Curse the Player, Not the Character

****Warning - If you Haven't played Bioshock, this post may contain spoilers which will severely inhibit your enjoyment of the game.  Turn back if this sort of thing concerns you - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED****

I'm a huge fan of Bioshock.  I think it might be my favorite video game, no scratch that, I think it might be my favorite game period.  In general, I don't play first person shooters.  I find them dull and repetitive, and the idea of lining your sights up on a two pixel tall figure to try and kill it before it kills you just doesn't appeal to me.  I heard good things about Bioshock, though.  A horrific first person shooter with philosophical overtones?  Well sign me up!

It did not disappoint.

It was horrific, it played with the ideas of Ayn Rand, it presented you with serious questions of ethics and morality.  Oh yeah, and you blew stuff up.  The thing that sealed the deal for me, though, was THAT PART.  If you've played it, you know what I'm talking about, if you haven't, seriously, this is your last chance to turn back.

Okay.  So when it turned out that you had been doing the bidding of the bad guy, not your character, but YOU YOURSELF.  You, lulled into complacency by video game tropes, not even thinking about what the missions were accomplishing, were mind controlled just as much as your avatar by faceless being with a sunny sounding brogue and a, "Would you kindly..."

Mind.  Blown.

Seriously, I put down the controller, and, all alone in my apartment, said out loud, "Damn.  DAMN."

I can honestly say that is the only time that a game, video or otherwise, has had that kind of impact on me.  So before I continue, hats off to 2K Games.

Now, to the point.  I got to thinking, how to replicate that experience in an RPG?  Specifically with regards to cursed items.  Traditionally, in games that I've played, when somebody gets a cursed item, it usually goes something like, "Bad news, bro.  That sword you picked up has a -1 modifier, and you can't ditch it until you find a priest."

Fair enough, that's accurate, but that's a player's description, and draws a bold line between the player and the character.  Whenever I can, I'd rather blur that line, and force the player into the mindset of the character, so why not mess with the players a bit, rather than just the characters?  Here are a couple that  have come to mind.


Bloodthirsty Weapon

This one is a direct homage to Bioshock - the weapon appears, for all intents and purposes, to be a weapon of speed, allowing the user to strike first in combat.  Who wouldn't want to use that weapon?  It works fine, doing just what it says on the tin, until the  party finds itself in a social setting, when the weapon leaps into the hand of the person who has been wielding it, and it strikes at the nearest noncombatant NPC.  That's when you realize the weapon has been controlling you all along, not vice versa.


Weapon of Misdirection -1

This sword radiates strong magic, and the DM should tell the person wielding that it is a +3 weapon.  Then, simply increase any foe's defense/AC/whatever by 4, without telling the player.  If the player gets frustrated and tries to switch weapons, the DM secretly rolls a Wisdom check/saving throw/whatever.  If it's failed, the character thinks they have switched weapons, while still holding the same cursed weapon.  If they pass the check, they realize the weapon is cursed.

Deck of Many Curses

See who the degenerate gamblers in your group are.  It's a Deck of Many Things, with all the good stuff taken out.  With unlimited draws.

Ring of Inner Truth

Ring of +1 Wisdom, but at the GM's discretion, table talk is actually spoken aloud by the character.

Tent of Paranoia

This tent aids in the healing of the characters, and is big enough for the entire party.  Any who sleep within it double their normal healing.  For the following 24 hours, however, all NPCs appear to be monsters or other demonic creatures.  Any speech will be heard as threatening, and movements observed will promise violence.  The illusion persists until they are dead, at which point their true form is revealed.  Actual monsters and other demonic creatures appear and act as normal.


The point is, you're the GM - nothing says that you have to be a reliable narrator!  It's something gamers tend to take for granted, but it doesn't have to be that way - keep them on their toes and make them question everything!

