"Get off the computer and let's play something," I told the boy when I got home from work.
He spun around in his chair. "How bout Minecraft?" he said.
I gave him a 'dad' look. He gave me a pouty ten year old look.
"Get off the computer and stare at the wall then. Just get off the computer. You'll go blind and sterile. We could go play soccer."
"Nah."
"Munchkin?"
"Nah."
"Castle Ravenloft?"
"Nah."
"Sorry Sliders?"
"Nah"
"R2D2 Trouble?"
"Nah?"
"Forbidden Island?"
"Nah."
"Zombie Dice?
"Nah."
I checked to see if my son had turned into the Aflac goat. Not quite. Horns, but no beard yet.
"How about Small World?" he asked.
I blinked. Small World - the game that had sat languishing on the dresser since Christmas morning. The boy had shied away from it as if it was a cootie-filled girl dressed all in pink.
"Um . . ." I still hadn't finished reading the rules. There was a lot of rules. It seemed like a pretty complicated game. I wasn't sure that I could pull it off and make it enjoyable for him. If I showed one second of unsureness - WHAM - he'd be all over me like stink on a dog and he'd never want to give the game another chance. Crap.
"Sure!" I said. Sometimes you have to stuff your our neuroses down into the pit where you keep your childhood fear of Aunt Sandra and that whole striped sock fetish thing. "But I don't know all the rules yet, so I'll read them out loud as we go. Okay?"
"Okay," he smiled.
The game turned out about 500 times easier than I had thought. You've got all of these fantasy races on a world that is too small for them - so they are fighting it out one chunk of land at a time. Races have their own powers - like Trolls attack really well from mountains. But then the races get a random attribute - like Flying, so they are not forced to only attack adjacent land, but can go attack anywhere on the map.
The two of us picked up the game really quickly. There are some weird things, like when your race gets spread to thin, you can put it into 'decline' mode and go get another race to continue your conquest. Each race and ability offers a lot of options and tricks - if you use them right. Each bit of land you hold generates money for you, and at the end of the game, the player with the most victory coins wins.
The boy went first, paying top dollar for Berserk Dwarves. I went for the cheapo Spirit Trolls. The Beserk Dwarves ate up a lot of ground, while my spirit Trolls attempted to make a mountain empire. We stayed on opposite sides of the board, not fighting one another. At first, I wasn't sure how to do that anyway. But then about at the same time, we realized that we had extended our armies to the breaking point. There was really nothing to do but set the races into decline and pull out new ones.
Setting the races into decline keeps the land on your side, generating money, but not as much as it would have if they were not in decline. Again the boy paid top dollar - this time for Seafaring Skeletons. I grabbed the cheapo Diplomatic Halflings. Those skeletons were wicked. Since they were seafaring, they could grab lakes and seas where no other army could. And the were freaking undead, so they could generate extra troops if they conquered lands with creatures in them. Geez. My Halfling spent their wad pretty quickly, and I was overextended.
But my Trolls had been Spirit Trolls, meaning that they could stay in decline longer than any other race. So I popped my halflings into decline, kept my Trolls in decline, and grabbed some Heroic Humans. In the end, because of the trolls, I generated more victory coins that the boy did, and won. Boo-yah!
It will probably be the last time I win, so I best revel in it.
One thing I really liked about the game is that it doesn't take itself too seriously. Its all funny and goofy - and the boy didn't get upset when he lost. Other battle-type games have set him on edge before. This was light and fun and we are both looking forward to play again. I just need to go over those rules again to see what I messed up on. :)
Four thumbs up!
- Ark
Monday, April 11, 2011
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Poison
The party was recuperating in the ruins of the temple above the dungeon again. They had been fighting a room full of gelatinous cubes - slowly - over a period of a week. Suddenly, Tim's crazy elf, who was on watch duty, heard grunting sounds. He quickly woke everyone else and they went outside to take a look.
Crouched behind boulders, they saw eight orcs sniffing around - perhaps for truffles. The PCs were nervous since they were no match for such a large contingent, but the party had careful canvased the area with snares the day before. Luck was on their side as seven of the eight orcs sailed into the air, cursing and dangling upside-down like pinatas.
