Rats! OH GOD! RUN!

"Rise like the sun, stand like the mountain, charge like the lion, die as a hero."

"Blade by whom I have lived, Blade by whom I now die, serve right and justice once last time, seek out one last heart of evil, still one last life of pain, cut well old friend, and then farewell."

Wouldn't it be nice if our PCs were this heroic...?



Well... Where to start?

Another weekend of games and debauchery:
- Thanks to Jon for a little seat-of-the-pants ing Shadowrun on Friday. Hopefully now people have seen how I lead by example they might learn the value of subtlety a little more!

- Gregg's Mournlands game on Saturday evening. Rather enjoyable; though the look on Tolley's face when I exclaimed "I throw my bow at her." was rather priceless. Marksman is officially one of my more... unorthodox characters.

- 4th Ed D&D.... Rats...

The Trouble with Rats
I won't go into all the explicit details, as most people attended and/or heard the word already. I would, however, like to point out and remind the party that they were almost wiped out by rats. They weren't even special rats, or rats with lasers on their heads.... they were just rats.

Fair enough when three-quarters of the party got used as a toothpick for a young white dragon... but rats?!

I'll have to remember not to throw too many swarms at you guys next time, since most of that battle consisted of everyone crowding together in a big bunch in the corridor and leaving the Wizard and Healer unprotected on several separate occasions.

Ah well... next time you'll get to venture further into the sewers. I promise I won't throw too many more rat swarms at you any more...

Inspiration

Just been thumbing through some forums and found a nice set of 'last words' that struck a chord with me - so I felt I'd share it.

"I've seen things you people wouldn't believe.
Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion.
I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tanhauser gate.
All those moments will be lost. . . in time. . . like. . . tears, in the rain.
Time. To die."

Lions and Tigers and... Camels... Oh my!

So, here's another update for those of you who have been eagerly (or perhaps not so eagerly) awaiting more news from the Western Front. We played another session of Call of Cthulhu last night. I won't bore you with all the details - but I feel I must make note of a few gems.

Dawn breaks (crash!) on an unassuming port town in the Algiers. By now, Eric (myself) has regained consciousness... just about, and wanders up on deck to survey a scene or carnage and destruction - one which he has no idea has come about, but has his suspicions.

The Yorkshireman and Samuel have beaten me to it though, of course, and are already in debate by the railing - trying to work out whether they got the camel or not.

Casualties/Damages:
- 1 Cat
- 1 Pidgeon
- 2 Arab Pedestrians
- 1 Arab pinned to the door of a nearby house by a suspiciously familiar steel ram-rod (With the inscription "Pride of Yorkshire, Made from realy girders." printed on the length)
- 1 Splintered cart (minus one wheel)

The final shot managed to punch a large hole in a mosque roof some half a mile into town (more on this later, but it was fired at a ballistic arc in an attempt to clear half a broom-handle that had been stuck in the barrel).


Samuel spots the steel ram-rod from the ship, and decides to go and retrieve it. With a little fast-talking (he's a brit, y'know) and the help from the surprised family that own the door to which the ram-rod has pinned its unfortunate victim, he returns triumphantly to the ship - but not before being told by the Arab that there will be dire consequences for the heathens responsible for such a heinous act.

Back on the ship, Samuel returns to the Yorkshireman.

Samuel: "You'll never guess where I found this."
He brandishes the ram-rod.
Yorkshireman: "Where?"
Samuel: "Some bloody rag-head used it to nail his mate to a door!"
Yorkshireman: "Oh damn! He musta snuck on board in t'night and stole it!"

Five minutes later, the two are attempting to explain this to the French Sergeant (Sergeant LeJean, who is the leader of our expedition) whilst an angry mob gathers on the docks. A little worried, Eric and Adam retreat below deck to fetch their rifles.

Sergeant LeJean: (John, in a flawless french accent) "So, you're telling me someone stole it?"
Yorkshireman: "Aye. 'E musta slipped in t'docks durin night, swam'cross the water, clambered up'rope, cross deck n' inta me room. Then 'e took'keys from around mah neck, quite-like, 'cos I'm a light sleeper, see.... Very light, mind. With keys, 'e unlocked case, 'n stole ram-rod. Then 'e locked'case..."

Mark breaks down into laughters for a moment, struggling to keep up the bullshit....

"...'n took keys, put 'em back round my neck, quiet like. Light sleeper, mind. Then, 'e snuck back out, up top, into water and back t'dock. Then, premeditated, like, 'e took his mate and nailed him to that there door to frame us upstanding Englishmen."

