Anyhow this was supposed to be about my impressions playing the demo for Kingdoms of Amalur: The Reckoning. This game had been on my periphery for a while and this demo is exactly what more devs/publishers should be doing. Getting people to play the game and offering incentives to play the demo, rather than pre-order DLC.

Anyhow, the gameplay was relatively simple. I think WoW with a gamepad is what I kept thinking. Sure, there are some more actiony moments of pressing X repeatedly but to little or no consequence. Mostly I was running around, slashing at mobs and getting loot. Now that is just fine, but the world felt empty, like it was missing another 800 or so people.

Originally it was being developed as an MMO and it would have made a great co-op hack and slash, but it is a single player game. I’m not going to be purchasing it, but if you like killing shit, knock yourself out.

What about the lore? So this game was “written” by R.A. Salvatore, of Drizzt fame. Hmm. The lore was lorey. There are mysterious immortal beings, a spikey bad guy, odd shaped cartoon knights, gnomes pulled directly from Warcraft, and a pharmacy of fantasy names. Amalur, Gadwall, Orgoth, Fearn Kulthra, Red Bandits, people named Herc and so forth. In the beginning, which is frontloaded with exposistion and game delay for cutscenes, I found myself wanting to skip the dialog but I gave it a chance. Soon it began to at least get me a little more interested, but only in a desire to see some of the bloomy particle, cartoony Fae villages. The story does not excuse all the fetch quests and kill ten rats errands that everyone needs help with, the most “choice” you get is harassing people to give you money or declining a quest. I found myself creating my own goal of getting to the village of Ys or someshit, but it is apparent that this happens pretty early in the game. I appreciated the locations more than the story and the map is huge. If I had to compare it to any other game it would be Sacred 2: Fallen Angel, massive world, strange actiony gameplay, quests of little import. It was not as endearing or beautiful as Two Worlds 2 and lacked the freedom of Skyrim (duh). And as for this being a lead in to the future MMO set in Amalur, why wait? Make it free to play immediatly.

In summation, try the demo, you’ll know by the time its over that it isn’t worth sixty bucks.

Apparently, Charlie is having trouble pronouncing your name; let’s just call you Angel-Face for now.

Angel-Face, I’d like you to meet Charlie, Devin, and Dylan.”

You, “What do I call you?”

The man in charge replies, “You can call me Arthur, but I’m going to be the Dungeon Master, or Keeper. Which is really just a title someone adopts while playing the role that I do during a game. I kind of set up the scenes, background characters, and handle some of the narration and description of what’s going on. As well as most of the questions about rules.”

“Now, sit down and if you have any questions ask me or Charlie.  Or you can look stuff up in this manual.” I gingerly hand over a book around three hundred pages, filled with tables, drawings, and rules, a sort of encyclopedia of make believe. “It isn’t that weird I promise. Just trust me Angel-Face.”

“Oh yeah, and here is your character sheet. You’re a Body Building Professor. You get to make up your name though and any other sort of details.”

“So to recap what happened last time: You had just finished attending Erica Carlyle’s Benefit Auction for the Homeless, where Randall Moss broke into the safe in the library and managed to steal some books, which you haven’t read yet. Uhm, Inspector Malloy got in a fight with Major Stone and tried to set the estate on fire and the Reverend Hollis Brown hung out with the kitchen folk and talked to Erica about her brother’s murder. For posterity let’s go around the table and introduce ourselves again, starting with Dylan.”

Dylan stands up beside the table and adopts a theatrical air, and does his best street preacher impression. “I’m Dylan and I’m playing the Reverend Hollis Brown.” His voice rises and falls with a “dearly beloved” sort of melody.

Next, Devin states in his normal everyday voice, “Uhh, I’m Devin and my character is,” and here he adopts a weathered British accent, “Major Maxwell Stone.”

Charlie simply states, “I’m Charlie and I’ll be playing Randall Moss, antiquarian.” Silence swallows the room as the curtain opens, you are in the spotlight, the others lean over the table expectantly, waiting for you to step into the world. The basement air is stale and smells faintly of layered cat pee and baking soda, you swallow hard, hands on this strange sheet clammy and fidgety. You might not be quite ready yet but you buck up and announce, “I’m Angel-Face and my character is Dr. Theodore Manstrong, a professor of body building?” The group grins including Arthur, Devin chortles behind the table. So far so good, you’re blending in spectacularly with this group of pretenders.

