Five-Second Richtofen's War

 Reviewing my old blog posts I wrote up on my play of Richtofen’s War, the venerable war game from the now defunct Avalon Hill. Specifically, the posts are a review of all the “variants” I tried which were printed in The General magazine, AH’s house paper which came out on a regular basis for like ever.

And many of the variants were good. They all attacked the problem in the game of circling each other trading shots on each other’s tail. And no fancy maneuvers to pull off, or so it appears, in the game rules. While yes, you can do fancy maneuvers with the base game, I don’t want to spend time on defending this position because it is not germane to today’s post.

No, this post is about the one variant I never tried, the 5-Second Game! I distinctly remember stating I wasn’t going to test this variant. From all the different variants I have read I concluded the 5-Second rules were going to be the least interesting.

And I was absolutely wrong! I have just started playing the campaign game again solo, and this 5-second variant really nails it. Brings the game out of some of its frustrating ahistorical events occurring on the game board. The 5-second variant cuts the time scale for a game turn in half, from 10 seconds to 5 seconds. What this does is limit the ability to swing back and forth shooting at each other’s tails. It is also more difficult to shake off an attacker with the reduced time scale. The net effect is it is harder to get on your opponent’s six, but once there it can be difficult for them to shake you off.

Here is a good picture of what I mean.

The photo/recon Allied plane is running hell-for-leather to get off the north edge of the board. Two d3’s barrel after it, closing distance and starting to do damage. Right after the Huns comes the two Nieport 17’s trying to defend their lightly-arm ed photo/recon plane. And in the rear is the last Albatross. Everybody is firing at everybody! Well, not quite. This photo shows an Albatross and Nieport 17 stacked on top of each other. But don't worry, these guys have been trading shots. A splendid fight I must say. 

And here is a photo of the whirling dogfight which erupted while the photo/recon plane took their photos of the road network. The development of the encounter felt much more satisfying, that proper coordination with a wing man, and overall squad tactics feel achievable with the 5-second time scale.

Deflection, you will want to use the Optional rule on Deflection. It is a simple -1 combat modifier, but it makes that six o'clock position all the more valuable. Combine this with the rules for a flying "Ace" and you get better dogfights. Basically use all the optional and tournament rules for the game. 

There is math you must do to convert the planes in the game to the new time scale. But fear not! There is a great sheet on board game geek which has all the stats written up. So, I am saying I was wrong, the best of the variants is the 5-Second Game. It came out in the General Volume 23, issue 1. And it makes Richtofen’s War a fun game to play again.

Savage Tales of Xoth

Just going to make sure I can write better than an AI. I'm going to see if I can write out a 6,000 word sword and sorcery story which is mildly superior to what an AI bot can generate. 

**A Pulp Fantasy Adventure in the World of Xoth!**

**Chapter One: Sands of the Outcast**

Dor Stryker was three days out from the city and already her hill-cat was not responding to the lotus blossom.  The Western Desert's furnace-like heat sucked the potency from the herb, promising the imminent return of her hill-cat's savage nature. Soon, the Grand Inquisitor's death mark would be the least of her worries. A hill-cat, freed from the lotus's hypnotic grip, was a whirlwind of claws and fangs that could bring down four seasoned warriors. Yet, with the Inquisitor's hounds on her trail, she'd had no choice but to seize the nearest mount and bolt from the palace before dawn painted the Zorab mountains. Now, the beast twitched beneath her sweat-slicked thighs, a low growl rumbling in its throat, its amber eyes burning with feral discontent.

Her fall from grace had been as swift and brutal as her rise to Chief Executioner. The whimpering of those sent to her for dispatch had never bothered Dor. Xoth was a world that offered no tears for the damned. But when they dragged a Sword-Sister before her, one of the elite warrior women who had shaped her as a child, Dor refused. The Inquisitor's favor be damned; she would not betray her sacred oath.

So she fled. Through the Ash Gate. Under a merciless sun hammered onto an ocean-blue sky.  and into the great gold expanse of the Western Reaches. All this atop a beast subdued only by the fleeting magic of the lotus flower. The irony was a bitter draught on her weary heart.

