Return to the Dungeons

On November 21st, my friend Stephen Fitzpatrick hosted the first round of Dungeons & Dragons any of us had enjoyed in years. Excepting the one-off "Nerdieth Anniversary" event about five years ago, it's been close to two decades since the last time I rolled up a D&D character.

For those unfamiliar with the game, D&D is a special sort of amusement, part boardgame, part storytelling. Each player creates a character with a set of mental and physical attributes and personality quirks, and the referee of the game, or "Dungeon Master," facilitates a kind of collective storytelling session, with each player taking on the role of his or her character. Dice rolls to determine whether or not any given action is successful add an element of chance to the game.

Stephen happens to be a wonderful painter of the pewter miniatures used to represent player characters in the game, and in the photo above you can see some of his work. I apologize for not having written down the character names, but from the left we have Audrey's paladin; my bard, Timbre Wavecrest; Jeff's elf ranger; and Mike's gnome spellcaster. Minatures for Pete and Scott are missing, since theirs haven't arrived yet. (They used temporary placeholder miniatures, seen in some of the shots below.)

When I told Sylvia that I was going to start playing D&D again, she asked me what sort of character I was going to be.

"A bard," I said.

"What's that?" she said.

"Well, it's sort of like a travelling musician. I have a lute and I sing and play music to inspire the other characters to greater heights of heroism. And I wear this cool poofy shirt."

"Oh, you're the gay guy," she said.

"I'm not the gay guy," I said, flustered, "Not that you couldn't play a gay character if you wanted to, but I happen not to be gay - I mean, the character isn't gay. Neither am I, of course. Anyway, just because you have artistic ability in the game doesn't mean your character is gay, just like in real life."

"Mmm hmmm," Sylvia said.

I thought I had a sort of 70s rocker thing going...

Our story began at the sort of quaint little town familiar to any seasoned roleplayer, with an assortment of colourful supporting characters and a plot hook to get us started. In this case, our merry band, looking for work, took on the task of tracking down the kobolds (think miniature wannabe dragons) who'd been raiding a supply caravan.

We followed the trail of the kobolds to a dungon and blundered our way into combat. Note that my character has cleverly placed himself at the rear of the party, in relative safety. The monster to the right is a kobold weilding a sling. The green rectangle with squiggly lines represents a pit full of some kind of nasty fluid. Stephen hinted that we probably didn't want to fall into that pit.

We waded into battle with a will, dispatching the first group of monsters with relative ease. I actually mocked one of them to death with the power of my mighty charisma. Note the bloodstain on the floor leading into the pit - Mike's gnome used telekinesis to squish and drag one of the poor creatures to his death.

Audrey and Pete just before a roll of the dice.

Having slain all the monsters on the first floor, we boldly made our way down the stairs to the next level. Once again I bravely led from the rear, strumming my lute and chanting inspirationally, safely out of range of projectile weapons. We came across another group of kobolds, this time playing some kind of macabre game called "skulls," using a heavy wrecking ball hung from the ceiling to knock over piles of skulls, carnival-style.

Unfortunately the wrecking ball also made a handy weapon, bowling a couple of us over. Poor Jeff's ranger was nearly overcome by vicious dogs, bleeding all over the rank dungeon floor before we were able to rescue him. Fortunately the healing powers of Audrey's paladin were enough to sustain his life force. A close call! (As in real life, Jeff winds up the most badly injured of anyone in our little group! He's had a bit of bad luck with pratfalls.) In the end we prevailed and pressed onward until the late hour forced our middle-aged real-life bodies back into bed. To be continued whenever we can all get back together again - probably not until January, real life being what it is, brashly intruding upon our geeky pastimes.

Dungeons & Dragons, or any of the hundreds of other role-playing games, are great for anyone who loves storytelling, improv, and the theatre of the absurd. I'm grateful that Stephen offered to escort us down those hallowed dungeon halls again, and I look forward to the next exciting episode.