Arthur proceeds to describe the scene that each of the players find themselves in, after a hasty withdrawal from the conflagration they meet back at the Chelsea hotel where the Reverend has used collection funds to secure rooms. Each of the players ponder their next move and you scramble to contribute, perhaps just going along with the popular group decision or inquiring, “Were we followed to the hotel?”

“Ooh! Good question!” Arthur exclaims, “How would you figure that out?” Spread across the table are discarded ashtrays, beer bottles, old limes, innumerable empty mechanical pencils with nubby erasers, dice, such strange dice! Stalling for time you fondle the shapes.

“I would look for people following us?” You manage to squeak out.

“Very good,” says Arthur, “Roll Spot Hidden.”

What the hell does that mean? Consult the manual? It’s soo huge! Where to begin? “Uhhh, how do I do that?” You are instructed to take up two of the decahedrons, and to roll them. “Roll well,” Arthur warns.

Roll well? But how can you? Isn’t the outcome entirely unpredictable? How do I roll well? You cup the dice in your moist hands. Discussion begins amongst the others at the table, “I like to soak my dice in whiskey, to make them lucky cuz y’know the Irish are lucky and whiskey is Irish.” “Ahh, I just kind of roll a whole bunch and pick out the ones that roll the best.” “If my dice disappoint me I destroy it in view of the others to encourage them.” “I like to use my dice cup, I think it helps.” Where are the minds of these people? Have they fallen down flights of stairs, slinky-ing their way towards insanity? Rolling well isn’t something you can influence! The dice are non-porous, soaking just doesn’t make sense. Not to mention the intrinsic properties of luck contained in the whiskey.  Their smoking faces wait patiently for you to discover if their characters have been followed from the party. You casually shake the dice and then drop them onto the table, they skitter, they clang, they turn into Mexican jumping beans and dance over pencils, ash, there is a clang as one of the pair hits a beer can, shit, one sails off the table and clatters onto the dusty basement floor, a call goes out, “Play it as it lies!” Among the debris on the table, one of the dice reads “20,” Charlie reports that the other was a “7.” “Is that good?” you ask.

Arthur, “Well what is your spot hidden skill?”

“Where do I find that?” You look at the list of what you are guessing are your character’s skills, you hadn’t noticed them before, but you see:

And finally, deceptively hidden in alphabetical order, “Spot Hidden: 40 %” you say aloud. Cheers, the table erupts in an outpouring of baseless joy. I’ve won! You think, but how why? Charlie’s face creeps over your shoulder and a pale index finger points to Spot Hidden on your sheet, “Your skill is 40, you rolled 27, as long as you roll at or under- you succeed.”

Arthur ahems, “You don’t see anything, and you know that there is nothing to see. It appears you were not followed.” Devin, Dylan, and Charlie smile at you. All you did was roll. Ahh, but there is a small part of you that is proud of the way you rolled. Thank God you didn’t fail! They might hate you. Well, maybe – it is just a game. Then again, people get upset during Monopoly or Euchre when paired with a poor partner. What does success mean in this instance? In this imaginary world where you are a bodybuilding professor, who you’ve decided also competes on the amateur circuit for the Mr. Universe Competition when he isn’t grading papers about body building or helping students improve their push-up form, what are the rewards or consequences of your actions? Could you be a sociopath Body Building professor? Go on a murderous spree? You can do anything right? With no consequences?

As play proceeds the artifice of the game fades, doors are opening out of the top of both our heads and asses as ideas excrete, exploding onto each other like ichor and thick juice. Wading through the molasses, tests against chance are made and outcomes come out.

Our alternate social reality sublimates actuality and you are not you and I am not I. You are, some sort of hero, or alternatively a dead man waiting to expire as dice roll toward you. The unfairness is the only fairness and I am not even there anymore I’m busy propping up governments and peyote dealing janitors.

There is a gnawing, at the edges, a slow pulse soggying the pages. Drifting towards all of us, the knowing that this is not real life.

Mind’s eye theatre presents the best movie never filmed, or substitute dreams, non-fiction, the tenebrous reality of our fictions, as suggested by each of us, but envisioned completely different- unbelievable. The textual references are proof of deeds done, or can be if records or maintained but a lazy pencil can unwrite and fudge even the most heroic of epics.

