On Saturday night, I had the opportunity to playtest Gamecraft 2.0 with a couple of friends of mine, Tad and Chris. We didn’t use the setting that I am designing with it, but the system’s designed to be flexible enough to accommodate many settings. It was educating, to say the least. The following piece is based on that playtest. Be warned that it’s long; longer than I expected it to be. Everything here is based on what actually happened in the playtest; I used very little artistic license.

Simon had always had bad luck. His grandfather had trained him to be a boxer, and he had made a small name for himself in the amateur circuit before he had become indebted to the wrong people. His life had spiraled out of control as a result, plunging him into an existence of underground street-fighting and petty crime. When he’d witnessed a murder last week, he saw in it a chance to do the right thing, and maybe to haul himself out of the pit of iniquity that he found himself living in. So, he’d called a cop that he met a while back.

Right now, Simon was sitting on a subway train at 4 AM, talking to this cop, Rod. Rod was middle-aged and a little round around the edges, but I looked like he might once have been in excellent shape. Just from talking to him, though, Simon could tell that this was not a guy you could easily fool. He noticed things; he was always noticing things. They had been chatting, just bullshitting, for a few minutes, waiting until the other people on the subway car (three of them: a middle-aged white woman, an old black guy, and a Japanese high school girl) to get out of earshot before they really got down to it. Simon was reasonably sure he could say something safely, and he was about to open his mouth when the subway train came to a sudden, jarring, screeching halt.

Simon found himself standing up from a prone position, realizing that he had just been thrown across the car by the force of its stop. He sat up and rubbed his head, looking around. The Japanese girl had apparently skinned her knee, and was tending to that. The old man was pulling himself up, leaning heavily on his cane. The woman was up and looking out the window of the train. “There are people out there,” she said, her voice curious and a little afraid.

Simon looked out the window cautiously, noting that Rod was avoiding full exposure to the windows; he did the same. The people outside were just outside the light’s limit, standing still, looking at the train.

“I’m going to go talk to the conductor,” came Rod’s voice as he walked to the adjoining door. Simon looked back at the group of people outside and noticed that there were fewer now; he couldn’t have told you if there were three or four of them originally, but there was clearly one fewer now, as one of them was standing right next to the train, looking up at the window. Simon backed up, glad that he had decided to bring his sawed-off with him tonight.

“I think it was a person.” The conductor was sweating, obviously worried and probably feeling somewhat guilty.

“Did you get a good look?” Rod’s detective instincts were kicking in; clearly something unusual was happening here, and his mind was treating it like any other crime scene.

“Half a second or so,” said the conductor, shifting his weight. “All I know is I saw something on the tracks, and it looked like a person. I hit the brakes as soon as I saw, but I felt it when we hit it.”

Rod nodded, thinking. It didn’t make sense to him that someone would just be standing on the subway tracks in the middle of a tunnel at four in the morning. Something was definitely wrong here.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud cracking noise, and he whipped his head around toward the other train car just in time to see an arm come crashing through the window of the subway car, the hand wrapping itself in the hair of the middle-aged woman. A high, panicked wail came from the other car as her head was pulled through, and Rod found himself already running back to the other car, pistol in hand. How the hell do you punch through safety glass and still have a hand intact enough to grab anything?

He burst through the adjoining door and ran toward the screaming woman; her head was already through the hole in the glass, and the guy on the outside was still pulling. If he kept on pulling hard enough, he’d likely rip her head off; Rod knew that he had to act quickly. He stuck his arm through the hole as he reached it, pressing the muzzle of the pistol against the attacker’s forehead and pulling the trigger. The attacker’s head snapped back and he immediately released his hold on the screaming woman, but something was wrong about the way he reacted to the shot. He was just clinging to the side of the subway car, feet on the outer wall,one hand flat on the glass, just hanging there like some sort of grotesque parody of Spider-Man. Slowly, his head came level and he stared directly into Rod’s face, smoking bullet hole in the center of his forehead. No expression, no reaction; just a vacant look and glassy eyes.

