I don't know what's more amazing, that it's here at last, or that I'm basically ready!
I'm sorry for the radio silence folks; the last two weeks of my life have been nothing except Vigilante, the RPG. Which I am happy to announce is at last complete!
At least an alpha version of it. Which is still pretty awesome, if I do say so myself. Thanks in no small part to contributions by Jonas Smith-Strawn and Benton Brahm, as well as my absolutely stunning illustrator, Kempo Cornelius. Thanks to all of you!
If you happen to be at Convolution, come by the gaming room at 1:00 on Saturday to see the first, live, public demo of the game. If you miss that one, and want to see it, I may be scheduling another session for friends for Sunday after the con.
I've also got my first short story being reviewed in the Writer's Workshop, and--if I get a chance--I may try and bust out old Goblin Kite Racers as well. Hell, Steve Jackson is going to be there. Maybe he'll notice one of my games and offer me a job. *sigh* That'll be the day.
Anyway, big day tomorrow. Night, all!
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Lone Wolf Book 2 - Episode 12
[Because I'm a wuss, I'm going to go with the Mongoose Publishing version, in which we only lose our Weapons and the Seal of Hammerdal, except that I'm also losing the gold because that seems like a "duh" factor. (Who wouldn't take your gold?)]
To catch up on the story so far, see Book One or prior episodes of Book Two: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, or 11.
The harbor isn't any nicer at night, not with a bump the size of an eggplant on your head and the rich smell of drunks and sewage to consider. But you are a man on a mission. You will find those thieves, and no smell will stand in your way.
You scour the docks for hours. You never thought Ragadorn could have this many ships moored. You are just about to give up, when you spot a small dinghy tied up in a shadowy alcove, off the main docks.
Hurrying to it, you clearly recognize the ship you sailed here on. It's a simple matter to pull it in close enough to slip aboard. Fortunately, there doesn't seem to be any guards. Lucky for you, you turn up a Mace and 3 gold coins.
Just as you think you are out of luck, you spot a folded piece of paper that fell off a short table. Opening it, you find:
[Which way, gentlemen? Save Point 86]
To catch up on the story so far, see Book One or prior episodes of Book Two: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, or 11.
The harbor isn't any nicer at night, not with a bump the size of an eggplant on your head and the rich smell of drunks and sewage to consider. But you are a man on a mission. You will find those thieves, and no smell will stand in your way.
You scour the docks for hours. You never thought Ragadorn could have this many ships moored. You are just about to give up, when you spot a small dinghy tied up in a shadowy alcove, off the main docks.
Hurrying to it, you clearly recognize the ship you sailed here on. It's a simple matter to pull it in close enough to slip aboard. Fortunately, there doesn't seem to be any guards. Lucky for you, you turn up a Mace and 3 gold coins.
Just as you think you are out of luck, you spot a folded piece of paper that fell off a short table. Opening it, you find:
North Star Tavern—Barnacle Street
You take the Mace and Crowns and return to Stonepost Square.
If you choose to go east along Barnacle Street turn to 215.
If you choose to go south along Eastbank Wharf, turn to 303.
If you choose to head north along Booty Walk, turn to 129.
[Which way, gentlemen? Save Point 86]
Monday, October 15, 2012
Lone Wolf Book 2 - Episode 11
To catch up on the story so far, see Book One or prior episodes of Book Two: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 or 10.
Despite the aching exhaustion in all your limbs, you force yourself to stay on guard and alert. You tell the sailors it's so that you can watch for any other survivors, but in truth, you're watching your travelling companions as much, if not more, as the open sea.
Not a flag or sail is to be seen, no matter how far you look. But near at hand, you notice the sailors muttering amongst themselves and glancing in your direction. You resolve to depart as swiftly as possible once you touch land.
It is nearing dark when the small fishing vessel passes into the harbor of Ragadorn. You can smell the city before you get there, the tangy, fetid spice of humanity and harbor scum.