Dor looked over her shoulder again.  Still only her tracks leading back the way she had come were visible against an empty sky. The madness of thirst gnawed at her throat, and the vast silence scattered her thoughts like lizards fleeing the sun. She glanced at her tattered leathers, stained crimson from her bloody escape, and the notched sword half-buried in its battered saddle-holster. Notched in many places. It bore mute testament to the violence of her escape.

Then, a glint on the horizon—sunlight on steel. The brutal bloodhounds of Dipur looking to close the gap and bring Dor to heel! Dor's jaw clenched, her cramped hands rehardened their grip on the battle-cat’s fur.

“Not today.”

She struck her booted toes into the war-cat's flanks, coaxing a reluctant, loping stride from the beast. Her black hair whipped across her face as she guided the growling cat down the face of the dune.

“I will not be taken!”

Dor looked left and right, the lofty tops of the dunes now hid her from anyone’s distant gaze. Dor could not be sure those on her trail were Dipurian regulars. The desert held other dangers. The Khazraj nomads, opportunistic wolves whose territory Dor now crossed, tolerated no trespassers. Yes, the Khazraj loathed the Inquisitor, but they wouldn't hesitate to trade a fugitive for the right amount of his gold. None in the wild desert could truly be considered a friend, and not an enemy. Only the Church of the Sword Sisters offered true sanctuary to her. Not just sanctuary, but a chance to reclaim her name and resist the Inquisitor's lust and fury.

The dunes whispered secrets older than empires and Dor listened, sniffed, for in the waste every breath, sound, scent held a hint of salvation or doom. Suddenly, a yelp cracked the air. She resigned herself to the fact she would not outrun those on her trail. She forced the hill-cat into the shadow of a jagged outcrop. The beast growled sickly, foam flecking its muzzle. She scanned the horizon with bright green eyes, red-rimmed from exhaustion. No point reaching for her waterskin; it was as dry as the desert wind.

Then she saw them. A shimmer—a mirage—resolving into tall, masked figures wrapped in cloth the color of moonlit stone. The Khazraj! A cohort of robed marauders. Their raids were the stuff of nightmares, writing in blood and sand the boundaries of their domain.

A lusty chorus split the air as the marauders, riding atop their fierce sand-wolves, spotted Dor. She slid from the cat's back, landing in the scorching sand, her mind a maelstrom of desperation and grim hope. She pulled out her battered blade. She would have to find a way to sway this forced meeting in her favor or die trying.

She tied back her black hair, revealing the long scar from ear to neck. This, her "gladiator's" nose, and a chin too strong for delicate beauty, were all that marred her panther-like grace and smoldering intensity.

The nomads fanned out, eight in total, their leather-skinned mounts snorting, mad for the scent of Dor's exhausted cat. One rider halted and raised a fist. The rest stopped. The leader, cloaked in white linen and golden felt, dismounted and handed the reins to an attendant. A silver scimitar glinted in their golden sash.

"Few seek the Khazraj in their lands, stranger," the leader's voice rasped, seasoned by sand and sour wine. "Only the mad, or the desperate. Which are you?"

Dor's mouth twisted, too dry to smile. "Then I must be very fortunate...or very dangerous."

"We have no love for city dogs. But neither do we suffer the insolence of a Sword Sister, a marked one at that!" the leader's voice boomed. "What brings you to the wastes, woman—as executioner or exile?"

“Rumor flies fast on the winds of Al-Tawir.” Dor raised her chin. "A thief of kings told me the desert alone decides who belongs. I've lost everything but my way. I seek my kinswomen who speak the riddle of steel. Perhaps… you." The wide eyes of the raider, surprise clearly written on their face, visible even beneath their desert coverings, brought Dor up short, a threat foolishly forgotten in the moment breaking into awareness. The blow from the hill-cat struck like thunder against her back.

The brutal strike thrust her into the burning sand sprawling, her sword rent from her grasp by the ferocity of the blow. Desperately fighting to reclaim her breath, Dor could feel the hot gore pour from her back, her leather cuirass cut to ribbons by the enraged cat’s claws. Completely loosed from the controlling narcotic used to make riding beasts of the wild cats, it fell on Dor, the nearest source of its frustration and rage.

