking at him leaning against a tree, my back hurts, I'm tired. I think of my nephew, to the fact probably undergoes another disappointment. Mark can not see when the race reaches its destination, but can it feel, rather than by the voices of children, but from their silence, spontaneous result in seeing a different person. The children fall silent at the sight of Mark, who comes forward with outstretched arms looking for someone, smiling, as love. I do not know if it will ever know the love for a woman, I do not know if there will never be a woman willing to love him. To stand by him must accept a number of circumstances, sacrifice, compromise with yourself.
Marco approaches a child, touching his face, asked him what it's called but the other does not respond, he asks that they are doing, but everyone is silent. Suddenly the child takes a step back and then running away from the others. Mark hears the sound of footsteps and voices which take away the joy of their games away from him, from different. Marco still tends his arms forward, but can not find anyone. Love is too often followed by despair.
- Grandpa.
has closed a sea of \u200b\u200btears in the throat.
- I'm here.
go toward him, he runs toward me, he stumbles on a step, falling, crying. He scratched his hands.
- Get up it's nothing, you're just a little 'dirty.
Mark gets up on its own without saying a word, blows on his hands, hugged me, sobbing.
- Why no wants to play with me.
- Why men are afraid of those who are different.
- It's not fair, however, all are different from me but I'm afraid of them mica.
What can I say?
- Because you're special. Come back home.
We walk to the lindens to get our things, but all of a sudden Marco stops and sits down to earth. He says he wants to play at least a bit 'before you go, says we can have fun without the other children. I do not know what to do, rest in silence. I realize that waiting for my reply, but I remain silent. He lowers his head, sighs, gets up and walks alone.
- Marco wait, do not run.
not listen to me and I understand that now my job is to entertain my nephew, I, I settant'otto years and I no longer laugh.
- Okay, inventiamoci a game.
Marco turns suddenly, smiles, runs towards me and grabs me by the sleeve. He says he wants to collect stones to throw into the fountain. Humor him and we come together under the lime trees. She explains the meaning of the game. I think I did not understand it very well, since that would fill the fountain with stones in order to let all the water. While talking to me touches my face, and I hear his soft hands on my skin dried up, I hear him spring after the winter, the sprouts of hope reborn. Marco has a strength that I have not seen anywhere else. He asks me to bring it to the path of gravel. Come on, I put behind him and help him to fall by putting his hands under his arms to direct his fingers towards the larger stones. Grit your teeth for the terrible pangs in the back, but Mark's ride, and I do not need anything more. Let's go to the fountain in front, we run the stones in and laugh for a few sketches that wet coats.
least I hope that this love will never know the desperation of the end.

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Seriously - SNUFFING Daniele Scarpati

