R woke and lit his trusty old oil lamp. He pulled a pint of milk out of his refrigerator and took a big swig. He then picked up his thick rain coat off of the floor, zipped it to his scruffy chin, made sure to load his pair of pistols and place them in his pockets, and pushed open his heavy wooden back door. A wet, chilly puff of air hit him. He figured that it could get him sick, going out in the cold air so early every day, but he didn’t mind. Even a nasty flu bug couldn’t keep R from doing what he loved. He lit the tip of a cigarette carefully, with calloused, yet careful hands. He took a puff, then stood for a moment, admiring his beautiful collection. His neighbors, that nitwit the clown especially, despised his collection. They thought that it was just junk. They couldn’t see it quite the way he did. R didn’t care if they liked what he chose to do with his life or not. The clown was up on the second floor of its home, looking at him from behind a partly closed curtain, he just felt it, he didn’t need to look to know. He bent to lift a basket from the garden. The world worked in an infinite number of ways, similar, as he liked to think, to the way the material was weaved in and out and through each other to create a basket. All things were in sync with all other things. He liked that, infinity. The thought that infinity could never end pleased him. A dark shape flit around among his things. A crow. It began to fly, taking off toward the east, where he would soon be heading as well, to search for more things to add to his collection. He felt a nip of icy wind, and started to count his items. Seven, thirteen, forty, fifty-six, sixty-eight. Sixty-eight unique items fit for a king. He picked some lint off of his jeans. A nice blue tint reflected off of the river and washed over his garden. Beautiful. He set off in the direction of the cliffs. It would take fifty minutes or so to get there, but he was used to walking, and even if he added nothing new to his collection, it was okay. R never minded. The view could lift his spirits all on its own.


The scavenger lives on Noman Way, with his back to the river.

The scavenger catches the debris that floats past in the river, and occasionally hooks larger items over the sea cliffs that are at the eastern edge of the estate.

Much of what he/she collects ends up in his/her garden (much to the disgust of the immediate neighbours, the clown - move 13 - and the mystic - move 15).

The scavenger is interested in the patterns amongst the items discovered. He/she has some interesting theories about the Estate and the world it is in.