Sunday, August 14, 2011

The Right Tool For the Right Job

I did everything to warn the guys that the Invisible Mountain dungeon was out of their league.  They pressed on, not believing me, so I did my darnest to kill them with strength stat sucking shadows and worse horrors.  After having their asses handed to them over and over again, they finally decided that the '30 seconds of combat, a day of rest, 30 seconds of combat, a day of rest' pattern wasn't working well, so they went off to greener pastures.

Greener pastures are perfect places for random wilderness encounter rolls.

The party was travelling through a meadowed area within a forest when they heard a thump-thump-thump in the sky.  This has happened before.  They knew it was a dragon - most likely a green dragon.  They ran for the bushes.

Well, except for Thrug.  Out of the entire party, the half-orc fighter wasn't fast enough.  He sighed, drew his sword, and faced the green dragon bearing down on him.

"Let's do this!' Mervyn, the player, said.

The green dragon snatched at Thrug as he flew by, an easy snack to bring back to his lair.  I rolled and . . . missed.

"Can I jump on the dragon's leg as he goes by?"

"Um. I guess. Yeah.  You and the dragon jet up 80 yards as it continues its arc." I nodded.

The rest of the party hopped out of the bushes.

"Guys, I got this!" Mervyn said.

We are an Order of the d30 group, meaning that they get to replace one normal dice roll with a d30 each game session.  A barrage of arrows, sling bolts, and magic missles flew upwards. The d30 flew from hand to hand as they ripped the dragon to shreds.

"Guys," Mervyn muttered nervously.

The Boy got the killing blow.  The party watched the slow plummet of several tons of lizard meat as it fell from the sky, crashing to the ground on top of the hapless half-orc.

"Uh . . oops?"

Some time later, the PCs had dug a tunnel beneath the dragon's corpse to reach Thrug's body, which they began looting.

"Okay, so what do you got?" Ron asked Mervyn, pencil in hand.

Marvyn sighed, looking at his character sheet.  "That +1 sword, a shield, a potion of flying, a suit of plate armor . . ."

Mervyn was interrupted by Ron's laughter.

"What?"

I smiled, "Oh, that potion of flying of yours was smashed to bits on impact"

The cog wheels slowly turned in Mervyns head, then it hit him.  "Dammit!  Dammit!  Dammit!  I forgot I had that!"  He facepalmed, then looked at me.  "That was so stupid.  You have to put that in that blog of yours."

I chuckled, "Oh, it'll be there alright - you don't have to ask."

I'm begining to wonder why I bother trying to kill them.  They do so well all by themselves. :)

- Ark

Saturday, August 13, 2011

It's Labyrinth Lord Game Day - Finally!


Old School D&D puts me in a good mood.  
I plan on slaughtering all the PCs ruthlessly. :)

Ark



Friday, August 12, 2011

Quantum Reality Gates


Christian has been waxing poetic about Planescape, and it reminded me of what I did when I saw Sigil's treatment in the 4e DMG2.  I had never heard of Planescape (yeah, I was asleep through 2e,) but thought the idea was cool.  But my head immediately thought - Quantum Reality Gates.

So when my players hit 10th level, I dragged out my version of Sigil.  I adjusted the City of Doors to have, not only doors to other planes, but doors to other quantum realities.  What this meant was that the city was PACKED TO THE GILLS with alternate versions of the PCs - and alternate versions of their friends and enemies too.

It was quite fun, and pretty confusing too.  This one evil drow lady who had dogged the party for 5 levels - then was finally killed - popped back up in Sigil as a bartender.  A very nice bartender.

The dwarf in the party, Malgrim, was amused when a pack of Malgrims ambushed the party and tried to kill them.  He was upset - and even insulted - when he found out that all of the Malgrim's were just minions - 1 hp wonders.  He felt that his brethren should be much more powerful than that.

The thief - Dash - in the party went through a hell of a time.  It seems that one of his alternates had become the grand poo-bah head of the city-wide thieves guild, and wanted to eliminate all copies of himself in the city.  Poor thief.

It was pretty fun - especially playing the players PCs in the PCs faces.

- Ark

PS - Oh oh oh - and I made LADY versions of the PCs too.  How fun!

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Dungeonspiration: John Martin


One of the guys who I chase with dragons on the weekends turned me on to an artist named John Martin.  Martin was active in the first half of the 19th century.  His paintings are epic.  Not in the way that The Boy uses the word.  Martin's vision was BIG, his scale HUGE, and his topics LEGENDARY. He painted pictures of places where D&D characters should be travelling to.


As well as a painter, Martin was a fencing master, an engraver, and an amateur sewer engineer.  He hung around scientists, engineers, and science fiction writers, played chess, and experimented with mezzotint technology.  Okay, let's cut to the chase.  The dude was a glorious English nerd-boy and geek extraordinaire.


The scenes John Martin painted and engraved just amaze me, and get my mind going at 90 miles an hour.  I want to design D&D adventures to fit these images.  Go chase his stuff down on Google.  I bet you will too.