Sweeping Generalizations

The Barefoot Sweeper

Saturday night the gang gathered at Pete's place for our second round of the Serenity roleplaying game. The common theme that night was spillage and cleanup. As seen here, Mike was so disturbed by Pete's filthy back deck that he felt compelled to sweep up. Later in the evening, Steve dropped his Brute on Pete's shiny hardwood floor(the sandwich, not his actual brute, not that he has one or anything that I know of) and promptly wiped up the mess. This prompted some gentle ribbing and reminded us of the night, not long ago, that Jeff spilled Pete's expensive port all over Pete's expensive table. The mess was promptly cleaned up.

According to a common stereotype, men don't enjoy cleaning. But among my particular tribe of geek friends, cleanliness is clearly a virtue.

Stealing a line from my friend Leslie...

What I'm reading: Cloud Atlas, by David Mitchell. Unusual and compelling, despite being a finalist for the Man Booker prize (rimshot!).

Speaking of awards, I found out today that E.L. Doctorow's Ragtime, which I have always assumed is a mainstream novel, was nominated for the Nebula award - an SF prize. I haven't read Ragtime - anyone know if it has any speculative content? (Some of you may remember the story from the film adaptation - widely publicized as James Cagney's last film.)

Gaming & Guinness

Gaming & Guinness Logo courtesy of Stephen Fitzpatrick

To celebrate St. Patrick's Day, my old friend Stephen Fitzpatrick started a new tradition last month: Gaming & Guinness. Three days of thick beer and geekery, with special guests of honour Mike Parlow and Rob Day, old high school friends in town from Vancouver and Ottawa, respectively.


Stephen Fitzpatrick, Scott Friel, Mike Totman (in green bunny ears, facing away from camera), Mike Parlow, Peter Harris and Rob Day prepare for a weekend of drinking and dice-rolling


Scott and Steve (Hey, Lost reference!) defend the walls of Minas Torth (or whatever)


Mike and Pete prepare to assault the walls of Yog Sototh (or whatever)


MORTAL KOMBAT! dah doo dah doo dee doo...


From Middle Earth to the Middle of a Race...how narcissistic is it that I remember I came in second in the first race, but I don't recall who won? (I think it was Mike P.)


VROOM!


After watching MST3K ("Mitchell", one of the finest episodes), I returned home. That's when the great snows came...


By morning, Pete's car was buried. But winter's wrath could not stop G&G!


Defying the blizzard, we gathered for a round of Warhammer, pitting meticulously-painted armies of goblins and trolls against each other. Note Scott's stylish "Han Shot First" t-shirt, a fine example of Krypto-revisionism.


Pete, Rob and Stephen weigh their options as the fierce tabletop battle rages. Note V for Vendetta poster at rear, a film we went out to see scant hours before.


With a rebel yell, they go wild, wild wild. In the midnight hour, they want more, more more - more more gore!


Scary critters threaten to rend all who oppose them limb from limb! FLAWLESS VICTORY!


A panorama of the battle. Note Mike T at far right, grinning maniacally. As always, don't forget to CLICK TO EMBIGGEN!

Not long after snapping this last shot, I left to brave the snow-clogged roads - a story I'll defer to the next post. Thanks to Stephen and Audrey for offering up their home, and to Steve in particular for organizing a most enjoyable time. It was great to see Mike and Rob again, and here's hoping this becomes and annual event.

How I Spent My Solstice Vacation

In a couple days I start my new job, so it seems appropriate to report on some of my activities since leaving Hole's back in October.


Caught in the act of housekeeping.

Naturally, I spent some time catching up on a few unfamiliar activities, including helping Sylvia with the laundry.


Jeff, Colin and Pete prepare for another round of violent role-playing.

I had plenty of free time for social activities, participating in a number of healthy roleplaying sessions. (During this particular adventure, we had to slaughter several astronauts who were possessed by evil alien beings.)


After seeing King Kong.

