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Tuesday, July 19

Dead Simple Western USR Gambling Rules

I like these rules "I" thought up. I believe they give gambling and gaming rolls emergent opportunities which otherwise might not so easily noticed during a call for Attribute tests. 

In keeping with the spirit of the (U)nbelievably (S)imple (R)oleplaying game, these rules are simple. Yet, are built on top of the internal logic Scott, the creator of the system, has incorporated successfully in his design. I'm referring to the three character attributes which make up all characters in the game. These are Action, Wits, and Ego. Pretty self-explanatory. The game revolves around three attributes. Further, each one of your attributes has one (and can only use one of each type) of the available dice allowed in play. These are a D10, a D8, and a d6. You can put these in any order you want, but being limited to one of each size the system has deftly added roleplaying prompts as soon as you look at a character sheet. 



What this means for Western USR, and saloon gambling specifically, are the following:

  • Characters may use any of their 3 attributes to gamble.
  • If the character chooses to use Action, they are cheating. 
  • If the character chooses to use Wits, they are just good.
  • If the character chooses to use Ego, any throw resulting in a Critical/Fumble check triggers a random encounter. 75% chance it is someone being accused of cheating, just not you.
  • A character may switch which attribute they use for their check in between hands, and/or shoots of the dice, whatever the game of chance may be.
  • A character may not change which attribute they use during a hand unless the Saloon Keeper approves. 

Saturday, July 16

EHB Issue #31 Hope You Guess My Name (serialized, part 2)

 [Find part one here] The note helped. But it was the picture which convinced Mettle there was a serious chance an Enhanced was involved. If regulars are saying the saw Jacob Bronson up and walking two days ago then Mettle wanted to know what happened to him between then and dead. The transformation into a malnourished husk of a corpse was too unreal to be anything else. 

"You want to go out to the bookstore, see what he was after?" 

"Yeah, but I don't have a car. I flew into Capitol City." Alex answered. The man in the wrinkled raincoat said his name was Alex. 

Twenty minutes later the pair was heading up 72 northwest through a steady rain out of the city and towards Huntsville Village. It was not difficult to find the only occult bookstore in the busy suburban town. It was off Macy Street in a busy commercial block, tucked between a furniture reupholstery store and another retail space unoccupied and for lease. A two-story building, painted multiple times with cheap paint to cover over split wood and old brick.  The Fated Souls bookstore had lights on and was open. The windows stacked with all sorts of witchy-wicca-new age occult paraphernalia. Crystals, triangles, books, hand-crafted wands and homeopathic "medicines".  Inside the "investigators" found overcrowded stacks jammed with books, worn carpet and the smell of incense leeched from the walls.  Yellow was the predominate color, bookshelves, ceiling, trim. 

Mettle discreetly scanned the place with her magnetic abilities, but everything about the place appeared mundane and normal. Near the back the two found a raised platform with a ladder. A desk and more bookshelves threatened to spill over the shaky wooden rail. A woman occupied the desk. Brown haired, pleasant smile. 

"Hello," she said waving her hand lazily and put down her pen. "What can I help you find this afternoon gentlemen?" 

"Actually, we are looking for a guy we believe was in your shop four days ago. He was here to purchase some medicine I think?" Mettle started the conversation. Seeing as she was the local one she felt obligated to take the lead. Alex, water still dripping off his coat, was thumbing through the nearest bookcase. 

"I get customers all the time in here for their apothecary needs. May I ask why you are looking for this person? I'm not beholden to HIPPA or anything, but still, what is this all about?"

"We have a friend, he was very sick, willing to try anything." piped up Alex. "He died just after coming to your store, we want to know what he bought." He stopped thumbing the books and stuffed his hands into his raincoat.

"Are you saying I sold him something that killed him?" The store clerk was naturally offput by such a thought. She stood up while saying this. She had to hunch over because she was very tall and the platform was raised enough to walk under. More glass cases with goat horns and bone flutes displayed. 

"No, no, no." Alex took a hand out of his coat pocket and waved it back and forth. "He was afraid of somebody, we think. The fact he died while being sick, I think he didn't die of natural causes, and the cops aren't going to look into it further. His name is Jacob Bronson and I just want to know what he was afraid of. He thought your store could help. We are hoping you might know what he was so afraid of he would, you know, what might make him try untested stuff."

She blinked back, paused and climbed down the ladder and stood in front of Mettle and Alex. She was easily 6'4". Business slacks and a white blouse. Her horned-rimmed glasses were stuck into her hair. She was freckled and pale. 

"You think he was poisoned?" she asked curious. 

"Maybe."

"So, he was in your store." Mettle jumped in. 

"Yes, Jacob Bronson was here. He asked for a tincture of one of our best sellers. Excellent for the indigestion, irritable-bowel syndrome, and is believed to flush the system of toxins." The clerk put her finger against her chin. "He did not look good. I was happy to make him up the prescription, but it would take a day to prepare. I suggested he should see a doctor as well. Odd you say he has died."