The players smiled. This would be a breeze - but they had to act quickly. The orcs could break free very easily. Ron's dwarf assassin jumped up. This was Ron's second dwarf assassin, as the first had recently been eaten by a dragon. He pulled out a dagger that had been carefully coated with the venom of a giant spider and threw it at one of the dangling orcs.
Ron rolled a 1.
As a DM, I see critical fumbles as the universe's way of informing me that it is now time to be a dick.
"Hmm, roll an attack on yourself."
He sighed and rolled the d20. It came up 20.
"Ouch, full damage," I blinked. Ron stared at me, and continued to stare, as if I was forgetting something.
I suddenly remembered. "Oh crap. Save vs. Poison." I searched my mind for what type of poison. It was save or die.
He failed.
"Um, okay," I took a deep breath. "You throw the dagger and it lodges into your foot. You clutch at your chest, make a death rattle, and fall down on the ground, dead."
Ron calmly slid his character sheet under his folder, pull out a piece of notebook paper, and began rolling six-siders.
Tim pulled his jaw back to it's closed and upright position, looked at me, and busted out laughing.
I try really hard in my life not to upset anyone unduly or pick on people or make them feel bad. However, I am human. I laughed.
The whole group began to laugh uncontrollably until our sides hurt. All except Ron, who finished rolling up his new character.
"I'm sorry," I apologized to Ron, trying to control myself. "What is this new character going to be?"
"Another dwarf assassin, of course." he smiled.
"Hopefully the third time would be a charm." We all cracked up again.
When we all calmed down, I described the situation again.
"We are so screwed," Tim shook his head, the smile fading from his lips. "I run."
- Ark
Crouched behind boulders, they saw eight orcs sniffing around - perhaps for truffles. The PCs were nervous since they were no match for such a large contingent, but the party had careful canvased the area with snares the day before. Luck was on their side as seven of the eight orcs sailed into the air, cursing and dangling upside-down like pinatas.
The players smiled. This would be a breeze - but they had to act quickly. The orcs could break free very easily. Ron's dwarf assassin jumped up. This was Ron's second dwarf assassin, as the first had recently been eaten by a dragon. He pulled out a dagger that had been carefully coated with the venom of a giant spider and threw it at one of the dangling orcs.
Ron rolled a 1.
As a DM, I see critical fumbles as the universe's way of informing me that it is now time to be a dick.
"Hmm, roll an attack on yourself."
He sighed and rolled the d20. It came up 20.
"Ouch, full damage," I blinked. Ron stared at me, and continued to stare, as if I was forgetting something.
I suddenly remembered. "Oh crap. Save vs. Poison." I searched my mind for what type of poison. It was save or die.
He failed.
"Um, okay," I took a deep breath. "You throw the dagger and it lodges into your foot. You clutch at your chest, make a death rattle, and fall down on the ground, dead."
Ron calmly slid his character sheet under his folder, pull out a piece of notebook paper, and began rolling six-siders.
Tim pulled his jaw back to it's closed and upright position, looked at me, and busted out laughing.
I try really hard in my life not to upset anyone unduly or pick on people or make them feel bad. However, I am human. I laughed.
The whole group began to laugh uncontrollably until our sides hurt. All except Ron, who finished rolling up his new character.
"I'm sorry," I apologized to Ron, trying to control myself. "What is this new character going to be?"
"Another dwarf assassin, of course." he smiled.
"Hopefully the third time would be a charm." We all cracked up again.
When we all calmed down, I described the situation again.
"We are so screwed," Tim shook his head, the smile fading from his lips. "I run."
- Ark
Friday, April 8, 2011
The Croucher
Are you tired of dragging the characters through dungeons already? Maybe it's time to clean house . . .
The Croucher
No. Enc.: 1-12
Alignment: Chaotic (evil)
Movement: 60' (20')
Fly: 180' (60')
Armor Class: 4
Hit Dice: 2
Attacks: 1 (drain)
Damage: 1d3 (special)
Save: F3
Morale: 10
Hoard Class: None
XP: 56
The Croucher, or Rabisu, is a demonic spirit that occupies the houses of the living. They can be found at the thresholds of doors and in dark corners, waiting to pounce on the unwary. They enjoy scaring people and their pets.
During the night, they will sneak into the rooms of children and siphon off their life energy, causing horrific nightmares and bed-wetting. They can use this life-stealing ability on adults, but usually only when cornered. The Croucher gains as many hit points as is drained from the victim.
