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CRRack... went the thunder as the lights flickered briefly. Rain pelted the windows as if thrown sideways. On the news they were saying that tonight they'd feel the full force of the nor'easter heading up the coast. The wind seemed to claw at the siding and windows as if alive, and desperate to enter. Rudy's ears echoed with the whistling through crevices too small to see, now opening under the relentless lash of near-hurricane gusts. Tonight would not work for editing, he thought, pulling off his headphones and flicking off his Audio Sonicysm technology.
Rudy stepped from the recording studio, turning on the lamp at his desk. Perhaps tonight was a writing night. As he booted up the laptop, his focus fell upon the shelf of books. His childhood was between those covers. In the darkness of the room, with steady assault of the storm fueling his nostalgia, he stood. Cracked spines were all that was left of some of these, their titles almost indecipherable. Times had changed. There was a period in his life when nights like these he would have seen him writing, still writing, but not for podcasts. Working on a favorite hobby is still working. No, nights like these were perfect for writing campaigns. Nothing fuels building dungeons, tombs, and villains quite like the rain. Its pelting persistence stimulates that dark gene that seems to run in GMs. Rudy reached out to run a hand across the spines. Truly, he thought, the best villains are like storms: terrifying, relentless, and beautiful. As if being summoned, a flood of light filled the room, the very air shook, and Rudy...slipped.
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