There is nothing to be done. Smoke and hinged mirrors whack-off in fairyland, self-flagellation in a private space, an open world to those who would but join the table. Gripped in your thighs, the drama, the drama, the comedic aroma of your beers breath strangles tales. We’re not here anymore, we are out there.

Us is committing acts of violence against phantoms of no form in our consequence free dope haven. But we’re chatting calmly behind a door, on a seat, anchored to the facts. The unreality of the situation does not escape omnis populus only reality. The real, of the situation, that which matters is not that nothing is happening but that the ideas happening matter – especially to the ideas whose ideas they are.

“Wait what?” You’re appalled, everyone is standing up.

“It’s time for a break. Y’know, eat food, take a piss. Whatever.” You nod, but there was things happening! Or were they? You shamble upstairs and out onto the front porch, everyone is outside breathing actual oxygen. Charlie is on the phone, trying to explain what he’s been doing for the past hour and half. What have you been doing? Did you do anything? You didn’t demon worship, nobody swung a sword around or anything, no one lost their mind and went into the steam tunnels. True, there was an awful lot of swearing when “The Reverend” was walking around Harlem in a head dress, but it wasn’t evil.

A shadow sidles up to you, “So Angel-Face, are you having fun?”

“Yeah!” you reply, sensing that is what’s expected.

“Good, because well, that’s the entire point. Trying to balance the fun for everyone and maybe in the process create an interesting story” Over the course of the evening Arthur, or the Keeper, has adopted a multitude of different accents and brought into being some imaginative creations, he has some sort of notes, or book that he occasionally glances at or reads from but most of what he’s been doing seems like improve theatre.

“There are some elements of the game that I’m still curious about, including what determines what is going on or the whole story, where’d these games come from and what do you plan to do with this recording you’re making of the whole thing?” having launched this barrage of questions you lean against some ephemeral porch furniture.

“Ah well, I’m part of this community site and we all record games and share them for other people to listen to. Sort of like reality TV, I guess, but that makes it sound lame. And currently we’re playing in a pre-written scenario, it has major characters, the clues to the mystery and the sort of behind the scenes explanation of everything, but all you really need to play is a set of rules and some dice.” Now, of the characters assembled on the porch, Arthur appears to be the nerdiest of the group, he’s slouching in his wolf t-shirt and wearing a Boba Fett belt buckle, like he was born in it. He’s surprisingly clean and his face isn’t covered in acne. “I don’t know what I hope to do with it, but it’s fun and it’s different every time. No one knows what’s coming next, I mean- I’ve got like the skeleton of the plot but I don’t know how scenes are going to  go down or what you guys,” he waves a hand at all of us, “are going to do, ever.”

“Can you cheat?” you inquire.

“Yeah. But what would be the point? It’s all made up! Is your real life so absent of success that you have to cheat at pretend? I’m filled with pity for these sad individuals. Most cheating can simply be overlooked. How important to you is it that they don’t succeed? Congrats, you peed on Danny Golver. Is your life better now? Does performing the imaginary feat of peeing fill you with self-esteem? I can barely fathom the trials that bring individuals to this level. Were you afraid that your fellow game players would look down on you if you rolled poorly, if goddamn chance didn’t favor you?

There are times though, where cheating ruins the game for everyone except the cheater. The others at the table don’t have access to the chemicals this individual’s brain manufactures and the cheating cheapens their own successes’ which they won fair and square. It’s an almost impossible task to catch a cheater. And what would you do if you did? ‘Hey, uhm, you are cheating at storytelling. Your character didn’t actually do that thing at all. They failed.’”

This seems to be a point of ire, so you drop the subject and go to relieve yourself.

Back in the game, shit has gone down. You’ve been following this trail of breadcrumbs and doing make believe connect the dots for almost three hours, when suddenly all signs point to this exotic curio shop which is host to cult activity. What is the best way to infiltrate this place? Can’t you just blow it to smithereens and light your cigar on the fire? You’ve been sucked in, coming up with elaborate schemes for breaking into the unknown imaginary space, nest of unpredictable outcomes, lives are in the balance. Imaginations, whole histories and futures. It’s a climax created in your day to day, Dr. Manstrong is going to risk it all to sate your curiosity. Discarded lives line a wastebasket beside the table. All these souls already lost to the game, lost in the game. We scowl down, appraising our golden calves of reality, and posing the ultimate of hypotheticals to one another, “What if we just go in there and confront him?” “No, we need someone outside to stand guard.” “I’m going to wait in the car.” “Is there anyone in the courtyard?” “Yes, hobos around a burning barrel, some people peek at you from behind boarded up windows.” “Fuck it!”

