Recent Gaming Shenanigans

I haven't gotten around to much blogging lately, so here's a quick run-down of recent games I've played or GM'd. Probably any of these could have been an entire blog post unto themselves, and a few might still be if I find the time and energy.

• I played Lacuna at the Emerald City Game Fest. This nearly became part of my "A good GM can save a bad system" post, but after a couple weeks of keeping it warm on the back burner of my mind, I've decided I don't like the taste of it after all. It's certainly unique, and an admirable experiment, but not one I plan to subject myself to again any time soon. Reviews I've read since suggest that PCs can perform all sorts of crazy stunts, but our game was rather more restrained than that. Ours played more like a mystery or detective story in which all the PCs had amnesia and expectations of cause and effect were upended. I had too many questions about the setting, and the GM (not just the NPCs) had too few answers; I found it frustrating. I guess I was hoping for Inception meets The Prisoner, and would have been totally okay with The Matrix meets Blue Velvet, but what I got was more like Memento meets Eraserhead. Interesting to watch, but damn hard to game in.
• The day after that, our Truth & Justice campaign wrapped up. I was likewise never quite rocked by that campaign. I really wanted to be challenged more. The plot was a little slow, the villains not as colorful as they could have been, and just not enough tension or drama to really engage me. I would have preferred to have the baddies be a bit more "in your face". The players (myself included) share some of the burden as well, as we never really worked together well and didn't chase plot threads perhaps as well as we could have. I guess I wanted less dysfunction, and more action. The game thankfully didn't meltdown or implode, but it also never seemed to get beyond a simmer.
• My Continuum campaign has had a few out-of-character hurdles. Individual sessions have been really good, but since it's a game where Information Is All, I can't really blog about any plotline (like the basilisk deaths near the 1527 Paracelsus symposiums, or the part where Derren Brown was posing as Christopher Marlowe) that's still in process. And they've been in-process for a long time, as we've only been getting half as many sessions as expected. Normally, I GM twice a week for two different playgroups in the same timeline/universe. The Wednesday night group had to take a month off from play because of one player doing a lot of summer travelling. Just before the Wednesday group returned to the game, the Tuesday group also had to take a month off because a huge work deadline hitting a player. So I had a couple weeks without GMing my Time-Travel game, preceded and followed by less GMing than normal.

Knowing in advance about the month-long gaps in my Continuum group's schedules, I planned to GM as often as possible for our Thursday night one-shot group. However, between my wife getting a promotion that totally rearranged our home schedule, a friend at that game coming down with chicken pox, and me getting sucked into a video game, then mired in a short patch of writers block... well, the month shot by with me just GMing once. That puts me in withdrawal. It gets ugly. My wife came home from work one day, and found me passed out in the bathroom with 3d6 sticking out of my brachial artery.

• The one time I did get to GM on the one-shot night was Og, which I totally only ran because I couldn't quite get the pregens finished for the Cyberpunk scenario I was planning on running. Og is a very goofy caveman game. I've run it a couple times before, more than a year ago, and worked in some Land-of-the-Lost references and time-travel nonsense which seemed to go over well. This time, though, I think I bit off more than I could chew. The PCs scattered every chance they got, and I was left with too much plot for their limited caveman vocabularies. I started grasping at straws, and pulled out of my belly  The Great Gazoo, an intervention team from the Planet of the Apes, [a Slip-and-Slide, the Beach Boy's Pet Sounds] and about half a Roman Legion. I felt like it was a huge cluster-failure, but most of the players seemed to laugh their way through it.

This past week, however, the gaming has swung back around and apparently I've been on fire (or just really obnoxious).

• Thursday night we played Lady Blackbird. Honestly, I lack confidence in Lady Blackbird's mechanics, and I think a bit more definition to the setting (and magic) would be a huge benefit. Leaving so much up to the players is dangerous, especially when I've been role-playing deprived for a week or two. I played Snargle, the shapeshifting goblin pilot, and I hammed it up to no end. There was way too much discussion of goblin-porno and the proper inflating of boobloons.  I'm quite certain it was nothing like what the designer of the game intended, and it may very well have undermined what the others at the table wanted too, but at least it entertained the bystanders at the game store.
• Then the night after that, dinner with friends lead to an impromptu game of Microscope. Our setting was an alternate earth with urban fantasy elements, where famous fictional literary figures became real. Dracula, Lilith, and Dr. Jeckyl all made appearances. There was this scene where I played Dr. Jeckyl (which I pronounced Gee-kell with a thick scottish accent so I could sneak past the initial round of character declaration without most people realizing who I was really playing till the scene got going) and turned into Mr. Hyde and crawled around under the table in some very inappropriate LARP-ish antics with my secretary. What happens under the table, stays under the table.