worthy to describe the kind of darkness that surrounds Snuff, is not enough to recall the night. Do not just turn off the light. Snuff does not exist if it were not black. A black man who seems made to make the white of his skin still more unnatural, more shiny. A gloss cold, raw. Like a neon.
Press the POWER button on his computer Snuff says the lady tied on the chair: "In a little 'we telephone your child and see if we can make us laugh with him." He adds: "Let's see if it is able to entertain his audience in this circumstance. "The woman's son is an eighteen provinces. It is becoming popular posting his videos on Youtube. His videos belong to the category "comedy". Tell jokes, perform short monologues, recites poetry, sings songs, accompanying himself on guitar. But his specialty, his trademark, the jokes are telefonici.Questo know because he told me Snuff. It will also be popular this kid but I had never seen before Snuff show me some of his videos. Besides, I do not have time for these things. Be the best friend of Snuff is time job pieno.La mother of the boy, bound and gagged in that chair, she cries and despairs. He has some bruising on his face because of squashing that Snuff gave buona.È desperate to keep her. Although in practice has not yet seen anything. The dead are not just white ones, cold and stiff. A dead man can wiggle and despair and try paura.Un dead can also be like this lady here. The mother of Comicogenio89.Comicogenio89 is the nickname by which this guy signature her videos. His real name is Roberto.Snuff launches Messenger. It is night. "I knew that I find this online at this time - with the note says Snuff most cruel that her voice is able to issue - did you know that you kill saws surfing porn sites and video chat erotic?". The lady is crying. Perhaps already beginning to understand. The gag was that the taint of the mouth and hot wet droplets that flow down her cheeks. The dark spots are the color of your mascara. With yellow eyes like a snake skin and neon that is becoming increasingly white, Snuff says: "For his desire to meet people and become known that fool your child has already revealed his MSN contact in her profile Facebook.. " He says: "When I added to my contacts are not in the least place the problem adding that the same stranger. Maybe he did not even notice the small detail that the address was that he was inviting video.tortureuccisioni @ hotmail.com. Ah, I forgot! Just for the record on your child's My Space, because he has both the Facebook and My Space, first and last name are on display. And the address. If I were one of those freaks nerds and vulgar I would have broken into your house and I made a mess. I would have tortured one by one with a hook. I ate your cat alive before your eyes.. "This last sentence reminds me of our agreement. The agreement Snuff I did when I met him. Years ago. But there I think. Right now I'm not ready for such a thing. My journey with his friend Snuff is not yet complete. "Fortunately I am not so obvious in my things, so here we are," says Snuff concluding his arringa.Con his hands white-neon type Snuff Quickly different nickname for his Messenger. His nickname is now Snuffin. And in it written in his avatar, I do not know why but I get the brividi.Snuff explains that the only way to be taken into account by Robert is to have a nickname as a girl. Snuffin says that, despite being blatantly pathetic, just to mislead the consumer. He says that Bob is an idiot. His way of explaining step by step, each turn taken by his reasoning makes it fascinating. His lucid madness frightens me more than his toolbox. The bag where he keeps the tools of the trade. "HELLO, MY NAME IS SARA - Snuff type in the dialog box - YOU MUST PLAY CAM TO CAM?." Not even finished writing that Bob sends a video call. Snuff takes a few seconds and it takes the computer to load the link, suddenly pulls the chair from Robert's mother in front of the monitor, putting it right in front of the webcam webcam.Quando the two are connected, the scenery, seen from outside, is the following: Roberto wearing only boxer es'intravede already a principle of erection. Snuff is standing behind the lady who is still gagged. With one hand, pulls her hair behind her head and the other caresses her face flushed with tears and his face terrore.Roberto close to the monitor. It employs three, maybe four seconds to focus on the identity of the woman imbavagliata.Dal foreground of his face, I can read his labbra.Leggo clearly pronounces the word "Mom !!!». He repeats many times and meanwhile, with his hands covering his dick in erezione.Immagino the other side sees only the poor Roberto scored his mother's face in the foreground and a dark shape looming out of the hands to his pale an spalle.Per Snuff perverse taste decide who wants to talk to use the phone instead of a simple microphone. He walks away from his victim and took the handset. Type in the number of memory Comicogenio89 house. On the other side of the webcam boy seems paralyzed with fear, and so leave and do not risponde.Snuff ringing off the call and goes to the computer. Evading the range of the cam and approaching it the wireless keyboard, writes in the dialog box that does not love the people while staying at home does not respond to phone calls. She tells him that now draw again. He wrote to Robert that if you do not respond in the vagina of his mother will put a hungry rodent. The writes that to make sure that the crack does not come out of vagina suturerà ham, and leave the rat in there to do damage until his mother died bled. Among pain atroci.Il all, of course, will be recorded by the cameras and become a snuff-movie. Will be sold online.Passa about a minute when Roberto, foreground, reads and weeps. See a comic cry is one of the most harrowing events that you can assistere.Snuff for a while ', leaves him there to stew in his own juice. Does not call right away. He wants to make sure that the message is clear. He wants to be sure that the full horror pervades Roberto.Quando finally call back, the boy responds to the second ring. Snuff put the handsfree and the phone rests on the shelf messy it normally uses as a table of torture. "Mom! - Roberto cries just starts the conversation - but did not have to go on pilgrimage to Lourdes? ". The mother has a gag. If you could respond to his son, explained that he was abducted at bus stop. While waiting for the shuttle to the airport. "Your mother can not answer - Snuff says as if uttering a sentence - you have to talk with me." "Who the fuck are you? Never mind my mother dimmerda piece. "" Disrespecting not help, and it saves her life. However everyone calls me Snuff. I guess that is why you now clear. "" Mad-manic dimmerda !!!». a fury Snuff and changes color. For a moment the glow of his inhuman face is interrupted by a red flash. A flash of anger. Odio.Con of a glacial calm and a cruel smile Snuff stands up. Open the bag that holds the gear. Pulls out an electric razor and the wireless space for the batteries completely devastated. Note that above the rotating blades Snuff welded steel supports two long, parallel. On these supports, perpendicularly, a razor blade is welded by hand, like those of barbers. The challenges and square standing behind the lady. Roberto continues to see nothing but her face battered and terrified of his mother and the hands of white light that Snuff tinker. Snuff He grabbed her face and shakes his head blocking against his belly. Rests on the razor edge of meat there from the beginning of the eyebrow and the base of the nasal septum. The length of the blade, vertically, covering the entire space that goes from eyebrow to zigomo.La lady moans in the gag and blinks two, three, four times. Velocemente.Roberto, still in his underwear, and with an erection that is now only a distant memory, is deformed in webcam and the phone hands-free reaches its desperate scream, "Noooooo !!!!». Snuff poses in her mouth evil grin and stroke with the razor a crescent of blood that spoils the area around the eye of the lady. The eyebrow and the skin underneath, the meat of the cheekbone and a good portion of the eyelid is cut off. Probably the eye has undergone danni.L 'scream Comicogenio89 deaf mother of one of those who feel alone in incubi.Roberto dispera.Snuff cries and seems satisfied. Throwing dirty on the shelf and changed his bloodstained razor says: "I hope you will now be more docile and follows my wishes.." "I'll do what you want - Roberto sobs - but not do anything wrong to my mother.." " not giving you anything if you do what I tell you, "he says Snuff lying." What do you want? "asks Roberto between lacrime.E Snuff explains that now trigger a program that allows to record the image it receives the webcam. He explains that while he wants to resume one of its proverbial telefonici.Gli tells jokes to work so if he can make him laugh let him free his mother and it will not hurt. Snuff is not aware that Robert knows how to laugh. Snuff does not show neither joy nor ever serenità.Snuff lives and enjoys only the evil that can be imposed on the gente.Specie if people with the desire to become famous. To appear. "To whom would I do this joke?" Asks Robert, and his voice is just lacrime.E Snuff close the phone, placing it in front of the mother of Robert. Ungags says: "To you, your mother.." He adds: "I think an intelligent woman and full of humor. The ideal victim for your own joke. Next, make me laugh! And be persuasive. "Snuff is close to its bag. Fruge looking for something, some other tool tortura.Io while I sit because I expect that it will go a bit 'for long.