Logic loops. In  this situation, which does not exist, what do I do?

There is a rush as a Professor and Major Stone bust through the door of this curio shop and demand the owner Silas N’kwame to confess his sins and reveal all. The hobos in the courtyard rouse from their reverie and throw back dirty coats to reveal hands clutching broken bottles and the odd machete. “Oh shit!” The situation has gotten real. Suddenly there is almost one solution, “I punch him in the face!” You roll, you succeed, the shop owner goes down and you rifle through his pockets, hoping to desperately find some clue as to what you did that for, meanwhile your fellows outside are being hacked at and stabbed by vagrants. This is exactly what you came here for. The sublime thrill of your own hero, amongst fellow unique heroes, no one told you how to act, your character, you, seemingly leapt into action, the boozy sedation draining away as your Dr. Professor of Body Building landed a haymaker on some unknowable imaginary enemy. Is this kosher? Who cares! Rationality is an enemy, this instance of transcendent storytelling has caught you in an unfamiliar position of being faced with violence of thought, from which there are no consequences. Why didn’t you just walk away? Why didn’t you just stop when you saw the hobos?

Because. You can ignore hobos in real life, but at the table, where society is but four persons, you can fill the role of whatever you want. These empty stats, Hobos 1, 2, 3, and 4 run at the door of the shop, teeth gnashing. “You throw the lock, and start moving furniture around, keeping them out.”

As one, you press towards the conclusion, unknown narration of what your actions have occasioned, what is in the basement of this shop? Where exactly is this shop? “Number one, Ransom court.” It is in your mind, always had been and still is, just waiting for a group of sympathetic maniacs to reveal its curtained doorway.  What else is down there, in there, up there, there. Occasionally, bright things, trinkets, a beautiful spectrum of creativity, flowering in myriad hues like some sort of reluctant conjuror with his coat made from dreams you had when you believed in bedtime stories as facts, and dismissed the impossibility of turning into an adult. These sedate individuals have become hardened investigators, transient killers, blasphemous heretics, glory grubbing wizards, insomniatic soldiers, more real. In your pursuit of leisure, you’ve worked hard, researching, trailing, driving, clue finding, Spot hiddening, in an inexhaustible pursuit which will leave you drained. Hung over with too much drama and excitement, looking forward to another three hours, that is three weeks, or three minutes where anything can happen but you don’t know how. Death is an inconvenience, a matter of minutes and your full of life, another body to use climbing into dreams or descending into lurid, bewildering, poorly acted accomplishments and discovery.

But what do you get out of this? Is it the pleasure of vicariously expressed socially reprehensible sentiments or committing morally questionable acts to no consequence? Are these stories of deeds done and actions carried out real? Well, that depends on how you like to think and whether imagination is real for you or not. I mean, the stories you tell about your experience sound just like normal stories with of course (usually) impossible happenings. There is no winning although you might sometimes feel a sense of triumph or loss. It is a group hallucination, a shared delirium between consenting individuals, advanced pretend with rules, childlike, adult, sometimes terribly written and acted out by amateurs, co-narration, there is no foreshadowing because of the unknowable quintessence of the roleplaying game.

“Well, it’s 11:00, so we’ll stop here with you having survived the hobos and Dr. Theodore Manstrong descending the steps into the secret basement of Ju-Ju House. Did you all have fun?” A resounding “Yes!” You are surprised to find your voice added to the chorus, but it was fun, wasn’t it? “Anything you liked, didn’t like?” The game is clearly over, papers are stacked and drinks drained. Dylan creeps upstairs.

“So why did we do this again?” Devin asks.

Arthur laughs, “Are you asking me why you broke down the door and punched  the shop keeper? Because I don’t know. Or are you asking me what clues lead to Ju-Ju house?”

“Yeah, ‘what clues’.” Responds Devin.