- Ark

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Something's Rotten In the State of Vornheim

BRIEF VORNHEIM SPOILERS - STAY AWAY IF YOU ARE GOING TO PLAY.

In our Vayniris campaign last week, I heard the players grumbling about lack of character options.  At the campaign start, I had limited the characters to just using 4e Essentials character classes and options.  I listened and thought about it.  Expanding the options and classes didn't really make my life any more difficult - just theirs - so I opened the floodgates.  The players could use any race, class, or option available in the character builder.

Everyone rebuilt their character for tonight's game.

Tim made a warforged.  For those in the know, that is basically a magic metal robot.  His class was a mentalist (or something like that,)  which basically meant that he was a psychic magic metal robot.  Tim played him very much like C3-PO, but not meaning to.  I had to point it out to him - though I still dont' think he believed me - even though he had named the character THREE.

So the guys were in a bad guy's house in Vayniris - straight outta Vornheim.  They were in the middle of a fight in the entryway.  It was a big room, and the PCs were nicely spread out - all far away from each other.  One was even running into the next room - the kitchen - chasing a minion.  You know - perfect 4e split the party set-up.  It was so perfect that Wil Wheaton's ghost almost materialized.

Well, I took that moment to have a nasty creature of Zak's pop out of a doorway and go for the closest character - which was the Cleric of Pelor - Sunny.  The creature's attack ignored her armor and dissolved Sunny's scale mail into goo with one strike.  I was happy with myself.  Rarely does anything like that happen in 4e.  A player's possessions are pretty sacrosanct.  Only a real bastard would melt someone's armor.

Heh Heh Heh.

Tim's eyes bugged out.  His turn was next.  His magic robot took one look at the metal dissolving beast and ran out of the room.  He ran out into the road and continued running down the road.

Everyone else busted out laughing uncontrollably.  I started laughing so hard . . . I laughed so hard . . . well . . . I laughed so hard that I farted.

I think no one heard because of the laughter.  I said sorry, but no one responded - I think because of all the noise form laughing.  I hope it was because no one heard any of it.

Oh well.  They all know now - or soon will.  But dammit - it was worth a fart.  It was damn funny.

This is why I role play.

Well, not to have an excuse to fart in public - but - well . . . I should probably just shut up now.

- Ark

Monday, August 8, 2011

The Value of a Second

“The Hyperectus malmadonus has a life span of 23 seconds.”

“What?” Charlie turned to Eve. She was sitting across the rickety table from him, sipping her coffee slowly. He had been looking out the window, watching the endless stream of people walking by.

“The malmadonus, a single-celled animal living in the intestines of the swamp cows of Zavijava IV. They are born, reproduce, and are eaten by their offspring, all within 23 seconds.” Eve wound her finger around a long strand of her black hair.

“Oh,” Charlie replied, his attention already drifting back to the passersby again. All of them were different. Some short. Some tall. Black, white, brown. But they all seemed to merge together. Neo-metal punk hippies with staples in their eyelids somehow blended in with the goofy college kids donning white baseball caps and Phi Theta Kappa sweat shirts. Even the corporate suits in their pin stripes and big ruffed collars and satellite dish fedoras melted peacefully in the scene, diffusing like a poorly fueled Zippo on a misty new mooned night.

“Charlie, do you ever wonder if the malmadoni ever take a second or two and evaluate their lives?”

The stupidity of her question sucked him back into the murky coffeetorium. Her pale face stared at him as she dipped the end of her dark hair into the beige coffee and sucked it dry. She had such a lovely round face, but her eating habits left a lot to be desired.

“Honestly Eve, I’ve never once wondered about that,” he sipped his dark coffee. He liked it black.

“Think of how long a second would be to it,” she said with a slurp. “A couple of years to us, at least.”

“It’s just a cell, hon. It doesn’t need to evaluate its life.”

“What did you do yesterday?” She suddenly said. Charlie’s neck twitched. It always twitched when she changed the subject like that.

“I dunno. Worked. Like always.”

“When was the last time you did something different?” His neck twitched again. Maybe it wasn’t just the subject change. Maybe something was up.

“Christmas, I guess.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but paused. Then she took a proper drink from her mug.

“When was the last time you did something you really liked?” She set down her coffee and stared at him. More twitching and the hair on the back of his neck rose up. He felt she was maneuvering somewhere very dangerous. Relationship crashingly dangerous. Planet explodingly dangerous. So dangerous it might rip the sun from the sky.

“Um.” He had to get this right. "I like, love, every minute I’m with you, hon,” he reached out to her hand, but she snatched it away.

“I’m serious, Charlie. When was the last time you did something you really enjoyed?”

Frankly, he couldn’t remember doing anything he enjoyed, ever.

“I dunno. Christmas was fun. Meeting all of your friends. Your old ex-boyfriend Roj was just a blast to talk to.”

She crinkled up her nose. “Very funny. You hated every minute of it. But really, when? When?”

Charlie shrugged. “I can’t think of any.”

“Exactly my point,” Eve jabbed a finger at him. Great. He was guilty of yet another one of those things he had no idea what was.