In their natural state, the Croucher is invisible. Throwing salt onto the spirit will cause it to become visible for 1-4 rounds.
Oftentimes, Crouchers will be found in groups, each infesting a different part of a house and not interacting with one another. However, if one of their kind if assaulted, the will swarm the attackers and attempt to drain them of life.
The creatures may be turned by clerics, but for such purposes they are considered to be Infernal. Crouchers brought to zero hit points will disappear, but reappear 1-8 days later. The only way to permanently rid a structure of Crouchers is for a cleric to perform a ritual cleansing of the house after 'killing' them all, which involves lighting every corner of the house and throwing a loud, raucous party with plenty of joke telling and laughter.
Based on the Croucher, page 183 of A Field Guide to Demons, Fairies, Fallen Angels, and Other Subversive Spirits, by Carol K. Mack and Dinah Mack.
- Ark
The Croucher
No. Enc.: 1-12
Alignment: Chaotic (evil)
Movement: 60' (20')
Fly: 180' (60')
Armor Class: 4
Hit Dice: 2
Attacks: 1 (drain)
Damage: 1d3 (special)
Save: F3
Morale: 10
Hoard Class: None
XP: 56
The Croucher, or Rabisu, is a demonic spirit that occupies the houses of the living. They can be found at the thresholds of doors and in dark corners, waiting to pounce on the unwary. They enjoy scaring people and their pets.
During the night, they will sneak into the rooms of children and siphon off their life energy, causing horrific nightmares and bed-wetting. They can use this life-stealing ability on adults, but usually only when cornered. The Croucher gains as many hit points as is drained from the victim.
In their natural state, the Croucher is invisible. Throwing salt onto the spirit will cause it to become visible for 1-4 rounds.
Oftentimes, Crouchers will be found in groups, each infesting a different part of a house and not interacting with one another. However, if one of their kind if assaulted, the will swarm the attackers and attempt to drain them of life.
The creatures may be turned by clerics, but for such purposes they are considered to be Infernal. Crouchers brought to zero hit points will disappear, but reappear 1-8 days later. The only way to permanently rid a structure of Crouchers is for a cleric to perform a ritual cleansing of the house after 'killing' them all, which involves lighting every corner of the house and throwing a loud, raucous party with plenty of joke telling and laughter.
Based on the Croucher, page 183 of A Field Guide to Demons, Fairies, Fallen Angels, and Other Subversive Spirits, by Carol K. Mack and Dinah Mack.
- Ark
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Thoomp Thoomp Thoomp
The party spent the night in the ruins above the dungeon, nursing their wounds and preparing for their journey back to the Keep. The two retainers - a magic user and cleric - had angrily quit the group, but agreed to travel with them through the wilderness for mutual protection. This was their first dungeon together and things had not gone well, but they had all survived.
A few hours into their journey, as they passed through a clearing in the forest, the party heard a loud 'thoomp thoomp thoomp' sound in the distance, emanating from the treeline beyond their line of sight . . .
As I began to design my campaign world for Labyrinth Lord, I drew large scale maps and painted out a history and cultures and jotted down all manner of ideas for adventure. I focused in on the maps, drawing more detail and went more in-depth about the cultures and lands.
Then I abruptly stopped.
For thirty years I have reveled in world creation, from top to bottom, bottom to top, side to side - what have you. World creation is a love. But something happened in my brain. Re-reading the classic rules, devouring old school blogs, and listening deep in my heart - I couldn't do it. I had to stop. I began to hunger for something that only happened occasionally - something that was never planned - the excitement of what happens when the players go off the map.
At those points, I got to improvise. I got to fly by the seat of my pants. I got to pull crazy shit out of my ass. During those times, I was much more willing to let the players come up with crazy ass shit that had deep impact, not only on the game, but in the campaign universe itself.
I realized, suddenly, that it was there all along - in the rules. Random tables all over the place. Monsters, dungeons, treasure, even harlots. Crazy stuff to keep the DM on his or her toes just as much as the players.
I'm going to rag on 4e now. To feel like I was 'doing it right,' I had to prep 4e, and prep it hard. Every adventure, I had to set up encounters that were balanced. I had to understand in detail the intricacies of the fighting abilities of each monster and how they would act as a unit. I could usually only offer the players a hand full of path options during a night as getting off track screwed up all of the planning and balance. Sure, you can run 4e loosey-goosey - but it never felt right. I never could pull it off.