Before Rod could react, the man clinging to the train made a grab for his arm. Rod could feel his touch; there was something unwholesome about it, squamous even. Rod backpedaled, almost falling over, and fired his gun again as he launched himself toward the other side of the train. With some satisfaction, he saw his bullet enter the man’s mouth, causing the top half of his head to be blown off. With some unease, it registered that there wasn’t nearly enough blood for such a wound. The man fell backwards, making a dull thud as he hit the ground outside the train.

Simon saw Rod fall backward, saw the man on the outside of the train blow apart and fall. He was also aware, however, of the fact that the other people who had been standing outside the train were no longer there. He heard a wrenching sound from behind him, and he spun, bringing his shotgun level with the train’s doors. At first he was surprised that they were opening by themselves. Then he noticed that they weren’t, that a figure on the other side of the doors was forcing them open with its bare hands. Without thinking, he aimed and pulled the trigger, sending the figure flying into the darkness as the doors slammed shut again. He looked over his shoulder to the spot where the figures had been, when he heard, once again, the wrenching sound of metal being pried part. He turned in the direction of the noise and saw that the access hatch on the ceiling of the train had been torn completely off, and a figure had dropped through the hole.

The figure made a lunging motion, lashing out with its hand as if it were some sort of claw. Simon dodged backward and swung the butt of his shotgun at the figure’s head, connecting with a fleshy thunk and tearing the figure’s head completely away from its neck. The body stood for a moment, as if in shock, then slumped to the ground, blood oozing slowly from the place where its head once was, like some foul black ichor.

Rod hurriedly tore a strip of clothing from the woman’s dress, using it to staunch the flow of blood from the back of her neck where the window’s glass had torn her flesh. Whether from shock and fatigue or from her injuries, she had lapsed into unconsciousness, and that made the job a little bit easier. Once he had finished, he laid her back down on the floor of the train car and looked up at Simon, who was standing with his shotgun in his hands, muscles tense and eyes moving.

The lights flickered. No. Please no. Then again. Come on. Finally, they went out. Shit Rod pushed his panic down, reciting catechisms in his head in order to calm himself. These people needed him to be calm. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small flashlight, turning it on.

“What the hell? Now the lights are out?” Simon looked down at him. “What did the conductor say? Is someone coming for us?”

“We don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “He was in the middle of transmitting when his radio went dead, so he’s not sure if anyone got the message.”

“And if they didn’t, then what? We walk out of here?”

Rod didn’t say anything.

Simon reminded himself that he was an undefeated street fighter with a sawed-off shotgun as he and Rod circled the train, making sure there wouldn’t be any surprises when they set off with the other passengers down the tunnel toward the next station. They had searched the body inside for identification, and had found some–as well as fifty bucks in cash–but it had raised more questions than it had answered. Initially, Simon had through that the guy looked like a junkie. Rod’s descriptions of people on PCP performing seemingly superhuman feats seemed to back that assessment up. On the other hand, though, this junkie had been carrying fifty dollars cash around with him, as well as car keys, a house key, a driver’s license, and a Visa Platinum card. It didn’t make a lot of sense.

There were seven of them, in all. There was Rod and Simon, the conductor, the Japanese girl, the woman (now awake, though shaken), the old man, another man in a business suit, and a shabby man with tousled hair. They walked through the tunnel slowly, allowing the old man and the injured woman to keep pace, making sure that nobody fell behind. The darkness seemed oppressive–the lights in the tunnel had gone out, as well–and the silence was eerie. Rod kept talking, trying to reassure everyone, to let them know that he was in charge and wasn’t going to let anything happen to them. Simon, for his part, simply tried to look as menacing as possible, even bending down to get some mud to smear on his face, like some sort of warpaint.

A sound came from behind. They had set up a trip line with some twine that they’d found in the train’s emergency kit (along with some flares and a large, heavy-duty flashlight that Rod was now carrying), and the sound that came sounded uncannily like someone tripping in the dark. They hurried their pace, but they knew that whoever was behind was likely moving faster than they were. The panic rose.

Suddenly, Rod brought everyone to a stop. At the end of his cone of light stood a figure, a security guard in uniform. He made no movement; simply stood there looking at them.