The Harrowing pt II - Wrapping Up

First off, an apology - I was truly a lazy blogger yesterday, copying and pasting the article from Wikipedia, and the God of Sloth cursed my work, with horrible formatting that I didn't even check!  I've reformatted yesterday's post, so if you were curious just what in hell I was talking about, now you can know.

So, down to business.  I set out this month with lofty goals, and as the month winds down, I can look back and say that the the results were decidedly.... mixed.

I was able to blow through the Risus One Page Challenge entries with little problem.  Both of my submissions can be found here.  I'm a bit proud of both of them, even if they both leaned a bit more towards post-apocalyptic than steam punk.  It was a fun exercise.

NaGaDeMon is next.  I started off the month designing a board game, sort of like Axis and Allies, but with less of an emphasis on military strength.  The game has evolved, and is now a card game.  There are 172 nations in play, and much like during the Cold War, escalation is everyone's enemy, and the nuclear Damocles Sword hangs over all players.  Convince the people to rise up, buy them off or just invade and take them over, there are many different ways to secure world domination, but if you invest too much of your resources, you may succumb to forces at work on the home front.  I've been working with someone I know to turn this into a real thing, and while there is zero chance it will be anything close to playable by the end of the month, it's real.  It's going to happen.  So while I failed the NaGaDeMon challenge, something good has come of it, for sure.

NaNoWriMo.  This was always going to be the longshot, and lo and behold, I didn't quite make it.  Actually, it would be fairer to say that I bombed out spectacularly.  I held through the first week, missed one day and never recovered.  But hey, I now have a quarter-finished novel under my belt, so I can go back and peck at it sporadically.  I also learned that the "Don't edit, just write" is impossible for me to do.  Literally.  Impossible.

The Clockwork Cave continues to slog along.  In an interesting twist though, a sort of "mini-game" that I designed as a part of the adventure has mutated (heh) into the core mechanic for From the Ashes.  I'm actually quite pleased with it, and I think it fits the system not only mechanically, but spiritually, as well - it enhances the idea behind the game.

So that's pretty much it.  The easy stuff was easy, the hard stuff was hard, I made some progress, fulfilled some goals, left some undone.  Pretty much life, yeah?

Real Life Adventurers: Bill Tilman

Taken from his wikipedia page:

Major Harold William "Bill" Tilman, CBE, DSO, MC and Bar (14 February 1898–1977) was an English mountaineer and explorer, renowned for his Himalayan climbs and sailing voyages.

Early years and Africa

Tilman was born on 14 February 1898 in Wallasey in Cheshire, the son of a well-to-do sugar merchant John Hinkes Tilman and his wife Adeline Schwabe (née Rees). He was educated at Berkhamsted Boys school. At the age of 18, Tilman was commissioned into the Royal Field Artillery and fought in the First World War, including the Battle of the Somme, and was twice awarded the Military Cross for bravery. His climbing career, however, began with his acquaintance with Eric Shipton in Kenya, East Africa, where they were both coffee growers. Beginning with their joint traverse of Mount Kenya in 1929 and their ascents of Kilimanjaro and the fabled "Mountains of the Moon" Ruwenzori, Shipton and Tilman formed one of the most famed partnerships in mountaineering history. When it came time to leave Africa, Tilman was not content with merely flying home but rode a bicycle across the continent to the West Coast where he embarked for England.

World War II

He later volunteered for service in the Second World War, seeing action in North Africa, and on the beaches at Dunkirk. He then was dropped by parachute behind enemy lines to fight with Albanian and Italian partisans, was awarded the Distinguished Service Order for his efforts, and the keys to the city of Belluno which he helped save from occupation and destruction.