I almost applauded, it was flawless... I didn't though. Unfortunately, I was too busy laughing my face off. Even John couldn't think of a come-back to that one.


Now, the crowd on the docks has grown to about two dozen, and they are starting to light torches and staring up at the ship angrily. A shout comes up that they killed the most respected Imam on the coast whilst he was at morning prayers. It takes a moment for us to click - but we finally remember the enormous hole that Mark managed to punch in the roof of a tall Mosque not far from the docks.

Crud....

Samuel and the Yorkshireman quickly decide that they must go and talk to the Captain of the ship and push off before the mob decides to attack. The Captain tells them that he has a good relationship with the people of this town, and that we are to get the hell off his boat. We have ten minutes.

The four of us hold a quick meeting on deck - all the while vaguely aware of Sergeant LeJean, who is standing by the port-side rail, sharpening various weapons with a mad gleam in his eye: like a man who is about ready to lead a suicide charge against a town of angry Arabs.

It is the Yorkshireman who comes up with a plan. The french are too stubborn to push off, and to get away we have to get past two dozen arabs with weapons and torches - with just the four of us and a mad Sergeant (not to mention the Camel still hasn't been located). He counts off 5 Frenchies on board, and we agree that this is better odds than trying to fight the Arabs.

At this point, John helpfully mentions that 10 more frenchmen appear on the deck, ones that you've never seen before. Then another ten.

Double-crud....

We hatch a new plan. Yorkshireman hides on deck, the rest of us take cover.

Yorkshireman (speaking in french now, so the Arabs on deck can hear him): "We Frenchmen will rape your women and burn your religious leaders before urinating on their still-warm ashes!" He shouts.

A murmur goes up from the crowd. The French decide its a tactical time to abandon ship - take all the lifeboats and promptly feck off. The crowd gets bigger, and the four of us on board feel very pleased with the way things are looking... generally speaking.

Cue me:
Eric (In Arabic): Appearing on deck, "Quickly! The French are escaping!"

You have to give us credit... it was a plan of quite some genius.

Unfortunately, as is often the case in our games, it backfires. The Arabs shout back that they will kill the french later - they want our heads first, regardless of whether we are french or not!

Triple-crud.....

I kick the boarding ramp into the water, and Samuel and the Yorkshiremen fetch the Elephant Gun. We prepare ourselves for a fight. For some minutes, the Arabs are chanting "Al-Machtum! Al-Machtum!" Not even Eric knows what they are talking about, until its too late.

A catapult wheels out of a nearby street, onto the docks. It is loaded with an angry-looking camel with steel teeth.

Quadru... you get the idea.

Samuel and the Yorkshireman watch as the Camel is winched back - and then they take a pot shot at the catapult. Mark rolls a critical, and the Catapult explodes into chunks of wood and banded metal, hurling the camel over the ship to crash into the sea.

We cheer.

Arab: "Hey, you English cheat!" Someone shouts.

Being English, of course, we respond poorly to being called on our honour. Both Samuel and I lean over the rail to shoot the speaker almost simultaneously (And I'm sporting a .45 Martini-Henry Rifle, to Samuel's revolver).

Things start to go a bit pear-shaped. Sergeant LeJean has remained with us, and start shouting insults in French, taunting the Arabs: a crowd which has now grown to about 100 people, including some of the Tuareg tribesmen. A volley of shots rings out from the tribesmen, the Yorkshireman takes hot lead in the gut and goes down, and Eric is caught in the shoulder (on a measly 4 HP after his minor recovery overnight) and collapses again.

A dozen Arabs manage to climb up the anchor chain and storm the deck. The Sergeant shouts something inanely, and throws away his sword. He then proceeds to call the Arabs "Girlies", draws a pair of nail scissors and prepares for the charge. Adam is next to fall to the charge, taking one man with him - and then Samuel manages to take two more between his revolver and shotgun shots. In the chaos, he falls too.

Woo! TPK!

We started a religious war last night.... I feel my work is done.

Next time, I'll introduce you to the new party! :D

The Holiday Season Approaches

And with it comes your doom! MWUHAHAHAHAHAHAH!


Ok, probably not really...


But, fair warning - a couple of dates to bear in mind:
- 18th July, I finish at British Sugar
- 19th July, Moving home, hopefully
- 26th July, Flying to Texas for two weeks. Back in the morning on the 10th August

Other than that (and 9.5 thousand words left on my dissertation) I have nothing much else planned. I'm rabidly avoiding getting a job, so all my efforts will likely be devoted to time-wasting activities like gaming.