Rod stepped forward, gun at the ready. “I’m detective Rod O’Malley of the Richmond City Police Department. Identify yourself.” The security guard was silent. “Identify yourself!”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” The man in the business suit was striding forward, clearly able to take no more. “He told you to identify yourself; why aren’t you–”

The attack came like a thunderbolt, hitting hard and fast and from the side. Something came charging out of the darkness to their left, slamming directly into the man in the business suit and carrying him into the darkness to their right. Screams came from the darkness, as well as wet crunching and tearing sounds. Rod came very close to swinging the flashlight, taking his eyes off of the security guard, but at the last minute he saw the man raise his pistol. Rod didn’t think; he just shot.

Simon shone his flashlight–duct-taped to the barrel of his shotgun–into the darkness where the two had disappeared and caught a glimpse of a human figure hunched over another one, prone, apparently tearing with its teeth. His eyes widened when he saw a third stranger step into the light, then charge forward. Without thinking he fired, hitting the figure squarely in the shoulder. The figure flinched, but didn’t break stride; it simply kept coming. When it got close enough, it lashed out with one hand, raking its fingernails across Simon’s face and drawing blood. Grunting in pain, Simon brought his fist back and then forward, slamming it into the creature’s face, pushing its nose through the back of its skull. It fell to the ground.

Rod fired twice at the security guard, hitting twice but not dropping the man. The security guard simply raised his gun and started firing indiscriminately but, thankfully, with little accuracy. Thinking quickly, Rod placed the flashlight on the ground, still illuminating the security guard, and slipped into the shadows. He moved around behind the man and took careful aim at his head, then fired. Rod was relieved when he saw the guard slump to the ground.

Simon advanced on the third attacker, still tearing at the businessman’s flesh. He raised his shotgun and fired, obliterating the thing’s head and sending its body flying. When he finally got a good look at the corpse below it, he saw that the thing had eaten a hole through the back of the man’s skull and devoured his brain.

A frightened, weary, and slightly smaller group arrived at the next station, climbing up onto the platform. The platform was dark; evidently the power was out here, as well. Even more disturbing, there were corpses here, two or three of them, strewn around the platform. Rod reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, thanking God that there was a signal now. He dialed.

“Yeah? What?” It was not the response he expected from the precinct.

“Bev? This is Rod. I’m in the subway, and we’ve been attacked. The power’s out, and–”

“You’re not the only one, Rod. Power’s out all over the city, and there’s riots or something breaking out. It’s chaos out there. We’ve barricaded ourselves into the building, and some of the officers have even had to shoot at people trying to get in. They let someone in at first, and the guy tried to kill us.”

Rod didn’t say anything, just stood there dumbstruck.

“Rod?” came the voice on the other end. “Listen, you’d better get over here and hide out at the precinct with us. It’s not safe out there.” No, he thought. It sure isn’t.

Recently, I came across a couple of signs that I found amusing. I happened to have my cell phone (which has a camera) with me, so I snapped pictures to post on this blog. Anyway, here they are.

This first one just tickled me a little bit. The picture’s not great, but if you squint and look carefully, you can see that the sign says ‘Terminal Discount’. This, for some reason, puts me in mind of a store that’ll give you such a great discount that it’ll kill you. Sorry for the quality of the picture; it was taken from a moving car.

The next one is really my favorite of the two. This has to be, without a doubt, the best sign seen next to a parking space, ever.

I swear to Jeebus I didn’t doctor that photo.

A little late for Valentine’s Day, but this shirt is just too awesome not to post.

I tried to install and play the Marvel Trading Card Game online client today. I should say that I (apparently) successfully installed it, but was unable to even start it up. I had to Control-Alt-Delete my way out of a blank black window. This disappoints me, because I’ve been curious about the Vs. system, and I generally like trading card games, but I don’t usually have anyone to play with; since this includes a single-player campaign, I figured it would help me in that regard. Guess not. Has anyone else tried this and been unsuccessful, as I have? If you’ve got any pointers, let me know; I can’t find any kind of tech support of any use in the readme file.

Martin Ralya over at Treasure Tables asked me to do a guest post expanding what I said in my last post. Anyway, here it is. Since being posted, it’s attracted a few comments; one in particular (from ScottM) got me thinking about how I avoid railroading my PCs with my adventure-creation approach.