Sylvia and I took in a few movies, both at home and at the theatre. I really enjoyed King Kong, particularly the New York sequences and the magnificently staged climax, while Sylvia found the extensive CGI distracting.


Sylvia and the goat.

On Christmas Eve, our friends Colin and Julie were kind enough to invite us over to their acreage for snacks and companionship. There, Sylvia was introduced to this charming baby goat.


Too much cuteness can cause acute nausea.

...no, we are not getting a goat.


Sylvia rips open her presents.

Later that evening, we travelled to Sylvia's parents' place to open some Christmas presents.


Beware falling wrapping paper.

The following morning, we repeated the task at my parents' abode.


Earl prepares for the New Year's Eve gathering.

Sylvia and I decided that we should try to host some sort of event this year, which gave me a reason to vacuum.


Woods Bros. Representin', Yo!

Sean came over to help.


Battle of the Seans!

Sean was beside himself before the event.


Sylvia looks on in horror as Sean gulps down a whole bottle of champagne!

But a little liquid courage went a long way.


Earl and Sylvia pose (photo by Sean Woods).

Sylvia and I were looking forward to a better year. 2005 was a little rough, from Lois' passing to family health problems to my own career changes.


Sean catches a bubble (photo by Mike Totman).

With the right attitude, however, such challenges can be overcome.


More tomfoolery in 2006!

Our friends Carl and Suzanne, Mike, and Jim and Marcia joined Sean and Sylvia and I for the passing of one year to the next, and while the gathering was small, I think everyone had a good time. I know I certainly did!

Sylvia and I have resolved to have more fun in 2006, and to respond more effectively to crises. I thought perhaps we might use our place to host Cranium tournaments, so watch this space for dates and times!

Superb Beings

UPDATED WITH BONUS PHOTO!
Earl J. Woods in one of his early secret identities: The Oscillator!

Back when I was in high school, I played Villains and Vigilantes with my friends Brent Cantelon, Dave Ticheler, Mike Parlow, and our Gamemaster, Stephen Fitzpatrick - who, incidentally, created the portrait above. Villains and Vigilantes was a tabletop roleplaying game with an unusual conceit: instead of creating characters from whole cloth, you played yourselves, only with super powers. You were supposed to estimate, as fairly as possible, your own strength, intelligence, charisma and so on, using that as the basis for your in-game avatar. Then you chose super-powers and augmented those natural characteristics with whichever abilities you thought would be most interesting.

Being young and naive, I chose the vaguely obscene Vibratory power set. Yes, as the Oscillator, I could vibrate any part of my body at super-speed. Sadly, it never crossed my mind to use this ability on scantily-clad supervillainesses, geek that I was.

In any event, fought crime by vibrating fast enough to phase through solid objects, by shooting out "vibratory waves" from my hands to stun my foes (ha ha), and I had the additional advantages of heightened strength, invulnerability, and super-speed.

One day, perhaps Steve will be good enough to tell the story of when we faced off against a nuclear bomb - he's an excellent talespinner, and it's the kind of story that needs a more objective perspective.

I will mention, though, that the Oscillator later appeared in a campaign with another group of high school friends: Paul Ravensdale, Jeff Pitts, Ray Brown, and Vern Ryan. I don't remember who the gamemaster was - I seem to think it was Jeff - but I do recall that, sick of our antics, he came up with a great way to teach us a lesson in humilty: he sent Godzilla after us, and gave him appropriately godlike stats. Invulnerable, strong enough to knock down buildings, radioactive breath - there was no way we were coming out of this encounter alive. And indeed, Godzilla did manage to knock Vern's character, Good Guy, out of the sky to his doom - he landed on a fire hydrant, as I recall.

Appalled, I told the GM my plan.

"I grab a pickup truck by the roof."

"Okay."

"I fly towards Godzilla at super-speed."

"Okay." Clearly, Jeff was thinking that I was going to use my favourite attack, a "cannonball," which consisted of hurling my nigh-invulnerable body at a villain at high speed. Usually, this was sufficient to give any foe pause, but against Godzilla, it would be a futile strategy, even with the added mass of the pickup truck I was carrying.