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lines of energy


the power lines are the metaphysical part of the template, and appear as lines that run on everything, living or not, which make up this world. Altering these lines could lead to total destruction of the template, but knowing how to use, allows you to control a great power.
The most obvious demonstration of control of power lines, and determined by five towers, old buildings bloated, which is said to have been created to be higher. These age-old buildings are great cultural centers, with huge libraries, but especially the residents of this tower, study for a lifetime potententissime techniques to identify and exploit the energy lines. In fact they are only able to see this great "flow metaphysical", and only with very hard training, are able to control it.
Each tower has developed a unique fighting technique and philosophy of her own, transforming the study of energy lines in a real weapon.
Only the Masters are allowed to leave the towers, and to use these techniques devastating than this, the others must remain there until the conclusion of their studies. For this reason, there are creatures called Hunters, which have the task of killing the students who have left the tower without its having become masters, or without having had the authorization.
These powerful creatures, born to hunt, they can feel the changes in the energy lines, and therefore can be perceived, even over long distances, when an individual uses a technique of the towers.
addition, there is an agreement between the towers, which require a Master of killing a fugitive or return it to the tower.

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TOWER OF BORDER


This structure owes its name to the fact of being on the border between the Empire and that of the Enlightened Negus (another name given is the claw of stone). The style taught in it unlike the other does not encode its movements, but is based on the anatomical study of most breeds, lines of energy and thanks to a particularly stressful workout and offers the capacity to cross the living flesh with fingers. In this way a connoisseur of this technique is able to directly affect bone, nerve centers, the blood vessels of vital importance, causing dangerous bleeding or other types of dysfunction muscle and nervous system. The ability to manipulate those who use this art depends on its level of depth, also all the fighters of this tower prefer to make your opponent maiming innocent but not killing him.



TOWER ISLAND

Located on an island very difficult to achieve, the Tower of the island has developed in-house, a deep respect for the sea, and a way of life based on it.
Unlike the previous style, at the base of his training is required to internalize a set of codified movements, designed with the specific aim of creating an impenetrable defense. In fact, this style is to absorb hits the opponent, and exploiting the power of these to fight back. Precisely for this reason, members of the Tower of the island trying to reach a state of invincibility, with a perfect defense, fluid, and many of them are called "Warriors Intangibles."



TOWER OF BAH-Giolla (or sky)

Its name is due to the fighting style practiced by those who belong to this tower, based on aerial and acrobatic movements. Their purpose is to tire the opponent with continuous air strikes, which are difficult to avoid and to predict, using an impressive elevation and smooth like no other. This fighting style is divided into two Schools: The Tower of Heaven Upper and Lower.
The upper arms are used, while in the lower legs.



TOWER OF SPIRITS

The Tower of Spirits is located in the Blue Sea of \u200b\u200bSpirits, resting on solid foundations, made of an unknown material.
As the most peculiar and mysterious of the five schools, is distinct from the extraordinary ability to fight while not coming into direct contact with the enemy, the nature of this technique and magic or in the media, certainly not just physical.
These fighters through a deep bond with the spirits, they can throw at their opponents, using special movements of the body, causing serious damage to their opponents.



TOWER OF THUNDER

Surely the most frightening of the 5 styles, is called a school of breaking bones. The fighters of this tower with a scientific study of anatomy, bone structure, kinetic physics and psychology, applying these materials to a fighting style quickly and conveniently. Break Bones The fact is based on training designed to increase muscle mass and speed of movement. The technique consists of a series of precise raps, followed by a loud bang (which is why the tower of thunder) to the speed at which they are barefoot. The goal of this style is most able to break any material, human bones from the swords of their enemies, or simply stop the operation of a vital organ, given their large medical knowledge.
The members of this tower are avoided by most people because of their temper and violent behavior, derived from a traumatic training.

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ROMICS

Romics is coming ...
Elish will be with its own space matches:

Thursday "The Great Return" "The Non-Place"

Friday "The End of the party" "Where the spirit of the seas touching" the cave of Litanklicicen "

Saturday" the mechanism "" War of the Roses invisible "the cave that led nowhere,"

Sunday " The party for the new empress was postponed "the return of the golden Lema" "Beware of the Mulde with goat's foot"

The group also has a daily meeting with the authors for advice and discussion on methods of theatricality in Game Storytelling in a section specifically dedicated stand !!!!! (See and 'enjoy' to believe!)
More ... tied at this BIG EVENT ... Saturday at 17:00:

"ENOUGH WITH THE USUAL crap! "

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Elishani Hello!