As the ship touches the dock, you stand by the gangplank, eager to get down. But before you can go, the men lowering it turn and fold their arms, blocking your path.
"Leaving so fast?" says the captain. "Without even a goodbye? I thought a fine dressed gentlemen would have better manners than that."
The men grin, and one of them adds, "Yeah, a little gratitude for saving your life."
You take up a defensive stance, and the faces of the men darken. Something tells you these men won't be satisfied with a tip. You put your hand on your sword and open your mouth--
when a blow to the back of your head turns your world upside down. You lose track of things for a moment, and then something huge and flat slams into your whole body, jarring you with enough force to shake teeth loose. Vaguely, you realize it was the deck. You struggle to rise, but your limbs won't cooperate. Your vision fixes blurrily on something hovering in front of your face. Slowly, you focus on it--a massive, balled up fist.
The fist comes toward you quickly, and you know no more.
* * *
When you awake, you have a splitting headache, and nothing else. You struggle to your feet, thankful you at least have your clothes. But searching through your pockets, you find that you have nothing--not even the Seal of Hammerdal.
Stifling despair, you must decide how to proceed from here. Looking around, a faded sign greets you:
[Right, this exciting part of the adventure. Where you lose everything. What next guys? Anyone have any ideas? Save point: 194. Oh... all of our beautiful gold!
Quick clarification from the group: the text says your Gold, your Backpack, your Weapons, and all your Special Items (including the Seal of Hammerdal) have been stolen by the fishermen. It doesn't mention Armor. Does Armor count as Special Items, or do we get to hang on to the Shield and Chainmail Waistcoat? What about meals and the Crystal Pendant (which is theoretically supposed to be serving as memory that we met that one dude, for reference in a future book.)
As a point of interest, a note in the text mentions that in the Mongoose Publishing edition, you only lose your Weapons and the Seal of Hammerdal here. The note also invites the reader to follow those rules if you prefer.
Personally, I would probably vote for losing the gold, of course, but otherwise following the Mongoose Publishing version, and not worrying about special items, armor or clothing.]
Despite the aching exhaustion in all your limbs, you force yourself to stay on guard and alert. You tell the sailors it's so that you can watch for any other survivors, but in truth, you're watching your travelling companions as much, if not more, as the open sea.
Not a flag or sail is to be seen, no matter how far you look. But near at hand, you notice the sailors muttering amongst themselves and glancing in your direction. You resolve to depart as swiftly as possible once you touch land.
It is nearing dark when the small fishing vessel passes into the harbor of Ragadorn. You can smell the city before you get there, the tangy, fetid spice of humanity and harbor scum.
As the ship touches the dock, you stand by the gangplank, eager to get down. But before you can go, the men lowering it turn and fold their arms, blocking your path.
"Leaving so fast?" says the captain. "Without even a goodbye? I thought a fine dressed gentlemen would have better manners than that."
The men grin, and one of them adds, "Yeah, a little gratitude for saving your life."
You take up a defensive stance, and the faces of the men darken. Something tells you these men won't be satisfied with a tip. You put your hand on your sword and open your mouth--
when a blow to the back of your head turns your world upside down. You lose track of things for a moment, and then something huge and flat slams into your whole body, jarring you with enough force to shake teeth loose. Vaguely, you realize it was the deck. You struggle to rise, but your limbs won't cooperate. Your vision fixes blurrily on something hovering in front of your face. Slowly, you focus on it--a massive, balled up fist.
The fist comes toward you quickly, and you know no more.
* * *
When you awake, you have a splitting headache, and nothing else. You struggle to your feet, thankful you at least have your clothes. But searching through your pockets, you find that you have nothing--not even the Seal of Hammerdal.