But that wasn't my plan.

"Okay, I phase." (Turned myself, and the truck I was carrying, immaterial.)

"Uh...okay. You fly INTO Godzilla."

"All right...as I fly through the heart, I let go of the truck."

"WHAT! WAIT!"

Naturally, letting go of the truck removed it from the sphere of influence of my phasing power - in other words, it stopped vibrating and became solid. Right inside Godzilla's heart. And, since two objects can't occupy the same space at the same time, Godzilla wound up with the world's biggest heart attack.

Worked like a charm, and I don't think Jeff's forgiven me for it, even twenty years later.

Vern Ryan, Jeff Pitts, Paul Ravensdale: Unamused

What Happened at Pete's Place

Mike sticks his finger in his mouth as Pete looks on in horror.

On Saturday, I went over to Pete's place to help our friend Colin playtest his new Traveller module. Mike and Jeff were there, too.

Any roleplayer will tell you that a typical session consists of 90% idle chat, and 10% gaming - if you're lucky. So it was this Saturday eve.


Would you eat this?

First, we taste-tested a mind-bending new potato chip: Old Dutch's "Szechuan Beef" flavour. Not since the halcyon days of Hostess' "French Fries with Gravy" and "Cheeseburger (fully loaded)" have I seen a more ominous-looking bag of chips, so naturally I had to give them a try.


Ack! (Photo courtesy of Mike Totman)

While my friends gave the chips a passing grade, I found them as revolting as I'd anticipated, even though I went in with an open mind. But as far as I'm concerned, Szechuan Beef chips taste like someone left some plain chips in the deep fryer overnight - granted, a deep fryer that had been used to make Szechuan beef, but still...


These Eyes...do do dee do do...


Midway through the evening, Jeff asked Mike, "Have your eyes always been different colours?" Mike said yes, and I was a little taken aback. I asked for a closer look (not that close, you perverts) and lo and behold, Mike, like Jane Seymour (mmmm...Jane Seymour) does indeed posess one brown eye, and one green. At least, that's how they look to me. Funny the things you can miss even after you've known someone for a few years, but then, I don't make a habit of staring deeply into Mike's eyes, whatever Sylvia may claim.


Fiendish evildoer Pete enjoys his ill-gotten gains.

Finally, Pete's bookshelves have at last been completed, and green with envy, I took a couple of photos of his magnificent library. These are gorgeous shelves, extending floor to ceiling, with beautiful brass grommets and even a ladder. I could spend hours in there, but I'm sure Pete and his girlfriend would eventually grow tired of me, so for now I'll just have to dream of a day when I might possess such peerless shelving. Here's another photo, taken with my little Pentax's panoramic feature.


Click to embiggen!



Colin attempts to get the session back on track. Ha ha, good luck.

As for the game, we managed to land on a planet made of poisonous fungus, and Jeff ran over a guy with a hoverjeep, shattering both shins. Not Jeff's shins, the other guy's shins. (Though if you know Jeff, you know that the odds that he's shattered his shins at one point in his life or another are actually pretty high.) He also shot a couple of people. And I bought a weapon called a "puke stick."


This...is my Puke Stick. (Say it in a Bruce Campbell voice.)

You poke, they puke.

You know, come to think of it, these games we play sure contain a lot of senseless violence. I'm not sure if our actions were useful for Colin's playtest, but he knew what he was getting into when he recruited us, I guess.

Roleplaying Games Without Frontiers

I finally figured out what Peter Gabriel is singing at the beginning of "Games Without Frontiers." It's "Jeux sans frontiers" - i.e., "Games without frontiers" in French. Duuuhhh. Well, it was news to me.