Aren't I just wonderful?

... The correct answer is yes.

A Brief Update (well, probably not so...)

The minutes are slowly ticking by on this dull friday afternoon, and I have an hour to burn before I can run and frolick in the fields once again. Well, maybe not run, but I can certainly frolick pretty damn hard when the occasion calls for it. I am to be relegated to the confines of my shiny car for a couple of hours - as I am spending tonight and most of tomorrow (most likely) in Loughborough seeing a few people before they courteously fack off for the summer.

So... Hmm, something to ramble about.

Perhaps a little update is in order. Mayhaps I should give a quick run down of my gaming intentions for the long summer months that stretch out into infinite before me (Roll on the 18th of July, woo!):

Game: Shadowrun 4th Ed.- Ghost Whispers
GM: My wonderful self
Players: Jon - Ed, Bev - Narcissus, Gwyd - Wire, Gregg - Sparks, Tolley - Cliff, Bags - Spot, Dan - ? (I don't have a name from him yet)
Death Count: Two, so far. Smile was... unfortunately... slain over a misunderstanding as to how large-caliber pistols and chain link fences interact during stealth missions. Merlin was... well, he got what he deserved after such a careless attempt at keeping a low profile.
Details: Well... So far you guys know precisely squat in terms of story. I've been dropping plot hooks all over the damn place, but noone has noticed yet.
Key NPCs: Fitch, the Shadowrunners' Dwarf Fixer. Runs a bar on the Upper east side of San Francisco - unimaginably dubbed "Fitch's".


Game: D&D 4E - The Titans
GM: Me, again! Woo!
Players: Dan - Vargrimm, Jon - Alfie Longknife, Tolley - Torinn, Gregg - Corianna, Oscar - Gennel. Bags will be joining us too at some point, though I cannot remember his character name.
Death Count: 3 (Two sessions and you've already topped SR!) The Paladin (Heskan), Wizard (Immeral) and Warlord (That cowardly bugger) were all unfortunately eaten by a young white dragon in a hidden cavern under the ruins of Kobold Hall. The only survivor: Alfie Longknife, who bravely ran away.
Details: The party are a group of sell-sword types and well-to-do's with various reasons for being banded together under the employ (primarily) of the Lord of Fallcrest. Though relatively fresh to the adventuring gambit, the group have already begun to make a name for themselves after slaying the Skullkicker Tribe of kobolds in the ruins of Kobold Hall and putting a stop to the raids. After further investigation, they also discovered the presence of a young white dragon masterminding the Kobold efforts. Though the first attempt to defeat the dragon was defeated with tragic losses, they were quickly reenforced and returned triumphantly to Fallcrest with a head of the dragon to mound upon the wall in the Keep.


Game: Star Wars d20 - The Rise of an Empire
GM: My, Myself, Irene, and possibly Mitch too
Players: Bev - Bev Thrama, Tolley - Lott Tolron, Bags - Rabakkazza, Dan - Ditri Gunran, Jon - jared Chase, Gwyd - Gwyd Sashaan.
Death Count: Player-wise, none (despite my best efforts). Party NPC-wise, 2: Tront and Bill, both retainers to Lott Tolron.
Details: Well... Everyone has been hassling me to pick this one up again for a long time now. I'll get there eventually, but I do intend on rolling out a few more sessions some time this summer.
Important NPCs: Kraliel - The Big Bad Guy, Emperor's High Inquisitor and general all-round nasty bastard. Veethree - Bev Thrama's black and red R2 droid. Lunia Helliosne - Former Jedi Master and lover to Bev Thrama, now revealed to be Sister to Kraliel the Inquisitor, and apparently turned to the Dark Side to serve with her brother.


As for other games:
- GURPS Cliffhangers (Jon)
- All Flesh Must Be Eaten (Jon)
- D&D 3.5 Eberron - Gestalt (Gwyd)

And I'll stop there... because my brain is melting. Will come back to this later.

A very unorthodox horror game

So, for those of you who are 'up' on the way things are - you may know that I am currently involved in a Call of Cthulhu game with some guys in Bury. Additionally, some of you may have already heard tall tales about how utterly barmy the game has become, and how utterly ludicrous the story has turned out.

Which, of course, brings me to point out that there is, in fact, basically no story. Things have been going so... interestingly... that every member of the group is now well into their 2nd, 3rd or even 6th character by now.