Here we are after the holidays to call
hand to the group.
many materials are being organized for the many events taking place throughout the year. We're thinking
a new small publishing projects, seminars, games, campaigns, and who knows
, perhaps even a live.

So many things in the pipeline. For anyone who wanted to play,
head during organizational meetings, helping out the group
in its work (there's plenty to do: write, draw,
reorganize the computer part, resume lema
fled the fence ... ) and anything else that comes to mind, send an email to info @
elish. com with the subject: I want to retrieve one of the lema fled.

lema and about, here is a
pastime to do in these last days of summer ... yes, you can click here
... no, not them. here.

For the curious history of
Elish, we refer you to a brief Curriculum Vitae
Group be handled with caution.

soon with the good news of the Clan!

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origami Lema

A little pastime for most patients.

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soon.

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September issue

Finally, the September issue of our blog. To make us forgive the slight delay we offer a preview of the design on the cover (always on the miraculous hand of our cartoonist Mario Perrotta) of the new book by Dan Fante. Remember as always to comment, vote and report the stories that you like. Greetings from editorial ...

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THE GENESIS AND OTHER rumors about DIO Luca Maiolino

Hello! My name is Tommy and I am a black dot that goes around a long sheet. The paper is white and goes to infinity, and I'm running over with all his might, until they are breathless. Then I stop and I pause for a while. It is a race in my damn life! I am all day with my friends supervelocissimi that blacks are three dots as they are to me: we are spherical and fast, and our black shining armor when we meet by chance a ray of light coming from the west. We dots slap us! I I was born one day, somehow, even my friends who know nothing. Lucio, one of them, for a time had claimed that God was the creator of everything I tell you who it was, repeatedly. This is the big boss himself, he is just that I'm talking about. But Franz, who was another black dot like us, seemed to be in possession of very sensitive information, and whispered with great caution .- It is impossible, I say. HE has yet to be born. I know for sure. It takes time for these things. Need the right amount of negative feelings, do not forget it, otherwise, what ever we need a God? -Lucio was not very excited about this release, but after a while 'he convinced himself, July while the debate was quite indifferent. I followed his line, especially since July I liked a lot. I do not care anything about the theological questions at me, I just wanted to walk with July.
For some time we had chosen a name for each individual, because it had seemed like a nice thing to do. Before the arrival of the names was quite depressing here. Everyone was rolling on his own from one part of the paper, and since each was the same as everybody else, ended up being "all others", and this feeling meant that anyone should wish to make friends. But when we decided on the names, everything was different, because at one point everyone had something unique that could be shared with the other dots, each dot and wanted to get that something from others. We began to feel an explosion inside, and we knew that it was our character that was forming. Thus friendships and from that day we rolled in groups. One problem remained, however: although in changed (in our mind, so to speak), we continued to appear in the physical are absolutely identical, so everyone knew his name but no one could be sure of the name of the other. We had to always ask for security. July
One day I asked if it was really July, and when I said yes I took a ride the two of us, with Lucio and Franz we were watching from a distance. They were jealous, those two, but they knew how things turned and certainly not turned on their side. She was in front of me and I was in front of her. I felt I was going to happen to something new and exciting, and I realized that July wanted to make it happen quickly, you could read it to him on the reflection's magnetic shield, but at that moment, the instant before they touch our bodies, I realized the terrible ambiguity of the situation that he brought with him. I remembered, in fact, that the choice of names was quite arbitrary. I mean, how did I know that it was indeed a "July" and not for themselves but have a close relationship with a "Charles" or something? Damn it, there was no way to check. So, dominated by anxiety cosmic Intimae the alleged July to abide away, or reduce you in a nice cube and ready, I said. She was frightened and that made me feel guilty, so I said, okay, if you really want to stay, come, as long as you're careful not to touch me. But she wanted to leave the same, in fact, my suspicion that those statements did nothing to upset her further, rather than bring it to a new and healthy spiritual calm, a result that instead I would have expected to get. He wanted to walk a bit 'on his own. She said she needed time to think. Was this an attempt to prove once and for all her femininity, since only a woman could come from a request so foolish? I must admit that I thought, but I came to the conclusion that it was worth the risk. As I rolled away pointed to a white point where we would meet again later. But since there was nothing to indicate which (because no one had invented the fingers) and even if she did would show a white dot identical to the rest of the paper, which ended July never returned back, even though I had continued to wait for all the time. When I explained the story to the boys, they wanted my ass. They were really angry, because they said to be haunted from the perspective of eternal loneliness that was waiting for our friend. Balle!, I say. They were tormented by the thought of not more potersela ingroppare, that's what. I also tried to enlighten them on the matter of names, but it was no use, such as those with two obtuse. So I had these two dots on his heels ready to skin me, and I was all alone in the middle of a sheet. They were dicks!, Even if I did not know what they were.
The first attack was to Franz, who took a short run and then come to me on at full speed, ramming on one side. We flew in both directions, and then falling back into the paper. I came out unscathed from the collision as a miracle, while Franz found himself one side crossed by a deep gray line. He almost did not make me out. An inch in the center and, poof, goodbye Tommy, the young black dot and sexy. I could not believe it. And they, until recently, were my friends! My only and most dear friends! Already the next attack could be lethal. I was scared to morte.Vidi that Lucius was about to take a run, rolling slowly backwards. Then he seemed to hesitate and then stopped. I realized what was happening, thank God. I too had felt a great sense of communion with Lucio, when Franz had become a black dot with a gray line drawn on one side. I had no gray lines and I knew that we had not even Lucio, and this simple consideration enough to make us feel more united. Suddenly both hungered make out Franz, Franz and also would like to get their hands on him, but he was the only dot stripes across the sheet and could not do a damn thing. So I started chasing him and Lucio, and when we managed to catch him we had already made on both sides, and with a great running start crushing in the middle. The impact was terrible and we all explode at once, spreading ourselves endlessly over the entire sheet, which became a huge black spot without perceivable boundaries. We were not dead though! But it was also very sad because, even if they still exist, it must be admitted that not having the most corporeal limits to define us as figures, it became hard to even know where we were, so we ended up thinking about death in an almost obsessive. One day he thought so intensely that we died for real and then there was nothing full of despair and that nothing addensatosi in a large transparent ball, was born God First, God opened his green eyes, and seeing only all alone in the middle of nowhere, he was terrified.