“I’m sorry,” he said reflexively. “So, um, where did you hear about those bacteria things?”

“Matilda’s daughter did a report on them for school. She was telling us about them just before supper. Charlie, what would you enjoy doing?”

Being five hundred mile away from here. Being in an alternate reality where Eve hadn’t started this conversation. Being forced out of the coffee shop by a bomb threat from the Pecos Freedom Fighters.

“I dunno.”

“There has to be something.”

This was stupid. He didn’t want to talk about it. Couldn’t she see that? It was pointless drivel. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the endless stream of people wandering the ‘drag,’ but he couldn’t turn to look. She would slap him or something.

He looked up over her head at the wall. It was all confusing and mottled. A collage of pictures.

Or not a collage. Not intentionally, at least. He had never noticed it before. Layer upon layer of band posters pasted to the wall, and to each other. The building was ancient and the layers must have been building up for centuries. Perhaps there was no wall, just a papier-mâché shell.

“Well?” There was a clinking as she stirred a spoon in her coffee. Just above her head was a molding black and white poster of a dirty, greasy, hairy musician playing a guitar. Or not. No, he was playing the moon. A moon with a long fretted neck and twelve strings. Charlie’s face cracked into a smile.

“What?” she sat up.

“I dunno. Maybe . . .”

“Maybe what?”

“Well, it sounds silly now that I think of it.”

“Come on, out with it.”

Charlie took another drink of his coffee. “Well, when I was in the boy scouts, we were always planning on going to the Lunar Jamboree, but we never could come up with the money.”

“What’s a Lunar Jamboree?” she asked.

Charlie smiled. “Well, it’s just basically a camping trip to the Moon. I always wanted to get kited out in a space suit and explore. Sounds silly now.”

Eve grinned and leaned in towards him. “It’s not silly at all. It sounds fun.”

“Out at Tranquility National Park. Go spelunking. Jump around a lot and kick up a bunch of dust that won’t settle for centuries.” He grinned back.

Eve waved her finger across the data juke box that was loosely wired to the wall and strolled through several screens.

“There is a shuttle to Apollo City heading out of Austin Interplanetary at 8:45 am tomorrow. Let’s go.”

Charlie inhaled his coffee and had to cough it back up. Red-faced, he grimaced at her. “Are you crazy?”

“It’s just an hour to get there and back. We could be home by ten tomorrow night. It would be fun.”

“I don’t have the money.”

“I’ve got the money.”

“I couldn’t ask you . . .”

“You are not asking. I am. Come on. Let’s go,” she smiled.

“I used up my vacation days on Christmas.”

“You have sick days left.”

“But I might get sick.”

“Ha,” she shook her head. “You are too anal to get sick.”

“I can’t afford to loose that days’ work. Mr. White will have my balls. Besides, rent is almost due and I will barely be able to pay it without a late penalty as is.”

She twisted her mouth and leaned back.

“It doesn’t matter, hon. It’s not important.” He wiped sweat from his brow. “It was just another stupid idea of mine that doesn’t mean anything. I can’t help it if I’m too busy.”

She continued to stare at him . . .

“Why are you always doing this, Eve? There is no problem. Nothing is wrong. Why do you have to make such a big deal out of everything?”

And stared . . .

“I don’t really want to go. Even if I had time, it wouldn’t be any fun for us. Bad airline food. We’d be tired and cranky and yelling at each other. And what if there was an accident? I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”

She didn’t even blink.

“Just calm down, dear. Nothing is wrong,” she said.

He stopped looking at her. The moon guitar was above her. He couldn’t look at it. Charlie’s eyes glazed over the posters on the wall, not stopping to look at any single one. He took a sip of coffee.

Eventually, his head turned and he began watching the people outside again. He could feel her stare on his neck.

“Very well then,” Eve stood up and kissed him on the forehead. “I’ve got to get back.”

“Okay honey,” he kissed her on the cheek and she put on her coat. The change in her pockets jingled as she crammed her hands down deep inside. Eve did not turn back as she walked out.

He watched her through the window as she walked down the street. In a second, she had melted in with all of the other passersby and was gone.


The End


(A story I wrote a while back. I used to think it was the worst thing I had ever written. It's grown on me since then. - Ark)

Sunday, August 7, 2011

The Freecity of Haldane

I just popped the copy of The Freecity of Haldane that Christian had send me into the mail, marked up with my red chicken scratching that I hope he can read.  Just some grammar-Nazi editing.  There are no problems that a real human would notice.  Just English teachers.

I am incredibly impressed with The Freecity of Haldane.  Christian has done a great job.  It's the portrait of a fantasy city - full of just the stuff you need and none of the stuff you don't.  In many ways, it's the perfect complement to Zak's Vornheim, covering little tidbits I frequently forget - like that members of the watch carry whistles, and a link-boy could be a very valuable friend to have at night.

I have scarfed copious ideas from it for my Vayniris campaign.

So get it.  I mean that.  Get it.

- Ark (Staggering off to go read the first Vayniris Anthology submission.)