davywavy | GenCon UK

Every year, some chums and I get together and run various jolly games at GenCon. I've definitely got better at writing and running as the years have gone by; "Bad Moon Risen", my first real effort, sucked totally, whilst some later efforts, such as "Hurrah for Saint Custards!", "Mars or Bust!", and "The going down of the Sun" have been much more positively received.
There's been a lot of to-and-fro-ing about GenCon this year, and a lot of my chums aren't going. Hopefully a lot of you are going (or might be persuadable), because I think we've got some crackers lined up: "Things to do in Bognor when you're dead", a thrilling Vampire: the Requiem LARP, "The League of Ornery Gentlemen", a tale of farce and horror in the Old West, and

sesquipedality shall be introducing something Babylon-5-y.

All well and good; a solid lineup you might think, but there's more.
I went to the pub with Marc Torley on Friday night and after a few pints and half an hour watching the girls on the dancefloor like the letcherous pair we are, we suddenly had an idea.

And I think it's one of the finest we've had.

The Prime Minister normally hated these meetings. No matter how pressing the affairs of State, he would always sit in his office with a worried ear half-cocked in case the small portrait in the corner coughed and announced the imminent arrival of the Minister of Magic. Not so tonight. Tonight he was sitting in his plush leather armchair with an expectant air, and he was struggling to keep his face composed into what might be deemed an expression of polite welcome. If you had been listening closely, you might have occasionally heard him stifle a guffaw of laughter.
Suddenly a great burst of green flame exploded from within the fireplace and in the middle of it, spinning like a top, could be seen the figure of a portly man in tweed robes appearing from nowhere. The Minister for Magic strode briskly out of the fireplace, brushing ash from his shoulder, and stood in front of the Prime Minister's desk.
"Prime Minister", he began. "I am unaccustomed to being summoned in such a peremptory way?"
The Prime Minister shrugged, dismissively. "I'm afraid it was necessary", he said. "Something has...come up."
Something in the Prime Minister's tone made the Minister for Magic look at him harder. "What?" He asked.
"There has been a...catastrophic...bureaucratic error at the Ministry for Education and it seems that as a result, your people shall be having some new students this year." The Prime Minister dug into one of the many drawers in his desk and pulled out a file more than five inches thick, which he thumped onto his desk.
The Minister for magic bent over the file and read the opening page. He looked up, sharply. Suddenly he was pale, and beads of sweat stood out on his brow. "You can't mean this!"
"Oh, but I do, Minsiter."
"But...Prime Minister. We have problems to deal with. Werewolves. An invasion of Giants. Unauthorised Hexes. You can't mean for us to deal this as well?"
The Prime Minsiter sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "I'm afraid it's out of my hands, Minister. Nothing I can do."
"But...not them"
"I'm afraid so, Minister." The Prime Minsiter tried to sound sympathetic, and failed. "I'm afraid so."

Millennium Moon presents:
"The Belles of Saint Hogwarts"
By Marc Torley
Being a sequel, of sorts, to the infamous "Hurrah for Saint Custards!"