02.09.2011

My five year old hates me for "a million forevers."

On a slightly more upbeat note, Templecon 2011 was a terrific weekend of gaming and Geekery! Seven of us drove down in two cars and met up with a couple others who had traveled separately, for a grand total of nine of the most hardcore Geeks in gaming (along with one former Geek... we love you, Yann). I'm not sure, but I think Game Geeks had the single largest bunch at the con (I know, I know... we need shirts or something, probably with palm trees and hula girls).

The con boasted room after room of great games, costumes, exhibitors, demos, music, and events. There was even a Mulg the Ancient sighting!

A few of the Geeks had the intestinal fortitude to compete in the main tournament events, and we all participated in Iron Arena, an open-format Warmachine and Hordes “league” of sorts. Players earned tickets that could be turned in for a variety of swag, including dice, tape measures, posters, dice bags, and so on, all the way up to a fully painted battle box. I’m proud of how well the Geeks did in the many dozens of games we collectively played. Even Andy, the Templecon virgin, walked away with an impressive win-loss record (most of us were doing more staggering than walking, but that’s a topic for another Not Blog).

I can say without hesitation that it was one of the best gaming events that I have attended. Aside from a few hiccups with registration, the organizers did a nice job making this little con in Rhode Island feel like GenCon East, and I am already planning which army to bring for next year (which I will, of course, leave at home after I change my mind at the last possible moment).

 

02.02.2011

It's February 2nd, today, but I'm going to resist the urge to write about groundhogs, or turning forty. Instead, I have gym class on my mind.

When I was seventeen, and my wife sixteen, Becky broke my nose with a volleyball. It had been broken the month before, the result of, let's say, "youthful exuberance," and was almost entirely healed. We were on the same team, and, of course, the five-footer was playing the net while I and the rest of the guys were in the back. The ball came over, she darted under it, gave it all her might, and popped the thing backward over her head, directly into my face. My glasses were broken, as was my septum.

If I were a gamer, I'd say she botched her volleyball check.

The thing is, any time a player fails a skill or ability check by more than a few points in a role playing game, you'd think they were the fourth Stooge judging by the way that they describe their actions. I'm not talking about a botch, or a critical fumble, but just a regular failed attempt. In life, we often go to great pains to seem capable, or, at the very least, competent. For our characters, it's often just the opposite. Every failure is an opportunity to bring in the clown car.

I was thinking about this last night, and I've come to the conclusion that many people, myself included, consider roleplaying games an opportunity to create an idealized view of ourselves. We would like to be heroic, handsome, brutal, nefarious, so we infuse our characters with those traits. But there‘s nothing overtly romantic or admirable in the comic antics of our character’s near-successes. Roleplaying is, at its core, a uniquely social activity. I’m heartened by what the impulse to exaggerate the failures of our imagined selves say about us; even the most idealized selves of gamers are, ultimately, unselfish and goodhearted in a way that most people these days cannot seem to achieve. What is less selfish than the impulse to give our friends a good laugh? Becky and I still laugh about her “volleyball botch” (or was it my failed saving throw?) almost twenty years later. Roleplaying games provide us with the same sorts of memories, even if only within the framework of an imagined space.

 

01.23.2011

I have a tattoo on my right leg of a killer whale. It’s magical. It keeps me from drowning. What proof do I have that it works? I haven’t drowned yet.

Logic has very little to do with a lot of beliefs. This is especially true of the beliefs gamers have concerning their dice rolling. How many of us know a gamer who claims to have “terrible dice?” What she means, of course, is that she never seems to roll what she needs. Or, rather, that’s what it seems like she should mean; in reality, I bet she is attempting to convey that her dice are, quite literally, terrible things, malicious, spiteful, and filled with the impulse to betray.

As illogical as it is, all sorts of gamers attribute a certain malign agency to the little plastic polyhedrons that determine their fortunes. Strangely, despite being a pretty logical guy, after having been both a player and observer of literally thousands, if not tens of thousands of games, I cannot easily keep from doing so myself, despite my awareness that the practice is akin to blaming my choice of cereal for making it rain. Is it pure superstition that causes this outlook? Or do we have evidence in which to ground our beliefs?

During the last Monday session of my Keep on the Borderlands campaign, I was so convinced of the demonic possession of one of my player’s dice that I almost called for a young priest and an old priest. This guy just could not get the roll that he needed. High or low, it didn’t matter; a half-dozen Dexterity checks to keep from falling off the side of a treacherous mountainside, countless to hit rolls, a saving throw or twelve… this poor guy could just not catch a break. A dozen straight rolls and a dozen straight failures. And we’re not talking long odds here; most of the time he needed a seven or eight plus on a d20. The consistency with which he failed to succeed at even one roll of the dice all night defied all logic, just as surely as does the assertion that dice can be “terrible” or “good” or anything other than inanimate chunks of plastic.

So what do we choose to believe? That a tattoo can‘t keep you from drowning? That dice are always impartial? What do our experiences teach us about logic and probability? How do your dice treat you?

 

01.17.2011

Several of us have been playing through B2 Keep on the Borderlands, one of the very first modules(they're usually called "adventures" now) published for Dungeons & Dragons. I pulled it out for a lark, just for something to do between campaigns as it were, but I have been pleasantly surprised by how playable this product still is. The Keep itself is well-detailed, with everything a budding party of adventurers might need to succeed in the wilderness of the Borderlands. The module is structured more like a campaign setting than an adventure; there are numerous well-described areas where the PCs might encounter the denizens of the Caves of Chaos and its environs, but B2 lacks a linear narrative or distinct plot points. I like that it is open-ended. The players are allowed (forced really) to direct themselves on their expeditions, something that encourages maximum creativity. We've played through three Monday night sessions, and everyone seems to be having fun, which is the best evidence that the Keep on the Borderlands has stood the test of time just fine. Drop by sometime, and I'll be sure to talk your ear off about my love of "old school" roleplaying games.

 

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