Mount Everest & Nanda Devi

Tilman was involved in two of the 1930s Mount Everest expeditions - participating in the 1935 Reconnaissance Expedition, and reaching 27,200 feet without oxygen as the expedition leader in 1938. He penetrated the Nanda Devi sanctuary with Eric Shipton in 1934, and in 1936 he went on to lead an Anglo-American expedition to Nanda Devi. With the support of a team which included Peter Lloyd and H. Adams Carter, Tilman and Noel Odell succeeded in making the first ascent of the 7,816 metres (25,643 ft) mountain, which remained the highest summit climbed by man until 1950. Tilman later described their arrival on the summit:

Odell had brought a thermometer, and no doubt sighed for the hypsometer. From it we found that the air temperature was 20 °F (−7 °C) but in the absence of the wind we could bask gratefully in the friendly rays of our late enemy the sun. It was difficult to realise that we were actually standing on top of the same peak which we had viewed two months ago from Ranikhet, and which had then appeared incredibly remote and inaccessible, and it gave us a curious feeling of exaltation to know that we were above every peak within a hundred miles on either hand. Dhaulagiri, 1,000ft higher, and 200 miles away in Nepal, was our nearest rival. I believe we so far forgot ourselves as to shake hands on it.

In 1939, Tilman was the first man to attempt climbing in the remote and unexplored Assam Himalaya, exploring the Southern approaches of Gori Chen, 6538 metres, before his team succumbed to malaria. In 1947 he attempted Rakaposhi, then made his way to Kashgar to join up with Eric Shipton in a lightweight attempt on Muztagh Ata, 7546 metres, which nearly succeeded. On his way back to India, he detoured through Afghanistan's Wakhan Corridor to see the source of the river Oxus. During his extensive exploration of the areas of Langtang, Ganesh and Manang in Nepal in 1949, Tilman was the first to ascend Paldor, 5896 metres, and found the pass named after him beyond Gangchempo.

Sailing

Following his military career behind enemy lines in the Second World War, Tilman took up deep sea sailing. Sailing in deep seas on the Bristol Channel pilot cutter Mischief, which he purchased in 1954, and subsequently on his other pilot cutters Sea Breeze and Baroque, Tilman voyaged to Arctic and Antarctic waters in search of new and uncharted mountains to climb. On his last voyage in 1977, in his eightieth year, Tilman was invited to ship as crew in En Avant with mountaineers sailing to the South Atlantic to climb Smith Island. The expedition was led, and the boat skippered, by the youthful Simon Richardson. He and his crew aboard the old, converted steel tug made it successfully and without incident to Rio de Janeiro. Thereafter, en route to the Falkland Islands, they disappeared without trace - it was presumed the ship had foundered with all hands.

End of the Line

My wife and I finally finished our epic road trip late Saturday night, and spent all day Sunday doing pretty much nothing.  We're watching Babylon 5 for the first time, so most of the day was spent working through Season 2.

Before we left, we generated a massive, 1200 song playlist on Spotify to accompany us on the road as we traveled.  I've already described one instance where the music synchronized with our experiences, but it happened again late Saturday.

We had lined up a bunch of stops for our last day, trying to squeeze as much into what was left of our time on the road together as possible.  We left out of  Amarillo, TX early Saturday morning, having gotten in to late the night before to get a picture in front of the Cadillac Ranch.  We charged east, swinging through the Jesus Christ Is Lord Truck Stop (no seriously), stopping off to see largest Cross in the Northern Hemisphere (again, no, seriously), a a museum dedicated to the history of barbed wire (I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried), the national Route 66 museum, and finally hitting the Teepee-Shaped Cherokee Trading Post as the sun was setting.

We pulled through Oklahoma City after dark, and set off down the road towards Dallas, and as we rode, Johnny Cash's turn came up on the playlist, and he sang us through the night.  Ghost Riders In the Sky set my mind racing as we drove through the black plains, the tale of damned cowboys forever chasing the Devil's Herd calling to mind the tales of the Wild Hunt.

For a brief bit of time, I was free.  The window was rolled down, the air was sweet and the world seemed like it went on forever, that there was nothing to hold me back, nothing to keep me from doing anything I could imagine.  Ideas popped and snapped in my head like fireworks, and I could see it all.