The group filters out, removing themselves from the basement, it has grown hot down here, and you too feel the need to get out and do something.

I need to find that mod that cripples their spawn rate.

Anyhow! I played D&D last month! And I mean played D&D not RAN D&D. I was a player. It was glorious. So DM Ben is this guy I know from college and for all intents and purposes he was my first DM. His was the first campaign that lasted more than one session (of D&D). We actually finished the campaign and it was a great mix of non-seriousness, seriousness and running away from monsters and solving dumb puzzles. It was everything I thought D&D should be.

However, this time around I’ve had a few more campaigns under my belt having run one successful myself, playing in others, and listening to still more by other others. I came to the table a seasoned roleplayer but somewhat fresh out of the stables after a long “vacay” of game drought.

I chose to roll up a Cleric, because I wanted a wisdom based PC and I had already played a sweet druid. The game (as it stands currently) is 3.5 D&D set in Eberron, there are designs to move it to 4E, which will totally change lots of how the game has been progressing so far, I might even ask to switch characters at that point because there are classes in 4E that I HAVE NEVER PLAYED.

My Cleric, Cesare (yes, based shamelessly off the Borgia’s), is kind of a pious fat wimp. He has sweet detective abilities and a law degree, but what he doesn’t have (initially) is heals. Y’know, the staple of Clerics, Heal Spells, cure light wounds and all that? None! Cesare, like most of the characters I end up making is sort of less than optimal. Sure his wisdom score rocks, but the skills I have ranks in are not covered by the Cleric class. He’s sort of gimped, but at least sweet at these early levels of play.

Cesare relies on Abrams the Dwarf Knight to battle for him, Blind the changeling thief to snipe guys and break into places, Akxong to wizard things and pick up the missed knowledge. What Cesare does is detect the crap out of clues. His search, spot, listen skills turn him into the Goddamn Batman when it comes to finding those pesky clues. That isn’t his only aptitude, he is also pretty great at avoiding fighting. That isn’t to say he’s great at not getting into fights, or that he doesn’t take damage, he is more of the expert of Inspector Clouseau style escaping with his life.

The spells that come to his aid most often, partly because they are two of the only spells he has memorized, are Obscuring Mist and Sanctuary. Sanctuary prohibits you and an enemy from attacking each other, sort of nullifies agro and allows for some thinking space. Obscuring Mist creates a dense mist which grants things within a 20ft square concealment and allows Cesare to clunk away in his full plate and provides some chance that enemies will have a difficult time hitting Cesare’s allies.

I intend on sticking with this “useless” or, alternatively, “utilitarian” character trope for the rest of the campaign, however long that may be. I’ve forgotten the abstract tactical considerations of 3.5 and the blending that DM Ben does of encounters. Some seemingly straight up fights are actually puzzles and the utility of Cesare really shines at these moments. Having recently been regurgitated by a Sword Tooth tyrannodon (??) Cesare needs to replace his armor and find some spider walk scrolls or something. We’re not yet third level but I can’t wait to see what useless spells he’ll be able to cast instead of heal.

Its enjoyable to be galloping around, town to town and be set upon by 8 Sea Raiders and to be taken prisoner and dragged all over Calradia. After my escape I made up my mind to serve the Vaeghirs as the Nords were the ones who got me tangled up with those damn Sea Raiders. I mean, they all have chainmail! What kind of crap is that? I don’t get chainmail until I’ve saved like 10k Dinars! I’m still not there, I don’t even have enough money to pay my troops most weeks. My band of 21 is a hungry lot and delivering letters just doesn’t pay the bills.

I might have to resort to some pillaging. I know the perfect victims, the Nords, all smug with their Sea Raiders. Heck, with all the Sea Raiders they might not notice one of their villages roasting after I steal all the furs and olives from it after a good burning. Yes. They are doomed.

This time since my hero, Angry Tom, has Training as one of his skills my troops are leveling faster than I’ve ever experienced, in no time they’ll be riding horses of their very own if I can just keep them alive. I need to find that surgeon monk, Barthandalus or whatever his name is. I’ve got aspirations of high station in the King’s employ and they include a marriage and a host of horse archers. I mean, I’ll want some lancers too just to take care of the other bastards on horses and probably some assholes to climb over the walls of various castles I wish to storm, but I musn’t get ahead of myself.

