Unquiet Desperation

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Category : Games

…you are likely to be eaten by a grue

I just posted an article on The Secret Lair about Jason Scott’s panel discussion of Get Lamp, his documentary about interactive fiction. While looking for the trailer for the movie, I came across this song by MC Frontalot, which made me very, very happy.  Enjoy.



Remember, Remember…

I’m fortunate to have friends to game with who are witty and intelligent. We get together as a group once a week and from the Olde Fartz when we fire up Steam and play Left 4 Dead or Half Life 2: Deathmatch.

This week’s missive from Kris Johnson calling us to arms was outstanding, and must be shared.

Did someone say “Gunpowder Plot”? That means no crossbows, no rocket launchers, no gravity guns, no crowbars and no alien derezzers. Guy Fawkes wouldn’t have any of it, gentlemen! But Guy blew it, and not in the way he intended. His little plot might have gone more to his liking if he’d added zero-point energy weapons and red-hot rebar to the mix. I, for one, refuse to limit myself to gunpowder in deference to a FAILURE, sirs! I will use every resource, be it of terrestrial origin or brought here by dimension-hopping freakshows, to blast your sorry faces to oblivion! Remember, remember, the fifth of November The Crossbow with Rebar so Hot I can think of no reason The Crossbow with Rebar Should ever be forgot. Shotgun, shotgun, I double-tap To separate your skull from cap. A rocket launched into your eye Across the screen your corpse does fly; my laser tripmine laid in wait To halt your dash and foul your gait. Holloa boys, holloa boys, WASD! Holloa boys, holloa boys, the winner, it’s me!

Spaceship! Cover ArtSpaceship!, the Interactive Fiction project launched by the Guardian’s Gamesblog community, has launched over at the Interactive Fiction Database.  This was a group project, supported by a wiki and put together over a long stretch of time. Congrats to the whole team! I cannot wait to play it.

The plot: your spaceship has broken down four days out of your next port, and you only have two days of oxygen left. You must fix the ship…or die.

From the intro to the game:

The alarm sounds and you’re moving before you even notice the shrill whine. You’ve gone through hundreds of these decompression drills and the movements required are pretty much routine: move the arms, put the torso on, seal yourself in and done! Now, just wait for the all-clear signal that sends you back to bed and the dream about… something, there was a parade, wasn’t there? A few seconds pass. Something’s wrong – the all-clear should have sounded by now. The alarm, muffled by the spacesuit, is quieter but still there… and is there some hissing also? What’s going on? The sounds suddenly stop. You notice your heavy breathing, the only audible thing on the ship. The alarm lights are still flashing, though. The realisation snaps you fully awake: no drill. The ship has decompressed: all atmosphere has escaped. If not for your quick reaction to the alarm, you would be dead. A quick check of your spacesuit: all systems nominal, oxygen full: enough for 48 hours. Pity you’re four days away from Nineteen. A quick glance out the porthole reveals the engines have stopped. You’re stuck, alone, adrift in the middle of space in a leaky ship, 4 days away from help, with 2 days of air. This must be a Thursday

Download the game from IFDB or the game’s web site. If you like it, be sure to comment and rate it on it’s IFDB home page.

Savage Worlds Game, Episode 3: There Are More Things…

Savage_Worlds_Explorers_EditionThis is the third installment of what’s going on in our Savage Worlds game.  New? Read up on the previous episodes:

From Raina’s point of view(played and written by Rachel Ross):