My answer is, basically, that I don’t plan a linear story path or even a branching story path. Instead, I have a general idea of a story arc with a very vague beginning and end, and I fill in the middle with a bunch of disconnected scenes. I design these scenes intentionally to have no particular beginning or end of their own; instead, each one is a middle, the meat of the scene, and I ad-lib a beginning based on what the PCs do and transition to the next scene based on the same thing.

This Treasure Tables post got me thinking about what I do. I’ve never really used prepared dialog in my adventures; I don’t like to read off what an NPC says, just because my PCs would tend to interrupt and I’d have to start ad-libbing, anyway. However, I find myself often playing potential scenes in my head and imagining the dialog, creating a sort of dialog rehearsal that I think helps me to be better prepared for what my PCs might say or ask. It also helps me to find the voice of a particular NPC, and stay in character during the actual game so as to project that NPCs personality rather than just making him/her a generic dialog output device.

I’d suggest that other people do the same thing, but honestly I don’t think that this kind of preparation arises from any conscious decision; it certainly didn’t on my part. It’s just in my personality to imagine how things might go in the future; it’s my ‘GM gene’, I guess. So, if you already do this, good for you. I think it definitely helps your game. If you don’t, you could certainly make the effort to give it a try if you wanted to. You might feel a little silly at first, but it’ll probably become second nature with enough practice.

If you love killing hordes of zombies (and really, who doesn’t?), then you’ll love Box Head. Basically, you’re an Ash-style badass, and you’re mowing down lots and lots of zombies, and the occasional demon. Oh, and you’re all made of boxes. There’s a sort of level-up mechanic, too, in that the higher you push your score multiplier (which goes up by killing lots of zombies in quick succession and goes down over time), the quicker you gain access to new weapons and upgrades for your weapons. All in all, it’s a wonderfully fun little time waster.

I just installed a plugin on my website that links to a service called Socialize. What Socialize does is it links you to a page with a bunch of links to various social bookmarking sites (like digg, Rojo, and StumbleUpon), whereupon you can socially bookmark my posts. If you want to do it, just click on the ‘Socialize This’ link down in the footer of my posts. Thanks in advance!

In general, I like the stuff that gets posted over at the Treasure Tables. It’s a good site full of useful information for GMs. This article, in particular, embodies a large part of my GMing philosophy. I like to give my players as much power and freedom as possible (in fact, this is one of the fundamental design goals that went into creating Gamecraft 2.0), and I really couldn’t agree more with what TT is saying. Give it a read.

This is sort of a double-purpose post. First, I just wanted to let everyone know that Gamecraft 2.0 is pretty much done (though it needs some playtesting yet), and that I’m working on the setting that I’m going to bundle with it, which I’m calling Wild Blue. Wild Blue is a setting that I initially explored in my NaNoWriMo novel (which I’ll try to get published eventually), and one I’ve been toying with in my head for a while. It has various influences, from traditional fantasy to western to high seas adventure. At any rate, one of the things that I’m going to include in the setting is a list of some common idioms of the Demesne (the name of the territory that the game takes place in).

Which brings me to my second reason for this post. An idiom that I’ve recently come up with for the setting is “walking widdershins”. Originally this term referred to a ceremony used to get into a Quick, a sort of pocket sub-reality that the Folk dwell in (more on the Folk in a later post, possibly). In that ceremony, you find the Folktree bonded to that Quick and you walk counter-clockwise–or widdershins–around it thirteen times. Upon completion of the thirteenth revolution, you step into the Quick. Now, I said that this was the original meaning of the idiom; common parlance has distorted it significantly. The train of thought goes that the only people who would want to get into a Quick would be those not in their right mind or the Folk, themselves (who are, according to the people of the Demesne, not in their right mind). Over time, the term “walking widdershins” came to mean that someone was not in their right mind, and is now used to describe anything from mild eccentricity to full-blown dementia, depending on context and tone. Usage: “I wouldn’t go up to Faircroft Manor. Lord Faircroft’s been walking widdershins since his wife died.”