And now, onto my point: Though it is late, tonight's game has been a classic and I feel the need to record a few things before I forget them in the haze of caffeine that will likely fuel me through tomorrow morning.

------------

For reasons best left unmentioned, I will not write out the entire scenario - as it is rather... strange and nonsensical, in a sort of Terry Pratchett way (and not the H.P.Lovecraft way it is supposed to be!).

Our party of Gentleman Explorers has just arrived in French Algeria, circa 1879 aboard a steamship. We are told by our resident French Sergeant (tis a French ship, doncha know!) to keep a low profile, rustle up some bearers for our equipment and food for a trek ready to march through the desert to investigate some ruins following the discovery of a strange Statue in a previous adventure session.

Emphasis on low profile.

So we travel into the town around the docks and 'rustle up' some help - Picking from a line up 24 men (each of the 4 characters picked 6). We ended up with 18 big strong black types, and 6 mad cannibalistic pygmies... Thats the last time I let the obese Yorkshireman decide on anything of importance, ever again. Ten minutes later we'd also gained a fat woman and her beanpole daughter, a goat with broken legs (done so by the Yorkshireman as well), and a Tuareg Fighting Camel.

Now, the following series of events unfolded rather rapidly, and the situation quickly fell out of control. In the process of fetching some lunch, one of the Pygmies took an unhealthy like to my Cambridge-bred Anthropologist (and, conveniently the only person who could speak Arabic in the group). The pygmy took a bullet to the head, and the camel started barrelling around excitedly. Ushering the rest of the natives outside so we can have space to take a table and order some food, Eric (myself) drags the dead pygmy outside, where his former companions start eating him... in the street. This in turn draws the attention of two Arabs who pick a fight with Eric. Eric's friend Horace then comes to his aid - and in short order a fight breaks out...

People start to take bets.

Eric tries to fade into the background as Horace pulls out a gun and shoots one of the Arabs, only to have his second shot go so wildly awry that it wings the Camel and drives it into an Infidel-Killing rampage. And... of course, everyone knows that Tuareg Fighting Camels cannot be stopped once they get a good look at their prey... In this case, us.

So, one dead Horace later, the lunch-shop is destroyed by the weight of a rampaging camel. Samuel, sporting a sawn-off shotgun, sees off the two Arabs - but not before Eric has been grievously wounded and is lying in a bloody, camel-stampeded heap on the floor. Counting their losses, the party manage to redirect the Camel onto the gambling crowd of spectators, starting a riot - and then make a hasty getaway with the unconscious Eric in tow.

A fire springs up. People start to stampede down the streets, screaming about a Fighting Camel on the loose.

There is a small explosion in the distance, and a roar of an angry camel.

The party flee back towards the ship - but not before the Yorkshireman stops in a broken down house and is pursuaded into buying the three daughters of an Arab local, who are promptly 'married' to the fat bastard and given a swift lesson on how Yorkshire is God's Country.

And I quote: "Oh dear... I'm gonna have to clear this one with t'missus when we get back 'ome." (Mark, as the Yorkshireman).

Eric spends the rest of the session unconscious, but I'm happy to stay that way - if only because it means I get to watch the following from a spectator position (and most of the time I'm rolling on the table in hysterics).

Horace's replacement, Adam, meets the Yorkshireman and Samuel as they arrive back at the ship. After leaving Eric in the care of the somewhat un-sober care of the french ships surgeon, they return to the deck with their Ace - the Elephant Gun, and set up to wait for the Fighting Camel, should it come looking for them.

Yes, an elephant gun. It took two of them to load it, and another one to 'spot' with a sightglass. This thing is... enormous, like a 60cal rifle and a supersized shotgun rolled into one. In fact, it takes them three attempts to get the damn thing loaded right! There are numerous snickered remarks from the French crew who gather to watch three incompetant english gentlemen trying to load this enormous weapon. Adam makes mention that the steamship should probably count as a Warship with this thing on board.

Night falls, and it becomes difficult to see the docks. Samuel, having loaded the gun, takes the sight glass and watches the docks for signs of Camel.

I should probably point out now that Tuareg Fighting Camels are special beasts of almost mythical prowess. This thing killed 5 people and got shot three times before escaping into the town previously. Its teeth have been replaced with razor sharp metal, and its hide is marked with many bullet-scars where it was raised and taught not to fear firearms. We figure we're in for a rough night.