Stifling despair, you must decide how to proceed from here. Looking around, a faded sign greets you:
Welcome to Ragadorn
You fear the rumours about this place are true. It is nearly dark and it has started to rain. You must find the Seal if you are to persuade the Durenese to give you the Sommerswerd. Looking round, you see a large market square with a stone signpost in the centre, indicating the various roads that lead off the square.
If you wish to go east along Barnacle Street turn to 215.
If you wish to go south along Eastbank Wharf, turn to 303.
If you wish to go north along Booty Walk, turn to 129.
If you would rather go west back to the jetty and search for the fishing boat, turn to 86.
[Right, this exciting part of the adventure. Where you lose everything. What next guys? Anyone have any ideas? Save point: 194. Oh... all of our beautiful gold!
Quick clarification from the group: the text says your Gold, your Backpack, your Weapons, and all your Special Items (including the Seal of Hammerdal) have been stolen by the fishermen. It doesn't mention Armor. Does Armor count as Special Items, or do we get to hang on to the Shield and Chainmail Waistcoat? What about meals and the Crystal Pendant (which is theoretically supposed to be serving as memory that we met that one dude, for reference in a future book.)
As a point of interest, a note in the text mentions that in the Mongoose Publishing edition, you only lose your Weapons and the Seal of Hammerdal here. The note also invites the reader to follow those rules if you prefer.
Personally, I would probably vote for losing the gold, of course, but otherwise following the Mongoose Publishing version, and not worrying about special items, armor or clothing.]
Friday, October 12, 2012
Consequences in Gamebooks
A few weeks ago I started a post about death in gamebooks, and wound up writing a post about death in games. The basic conclusion I reached is that death is fun if it's part of the learning experience, moving the player one step closer to mastery, but not fun if it's just tedious.
But what I meant to talk about what what some of the other alternatives are to death. Risk of failure is an important part of any game, and consequences are an important part of failure. Death is only one possible consequence.
This week, let's look at what a few other types of consequences might be:
Loss of Items: A tried and true method of consequence, you can always dock stuff from the player. Players hate losing things, so use this method with some caution. Items, especially unique items, are a certain measure of progress for players, so taking their shit away can feel even more devastating than a death--especially if it's permanent.
Lose Everything: Even more devastating is to completely strip everything from the player. This can be a great story technique as it introduces challenge and struggle, and at the end of the day, the player can feel even more heroic when they get all their cool shit back, knowing they don't actually need it to succeed. As long as they get their cool shit back sooner or later.
Lose a Companion: This is a technique I used in Peledgathol: The Last Fortress (pronounced Peh-led-gat-hole btw; no blurring of consonants). Early on you are introduced to Ghuzdim Halfjaw, a stalwart dwarf warrior who swears to protect you, the young king, with his life. He is quite earnest, and will, in fact, protect you with his life. The first time you die in combat over the course of the story, if Ghuzdim is with you, you instead get re-directed to a section in which Ghuzdim leaps in at the last moment and takes the blow for you. He dies of course, and he isn't there to protect you next time, but it gives you one "get out of jail free" card over the course of the story, while still making the failure seem meaningful.
Fall to a Different Story Thread: This is one that I'm using in the project I'm working on now. There's one whole part of the book in which, if at any time you fail too severely, instead of dying, you get captured as a slave and must fight your way free. It's a different story thread, and it permanently bars you from succeeding at your original goals for the chapter, as such, but it also opens up some new opportunities that you might never have had otherwise, such as a new companion who you can meet in the Arenas. Also, it's cool. (I actually use this technique several times in said upcoming project...)
Future Consequences: Maybe the consequences of a player's actions won't kick in right away. Maybe you won't know until later on what really came of the decisions, or failures, that you just went through. I'm using this in my current project as well; in my case, if you fail at sneaking into a certain location and get caught, you won't get killed, but word gets around that you were doing something sneaky. Later on, you will find certain doors closed to you. This is an extremely open ended option that packs a double whammy: not only does it suffice as an alternate method of doling out consequences, but it also gives the world a sense of breathing realism. What you do has an effect, and you'll see that effect for time to come. That can be a very rewarding game experience.