A lusty cry came up from the cruel desert warriors, taking glee in the raucous turn of events. Dor could hear their oaths; wagers placed on the outcome of the lop-sided contest developing as she lay stunned in the dust. She fumbled for her boot knife, her blood falling from her back in big drops. If she didn’t find her feet in an instant she was sure to go down beneath the red-flecked fangs of the savage mountain predator. Blade in hand Dor desperately sprung upwards, but to no avail. Like liquid lightning the cat hurled itself onto Dor. Its razor-toothed maw crunching heavily on Dor’s shoulder plate. Dor could smell its rancid breath as it hungrily chewed for her neck.

Unable to rip through the armor plate, the dark-furred hill-cat reared back its head, red mouth wide, black lips curled, intent on crushing Dor’s head in its merciless jaws. Dor twisted, striking her knife backhanded into the cat’s throat.

It squealed in anger; it roared in pain. The cat’s powerful hindquarters raked Dor’s exposed midriff and her thighs. Dor groaned in agony at the wounds but strove to drive her knife further into the cat’s blood-soaked neck. It gave a raspy roar and stiffened against Dor’s bruised body. Falling, it pinned Dor beneath its now lifeless bulk.

The nomads were struck dumb for a moment. Curses went up from those who wagered the wrong side. Which was most of them. It seemed only the leader, the one in rich linen and gold, backed Dor’s position and now clucked with undisguised glee as they held out their hand for payment on the quickly resolved wager.

“A rotten dog of a trick!” spat one of the Khazraj. A lean, heavily tattooed desert wolf in a green turban and red vest. “You cheated me!” he yelled at Dor, with no shred of evidence. But such details are easily lost on the rabid fury of a desert dweller who believes they have been swindled. The reaver dismounted his sand-wolf and rushed towards Dor, still caught helpless beneath the dead bulk of the hill-cat. Ripping a curved blade from his leather breeches, the enraged nomad lunged to cut out Dor’s throat, but before the deadly blade could descend and finish Dor here in the sands a shaft sprouted from his neck. The arrow bobbed up and down as the nomad’s jaw chewed reflexively, gasping for air amid the choking blood pouring from the fatal wound. He fell, after one more step, lifeless on top of the hill-cats corpse, adding his weight to that already pinning Dor.

“For the silent blessings of Al-Tawir, am I to be ground like meal between the millstones?” Dor waved her arms ludicrously as she tried to wiggle out from the dead pile of man and beast as the sounds of battle swelled around her.

Rom'Myr's Mighty Backstop

 This is my one-two punch for "my" Dying Earth setting in the homebrew world of Rom'Myr. This is a hell of a sturdy foundation to run my game of B/X Dungeons & Dragons. I conjured up the city on the edge of Empire known as Valla'Tair back in 2014, I think. I had only read a few stories by Jack Vance, but I easily saw how much it influenced the flavor of early Dungeons & Dragons. And I like that flavor. Some call it vanilla fantasy, but that isn't it. An end-of-time setting gives a staggering amount of lore and locations to explore and manipulate. The fusion of magic and sci-fi is pretty seamless and monstrosities lurking in the landscape do not need much rationalization. Who the fuck knows, somewhere in the last 5 billion years? 

I have decided an Aeon is 500 million years, give or take a hundred million. Is Rom'Myr Earth? No, I don't think so. I do know it is the end of the story for this planet which begins in the primordial world of Xoth. This is where I run all my REH-inspired pulp fantasy. Matter of fact, I just received A Means to Freedom, the written correspondence between Lovecraft and Howard. Fascinating. Anyone who loves the "art" of writing would do well to read the compilation. Don't be scared off by the open racism in their thoughts. It is a good look at white American thought of the early 20th century. You know, like a fact of existence which still stains our culture to this day. No, the treasures in these pages is the fount of pulp fantasy and its far-reaching influence to come.

The DCC: Lankhmer boxed set is to help fill in my campaign home base of Valla'Tair, situated on the eastern edge of the Sea of Salt. The DCC: Dying Earth boxed set gives me a wide choice of nations and cultures which can be found north, south, and further east of the city and the Yanni'Hor Mountains. This homebrew stew of published material mixed in with my own ideas gives me the DnD game I have always wanted to run. But it is not just a wish or a dream. It had a great 2-1/2 year run back in 2014. It is getting some traction once again here in 2025. Huzza!

 

Savage Sword Audio Up on Spotify

 I have found some time to crack open my live play sessions and edit the audio for snappy playback. Here is the first one out of the box; The beginning of the Savage Sword online campaign!