And then... and then... the lights of Dallas started to appear in the sky.  The darkness was pushed back, and I started seeing the overpasses and the buildings and the cars and the construction.  It turned out my playlist had one final joke to play, one last bit of irony to share...

That isn't my favorite recording, I think the guitar line in the middle betrays the solemnity of the song, but hopefully you get the point.  Honestly, though, hopefully you don't.

Epic Metal in the Land of Fire and Ice

Another post from the road.  My wife and I continue our honeymoon and, having left Arizona behind, are now slowly making our way back to Texas.  We started off yesterday morning in Gallup, and I'm writing this from a hotel in Santa Fe.  We're hunkered down here for Thanksgiving, and plan to head out again on Friday morning.

On our way out to Arizona this past Saturday, we passed by several signs along the side of the highway for something called, "The Land of Fire and Ice".  Looking into it, we found that there was an exploded Volcano sitting right next to a cave full of ice that never rises above 31 degrees, no matter the temperature above.

Well, "Hell Yeah!", we said, and on our way back, we veered off of the highway to see this elemental badassery.  Right off the bat, we were struck by how desolate the location was.  It was twenty miles, through a national park, just to get to the sign telling us to turn off the road.  From there it was another couple of miles along a dirt road, and suddenly there it was - the Trading Post.  $22 later, and we were on our way.  There were trails running to either side of the building, the one to the right leading to the Bandera Volcano, the one to the left to the Ice Cave.

The Trail Guide recommended we take the Volcanic path first.  It's longer and steeper, and the exertion would warm us up, and then we could head to the Ice Cave to cool down.  Taking the advice, we headed up the trail to the Volcano.  The first thing we noticed was huge amount of lichen, covering almost all of the lava rock surfaces.  According to the pamphlet we received, the formation of this primitive life is the first step towards breaking down the lava rocks, a process which occurs over a ridiculously long period of time.

As we ventured forth, we started noticing all these ridiculously twisted and evil looking trees.  Apparently, it's hard for trees to put down roots in the cooled lava.  It can do so, but it ends up causing the trees to look wicked.

Caves and inlet dotted either side of the trail, dark and mysterious.  Some sat right by the trail, inviting investigation, while others crouched behind the treeline.  Who knows where they lead?  They were all the result of lava tubes cooling in different shapes

The lava fields became denser and denser, to the point where even if we wanted to leave the trail, it would have been difficult, if not impossible, to traverse the landscape.

Finally we reached the site of the ancient violence, an inverted cone all that remained of the site where, 10,000 years ago, the earth itself swelled and rose up, before bursting like an infected boil, spewing liquid fire across the land.

We headed back down the mountainside, past the Trading Post and out towards the Ice Cave.  The trail was easier, but more thickly wooded, and the cries of birds surrounded us as we headed deep into the trees.

Along the way, there were actual ruins to be seen off to the side of the path, with rocks arranged in specific patterns, as though indicative of ancient, perhaps blasphemous rites performed long ago, and walls, arranged to keep something, or some things, out.  

Snow began to dot the landscape as we descended, with patches appearing hither and yon, and small entrances to caves appearing along the path.  This was but a preview of what was to come.

Finally, we came upon the entrance to the cave, the rocks hanging over the entrance menacingly.  As we descended, the rocks took on a greenish hue, as more and more moss was attracted to the moisture in the cave below.

Finally, we reached the base of the cave, where we were confronted by the ice itself.  It's estimated that the first bit of ice was created down here almost 2,000 years ago, by uncertain means.  Since then, it has become a self-perpetuating system, with the existing ice keeping the temperature low enough that rainwater that runs into the cave is turned to ice, and so on.  The moss and lichen in the area has given the ice its signature greenish hue.  

The back of the cave was inaccessible, but hinted at dark mysteries hidden in its unseen depths.