"And why is that," Alex asked. 

"Because he called this morning asking to have it delivered. Said he wouldn't be able to pick it up." 

"And this was... ?" Mettle asked, letting the question hang there. Hoping the leading question would get the clerk to elaborate.

"The Family Tree In-home Care Facility. Just over in Huntsville Center. Not far from here. I was about to get it out in the drop-box across the street."

The two thanked her and  Mettle got on the phone for another Uber. As they waited by the front door of the shop they debated their next move.

"Follow the breadcrumbs, I guess." Said Alex.

"I agree, but before we go forward, mind telling me why you are really interested in this guy Bronson?"

Alex didn't seem to mind the question. 

"Do you believe in ghost and demons?"

"Believe it or not, I'm the kind of girl who has seen some pretty strange shit, go on."

"I've seen them. I've interacted with them. I've fought them. Whoever killed Jacob Bronson knows how to kill people like a malevolent spirit does. Or is a malevolent spirit. Either way, whoever it is is running loose with dangerous abilities and is effectively out of reach of "traditional" law enforcement. I'm interested in who killed this loser because know one else does. Or knows how to do something about it." Alex was definitely not embarrassed to talk about such things. He was matter-of-fact about the bizarre subject matter.

"Okay, I can get behind that." Mettle tapped her finger on Alex's chest. "But if you turn out to be some strange creep thinking about messing with me, I'm the kind of girl who can handle yourself, get it?"

Alex spread his arms wide, revealing intricate tattoos wrapping his wrists as they poked out of his raincoat. "I'm just trying to find and stop the very real possibility of some lunatic out there possessing unnatural abilities killing people who annoy them and getting away with it. Lets go, the Uber is here. Alex pushed the door open and walked out to their ride. Mettle followed after him.

(to be continued...)




The Winding Waterslide of RPG Terms

 The new buzz word for running a ttrpg correctly is the “waterslide”. This is used in contrast to both railroad and the sandbox style of play. The waterslide “slides” in between these two supposed modes of play. I say supposed because when I cracked opened my Moldvay Basic Dungeons & Dragons for the first time when I was eleven, I knew what the fuck Tom was talking about, explaining to me about this new form of play. It was more like being introduced to a mode of play I had been looking for but didn’t exist until DnD. There are no terms like the above being used in Moldvay’s description of the ttrpg concept.

“‘Winning’ and ‘Losing’, things important to most games do not apply to D&D games! The DM and the players do not play against each other, even though the DM often plays the role of various monsters which threaten the player characters. The DM must not take sides. He or she is a guide and a referee, the person who keeps the action flowing and creates exciting adventure. Player characters have fun by overcoming fantastic obstacles and winning treasure, but this does not end the game. Nor is the game ‘lost’ when an unlucky player’s character dies, since the player may simply ‘roll up’ a new character and continue playing. A good D&D campaign is similar to the creation of a fantasy novel, written by the DM and the players.” Tom Moldvay, p. B4, Basic Rules.

Like much of human communication, everything gets lost in translation. Preconceived expectations or a prepared agenda is how we approach new things. This approach is a dumpster fire when applied in the prosecution of creative endeavors. And make no mistake, ttrpgs are a creative endeavor. It follows the current of art and artistic process which mere “games” do not. And people are generally bad at being creative due to fear of the unknown and a required intimacy. Two things ttrpgs generate in abundance: mystery and intimacy. Two things people in general have a hard time with. I mean anything in life we encounter which doesn’t come with a guidebook, except those among use correctly wired not to pause and assess, freaks us out. Guard rails, boundaries, and a reluctance to participate are common reactions as well.  I’m a fierce creative because I lack fully developed executive functions. My brain never gets enough satisfaction from goals achieved with a need for greater and greater emotional hits. I lack an appreciation of consequence because I’m not living in the future like normal people. Reckless, I am reckless to a dangerous degree.

The one good thing being a reckless, impatient person affords me is obsession and openness. When I don’t know where I’m going, I have developed a “let it happen” psychic state. This is due to a lifetime of not knowing where I’m going. I better see the current experience with less me and more clear, present reality. A very good mental state to find when wants to use the imagination and be creative. This is a long, round about way of saying I can get over myself when involved in artistic pursuits. Less direct action and more paying attention.

What this all means, to me, is not many people involved in the hobby actually read the section on how to play the game. I’ll guess dedicated players pretty much not at all and DM I’ll give it 30%. 3 out of 10 DMs read the section on how to play the game.

The reason most eschew such relevant information at the outset of their gaming career is because they are not reading to learn how to play the game but reading to find out what they are going to get out of playing the game. “What do I get?” Well, you get nothing. Nothing any regular game promises to give. Those who develop a fine taste and ability in ttrpgs understood this deal at the outset. These games are not about what you get out of them, they are insatiably demanding you give to it. An empty balloon which will take all your effort and breath to inflate. And once it is full and takes shape, you may not like it. It may blow up into a shape neither desired nor expected. It may blow up in your face, a stinging rebuke against half-hearted efforts.