- By God - God said - This is the end! -

But the fun was only beginning.

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SAFARI POST NUCLEAR ATOMIC KISS Hotel Mexico

he left the strip pedestrian traffic lights, recycling, quiet neighbors, if you shoot anyone tell you that you were not a good guy. If the police come to arrest the women of your condo will take to the street and spit in the faces of police officers. Let alone the songs by Tiziano Ferro and Biagio Antonacci and begin to learn names like Raphael and Ida Renda. He left the state broadcaster, the Mediaset, Sanremo and begin to store on your television and Napolipiù Televolla. Get used to those selling heroin on your balcony, outside your elevator at the entrance of your garage. Sooner or later they will buy it too. Take place with or against the breakaway of Secondigliano. Go see the lilies in Barra pataniello grow and be on the shoulder. Occupied a house on the lot at Ponticelli zero and speak ill of the Roma Pick up the plush Hugs & Kisses, the Nokia N70, the Nike and Rayban Silver drop. The ceremony of your marriage will not end before five o'clock in the morning after the intervention of ten singers. Make a video with the phone and pretended to shoot a friend, put the soundtrack of the Camorra and put it on Youtube. Your sister works in a factory in San Jose Vesuvius bags and took two hundred euro. Per month. Your sister is a hairdresser in the sciampista the straight and earn two hundred euro. Per month. Your sister works in a cleaning and Cardarelli to take two hundred euro. Per month. Speak ill of the Piazza San Domenico metalheads and punks of the Piazza del Gesu Get two lamps per week, let's Cobretti ten euro. Buy the smoke to the third world, Pazzigno, the Duchess, in Health, a resin, the district Trajan. Buy fifty-inch LCD all'ipercoop Afragola, a navigation system for the Smart, the Dolby 5.1 and turn up the volume on the boss of bosses. Decided to do a robbery at Via Luca Giordano, decides to make a machine via Cilea, decides to make a SH from under a girl's Square Arenella. Living in San Giovanni in Teduccio, Via Stadera to Materdei in Rione De Gasperi, the Gescal, all'Inacasa, the one hundred sixty-seven. Go on a pilgrimage to Our Lady of the arc, walk with a banner hanging with the notes, Padre Pio pray before making a murder. Who are these traffic lights with brown face, why do not you go home. You do not go by them to wash his windows. Have the money to the merchants in your neighborhood for the lights, carpets, poinsettias, for the families of prisoners, for those of the system, for Madonna, junkies, say you send o'Russ Antonio, Genna or 'Criminal, Pasquale Bum Bum. Get your cocks, do not look people in the street, do not stop if you see one on the ground, beware of those who walk behind you, look at his watch, cell phone, purse, car, glasses, do you make a phone call when your girls fall at home because you are worried. Buy a stolen watch, a cell phone stolen, a stolen purse, a laptop stolen. They've got a truckload of Nike, a truckload of cameras, a truckload of sunglasses. On the way there are waste of three weeks. There are more mice that flies. Since this morning the police helicopter is over the bronx of St. John the fuck they want. Disabled fake, fake employees of the gas, the fake police checkpoint, fake handbags, film pezzotti, smuggled cigarettes, Barbie Pezzotti. I'll wait outside the club, outside school, outside the stadium. Go to harass ricchioni Gianturco, the black under the bridge of the burglary, the Polish out of the Mercedes. Ne'è if your father went with a Polish woman who was standing at the rail if you meet the kill.