But oooh boy, it's not like that in the old school.
NO PREP. I don't have to think of a single thing before hand. I can randomize just about every part of the game, and it flows smooth like butter. Of course, It's hard not to think about things, come up with horrific trap ideas, fearsome beasts, and bizarre NPCs - but I can slap all of that into tables and surprise myself with the combination, no matter how off balance they are.
As the party travelled, I rolled that a wilderness encounter would happen. I flipped to page 105 in Labyrinth Lord and looked on the Forest/Wooded Column under the Wilderness Monster Encounter Table. Dan says right there above it, 'The Labyrinth Lord will have to adjust encounters to fit the particular environment and level of the PCs. Further, this table should only be considered an example."
No . . . I like those tables for this section of my wilderness. They are all over the place. Scripting an encounter and carefully measuring it and balancing it is something I'm quite sick of. Dan has wonderful tables. Don't let him talk you out of using them.
I rolled a d20. It came up as a 7. Green dragon.
"A green dragon whooshes over your heads. It's neck cranes, pointing it's beady little eyes back at your party and with a flick of it's wings, it cartwheels in the sky, lining up for an attack run."
The three players stared at me.
"So how young is it? Juvenile? A hatchling?" one player asked, used to the age ranks of dragons in 4e.
I shrugged. "It's a dragon - the first one you've ever seen. Set down the die. There is no skill check. You have no idea how old it is, but it's big - about 30 feet long.
I saw numbers flash by in the player's eyes as they determined what the mini of the beast would look like. Worry set in quickly.
"I run." they all said. They scattered in different directions towards the trees.
It was glorious. Some back story is needed here. In two years of playing 4e - these guys never ran from a fight. Sure, once they ran after a fight, just in case. They trusted me to play fair and run things in the spirit of 4e. In most games, they were on an offensive adventure path and had time to reconnoiter - but even when surprised, they trusted the magic of the balance.
Not this time.
The entire game session dealt with the dragon attack and the aftermath. Everyone had a good time, even the poor guy who got killed and had to roll up another character. It was one of the most intense and visceral sessions I've played in a while.
All because I rolled a seven on one of Daniel Proctor's Encounter tables.
- Ark
A few hours into their journey, as they passed through a clearing in the forest, the party heard a loud 'thoomp thoomp thoomp' sound in the distance, emanating from the treeline beyond their line of sight . . .
* * *
As I began to design my campaign world for Labyrinth Lord, I drew large scale maps and painted out a history and cultures and jotted down all manner of ideas for adventure. I focused in on the maps, drawing more detail and went more in-depth about the cultures and lands.
Then I abruptly stopped.
For thirty years I have reveled in world creation, from top to bottom, bottom to top, side to side - what have you. World creation is a love. But something happened in my brain. Re-reading the classic rules, devouring old school blogs, and listening deep in my heart - I couldn't do it. I had to stop. I began to hunger for something that only happened occasionally - something that was never planned - the excitement of what happens when the players go off the map.
At those points, I got to improvise. I got to fly by the seat of my pants. I got to pull crazy shit out of my ass. During those times, I was much more willing to let the players come up with crazy ass shit that had deep impact, not only on the game, but in the campaign universe itself.
I realized, suddenly, that it was there all along - in the rules. Random tables all over the place. Monsters, dungeons, treasure, even harlots. Crazy stuff to keep the DM on his or her toes just as much as the players.
I'm going to rag on 4e now. To feel like I was 'doing it right,' I had to prep 4e, and prep it hard. Every adventure, I had to set up encounters that were balanced. I had to understand in detail the intricacies of the fighting abilities of each monster and how they would act as a unit. I could usually only offer the players a hand full of path options during a night as getting off track screwed up all of the planning and balance. Sure, you can run 4e loosey-goosey - but it never felt right. I never could pull it off.
But oooh boy, it's not like that in the old school.
NO PREP. I don't have to think of a single thing before hand. I can randomize just about every part of the game, and it flows smooth like butter. Of course, It's hard not to think about things, come up with horrific trap ideas, fearsome beasts, and bizarre NPCs - but I can slap all of that into tables and surprise myself with the combination, no matter how off balance they are.