There is no sandbox, there is no railroad, there is just a tool to leverage your imagination, and for most involved in playing ttrpg’s this is a no-go. The generic terms of the ttrpg deal are utterly beyond comprehension for most. Therefore, you have many gamers looking for something never promised by the game. So it gets made up.

My recommendation for those who want to get the most out their ttrpg experience is to take an art class with a teacher who does not prioritize technique over creativity but teaches creativity. The medium being just the tool being used to act. Personal lessons taking from such an approach will be develop your ttrpg ability more than anything else I can think of.

Thursday, July 14

EHB Issue #31 Hope You Guess My Name (serialized)

The cable on my external hard drive wiggles loose during recording and leaves me with a corrupted audio file of the game session. Madness I say. Madness because I keep on trying to use the same set up and pretending everything will all turn out right. The stupid, stupid thing is I have a nice 30G thumb drive sitting in my desk which would make a nice "temporary" folder for audio output of the live game session. Fuck it sucks being such an ignoramous on a daily basis.

But the last session did happen and it did occur with the new player in the group, Mr. ZoZo, leading the way into macabre adventures into the mystical.

The session started off normal enough for the superheroes in Capitol City. Mettle and SAIC Sharp traded barbs on the phone over morning coffee and Bug pulled a typical Bug move and vanished from the scene. He did leave a note explaining what the next phase if his "career" was to look like. It meant renouncing his super powers and effecting positive change in the world without using them. And he was taking the jet.

This was going to piss off Bisbee Sharp to no end. Problem now facing Mettle was who would be a partner in her war against crime in Capitol City. Ultra-Rosa was out of the question. That vigilante has some problems. The least of which is the body count she accumulates when she is in action. 

Mettle's reverie on the rough looking shape  of the future  was broken by Floyd, a  regular at the St. Baltimore Food Bank. The food bank was another of Bug's pet projects. It is where Bug left his note for Mettle. 

"Some guy is asking around for Bronson." Jacob Bronson was one of numerous shifty greaseballs which made up the Balty's clients. He was a regular at the food bank, loading up on as much canned goods as he could get away with. Everyone new he would go hustle them later on the street. He was a thief and what friends he had were fellow drug addicts who would fight on his lawn in front of his house. Loser that he was, Mettle found the idea of someone snooping around the St. Baltimore irritating. Floyd pointed him out and Mettle went over to the young man in the wrinkled rain jacked and tie. 

"I understand you are looking for one of our clients?" Mettle addressed him in her natural disarming manner. 

"Not exactly. More like who he was seen with recently. Anyone he might have been fighting with? Have a problem with?"

"Why"

"Well, he died two days ago. Looks suspicious. I'm hoping someone here might know who he was associating with right before he died."

"He's not, well, he was not well like.  There are plenty of people in the neighborhood who wouldn't. I don't know. You are going to have a bunch of suspects." 

"Anyone  capable of casting hexes?"

"Excuse me?" Mettle heard what the guy had said, but she used the moment to do a quick scan of the stranger. He wasn't carrying a gun. He appeared relatively stable, could use a shave, but didn't look like he lived on the street.

"Curses. Did he have problems with anyone who thought they could cast spells and curse people?

Mettle's eyebrows arched and she smirked. "I don't think so?"

"Look," and the guy fished out a piece of paper from his rain jacket. "This note was found next to his body in his house." He handed it to Mettle. "And this is a picture of what he looked like when they found him."

He held up a print out of a color photo. The picture was of a dried cadaver on a carpeted floor.  Dead skin stretched tight over its skull. It looked of someone who had been dead for some time.

"No way." Mettle's eyes widened. "Floyd, when was the last time you saw Jacob?" She called in to the kitchen. The shade over the counter was pulled up and Floyd was there chopping produce.

"Three days ago. He was hassling everyone for a ride. He wanted to go to some store outside of town. He looked real bad too. I don't think he got a ride though. He stomped out of here all mad."

"Do you know where he wanted to go?" Mettle asked. Floyd looked at some older folk at one of the dining room tables. 

"Mabel, he tell you where he wanted to go?" Mabel had a plastic kerchief over her hair from the morning rain. 

"Huntsville Village. Wanted a ride to some new-age-y book store. He was sick and he was going to get some homeopathic bullshit. I said, no way.  I didn't want the covid. Told him to go home, wear a mask you dumb shit."

Mettle asked the guy, "Are you a cop?"

"No". The guy laughs a bit, shakes his head. "I just have an interest in suspicious deaths like this. I have a friend in the force, though. He passed it on to me. He knows the local will go with the corner's report, natural causes, and its done."

"And you think this is murder?"

"Well, read the note, what do you think?"

(continued here)