I didn’t throw up. I still wanted to. The attacker was completely frozen, sword upraised. The hands were suspended by him, in mid air. Suspended, severed hands. Ralph stood, staring at the stumps of his wrists, where bone and tendon and nerve were all neatly cut and mysteriously cauterized. I didn’t really want to look that hard. Rex had the smart idea to grab the severed hands. I should have, but I was, frankly, scared. Anyway, I’m glad someone did. Clockwork stuck them in his pockets. Even writing that makes my stomach churn. Clockwork (his real name is Michael) got us all (and the frozen attacker, who was manhandled a bit in the process – I am sure I heard a fingerbone snap) bundled into Rex’s mustang, and we ended up at some little place, I guess it was a bar. There was a woman there named Elizabeth, who took Ralph out back (we watched from a distance) and magically re-connected his hands, somehow. (No other word fits any of this. Magic.) She looked at some cards first, and traced a glowing blue pattern that had something to do with the large flat stone on the ground by them. Glowing blue like the blue that came from the book. Glowing blue patterns seem to be a theme here, because when Ralph came back, there were glowing blue patterns all around his wrists where the hands had been connected. “Magical duct tape” Rex said. Surprisingly clever for Rex. Michael was out there, by a tree, smoking, and asked me about what I had done with that book. I told him that I had no idea. I still have no idea. He told me to find the bell, to keep the book safe (or words to that effect, it was a long night) and to learn more about who wrote the book. He said it was written in the “First Language”. I don’t know how I managed to pronounce a page of “First Language” but I didn’t read it with comprehension, that’s for sure. But I told him – and it was true – it was like the page wanted to be read. It was the only page I could have read. I didn’t like the idea of taking the book to begin with, but now I don’t want to let it out of my sight. We went inside the bar, and reconnoitered, and eventually met for breakfast the next day – including Michael. The woman that stabbed Jay showed up and threatened us right in the restaurant! And then Rex pulled a big gun right in the restaurant. I don’t think ANY size tip would cover that. The woman is named Melisande, and she knew Michael, and apparently they are on “opposite sides” of whatever this conflict is, but they didn’t physically kill each other in the restaurant. She said that she wanted the book and candle, and then she would release our parents. Our parents? What? If I were being logical I should have given the book back right there, to ensure my parents’ safety. But I am hoping (against hope) she’s bluffing. I mean, I don’t see my folks every day so I didn’t assume they were gone. It all happened so fast I hardly had time to react – especially because Rex was pulling out a gun. Melisande said “Paris will be Destroyed” but I don’t know what she meant by that. She pointed at Rex and said something in another language. And vanished, fortunately before anyone got shot. She sort of, how do I put this? Turned flat and winked out of the dimension. It wasn’t like you’d expect from watching movie special effects. I guess there is no reason that movies would get it right, anyway. But we got out of there before anyone realized that, yes, we had pulled a gun on a crazy woman in a restaurant. Michael told us to look for the bell, he would look for the idol, before the “Children of the Dragon Cult” could get it. I didn’t know what idol he meant, at the time. Jay got out of the hospital and met us somewhere in here. I shouldn’t have waited so long to write this down, but I had to give it some mental distance before I could face it. So Ralph and Chet (I decided I should stop calling him “Weedy” in my head) and I went back to Willoughby to look into the bell’s history, and Rex and Esteban went off to contact Jay. I think. In WIlloughby we went to the Historical Society, which led us to the estate that belongs to Petunia McGinnis, last remaining grandchild of the Van Gorders. She was very hospitable and sweet, and let me rummage through her attic boxes looking for the sales slip from the estate sale back in the 50s, and gave Chet all the lemonade he could drink. After a couple of (genuinely interesting) hours, I found it had gone to a Professor Arthur Chubblewit (must remember that name later, when looking for novel ideas) at Cleveland State U. Dept. of Antiquities. So we went over there. Even though it’s a Sunday, there was an off chance we’d catch him. Providentially, he was – but he wasn’t pleased to see us investigating the bell. He gave us a stern “don’t stick your nose into this, it will ruin your life, it contains forces you cannot control” sort of speech, about it opening a portal to another world (wait, what? I had no idea!), if you had the book and candle (I did NOT produce the book or candle at this point) and he looked sincerely concerned about it. When I told him that it might cost our parents their lives, and Ralph pointed out that it had something to do with his family history, well, the good Professor grudgingly gave us some information, and a scrap of paper with the translation of the bell’s inscription. He said it was in “First Language” too. The bell was hidden in a fake idol and sold to Dean Brothers art supply company, to try to get it out of harm’s way. Well I forget what happened here, to be honest, but we ended up reunited with Jay here, if we hadn’t earlier (sorry journal) and Esteban and Rex. We were downtown, at Jay’s office/warehouse/club. I started asking if we could use his phone to find Dean Brothers, but he wouldn’t let me, because, wait for it – he had a shipment from Dean Brothers right there. Someone had been in earlier asking about it. In fact, it was Michael. Then “even more hell” broke loose, because Michael showed up and told us “they’re coming” to fight. I, for one, was not really sure what that meant, but then Melisande showed up, with a horde of actual monsters. Some came right through the walls like ghosts. I hope we win.