As the party travelled, I rolled that a wilderness encounter would happen. I flipped to page 105 in Labyrinth Lord and looked on the Forest/Wooded Column under the Wilderness Monster Encounter Table. Dan says right there above it, 'The Labyrinth Lord will have to adjust encounters to fit the particular environment and level of the PCs. Further, this table should only be considered an example."
No . . . I like those tables for this section of my wilderness. They are all over the place. Scripting an encounter and carefully measuring it and balancing it is something I'm quite sick of. Dan has wonderful tables. Don't let him talk you out of using them.
I rolled a d20. It came up as a 7. Green dragon.
* * *
"A green dragon whooshes over your heads. It's neck cranes, pointing it's beady little eyes back at your party and with a flick of it's wings, it cartwheels in the sky, lining up for an attack run."
The three players stared at me.
"So how young is it? Juvenile? A hatchling?" one player asked, used to the age ranks of dragons in 4e.
I shrugged. "It's a dragon - the first one you've ever seen. Set down the die. There is no skill check. You have no idea how old it is, but it's big - about 30 feet long.
I saw numbers flash by in the player's eyes as they determined what the mini of the beast would look like. Worry set in quickly.
"I run." they all said. They scattered in different directions towards the trees.
It was glorious. Some back story is needed here. In two years of playing 4e - these guys never ran from a fight. Sure, once they ran after a fight, just in case. They trusted me to play fair and run things in the spirit of 4e. In most games, they were on an offensive adventure path and had time to reconnoiter - but even when surprised, they trusted the magic of the balance.
Not this time.
The entire game session dealt with the dragon attack and the aftermath. Everyone had a good time, even the poor guy who got killed and had to roll up another character. It was one of the most intense and visceral sessions I've played in a while.
All because I rolled a seven on one of Daniel Proctor's Encounter tables.
- Ark
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Jesus Christ vs. Dungeons and Dragons
When I was growing up, my mother was a new-age hippie type - interested in the whole Erich von Däniken, Edgar Cayce, Ruth Montgomery, Charles Berlitz, Rosicrucian, reincarnation, Atlantis, crystal power, and the space jalopy of the gods kind of thing. Catty-corner to us lived my mother's good friend, who was a bona fide pre-'Wicca' witch, armed with incense burners, beaded curtains between doorways, mood rings, a pointy black hat, a real-live crystal ball, blank horoscope quadrant sheets, and a huge map of Middle Earth displayed prominently in the living room.
I loved that map.
My grandmother, on the other hand, was an old time, bible thumping, tent revival, fire and brimstone, speaking in tongues, casting out demons, book burning, rattlesnake handling, warrior for Jesus. Nothing was safe from her cleansing gaze. She found a OUIJA board hidden under my mother's bed once and burned it. My mother was 33 years old, married, with two kids at the time.
While I only saw the lady several times a year, this was apparently enough for her to gauge my personality. My grandmother pronounced me a 'hooligan who would burn for all eternity in hell' at the age of eight. I do not recall what I did to receive such judgment. Perhaps my disembodied head appeared to her in a dream spewing fire. I just don't remember.
Needless to say, Dungeons and Dragons was a huge issue. If she would ever have found my TSR stash, it would have been up in flames faster than the lady could switch from speaking English to speaking in Tongues. She knew I played it. I was a friend of Satan, so obviously, I played it. I had probably even attained the loathsome rank of 'Dungeon Master' in the cabal, she could just never prove it.
The thing I was interested in that she approved of was Star Wars. It was obviously the story of Space Jesus versus Space Satan. That kind of thing was okay. But the Smurfs - no way. Evil. The Smurfs promoted homosexuality, witchcraft, and necrophilia. It was obvious.
I was rather shocked when I discovered that other people began to agree with my grandmother. Kids echoing their parents, mainly.
"If we could play Top Secret, that would be okay, but mom doesn't want me playing D&D. It's a sin."
"My dad says I can't play with you because you play D&D."
"Dinosaur bones are actually whales put together wrong and when you burn D&D dice you can hear the the souls of the damned screaming."
God bless Texas.
So, years later and I'm pulling together a 4e group. The open call brought in a guy who had the potential of being a tad late to the Saturday evening games because of church. Well, that was a new one, but it was a good excuse as 'sorry dude, I just flaked' ever was.