I am definitely looking forward to getting my regular fix of plot, puzzle and drama sometime soon, in hopes that it will pull me out of this over-the-top perverted character-actor spiral.

7 Superheroes Walk Into A Bar

...and only 2 of them exchange numbers.

On Sunday, I played in the first session of a Supers game using the Truth & Justice (PDQ) system. The GM wanted the PCs to form a team or band of heroes, which seems perfectly reasonable.

So she asked us to first focus on our mundane secret identities, and make sure that every PC knew at least one other PC. Presumably, that happened. With 7 players, there was enough chaos around the tabletop that I didn't really catch the particulars of how everyone knew each other, and just focused on my own connections.

Then, for our first session, she had us all attending the University Street Fair when some supervillains showed up. That way, in theory, we'd all respond to the imminent danger, and have our super-heroic debut together. Tie the party to one another via a trial by combat.

As you are no doubt already guessing, it didn't really work. 7 PC superheroes arrive on the scene. 2 get into costume and wade into the thick of it. 2 turn invisible and 1 uses astral projection, and essentially keep their presence hidden from everyone. The remaining 2 participate, but do so in low-key "on the sly" ways intended specifically to prevent anyone from figuring out that they are a Super. The fight is over in about 2 rounds, so anyone who was "waiting for the right moment" to make their dynamic entrance just missed out. Bad guys defeated, police show up, everyone goes their separate ways.

This is why so many old D&D campaigns start with "There's a wizard in the corner, and he says he's looking to hire some brave adventurers, and will pay you lots of gold." Of course, at least 20% of those openers result in inter-party bloodshed before you leave the tavern, but at least they're all aware of one another.

Oh well, as they say in the biz: "The show must go on". I imagine a fair amount of meta-wrangling will have to happen before the first real scene of our next session, to get everyone on the same page.

The lesson is thus: Never ever start a campaign with what is supposed to be the party's first meeting or first adventure together.  Starting with the origin story is virtually guaranteed to be more of a problem than it's worth. It sounds great on paper, but in reality it's a minefield.

It works in the movies, but that's only because scriptwriters and film directors have control in ways that GMs don't. A character in a novel can't misbehave and wreck the whole plotline, but a character at the table will do so more often than not. The self-destructive misbehavior meme is a strong one, and often hides behind the phrase: "It's what my character would do!" We'd like to pretend we're above it, but most of us aren't.

Far safer to run your first session from the perspective: "You've all known each other and been working together for about a year now, and have established strong friendships within the party." Several sessions later, when you've established a group dynamic, and gotten everyone's buy-in on how the campaign functions, then you can do a flashback session for an origin story, if you really must.

The Meat Shield (Truth & Justice PC)

Played a little Truth & Justice last week. It's a reasonably rules-light superheroes RPG.

I tend to over-think my characters too much, and take way to long making a PC. So, with my back up against the wall at the game, I slapped together a thin parody of a character, which I named The Meat Shield. Despite being so shallow, the character was kind of fun to play.

The Meat Shield

• Hot dog vendor by day, heroic sidekick by night.
• His superhero suit is printed with the cuts of meat he could be chopped into.
• He has some minor thematic equipment, such as a Knockwurstchuku and a hot-dog shaped cell phone, but nothing that actually provides a bonus (well, except the hot dog cart itself, which is mundane but amusing).
• I intended him to just be a lackey, but discovered in the process of playing him that there's some pretty enjoyable grandstanding to be done when your character resides at the intersection of invulnerable and ridiculous.
• Officially I'm the sidekick of the great Beef Wellington, a hero of immense girth reknown, who is, sadly, out of commission with some sort of food poisoning.
• The police got annoyed with me in one scene, and put a "boot" on my hot dog cart. It's hard to be a superhero when your bicycle is being impounded.

Powers:
Invulnerability +2
Regeneration +4

Qualities:
Body Guard +4
Karate +2
Unobtrusive +2
Bicycle-driven hot dog cart +2

Weakness:
Can't disobey anything a Superhero tells him to do (-2)

Microwave Pantometry (Updated)

I played my Pantsomancer again tonight in another session of Truth & Justice. Click for Recap of the previous session.

The big bad was running us ragged most of the session, but we managed to figure out where his lair was, and arranged an ambush. Time for some more stupid Trouser-Magic tricks. On paper, I'm the weakest superhero in the party, but I didn't let that stop me. I fought dirty.

To make a long story short, I found myself in a kitchen, far from the fight scene, but with an established sympathetic link between a pair of pants I was holding, and the pair of pants the villain was wearing. I knew the villain was mopping the floor with my buddies, and that I'd only get a couple quick shots at him before he realizes the Pantomancy involved in my attacks and strips down to his supervillain under-roos.