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SUNDAY AFTERNOON Luca Money

Forget the cards,
is saved in the room with the closet light wood, a picture of last summer and that rocks all sitting around the table, the sun on the deck, call Fidelio call me now that I have time the balcony and half in and half out is cool, summer is Fidelio, is a song we heard together, but then you made me understand that one must choose, that the reef is far remained unchanged, that is me change, however, those ants that incessant drive out, clapping to the phrase shock to the phrase new to old music that kidneys to want to rest, tell me how you have Fidelio, for years now I understand it, and it's Sunday afternoon, as it has never been in those shutters we hide you and me my friend ... a quiet and armchair the framework of the swimmers, I poured a glass of whiskey with no ice and warnings and I hope to be surprised and stunned, and you tell people reverberations small ravines and plastic tubs solo while the others all the others have fun with blonde hair, after I come I, too, because I do not believe the summer is long and there is room for everyone, for your winning smile. It explained to me, to all who look at your last show

The refrain goes up the sun and the case file all my open questions that remain sharp and consciousness in

not clash Fidelio, and the other time you trusted your friend

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The wonderful evening.
The stage of Shea Stadium in New York before us is immense and there are fifty thousand people waiting to hear you play. The sight and the screams are coming the goose bumps. But something is wrong, the band does not turn black and I'm pissed off. Joe Strummer and Mick Jones is mad as hens peck, Paul Simonon is sitting on the sidelines and they forgot about everything and Topper Headon, as usual, is doped up to heroin.
Here goes all to hell. But the Clash
me motherfuckers, mettetevelo that into your head and if tonight does not sound like God intended, I jumped off the stage to kick ass.
Strap on my trusty telecaster, the volume is at maximum. The other finalists are placed in their place, waiting for a sign from me to begin with. Ugly bitches, I'll deal with you after the concert.
You go on stage and start with Should I Stay Or Should I Go, are only two chords, but the riff that comes out is a devastating punch to the stomach. This piece, a little 'mods and a little' punk, does raise the dead and it is best to open the evening.

... Darling you gotta let me know Should I Stay Or Should I go ...?

The crowd is delirious, better than that we could not start. We do well in with picks and other people will not save. Jump and run like a man possessed and with my guitar Sferro blows to right and left.

... This indecisions bugging me Esta undecision me molesta ...

The stadium has run on fire. I sweat and spit blood on the public anger and vomiting all my adrenaline. Under the stage pogano which is a beauty. I'm the king of rock'n roll I'm in charge here and I want to see you busting, beat the living daylights and fell to the ground bleeding, because that's how it's done.

... Me tienes que desir Should I cool it or should i blow? ...

The piece is finished. The ovation from the crowd splits the eardrums of most of our decibel marshall but while I enjoy the moment, the door of my room opens. The door is the huge figure of my father in his underwear and tank top, her mouth is smeared with sauce and the look of one who hath been poisoned angry and left the table while he was eating. I remain petrified with fear. Approaching at a slow pace and with a face that does not bode well. Reach out exaggerated the size, I close my eyes instantly. I hear the stereo volume drop and when I open my eyes I find him to ten inches from me. Pants from his nose like a bull at the bullfight.

He goes slamming the door. The room shakes under a fifth of the earthquake on the Richter scale and the shelves fall knickknacks and furnishings. Immediately turn off the stereo when he does that because it is better not upset. I take the disc from the dish with extreme care and put it in a cardboard case, this bootleg of the concert of The Clash at Shea Stadium has cost me a fortune but it was worth it. But tomorrow, I put on The Song Remain The Same, the live Led Zeppelin, then braced my legendary Gibson Les Paul, and so let's see who the fag that hangs on me and Jimmy Page.
Yes, I just want to see.

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MATURE AT A TIME OF CALABRIA Dario Cioffi