For now the questing for enough smoked fish and cheese is enough. I try to keep my troops happy, after all, an army moves on its stomach. If I’ve learned anything from the Wheel of Time it is that you need lots of bread.

It begins with the creation of what is essential God or Eru Ilúvatar who goes on to create the Valar and music and earth and whatnot. Then for a while there is incomprehensible preabmling on the music and creation which foretold all that will happen and what is and was. It is dense, thick, wondrously deep and sorrowful. And while sometimes the action/description is hard to follow there are great moments and short narratives which you just want J.R.R. to explain more fully. Yearning for his prose and even some songs. We are told of the music, how it was so wonderful and great, but it is left for our imaginations to realize and hear it. Not even the dulcimer soundtrack that accompanies the audiobook is meant to replicate the songs with its “three themes.”

It seems also to me that J.R.R.’s Eru is just as vain as the Christian God, creating things that love him and getting pissed when they don’t just sit patiently and wait for him to do things.

Some may criticize J.R.R. of not having real awesome battle scenes. Such as you might be reading and come to “there was a battle, many died” and that is all you get. Even too quick for your mind to really paint a picture of what happened. The Silmarillion doesn’t deviate from this course but it reads much more like a history and so those simple battle descriptions are more forgivable. The great struggles that he does write about in depth are appropriately described; the battle of Huan and Wolf-Sauron and the battle between Fingolfin and Morgoth are suitably epic.

However, there are some lame bits as when describing locations in their relation to the proximity of other locations all with hard to remember names and sort of all weirdly north of something else. I googled up a complete map of Bereland (includes both the Undying Lands and Middle-Earth). This helped somewhat but there is a great changing of names that occurs frequently.

I was inspired to the action of reading in regard to The One Ring RPG from Cubicle 7. My hope is to run it, maybe as part of my master’s thesis but I haven’t decided yet. I’m currently waiting my books which should arrive by December. I’ve only begun to touch on the vast store of lore that is Tolkien’s realm but I’m hoping to get more into it before I get more “out of it.” Also I’ve found this great actual play on RPG.net for those who are interested in seeing The One Ring in action.

Now Harry Potter is a pretty great concept, chosen one, boy wizard, coming of age, mysteries, characterization, some Seussian wordsmithing, and of course MAGIC. Now everyone I know except for those people I wish I didn’t know have seen and read Harry Potter and despite the plotholes, these people all care and are invested enough in the characters to put up with the series for  many years.

It is said that J.K. Rowling will write no further Harry Potter books. And while that grieves me, it really isn’t my business to say that there should or should not be more books. He killed Voldemort, what more is there for him to do? Cure cancer? I don’t think so. That isn’t to say that Harry Potter exists no longer. We are totally free to reread the books and rewatch the movies and to replay the videogames.

When aliens come and dig up our civilization, they will believe that Harry Potter was a religious figure because of all the material devoted to him. The Cult of Potter will arise from post-apocalyptic earth and the mutants, vault dwellers, all will revere Harry as the messiah and tout his dialog for gospel, and such fanatical belief will bring magic back into the world.

This year I begin my work on showing/explaining/dickin’ around with roleplaying games (pen and paper) and creative writing to produce a hybrid work. I still haven’t written the scenario which I hope to run. I’m currently experiencing a gamer drought, as in I have not been able to find a wealth of souls to run games for. In a few weeks I’ll be playing a Cleric of the Silver Flame in DM Ben’s Eberron sort of X-Files investigation heavy 3.5 game. I haven’t played or looked at 3.5 in a couple years or so and it’ll be pretty interesting getting to play in a game again. Hopefully my character won’t wind up as such a hotdog. His background isn’t amazing, hes got some daddy issues with his military father and that’s the main reason that he became a Cleric, as opposed to being chosen by the deity or whatever.

The ultimate goal, is to write a scenario, run it, record it, and then write the transcript up as fiction/non-fiction depending on how I do things. I’ll admit, it doesn’t sound terribly original which is why there is going to be an academic sort of critique from people I trust to do those sorts of things. Apparently there is a Professor at the University which is all about this and I’ve done some networking at GenCon so hopefully I can pull this off.

I know I’m excited for it. In regards to this fantastic blog, I’m hoping to (yet again) turn its power for good.