Lose Points: Rather prosaic, but surprisingly effective, if your story has some measure of tracking progress (dollars, units of time, number of zombies killed/acquired) you can clearly signal success or failure to the player by manipulating the point numbers. Everybody likes their numbers to be better.
In some ways, I might even argue that a non-death consequence is more meaningful than a death scene, because in most games, what "death" actually translates to is, "try again."
What do you guys think? What have I missed?
But what I meant to talk about what what some of the other alternatives are to death. Risk of failure is an important part of any game, and consequences are an important part of failure. Death is only one possible consequence.
This week, let's look at what a few other types of consequences might be:
Loss of Items: A tried and true method of consequence, you can always dock stuff from the player. Players hate losing things, so use this method with some caution. Items, especially unique items, are a certain measure of progress for players, so taking their shit away can feel even more devastating than a death--especially if it's permanent.
Lose Everything: Even more devastating is to completely strip everything from the player. This can be a great story technique as it introduces challenge and struggle, and at the end of the day, the player can feel even more heroic when they get all their cool shit back, knowing they don't actually need it to succeed. As long as they get their cool shit back sooner or later.
Lose a Companion: This is a technique I used in Peledgathol: The Last Fortress (pronounced Peh-led-gat-hole btw; no blurring of consonants). Early on you are introduced to Ghuzdim Halfjaw, a stalwart dwarf warrior who swears to protect you, the young king, with his life. He is quite earnest, and will, in fact, protect you with his life. The first time you die in combat over the course of the story, if Ghuzdim is with you, you instead get re-directed to a section in which Ghuzdim leaps in at the last moment and takes the blow for you. He dies of course, and he isn't there to protect you next time, but it gives you one "get out of jail free" card over the course of the story, while still making the failure seem meaningful.
Fall to a Different Story Thread: This is one that I'm using in the project I'm working on now. There's one whole part of the book in which, if at any time you fail too severely, instead of dying, you get captured as a slave and must fight your way free. It's a different story thread, and it permanently bars you from succeeding at your original goals for the chapter, as such, but it also opens up some new opportunities that you might never have had otherwise, such as a new companion who you can meet in the Arenas. Also, it's cool. (I actually use this technique several times in said upcoming project...)
Future Consequences: Maybe the consequences of a player's actions won't kick in right away. Maybe you won't know until later on what really came of the decisions, or failures, that you just went through. I'm using this in my current project as well; in my case, if you fail at sneaking into a certain location and get caught, you won't get killed, but word gets around that you were doing something sneaky. Later on, you will find certain doors closed to you. This is an extremely open ended option that packs a double whammy: not only does it suffice as an alternate method of doling out consequences, but it also gives the world a sense of breathing realism. What you do has an effect, and you'll see that effect for time to come. That can be a very rewarding game experience.
Lose Points: Rather prosaic, but surprisingly effective, if your story has some measure of tracking progress (dollars, units of time, number of zombies killed/acquired) you can clearly signal success or failure to the player by manipulating the point numbers. Everybody likes their numbers to be better.
In some ways, I might even argue that a non-death consequence is more meaningful than a death scene, because in most games, what "death" actually translates to is, "try again."
What do you guys think? What have I missed?
Saturday, September 29, 2012
More Beowulf!
I think I bit off a bit more than I should have today... nevertheless, here's more Beowulf, in case anyone's interested. If you guys like it, I'll keep posting as I translate. I'd like to have the whole poem translated within a year.
To Scyld Scefing a son was granted,
an heir to his house,
sent by God as a comfort to the people,
for they had suffered long
with no Lord to love or lead them.
The Life-Lord, Wielder of Glory,
gave honor and renown to that boy.
Beow was his name,
father to the father to the father of Beowulf
of whom our story is told.