Every two or three weeks, I get together with friends to roleplay. Most people are at least vaguely aware of the concept, thanks to Dungeons & Dragons or drama classes. My group is playing Forbidden Kingdoms, a pulp-era roleplaying game. I play Cain Hood, a grim, bloody-minded crimefighter. Here's his character description:

Taciturn, ruthless, violent, fiercely loyal to the Commonwealth, dedicated to protecting the innocent…and perhaps just a little insane: that’s Cain Hood, born on Jarvis Island (a usually uninhabited British possession in the south Pacific) to a Welsh father and an Indian mother, both adventurers, both dead, murdered by agents of the Divine Claw (see below).

Cain is a tall man, over six feet, heavily muscled, but agile. He has a short shock of jet-black hair, dark eyes, and pale skin. He is thirty-six.

Cain is a master martial artist, expert torturer, and merciless foe. His chief weapons are his fists (often complemented by brass knuckles), his trusty Tommy gun (nicknamed, for reasons known only to Cain, “Jenny”), liberally thrown sticks of dynamite, and a sap.

Cain is, at heart, a decent man, not without a sense of humour (if a somewhat macabre one). He has a weakness for children, beautiful women, and marine life, particularly dolphins.

Lately Cain and his compatriots have been searching for a scientist, a man who went hunting for Bigfoot (such creatures actually exist in this world) and went mysteriously missing. Travelling from the UK to British Columbia to Yuma, Arizona, Cain and the band found themselves fighting sword-wielding werewolves, cyborg monkeys, suspicious townspeople, aggressive homeless persons (dispatched with a great deal of guilt with a sap to the teeth), and, of course, Nazis.

Below I attempt to dramatize a fraction of last weekend's adventures:

A night of carousing every once in a while keeps a crimefighter'sinstincts sharp. You can learn a lot about people when they drop their guard - and you can learn a lot about yourself when you let your own defences down.

But sometimes, letting those defences down has deadly consequences. One minute I was tossing back a shot glass full of Jim Beam...thenext, I was flat on my back in a six by six prison cell, head pounding. I went through my pockets. All the weapons were gone, of course, but I still had my Zippo. I tried lighting the door on fire, thinking that might draw the attention of the guards I presumed existed beyond the walls of my cell, but the wood stubbornly refused to catch. Not a surprise, really, but I had limited options.

I surveyed the room. Adobe walls, tin roof - rusted. My decidedly non-gilded cage had only a bare wooden bench and a chamberpot to adorn it.

So I did the only thing I could: I filled the pot.

With urine, ofcourse. I knew that someone would come eventually, and I needed to be ready.

So, chamberpot in hand, I waited. And after a while, my patience was rewarded.

'Stand away from the door!' someone barked - a German, from the accent. I stood my ground, and the door swung open. They were German,all right; one was bending over to place a tray on the ground, a tray laden with water and gruel. The other held a submachinegun levelled at my chest.I flung the chamberpot. The heavy tin bucket struck the standing guard in the face, spraying his eyes with urine.

'Was is dist?' he cried, 'Mein coupon!'

I immediately kicked the crouching man in the face. His teeth shattered,and his nose broke into deadly splinters, sundering his brain. He died without a sound. I pivoted forward, snapping my other boot into the first guard's groin. He grunted; I'd missed his privates by bare inches. But another kick found its mark, driving the family jewels up into his throat - I'm sure he was tasting his testicles, and I hoped they tasted bitter indeed. He fell into a foetal position, retching. I took his submachinegun and pistol, found another pistol on the man I'd killed - and a ring of keys. It was time to break my colleagues out of their cages. And then there would be hell to pay.

Gruesome and violent, I know, but the pulp era was...well...pretty pulpy. After getting my buddies out of jail, we went on to kill a few more Nazis, then battled a giant, fang-shooting spider and some zombie Nazis. There was also a film cannister filled with teeth and a purple phosphoresent skull, but those are stories for another day...

The condo is looking better and better. Sylvia had the carpet cleaned, her friend is coming over to re-do our hideous "feature wall," and I got the wireless network working. Wow, I'm a computer geek now. w00t! Fear my l33t skillz!!!!1111!!!!one!!1one!!!!111