Welcome to Eccentric Spheres

Hello and welcome to my blog, my humble corner of the web dedicated to things I find fascinating. From what I think about other peoples creations to my own writings, and whatever I fancy ranting about, Eccentric Spheres is a blog dedicated to my interests. Feel free to share your own honest opinions and comments. I hope you'll stay a while, and come back again soon.

Urban Horror 2

Cont. from Chapter 1. It's not 100% complete.

Urban Horror ch. 2

The events of the previous evening had left Jack feeling drained and tired. It was only with the help of the whiskey that he'd gotten any sleep at all, if one could call the booze-drenched images of Candy tearing through his subconsious, sleep.

After a late breakfast of coffee and painkillers, he found himself outside a dingy fourth floor apartment on Dean Street. This was the final known address of the now cadaverous Candy Cane. Brody didn't know where she lived, but he had her number. Luckily she didn't use a burner, and it was a small task for Jack to dig up the billing address. Apparently, her real name had been Jennifer Price. To Jack, she would always be Candy.

Out of habit, he made sure no one was around before picking the lock, even though it was one of those buildings where no one gave a crap about anything not affecting them directly.

Once inside, Jack paused to get a feel of her home. It was a technique his old training officer on the force had taught him. Get a feel for the whole, before dissecting the minutiae. Not everyone could do he apparently, but to Jack it was second nature. Maybe that was why he had been fast tracked to detective. Oh well, bygones and all that shit.

The apartment was small, just two cramped rooms, a tiny open kitchen and a surprisingly spacey bathroom. The living room was a bit messy, like Candy had not been bothered with cleaning the last few months. Nothing too disgusting, but dirty plates were piled on the table, used pots on the kitchen counter and clothes strewn over everything. At first glance, the place looked tossed, but the way the debris had settled in told another story.

Jack started with the bathroom. Like the rest of the apartment, it was a mess. A cursory search of the cabinets told him nothing. Half used make up and hygiene products in untidy piles, no medication that would indicate a pill problem. Jack had gotten a good look at her body before it tore itself off the wall, and he had seen no needle marks. Over all, it seemed Candy wasn't a user.

Next he looked over her bedroom. The sheets in the unmade bed had needed a change months ago, but to his surprise the linen closet was well stocked. Tidy stacks of laundered sheets lay waiting for him when he opened the door. For some reason Candy had stopped caring. Usually this would indicate drugs, but everything pointed in another direction. But which direction was that?

Something in the bed caught his eye, and he carefully lifted a corner of the soiled sheet. A half closed laptop peeked out, Jackpot he thought. He sat down and opened the computer. It was running, but in sleepmode. He touched the mousepad, and the locked screensaver popped into life. Of course, why can't anything ever just be easy. He tried ”CandyCane” and almost laughed out loud when the login screen went away and left him with full access. The computer was a quite a few years old, but not so ancient as to be useless. The desktop wallpaper showed a graphic image of a woman in a black gothic dress exctatically cutting the throat of a naked man kneeling befire her in rapture. Charming. Now lets see what you were into.

Unlike anything mankind has ever used before, a private computer gives an insight into it's owner that took weeks of interrogation and investigation just a couple of decades ago. Now a quick once over of browser history and hard drive was all it took. Jack started with the hard drive. Some downloaded music, a couple of movies, nothing that interesting. Then he turned to the browser. No significant bookmarks. Just a couple of news and porn sites, but in the address bar he found something; www.caressyourpain.org. He opened the url and jumped as a ghastly moan erupted from the tinny speakers. For a second he was back in the dressing room, with Candy's corpse crawling up the wall. Heart hammering against his ribs, Jack stabbed the volume button viciously until the sound was at a managable level.

If he'd have to guess in advance he would have pegged the site as some kind of fetish page. Black background, chains and pale girls in black latex, that sort of thing, but he was wrong. Dead wrong. At first it looked like the home page for some underground band, then he found a lot of posts about some philosophical nihilism. It made no sense whatsoever, but it had been important to Candy, so he wrote down the url, and her log in information before putting the laptop back on the bed. He decided to take one last look around.

He stood in the middle of what had been her life, when there was a knock on the door. Jack froze in midstep, his breath catching in his throat. Shit, shit shit. Then a thin voice called out, 'Jenn, it's me'.