Hopefully a great many more. Including a post-mortem of the Masks campaign, 19th century autopsies, more video games not finished, a shout out to captain cheap, and more! I’m also currently reconstructing the Hal290044, it is going to be a long process and digital archaeology will be involved.

And a recent death in the family has afforded me the extra time I would need to enjoy this game.

It was weeks ago, while Michigan experienced the same blizzard that swept across the Midwest and canceled schools across the nation, that my baby died.  I’m in the fourth stage of grief as I type this.  Almost five years we’ve been together but she died. I remember the blinking red light that finally told me she was beyond my reach.

Woe is I who have loved and lost. Gerta,  my lovely Blu-Ray playin’, 3D gaming, movie storing, Final Fantasy Replaying machine,  ousted from this realm with a measly beeping and whirring of fans. We’ve shared so much. From that time in icey November of 2006 when I squated outside BestBuy with some folks from Olive Garden. We shared some coffee liqueur and donuts as we waited for the doors to open. And after dropping 1000$ to get enough controllers and games for the purchase to make sense, I hurried home and played the crap out of Resistance.

I also began to replay my PSX and PS2 games, thinking, “I will finally bear FFXII on this machine.” When ironically, it was Final Fantasy XII I was playing when Greta just crashed.

When I was asked if I would like to upgrade my PS3 to the new slim 120 gb version, I laughed a long hearty laugh. Why would i sacrifice backwards compatability, four USB ports, media readers, and a giant brick of a machine for a newer hunk of junk?

When I discovered that there was no way to recover the data stored on my current hard drive, I cried bitter tears.

“Hello [Angry Tom],

Thank you for writing us in regards to not being able to back up your Hard Disk Drive (HDD). I understand as to why this does concern you. I am sorry be there is no way of being able to back up your data to your HDD without reaching the XrossMediaBar™. I truly am sorry for the inconvenience you have been experiencing with this do to the blinking red lights.

If you have any other questions or concerns, please feel free to email me back.

Regards,
Ariana P.”

The game I'm playing.

Great. Hours down the toilet.  And as I wait for my PS3 to get serviced I’m playing Two Worlds II.

We’ve been playing like 20 weeks in a row now and we’re just barely 3/5 of the way finished. So what like ten weeks left? TWO MORE MONTHS?! One of the players had mentioned in passing that he was wondering how much longer we were going to play because he is getting a little sick of the campaign structure and the dispatching of bad-guys with guns. Kind of strange that a player would dislike being able to shoot some of his foes.

But then again this is a guy who only shows up about half the time anyway, so do I really give a flying fthagn? However maybe he only shows up that often because he is not having as much fun as everyone else? I know three players who show-up everynight and they have more or less taken things over- which is what you want anyhow. Masks has a lot of clues, lead following, investigation, plot threads, red herrings and mooks that get thrown at players and with out a consistent group the campaign would fall apart.

After the last session I noticed that I wasn’t really into what was going on. There was an NPC who had another long speech to give the PCs and I described it thusly, “Alright so there is this guy, and he looks you up and down before clearing his throat and beginning his monologue. ‘[the exact word for word monologue]‘.”

Not very theatrical, emphatic or fun. I fudged up. But it was me being totally unprepared. I hadn’t counted on them reaching this NPC for about three more weeks based on the Cairo chapter. The NPC in question was Johnstone Kenyatta kind of a lynchpin NPC. He opens the gates to other NPCs which kind of funnel the PCs towards the end.

It was AMAZING how it happened though, not cinematic or interesting plot-wise, but my damn hot-dog player was the one who just randomly seized on Kenyatta’s name from the list of clues and people to talk with and he rushed forward and spilled his beans to this person. I guess even a broken clock is right twice a day.

But anyhow, we planned on taking a break after we finish the Kenya chapter. During the break we’re going to play Monsters and Other childish things, a World creation game, and maybe some Dirty World or Savage Worlds game. The break from the setting will be good and then we can all return to finish the campaign after our break.

Also I’m preparing to melt minds in the closing episodes of the Kenya chapter, which may be finished this week or next week. To this end I’m going to deploy many a Lovecraftian horror and I think M’kunga is going to make an appearance as a high priest of the Bloody Tongue. Oh and things that are immune to firearms.