At this point, we headed back down the trail, picked up a few post cards at the Trading Post, and jumped back into the truck.  As we started back towards the highway, we took in the desert around us, the mountains looming in the distance, the wind howling across the vast expanse, and, as if on cue, the most epic song on one of the most epic albums of all time made its way to the top of our playlist, To Wander the Void, by While Heaven Wept.  Between this song, and the sights I'd seen, things began to percolate in my brain.

The album has art by John Martin for its cover, so you know it's gonna be awesome, but check out the lyrics:

A million miles from everything the emptiness is everywhere

The lone and level sands stretch as far as I can see

Nothing but the hollowed eyes of skulls and ancient bones despair

Remains of those who wandered this wasteland vast before me

Fatigue and famine render every step a tribulation

Beneath the blistering sun sabulous winds just a mockery

Lost within an infinity of dust and desolation

The vultures circling overhead await my lonely expiry

Maintaining this course to nowhere I have traveled so far

Far beyond the valley's carnage and death's silent repose

Compelled to journey onward by the calling of the morning star

Haunted by visions and voices, memories or madness providence only knows

I can't remember when or how I'd first lost my way

Thirsting even a tear of solace knowing naught will ever come

Siren celestial have mercy on me allow my flesh into dust decay

And carry my soul far beyond this damned and forsaken kingdom

I fell to my knees as the last trace of strength slowly faded away

With stone in throat I knew I'd never reach the hallowed and promised land

I conceded my carcass a vulture's feast, my soul eternal umbrae

Once a king, now nameless, forgotten, swallowed by the seas of sand

Yeah, it was an epic freakin' detour.

I'm In A Post-Apocalyptic State of Mind

My wife and I are driving cross country, from Dallas, TX to Flagstaff, AZ on our honeymoon.  We plan to see the Grand Canyon, then take Route 66 back to Dallas.  We left Dallas on Friday afternoon, stayed in Oklahoma City Friday night, and made it to Albuquerque, NM late yesterday evening.

I often find that folks from other parts of the world, and even other parts of the US, don't really appreciate just how friggin' huge the southwestern part of the United States is.  For instance, the only reason we drove through Oklahoma at all was because it was quicker to go up to Oklahoma City, then west to Amarillo Texas than it was to drive directly to Amarillo from Dallas.  Yes, we have entire states that exist to be shortcuts through other states.  After a day and a half driving, we're in our third state, but we're really only a state and a half away from where we started.  Wrap your mind around that.

Further, calling stretches of our trip thus far desolate would be understating the matter.  Gigantic wind turbines and cows are all that break up the scenery for miles at a time.  It's mostly grassland and prairie through Oklahoma and the Texas panhandle, but as you get into New Mexico, it changes.  The grass thins out, replaced by pockets of shrubs, and honest-to-god tumbleweed.  At first, just faint outlines in the distance, you begin to see mountains rising up on the horizon, hazy blue in color.  Along the sides of the road are abandoned buildings, long surrendered to nature.  Texaco signs missing the X and the C, free-standing chimneys with the buildings they once warmed lying in ruin around them.  As you approach Albuquerque, the  mountains loom above you, when suddenly the road veers sharply to the south, going through a valley south of town before juking back up north to bring you into the sun-baked adobe homes that are scattered around the town.  As the sun goes down, you can't help but think that while Big Sky Country may be Montana's nickname, it applies equally well down here - the colors radiate out from the sunset, stretching almost to the opposite horizon.  The sun dips below the horizon as you enter town, and you find city colors replace it - underpasses are lit by lamps of shifting hues, from reds to blues to yellows and back again.  Driving through Albuquerque at night is a surreal experience.