Eventually, his ranger multi-classed into a cleric. I noticed that he never put down a word in the 'Deity' field on his character. He never did pick D&D deity specific powers like you can in 4e, either.
It wasn't hard to figure out what deity his character was worshiping, though he never did say.
I really just wanted to hug the guy and tell him that it was perfectly okay for his character to worship Jesus, and if anyone at the table had an issue with it, I'd give them the smack down. But being a dude, I just watched quietly. He stealthily went around doing clerical things in the background and no one gave him any shit about it. I have no idea if anyone really noticed.
It's funny how life works, isn't it? I'd have let my Grandmother worship Jesus too, if she'd have ever asked.
- Ark
I loved that map.
My grandmother, on the other hand, was an old time, bible thumping, tent revival, fire and brimstone, speaking in tongues, casting out demons, book burning, rattlesnake handling, warrior for Jesus. Nothing was safe from her cleansing gaze. She found a OUIJA board hidden under my mother's bed once and burned it. My mother was 33 years old, married, with two kids at the time.
While I only saw the lady several times a year, this was apparently enough for her to gauge my personality. My grandmother pronounced me a 'hooligan who would burn for all eternity in hell' at the age of eight. I do not recall what I did to receive such judgment. Perhaps my disembodied head appeared to her in a dream spewing fire. I just don't remember.
Needless to say, Dungeons and Dragons was a huge issue. If she would ever have found my TSR stash, it would have been up in flames faster than the lady could switch from speaking English to speaking in Tongues. She knew I played it. I was a friend of Satan, so obviously, I played it. I had probably even attained the loathsome rank of 'Dungeon Master' in the cabal, she could just never prove it.
The thing I was interested in that she approved of was Star Wars. It was obviously the story of Space Jesus versus Space Satan. That kind of thing was okay. But the Smurfs - no way. Evil. The Smurfs promoted homosexuality, witchcraft, and necrophilia. It was obvious.
I was rather shocked when I discovered that other people began to agree with my grandmother. Kids echoing their parents, mainly.
"If we could play Top Secret, that would be okay, but mom doesn't want me playing D&D. It's a sin."
"My dad says I can't play with you because you play D&D."
"Dinosaur bones are actually whales put together wrong and when you burn D&D dice you can hear the the souls of the damned screaming."
God bless Texas.
So, years later and I'm pulling together a 4e group. The open call brought in a guy who had the potential of being a tad late to the Saturday evening games because of church. Well, that was a new one, but it was a good excuse as 'sorry dude, I just flaked' ever was.
Eventually, his ranger multi-classed into a cleric. I noticed that he never put down a word in the 'Deity' field on his character. He never did pick D&D deity specific powers like you can in 4e, either.
It wasn't hard to figure out what deity his character was worshiping, though he never did say.
I really just wanted to hug the guy and tell him that it was perfectly okay for his character to worship Jesus, and if anyone at the table had an issue with it, I'd give them the smack down. But being a dude, I just watched quietly. He stealthily went around doing clerical things in the background and no one gave him any shit about it. I have no idea if anyone really noticed.
It's funny how life works, isn't it? I'd have let my Grandmother worship Jesus too, if she'd have ever asked.
- Ark
Monday, April 4, 2011
What Monster?
The muse has continued flitting about my head. The muse is apparently the Muse of Kindergarten Refrigerator Art, but still, she is a muse, so you have to pay attention when she screams at you to draw something. :)
Enjoy.
- Ark
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Bee!
This has nothing to do with the A-Z Blogging Challenge, though it looks like Mother Nature wants me to participate anyway. Mother Nature is crazy like that.
The Texas afternoon was nice, in the high 80s, and perfect for outside shenanigans. The Boy was off with a friend having fun at the Legoland Discovery Center. The Baby Momma was out sunning in her bikini, and I thought I'd get some sun on my pasty white nerd flesh as well. So sitting in a plastic lawn chair sun-worshipping, I notice something.
There was a noise. My first thoughts were that the wind had picked up and was rustling the leaves in the live oak behind me - a lot. The rustle kept on getting louder. I felt no wind on my skin, however. I tilted my head back to look at the tree.
There were gnats in the air.
Now big clouds of gnats ain't a strange thing round these parts. They happen. If you have to walk through them, you just inhale and dash through the cloud so you don't suck a gnat up your nose. No big deal.