Wasting no time, I grab a Kitchen Knife. I shove it into the pocket of the pair of pants I'm holding. Lucky attack roll, too. The blood that oozes out tells me that my Voodoo Doll trick worked. I'm squarely into Anti-Hero territory now.

Then I run across the kitchen to the microwave oven. I throw the pants into it, with the big metal knife still in the pocket, and the magic link between pairs of pants still open. I turn on the microwave, which results in heating, radiation, and a shower of sparks cascading down the knifeblade. Elsewhere, the bad guys pants are exploding and burning around him.

It was all stupidly effective, because the bad guy kept using his big defensive powers on the superstrength punches and other massive attacks he could see coming from the Tank / Brick PCs, and had no defense against cutlery and microwave radiation manifesting in his trousers. Not very becoming of a hero, but it sure got the job done. When all was said and done, I had done more damage to him than the rest of the party did.

Update: It has been brought to my attention, that it's possible my Pantometry / Pantomancy wasn't as effective as I imagined it to be. Seems the bad guy had defensive / regenerative powers that would allow horrible wounds to exist, and then just heal up right afterwords. Which means that possibly when I thought I was doing all that damage, he might have been soaking it up. It still felt darned good to squeeze even a few drops of effectiveness out of something as silly as pants-flavored-magic.

Truth, Justice, and Pantsomancy

Tonight's session at the weekly one-shot group was the second leg of a three chapter short-shot that started at a session I'd missed a few weeks ago. The system is Truth & Justice, a light and flexible superhero RPG (I was quite impressed by the system, to be honest).

One of the existing PCs was Geckoman, like Spiderman with a tongue instead of webs. That encouraged us to be a little odd, too.

Sarah's character, Madame Griselda, is a psychic with temporally-displaced senses. She can smell the future and hear the past, or was it the other way around?

My character is Peter Braccae, aka The Trouser Weasel. Occultist, Reformed Criminal, Tailor. My power is control of pants. I can summon pants, teleport myself to pants, transmute pants, reach into my pocket and pull out your wallet (or car keys, or whatever's in your pants), etc. My signature stunts are the Panteleportation Swap (I go to your pants, you go to mine) and Immobilize From The Waist Down. My weakness is skirts, kilts, and nudists.

I just sent the following email to the other players. The plot is far too complicated for me to explain, but I think this will stand without further context beyond "Dread Wizard Calvin is the badguy, and he has a wild cat as a familiar." Here's the email:

Those of you who wear pants find the following note in your pocket. It's been laminated in hopes that it will survive all the rain, and to make it a little more noticeable when it's inserted into your pants. It reads:

"My esteemed colleagues,

I was walking miss Griselda home from the Trolley ambush, and as we talked, a theory hit me. It's gonna sound pretty ridiculous, and I don't mind if you call me crazy. Dirty looks and funny names don't hurt a guy like me. As you may know, my ancestors were excommunicated for heretical Pantsomancy. In this enlightened age, the science of Pantsometry is finally getting some acceptance, but it's been a long hard road full of dirty looks and funny names. A few more of each won't bother me.

More to the point: Griselda tried to smell the future, and she can't smell The Dread Wizard Calvin at all. Funny thing that - a guy in a fancy suit, who's pet is a wild cat, and he ain't got no scent. You'd expect some fancy cologne, or lacking that, some cat dander and piss. But no, nothing, nada, like a totally normal generic nondescript everywhere kinda scent.

Likewise, I tried to teleport to his pants, and struck out. Wrong pants, wrong guy. These ain't no simple pants, neither. Distinctive. Green Armani. Hard to confuse 'em. They don't sell pants like that in Harbor City. If they did, I'd own a pair. One way or another.

So what kind of guy looks like a million bucks, but's got no pants and no smell? An illusory guy, that's who. He ain't no wizard, he's a scentless well-dressed red herring. My money's on the cat. I bet it's a magic cat, hiding behind a guy who never was. It's some kinda exotic breed, probably related to a Cheshire.

Calvin = Illusion, Cat = Illusionist

That's a tough nut to crack. Like the Pope, a cat's got no pants. Don't know how to fight a pantsless cat. This one's gonna take some out of the box thinking. I'll let you know when I come up with a plan.

In conclusion, I'm really honored that you invited me to team up with you. You're real heroes, the kind I've always wanted to be. Feels good to be part of something. Maybe we should consider a team uniform. I'll sketch up some designs, and send your pockets a memo.

Fashionably yours,

The Trouser Weasel."