Scyld's heir was known and loved
far and wide, and why?
Young men could learn from him.
The young hero gave splendid gifts
to his dear companions
so that when war came
they would stand by his side
to defend the people.
So!
In lands everywhere,
by lofty deeds
will a man prosper.
On Blogging... and why we write
Maintaining this blog is an interesting learning experience. What I'm finding is that I feel a lot more comfortable when I've written the posts in advance. My intent, at this point, is to keep the Lone Wolf story going on Mondays and Wednesdays (which, of course, can't be written very much in advance due to reader involvement) and to put out one more deep and thoughtful post with actual content once a week on Fridays.
What I'm finding, especially for those thoughtful, content-ful posts is that if I put it off till Friday, I'm no good. I'm just stressed about typing it, and can't think about the actual content to really focus on it.
Which is why, tonight, instead of what I had scheduled for you, I'm going to write about Moonrise Kingdom.
If you haven't seen Moonrise Kingdom yet, go watch it. Right now. Stop what you're doing, go find somewhere where it's still playing; if it's not still playing, get a bootlegged copy. Then buy the dvd when it comes out.
This movie took me away to another, magical world, a place where boys can be men, where dreams can come true, where life is hard, but it all comes together in the end, and where true love can be found at the end of a very awkward and difficult rainbow.
I wish that was my life.
There are only two other movies that come to mind that have made me feel this way: Miyazaki's Spirited Away, when I was in college, and My Girl, with Macaulay Culkin and Anna Chlumsky when I was a kid.
What I really getting at here is this: it's stories like these that make me want to write. Sometimes, I come across something so spectacular, so inspiring, that I can't help but fall in love.
Here's where it gets tricky though. Moonrise Kingdom is a fantasy. It's a very good fantasy. Hell, it's MY fantasy, packaged up, put in a box, and handed to me tied up in a pretty, silver ribbon. And it makes me happy that someone out there understood me well enough, without ever having met me, to tell that story.
But it's still a fantasy.
I watched a very interesting pair of Extra Credits episodes the other night about Spec Ops, The Line. The guys at Extra Credit were basically blown away by this game because by the end it becomes clear that it's not just another shooter--it's actually critiquing it's own genre and making a point, a very real, very unpleasant point.
If you haven't watched these episodes of Extra Credits yet, the basic gist is this: Spec Ops, the Line, drives your character to actions that any reasonable human would question, but that you are so used to doing in games of this genre that you don't question it, only then they use the gameplay and story to highlight just how unnacceptable everything your character is doing is, without actually ever breaking the tropes of the genre.
As you proceed through the game, the message becomes more and more clear, and on more than one occasion, lines in the narrative break the fourth wall and directly address the player. The most powerful of these comes at the end, "You're here because you want to pretend to be something you're not... a hero."
The Extra Credits guys then go on to point out that all the big title shooter games, in fact many games and stories, especially popular ones, go out of their way to make the reader/player/viewer feel like a hero. It's a carefully cultivated fantasy.
This raises some very serious and disturbing questions for me. Is it actually okay to use fiction to live out fantasies that aren't, and never will be real? What are the moral ramifications of this? Or, re-phrased, does that actually make our lives better?
Escapism, fantasy and wish-fulfillment are all very nice, but does it actually make us happier, better people? Moonrise Kingdom made me incredibly happy to watch, but now, in retrospect, it kinda just leaves me feeling very depressed, because that's not my life, it wasn't my life, and now it never will be my life. The closest I can come to experiencing those kinds of events is through fiction, either enjoying it as an audience member, or potentially creating it myself.
I loved Moonrise Kingdom, but is it just wish fulfillment? If it is, is that okay? Should we aspire to something more than that in creating fiction? Or is that enough, once in a while?
What I'm finding, especially for those thoughtful, content-ful posts is that if I put it off till Friday, I'm no good. I'm just stressed about typing it, and can't think about the actual content to really focus on it.