Month of July, the last decade, fish out the exact date when it would be a difficult task but since I know that without knowing how to sleep tonight anyway, and go over flyover. Twelve students, recent graduates, all at the "magic" high school "Francesco Severi" in Salerno (fifth class Q, due to stress), they decide to celebrate with a week's holiday in a resort now consecrated its maturity. To them (ie us) are in addition two loved "intruders": Flavio, Gabriella's boyfriend at the time (one of three women to our result and the person so dear to me), and Amedeo (for all "the Mesali" - which translates in Italian means "tablecloth" Kitchen - affibbiatogli nickname so that it is simplistic to define genius by a policeman in front of the stage "Arechi" after a search of his backpack before a game of Salerno, who had emerged from the bottom of the bag by Amedeo something like 4:00 to 5:00 sandwiches - for 90 'match seemed to be enough). That trip to Calabria, to which I was thinking from almost two years, was really an exciting, exhilarating, funny, like much of that unforgettable five years experience in high school. Before departure
organize rooms, dividing them into three apartments. The first, for the three girls: the above mentioned Gabriella, Maria (called "the law "for his frequent references in case law, needless to say today is that university faculty members ...) and Alessandra, nice and quiet girl who - back - I can say that if he had lived a little 'not far from our" ditch "school would be certainly been appreciated more. Second apartment, and here I was not able - with the few lines that I have - all the way to render justice to the complexity of the characters. I try. In all there are bungalows: Virginia (nicknamed the "big head", my "colleague" of representative institution in the last year of school, his world Only one copy has been made - and thank goodness! - Do not forget his name because we shall return later), Enzo (at first glance seems to be "the eternal discontent," the man who does not give you ever reason, but knows that if you die with laughter inspired), George (" the Pompele ", this is his last name, is the faithful partner Enzo, the most seraphic and quiet ... except when it begins to practice his favorite sport drink!), John (known as" the accountant "for clothing never out of place, the more so perhaps, the evolution of his personality has been in Rossini's time, a growing boy, generous and always available) and the already mentioned Flavio (nicknamed "Abu" for the darkest complexion and the fact that the excellent Gabry called him to report to bring your bags miss Flavio, excellent dancer of Latin American and stuff - I'm too novice to enter in detail -, was really a slave to the dark continent). And here, finally, we come to my room. As always, the most numerous: a "five-fold with an extra bed," meaning invented by us, of course. The group consists of: Darius (my namesake and "big brother" acquired, a "gentle giant" of one meter and ninety one hundred and thirty pounds - today perhaps something more - life is water polo, where applicable, the body-guard and has a passion for the Armed Forces, although it has decided that there will never), Antonio (another brother to me, a classmate since high school as well as "backyard" living in the same building, harsh nature only in appearance, in reality a well of surprises and fun for a few years we have dubbed "the storyteller" for his ability to invent credibilissime stories never have occurred, is now the police officer), then there is Carmine ("the Gypsy happy," one who does not want to bother or want to receive, live content with small things, a little 'old' in ways of doing but when he is with us is a "pariata"); again, Mario's (the "Saggese," by name, another character of rare reproducibility, more friendly and helpful of a missionary, only flaw is a bit ' general knowledge, especially geography), the aforementioned Mesali (born Amedeo) and finally myself.
So much for the rooms, designed to meet the needs of all. Locally, of course, would then become of everything but do not foresee it as a journey of eighteen neo-mature?! For example, Antonio and Mesali would be slapped on some cookies (in anticipation of what would have been so blatant in a few months a scene is emblematic of the 2003 edition of Big Brother), Enzo would have criticized the fact that Flavio is bought with money plums of EU expenditure, while Dario - to 18.30 every day -, slightly ahead of the common habits of humans, would begin to show signs of imbalance prematurely urging everyone to leave the beach to the battle cry: "Teng 'hungry ... I to Agios kitchen." How wonderful! But it's not the facts themselves, succeeded during our stay at the village, "Little Chief" of Capo Rizzuto, I cared about. Rather, I want to tell you about our trip. And what a trip! Depart on Friday night, two hours from Salerno train station. By train, of course. The licenses are still few and then, honestly, what my father would never hand a child a car that goes on a "place of no return?". At the station, a cure all, there is Mr. Sergio, the father of Darion - Railway Police officer - a person who would be able to make you feel safe even late at night in the alleys of the English Districts Naples. The son, physically, it took from him! I think you get the idea. Virginia, as is normal, is the most dependent of all: he himself with the inevitable "bonghetto" - he is an extraordinary percussionist - and a good dose other "sciartapelle" (so called in our part of the items "futile") as established style. We all feel a bit 'excited for us is a bit' as a first - or maybe, who knows, the last - day of school. The charm, however, breaks down quickly. When we get on the train, in fact, on board ahead of several hundred people, thrown on the floor in the corridors as refugees who are consuming a long agony. We intend to immediately, in short, that it would be just really a true "journey of hope." But what a trip! At first, in vain, looking for a place in the compartments, walking along a couple of coaches. What a tragedy! Fortunately we have something to be happy to climb into the chair because it is now my friend Mesali, which is known to us for a little problem that plagues: he does not see much good. So, banging around in his duffel bag adapted Arena, the Mesali ends up not noticing a man - but I play all nationalities unknown sull'indiana - who was blissfully dozing, stretched out along the corridor. Amedeo (Mesali is always, do not forget) before the trampling a couple of times, then after having suddenly awakened from sleep, slams the suitcase in the face. Why? Because while we are all divided between laughter and shame watching in the face of the poor Indian, Amadeus has not yet noticed anything at all and will be undeterred in its devastating march, stepping over another "alleged" Indian, luckily for him less sleepy than the last. Long live the "level playing field"! In 5:00 to 6:00, we lurk in the only free corner of the train before the bathroom. Our women find refuge in one compartment - magic of being "female" -; Virginio shrivels in the corridor clutching his bonghetto miss was a weanling son, Flavio "will pump" of Latin music and Enzo is a constant complaining against everything and everyone. We, in front of our bathroom, we begin our favorite sport: "Make revolution" someone. I "bresuott" name that defines the Calabrian Darion, are favorite targets. Mesali Meanwhile, lurking right in front of the door that gives access to the bathroom, is ill-treated by passengers who collide on time to go for their needs before the diabolical mind of Antonio gives birth the most brilliant idea of \u200b\u200bthe night before billboard posted the door marked "bathroom out of service" and the comings and goings of people who disturb our peace to go to pee just becomes an ancient memory. Brilliant. The journey is exhausting physically speaking, the bags are our pillows of luck but between continuous and endless jokes Laughter also the dawn of the windows is made of silver (that's Baglioni, Dario not Cioffi) and our goal seems ever closer. The train, stop after stop, it gradually displaced. We come together making a bad night's mini-budget passed in the ground, then the speaker announces our arrival. In the shuttle train from the village we levy - a cost I seem to remember salty - and lead us to the destination. Are 8.30 in the morning, for delivery in the rooms so we still have to wait, so better to put your luggage and immediately plunge in the pool: "So, at least, we rinsed well ..." - so spoke Darion.

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by an interview with Vania Castelfranchi (Marianna Tomasi - 2003)

How did Elish?