The Joy of Character Development

I don’t talk much about gaming here,  but I do enjoy running and playing in a well-run, deeply story-driven roleplaying game. There’s nothing like developing a character you love, or revealing a world to players one step at a time; watching their characters change over time.

I’ve wanted to run a game for my friends who gather at the International House of Johnson. About six weeks ago, we started the first part of a campaign where I have the opportunity to take a set of experienced gamers into my little plot.

It’s been an absolute joy.

The group I play with is made up of a number of extremely creative people. Because of this, their characters are fully developed, with interesting backstories and personalities. As an added benefit, the setting I am using is something that most of the players have never played in before, so I get the unqie opportunity to introduce a group of people I respect to a world that I love. Thus far, they seem to be enjoying themselves.

One of my favorite things about this game is reading the character diaries that some of the folks are posting up on the game’s web site. Each is blogging in their character’s voice, and I love reading the entries. It’s absolutely fascinating to me to read how the different characters recount their adventures so far…what each chooses to focus on, and what they forget that others remember. Witness this, written by Laura, as her character Ralph. Ralph is a 20-something boxer who is down on his luck, broke, and living with his parents:

So one night I had a really weird dream. Maybe I had too much spicy sausage pizza for dinner and it gave me indigestion. Mom always said that could happen. Anyway, in this dream I was in a room with a lot of books all around and there were these other people in there with me. This kind of weird old lady showed up and mumbled some stuff I didn’t understand and all of a sudden these tentacle things reached out of a fireplace and grabbed her and she’s gone. Goofy stuff. Well, the next day I didn’t think anything about it until I was downtown after visiting the training center and I meet up with all the people that appeared in the dream. I swear I never met or even saw any of these guys ever before, but somehow we all got together. And we all had the same exact dream. I was really bugged by this. It was kind of creepy, but I really don’t believe in astrology psychics or crystal balls or stuff like that so there had to be some reason it happened and I wanted to know what it was. It was just the weirdest thing that ever happened to me. I decided to go along with the group because I think the Spanish dude, he’s a wrestler, might be able to get me a job. I really need some cash. My unemployment will run out next month, I think.

Compare it to Rachel‘s Raina, who is a university student at Case Western:

I’m Raina Wallace, and I had a dream.
I had a dream about being seated in a book lined room, with other people. A ghostly woman appeared, tried to tell us something – the word Paris was in there – and vanished, drawn into the fireplace by weird tentacles. Which is all kind of standard for a dream. Except, the next day I saw someone – someone I had seen in the dream. In fact, I met everyone that had been in the dream, that next day. Everyone was in Cleveland, like me.
I don’t mean “Hey, you kind of remind me of someone…” it was more like a lightning bolt this is the man from the dream. We all felt it. It was real. A connection. These were people I never would have met, otherwise (let alone hang around with – half of them were big thugs). And so we decided the room must also exist.

Finally, from Kris‘s character, Rex Barrett, who runs a gun shop, is a survivalist, racist, and a loudmouth:

My nightmares usually involve an unstoppable flood of brown-skinned people swarming over our southern border and spreading like a dirty puddle across the entire nation, or fifty faceless ATF agents in body armor kicking down the door to the gun shop—or worse—the bunker and hauling us all off to jail, or finding mom dead in the kitchen—not just crying and bleeding and bruised, but dead, her head bashed in or twisted around the wrong way or a knife in her chest or much, much worse—and dad just sitting there, an empty bottle of bourbon lying on the table and another half-full bottle clutched in one fist. In one such dream there were probably thirty guns of various calibers, all of them smoking, lying on the kitchen table. Always he has this blank look on his face; no remorse or sorrow, just an empty stare, and he’ll take a pull from the bottle and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand (the bourbon sloshing in the bottle as he does so) and say, “That’ll shut you up. That’ll shut you up good.” But nightmares about women being sucked into fireplaces by tentacles? That doesn’t happen.

I’m seeing something that I’ve not seen in a long time: people really enjoying their characters. I’m watching them develop before my eyes, and it’s spurring the players to delve deeply to play their parts authentically. Game nights are not only fun, but they are starting to reach a level of intensity that only comes when the players are fully invested in the future of their characters.

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