Which is why, tonight, instead of what I had scheduled for you, I'm going to write about Moonrise Kingdom.
If you haven't seen Moonrise Kingdom yet, go watch it. Right now. Stop what you're doing, go find somewhere where it's still playing; if it's not still playing, get a bootlegged copy. Then buy the dvd when it comes out.
This movie took me away to another, magical world, a place where boys can be men, where dreams can come true, where life is hard, but it all comes together in the end, and where true love can be found at the end of a very awkward and difficult rainbow.
I wish that was my life.
There are only two other movies that come to mind that have made me feel this way: Miyazaki's Spirited Away, when I was in college, and My Girl, with Macaulay Culkin and Anna Chlumsky when I was a kid.
What I really getting at here is this: it's stories like these that make me want to write. Sometimes, I come across something so spectacular, so inspiring, that I can't help but fall in love.
Here's where it gets tricky though. Moonrise Kingdom is a fantasy. It's a very good fantasy. Hell, it's MY fantasy, packaged up, put in a box, and handed to me tied up in a pretty, silver ribbon. And it makes me happy that someone out there understood me well enough, without ever having met me, to tell that story.
But it's still a fantasy.
I watched a very interesting pair of Extra Credits episodes the other night about Spec Ops, The Line. The guys at Extra Credit were basically blown away by this game because by the end it becomes clear that it's not just another shooter--it's actually critiquing it's own genre and making a point, a very real, very unpleasant point.
If you haven't watched these episodes of Extra Credits yet, the basic gist is this: Spec Ops, the Line, drives your character to actions that any reasonable human would question, but that you are so used to doing in games of this genre that you don't question it, only then they use the gameplay and story to highlight just how unnacceptable everything your character is doing is, without actually ever breaking the tropes of the genre.
As you proceed through the game, the message becomes more and more clear, and on more than one occasion, lines in the narrative break the fourth wall and directly address the player. The most powerful of these comes at the end, "You're here because you want to pretend to be something you're not... a hero."
The Extra Credits guys then go on to point out that all the big title shooter games, in fact many games and stories, especially popular ones, go out of their way to make the reader/player/viewer feel like a hero. It's a carefully cultivated fantasy.
This raises some very serious and disturbing questions for me. Is it actually okay to use fiction to live out fantasies that aren't, and never will be real? What are the moral ramifications of this? Or, re-phrased, does that actually make our lives better?
Escapism, fantasy and wish-fulfillment are all very nice, but does it actually make us happier, better people? Moonrise Kingdom made me incredibly happy to watch, but now, in retrospect, it kinda just leaves me feeling very depressed, because that's not my life, it wasn't my life, and now it never will be my life. The closest I can come to experiencing those kinds of events is through fiction, either enjoying it as an audience member, or potentially creating it myself.
I loved Moonrise Kingdom, but is it just wish fulfillment? If it is, is that okay? Should we aspire to something more than that in creating fiction? Or is that enough, once in a while?
Thursday, September 27, 2012
The Opening Poem of Beowulf
Hey guys, a special treat for you today! This is my own (loose) translation of the opening poem of Beowulf. I've always kinda wanted to study some Old English; now it's actually going to come in handy for one of the projects I'm working on!
If you guys like it/are interested, I might keep posting little tidbits relating to Old English now and again. Here it is...
If you guys like it/are interested, I might keep posting little tidbits relating to Old English now and again. Here it is...
What? Listen!
Hear of Spear-Danes in days of yore
hear of Kings of Men
and learn of glory.
Hear of Scyld Scefing
called the Shield King
How he showed courage,
How he scattered threats
How he took the mead-halls of his enemies...
And made other kings fear him.
He started out with nothing
Found destitute as a babe.
He would not stay that way.
He grew, under the great sky,
in power, in honor, in prosperity,
until all other kings
that dwelt upon the whale road
had to give him tribute.
That was a good king!
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