And of course, finding myself in Albuquerque, I can't help but think of the Albuquerque Star Port Mini-Adventure, packaged in with early editions of Gamma World.  I have a soft spot in my heart for this adventure, I remember reading in the back seat of the car on a trip back when I was a kid.  It was the first Gamma World adventure that I ever played, and the first one that I ever GM'd.  The wonder of the adventure stays with me to this day - midway through, there's the big mindtwist, as you find out something you're exploring isn't quite what you thought it was, and suddenly you're looking at things from a very different perspective.

I've been focused on fantasy RPGs of late, but this trip is tickling a part of me that has been resting for awhile.  I feel a need for some Post-Apocalyptic RPGing coming on.  I need to gather some folks looking to explore the wastelands, to protect the villagers from rampaging hordes of mutants, to recover lost artifacts of the Ancients, to venture into the Bones of the Giants.

Other Dust, Mutant Future, Gamma World, hell maybe I'll even finish up on From the Ashes.

For Those About to Rock and/or Die

While I understand that DCC RPG's official name for their character creation process is, "The Funnel", I have to say that I don't think that the word captures the essence, the horror, of a formative experience more akin to a meat grinder than a funnel.. 

Having just completed my first foray into this terrifying process, I would like to petition Goodman Games, in future editions of DCC RPG, refer to this process as the Meat Funnel.  

Whether they do or not, I will henceforth refer to it as such.

In any event, of the four characters I started out with last week in Adam and Edgar's Metal Gods of Ur-Hadad campaign, only one remained last night, standing triumphant.  Crag Beerbeard, heroic Dwarven Blacksmith, managed not to outperform, so much as just outlast his compatriots.  He has discovered a bit of an affinity for the Longbow, ironic considering his racial handicaps, but nonetheless he seems to have taken the roll of the Deadeye Crackshot of the party, plugging several ghouls full of holes in last night's session.  

Surely the Hall of Heroes will fill with many songs of praise in his honor in the future, but I'd like to spend just a moment remembering the fallen, without whom Crag would not have had his chance to shine.

Miff Sapsipper - Alas, poor Miff, we hardly knew ye.  An Elven Navigator, I had the highest hopes for you.  The Tank of my group of intrepid adventurer's you had 5 hit points.  You were also lucky, born under the loom, which would have given you a +1 bonus to all skill checks, including thief skills.  I had visions of you with your spyglass and short bow as an elite archer assassin sniper type, but unfortunately, you were a bit cocky, feeling invincible with your five hit points, and were taken down in a single strike by a lizard man in the caves.  Someday, Crag will return your spyglass to your family, and tell them of your death.

Michelangelo Aggrosong - Despite your grand name, you were... well, pretty average.  A human cooper with but a single hit point, no-one knows what drove you to pick up your barrel and crowbar and descend into the depths.  A quiet type, you nonetheless showed some promise on the battlefield, releasing your rage as you beat at the lizard men.  Unfortunately, your fearlessness could only carry you so far, and it wasn't long until you fell beneath the might of your enemies.  Crag still carries your crowbar, Michelangelo, as a reminder not to get ahead of himself.

Lardo Cutpurssian - To be honest, no-one was terribly sorry to see Lardo go.  A fat, sweaty merchant, he had heard that there was treasure to be had, and a large group of people to hide behind as he collected it.  Quite smart, and reasonably strong, he was hamstrung by his hefty bulk, horrible asthma and a personality not even his mother could stand.  Even so, he might have made it, but something he saw in those depths caused him to snap.  Seeing his friends mowed down and he himself surviving, he came to believe he was blessed and became reckless, charging ahead of the party, and engaging in one-on-one melee battles.  Poor Lardo, didn't you know you only had but a single Hit Point?  Alas, even padded armor and a long sword couldn't save him, as he was brought down by a ghoul.  The symbol of your devotion to the Merchant God hangs close to Crag's heart.

And so, his companions but memories, grains of sand on the Beach of Time, Crag Beerbeard goes forth, purpose in his stride, a spark in his eye and fire in his belly, determined to learn from his experiences in... The Meat Funnel.