I do not want to dwell much on Elish. I think that talking about an RPG is like telling a show or a movie: the dissection of a corpse, the stuffed animal. You can describe each bristle of hair, every internal organ, even the emotion that gave the movement of its tail, but the anatomy of a body is not the body and do not reproduce the complexity.

I'm a big supporter of the theories Artaudian and I can not help but feel a sense of nausea in the synthesis of complex systems and rhizomatic (from Rizoma Deleuze and Guattari) as those behind the structures of a stage direction or role-playing game.
For many it will seem a way to exaggerate the importance of role-playing games and giving him a magnified this value because the market of the Italian game has devalued the role-playing games (behind the same old, boring and old logic of money) to sales brochures continues, forms, manuals, miniatures, various gadgets. No. The role-playing games are a lot more and should benefit not only more famous but a higher development and a critical eye.
In Italy there are few researchers of the game, few scholars writing interesting and very rare.
Elish born as a gamble, a kind of scream to give a jolt to an environment a bit 'slow and stagnant.

The market, embody one of the many arms of kraken, Power / Violence / Oppression, generating less and less dynamic in the sense of Dionysian rituals and rites increasingly leaned toward Apollonian, routine, restorers, it soon ensnared the role-playing game in a logic of addiction, not creation.

Like a perverse reading of the method of Moreno, instead of stimulating the "healthier side" to create fantastic new tools and give yourself the opportunity to create the mirrors, the objects of care and refraction of themselves, the sense was reversed, the role-playing game has turned the paper and the king has become the "mad-merchant."
The player is no longer a demiurge, can only create within the limits set by the manual as well, violent wave of creative energy, continually asking new writings, adventures cooked, expanded rules and expansions. I do not mean a game without rules, speak of a pervert play, where the rules are created not to protect the internal dynamics and space / time of the game, but just to sell more, only to be improved or expanded.
is happening to role play what happens to computers that are in their nature require the purchase of new products for use in time, otherwise their progress is blocked by the programs unusable because destabilized by the limits of the market.

"In the beginning there was the dragon 'returns the cover of the first manual Dungeons & Dragons . When the audience rose, swelled like a tidal wave ready to break free, a wise move would be to give away all, to communicate, "you go ahead, invented the innovations of our game, this is just an idea! "but the market has begun to reverse the logic game and has evolved from ludens in" Eraser. "

Thus began the long and endless monologue of the vendors and the Dragon has also become Gargoyle (expansion expert of Dungeons & Dragons ), then Beholder and so on according to other variants.

Today, every role-playing game owns not less than 50 expansions of each type (regulatory, scenery, environment) to feed the rounds of money-market role-playing game .

Elish wanted to break the wave and, as a small or tiny, he succeeded. The great role-playing game in Italy, those who studied and talked about it for some time as Luca Giuliano, Piermaria Marazziti, Andrea Angie, Beniamino Sidoti (to name a few, those with whom we have had more contact), they turned and watched with the raised eyebrow, a bit 'annoyed and very interested, this tiny entity.

Elish was simply self-handling, infinitesimal in the market complex role-playing game, a book that contained a way to play existing in Italy, but of which we spoke and wrote little. The regulation stated: "We publish very little, we will not make major expansions or more! Therefore appropriate for these pages and invent, experiment, feel free to create. "
It was not a real innovation or revolution, but there never was a gesture so visible, political, declared and practiced in a manner so direct.
Mille games pushed the game to wide fame, to a second corrected edition, selling over 1200 copies, the output of the second volume, but all materials published by Elish have always been tied to the desire for independence. There is no true submission
between authors and players, each player Elish creates new races and new lands, he became the author! It is so ridonava

authority and power of independence to users. The player took over the reins of an "artistic direction" of your imaginary world.

Elish conceived evolution of the sectarian world of games. The market (again, damn!) Had not used the players to be amateurs, but connoisseurs of deep manuals, books, fields of fantasy.

was born the ghostly figure of the Nerd (remember the movie), the loser in life who throws himself on the imaginary (with dependence) of comics, games or hobbies and there lies his redemption and his happiness, but He was not born in no soundness, no care for their illnesses, there is instead the divertissement the game as a hobby and distraction from the real.

power, as Dario For often says in his writings, he loves that kind of joke very Apollonian, linked to the joke, entertainment (more or less cultural), which precisely distracts for a while 'time from the problems and suggests joyfully. A pause. The deep as if there is no sense of pause, it is rather defined as a different breath on reality and all the joy that you can try to live it in is given a taste of knowledge, from a rite of training and socialization. Happiness is not a distraction, even to concentrate and form new bonds with a lot himself and with the outside.

Elish therefore declared that the doors were wide open, that the role play was wide open to all and gave us practical reason (as he loved to experiment Moreno). We took the gaming tables of improvised spontaneous and immediate role in the public gardens, schools, involving people of all ages, even in the subway. Everyone was playing. This was and is Elish.

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to read the full interview click here .

soon with the Good News of the Clan

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July issue

you ready for the July issue of our blog, vote, comment, this showcase is for you readers and make it what you want.
remind all that is now in the library's book Gianfranco Martian "Inferno", the last publication of To the east of the equator.