The gnats were hovering above the back yard. The cloud was getting bigger. The gnats were getting bigger. The rustling was accompanied by a buzz that was growing louder and louder by the second.
"Look!" I yelled at the Baby Momma and pointed above us.
"What?" she looked at me, then up.
It suddenly clicked in my head. "Run!"
"What?" she looked back at me.
"Get inside! It's a swarm!" I leaped out of my chair.
She looked back up. "No . . ." Her eyes widened and then we hauled ass inside.
With our noses pressed up against the sliding glass door, we watched the sky dim and the airspace above our house fill with bees. Thousands of bees. Perhaps tens of thousands of bees. It's damn hard to count bees in situations like that, but to properly describe it takes a lot of expletives.
"Look on that branch," she pointed at the live oak. Bees were . . . coagulating . . . on the branch, dangling in strings like some freaky form of bees-laden Christmas tinsel. More and more bees created the bee chains until there was this massive, writhing blob of bees infesting the tree.
I'm still rather stunned by the whole thing.
Lots of internet searches and calls to bee wranglers gave us some information about what had happened. These were perfectly normal Texas honey bees doing what they do. A new queen left a nest, taking about 60% of the old hive's worker bees with her. The swarm decided to use our backyard as a way-point in finding a suitable place to build their permanent hive.
Great.
Multiple experts said they will probably clear off the next day to their new home. One slight problem would be if they discovered holes in our roof or eaves where they could set up shop.
Great.
We coated the eaves with Wasp poison and are hoping for the best.
Of course this lead me to thinking about such an event in game terms. It was freaking scary! But imagine if these were a couple of thousand D&D Giant Killer Bees. Entire villages could be wiped out during a swarm. Imagine a swarm decides that the capital city would be a good place to live. The sewers would probably be an ideal home for the giant bees.
Okay, I think I've thought to much about this. My skin is crawling and I need to go scratch my entire body.
- Ark
The Texas afternoon was nice, in the high 80s, and perfect for outside shenanigans. The Boy was off with a friend having fun at the Legoland Discovery Center. The Baby Momma was out sunning in her bikini, and I thought I'd get some sun on my pasty white nerd flesh as well. So sitting in a plastic lawn chair sun-worshipping, I notice something.
There was a noise. My first thoughts were that the wind had picked up and was rustling the leaves in the live oak behind me - a lot. The rustle kept on getting louder. I felt no wind on my skin, however. I tilted my head back to look at the tree.
There were gnats in the air.
Now big clouds of gnats ain't a strange thing round these parts. They happen. If you have to walk through them, you just inhale and dash through the cloud so you don't suck a gnat up your nose. No big deal.
The gnats were hovering above the back yard. The cloud was getting bigger. The gnats were getting bigger. The rustling was accompanied by a buzz that was growing louder and louder by the second.
"Look!" I yelled at the Baby Momma and pointed above us.
"What?" she looked at me, then up.
It suddenly clicked in my head. "Run!"
"What?" she looked back at me.
"Get inside! It's a swarm!" I leaped out of my chair.
She looked back up. "No . . ." Her eyes widened and then we hauled ass inside.
"Look on that branch," she pointed at the live oak. Bees were . . . coagulating . . . on the branch, dangling in strings like some freaky form of bees-laden Christmas tinsel. More and more bees created the bee chains until there was this massive, writhing blob of bees infesting the tree.
I'm still rather stunned by the whole thing.
Lots of internet searches and calls to bee wranglers gave us some information about what had happened. These were perfectly normal Texas honey bees doing what they do. A new queen left a nest, taking about 60% of the old hive's worker bees with her. The swarm decided to use our backyard as a way-point in finding a suitable place to build their permanent hive.
Great.
Multiple experts said they will probably clear off the next day to their new home. One slight problem would be if they discovered holes in our roof or eaves where they could set up shop.
Great.
We coated the eaves with Wasp poison and are hoping for the best.
Of course this lead me to thinking about such an event in game terms. It was freaking scary! But imagine if these were a couple of thousand D&D Giant Killer Bees. Entire villages could be wiped out during a swarm. Imagine a swarm decides that the capital city would be a good place to live. The sewers would probably be an ideal home for the giant bees.
Okay, I think I've thought to much about this. My skin is crawling and I need to go scratch my entire body.
- Ark
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