Samuel catches sight of a glint of metal on the docks in the gloom. He can't be sure, but he thinks its the camel's teeth! The Yorkshireman, at the trigger, doesn't bother to wait for confirmation. The sound of this gun going off deafens all three Gentlemen on deck, and blinds them in a cloud of gunpowder smoke. Samuel's sleeve is singed by the backblast and the Yorkshireman is knocked flat on his back.

Several Frenchmen appear on deck, waving their arms and gesticulating wildly. I should reiterate that none of the three can hear anything, and they played the part wonderfully. On one side of the table I have the GM, John, waving his arms and mouthing things in french. On the other side I have the Yorkshireman (mark) and Samuel (pete) who are shouting (literally shouting) loudly over one another as if they can't hear.

Mark: "Did we get him?"
Pete: "What?!"
Mark: "No, no, Tuesday!"
Pete: "Where'd that damn Camel go?"

They look to John, who, as a Frenchman, has angrily stuck two fingers up at the Englishmen.

Mark: "Shit, there's two of 'em!"
Pete: "Two? Reload, reload!"

They reload the Elephant gun; deaf, partially blind, and far too excited. Samuel forgets to remove the ramrod and gives two thumbs up to the YOrkshireman - who swings to face port (unable to see anything) and fires again with a dreadful boom.

The next few minutes unravel in confusion as the deck is swamped in gunpowder smoke, more of the crew arrive on deck, and people's hearing begins to return. All people can hear is screams and shouts and gibberish (remember, only the unconscious Eric speaks Arabic) coming from the docks area. Unsure of whether they got the Camel, or whether there even was a camel, the Yorkshireman shouts out in French to the docks.

Mark: "Is it the Camel?"
John, a reply comes back from an Arab speaking French: "The Camel? Tuareg Fighting Camel? OH SHIT, ITS THE CAMEL! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES?!"

The image of a Tuareg FIghting Camel is bad enough. The image of a Tuareg Fighting Camel with an Elephant Gun, firing indiscriminantly into the crowd is even worse.

All breaks down into chaos again. Samuel loads the gun again, this time with a makeshift ramrod - a broom handle. The French on board start to gather, and one of them has his trousers down. The Yorkshireman, honour-bound to a fault decides that this Frenchman has been committing nasty deeds with his new 'wives', and swings on the crew. In his excitement, the Elephant Gun in his hands 'goes off'.

Everyone goes deaf and blind again for five minutes. The smoke clears finally, and the deck is French-free.

Realising that the rest of his ammunition is down in his cabin, the Yorkshireman decides to call it a day - and calls off the Camel Watch for the night. They retire, and so do we - ready to see the damage we dealt to the docks when the morning (next week) comes along.

D&D 4th Edition

Well, this... more or less... marks the two week anniversary of the release of Dungeons and Dragons - 4th Edition. I am happy to report that I have already, in my two brief sessions, rolled out both a Dungeon AND a Dragon!

Of course... the Dungeon was dank and full of unfriendly kobold-y types with sharp sticks and an ample selection of interesting-shaped sling stones, and the Dragon in question decided to eat just over three quarters of the party (The party only consisting of 3.5 people to begin with).

So, without further ado, I present the party as is currently standing (Bravely stepping into the breach, or somesuch nonsense):

Gennel, Elf Ranger
Alfie Longknife, Halfling Rogue (And baked-goods connoiseur)
Vargrimm, Dwarven Cleric of Bahamut (Zealous avenger seeking to fulfill the aims of his God in the stead of his fallen companion, Heskan)
Corianna, Tiefling Warlock
Torinn, Black-scaled Dragonborn Fighter (Brother to Heskan on a mission of vengeance)

And, finally, a small reminder to everyone:
The Halfling is not JAILBAIT! Even if he does have high charisma and is underage!

The dawn of a new (and terrifying!) era

So - it would appear that in the final weeks of my placement in Suffolk I have finally lost all interest in actually getting anything done and bowed down to the might of the internet blog.

A blog?! Ye might say... Who could possibly want to read the garbage that I churn out on a fairly regular basis (The sort of stuff that usually gets warbled away in the cavernous reaches of my mind, or finds voice and often drives away those people that just happen to be close to me at the time). Profound wisdom? Perhaps not... But I'm sure there will be a little something for everyone... Assuming nobody expects sex, drugs and/or rock & roll.

Well, ok, maybe a little - but we'll see when it comes to it.

During the interim, erm... have a look around, try not to claw your own eyes out and don't let me innane ramblings disturb your sanity too much!

Tom