Jack took a deep breath and relaxed. He opened the door, and with every ounce of authority he could call up asked, 'Can I help you?'. In the hallway stood a skinny barefoot woman in faded jeans and a dull off-white tank top. Her dark hair fell limply around her pale face, giving her sunken eyes and hollow cheeks a cadaverous look. She jumped back and said, 'You're not Jen, where is she? Who're you?'.

For a moment he almost answered ”NYPD” but she looked paraniod enough to demand to see a badge, so he just said 'I'm her brother, who the fuck are you?'

She glared at him. 'Jen doesn't have any siblings, what's going on?'.

He forced himself to relax a bit and open the door a bit more. 'No surprise she told you that. We never got along, ever. Haven't talked to her in years, but there's been an accident.'

Her eyes grew large. 'Is she ok? What happened?'

He moved so the girl could step inside. Closing the door, his mind racing he said, 'Look's like Ca-Jennifer stepped out in front of a bus last night. Dead on impact, cops say she never felt a thing. You her friend or something?'

The girl collapsed bonelessly on the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling. For a long time she neither moved nor spoke, and Jack was becoming worried she might have had some kind of seizure. Only her rapid breathing told him she was alive at all. Finally she turned her head, lowered her gaze and looked at him. 'I'm Liza. Jenn was my best friend. My only friend really. I live down the hall. Her brother, huh? Must have been nice growing up in Florida'.

'It was ok, I guess', he said before he could stop himself. With the speed of a furious snake Liza snatched up a heavy ashtray from the table and threw it at his head. It grazed his scalp, and he barely ducked in time as she swung a lamp at him screaming 'YOU LYING MOTHERFUCKER!'. She swung again, but he caught it. They wrestled for a second until he stomped on her bare foot and as she twiched in pain, he pushed her down on the couch.

'Fucking cut it out, ok?' he snarled at her. She started to get up but caught the look in his eyes and hesitated, body tensed as a coiled spring.

Jack gently touched his head and his fingers came away red. 'Shit! Look, take it easy, I'm private detective, I'm looking into Jennifers death, that's all.'

Lizas eyes were still livid, but she seemed to relax for a moment. 'Why would a private eye investigate a traffic accident? This is bullshit!' She jumped up aggressively.

Jack held out a hand between them and said, 'I'll level with you but if you come at me again, I'll put you on your fucking ass, woman or no. Got it?'

She glared at him and just as suddenly as she attacked, she collapsed in tears.

He had seen this before, and knew better than to intrude on her grief. Liza had to work through this on her own terms. Instead he stepped into the bathroom to look for some antiseptic salve and a band aid of some kind. When he got back to the living room, Liza had calmed down, and sat on the couch staring sullenly out of the only window in the room.

'You ok?', he asked. 'Hey, I'm sorry I lied, but in my line the truth can be dangerous.'

She kept staring out of the window, and after a while she asked, 'How did Jen die?'.

It was the question he'd been dreading. The whole truth wouldn't work, but he really didn't want to lie to this miserable girl again. He sat down on the coffee table opposite her, forcing her to look at him and said, 'She was murdered at work.' Lizas eyes got that dangerous look again, and he hastily added, 'not by anyone she worked with. It was an outsider. I'm trying to figure out who. If you want to help, you can start by telling me about Jen.'

Liza sighed and started to talk.

Urban Horror 1

This is a horror exercise I've been working on.

Chapter 1: It can always get worse.

Jack stepped out of the car and zipped up his coat. Brooklyn was always cold in the fall, but this far south, so close to the water, the wind was freezing. With shivering hands, he lit a cigarrette, and went off to find the right address.

A little over an hour ago he had been warm amd snug in his office, sipping coffee and watching the game, and now he was freezing his balls off trying to find an underground porn studio.

These studios were floating, always on the move from one location to the next to avoid the law. Not that what they did was that illegal per sé, but federal law conserning adult film was always tricky. Or so Jack had been told. One of his old buddies from the army, Brody, was making money hand over fist producing porn, while Jack tried to make ends meet as a private dick. It was Brody's desperate call that brought Jack down to the cold warehouse district at half past ten, very much in the p.m.

Jack rounded a corner and spotted a large nasty looking guy pacing restlessly outside a steel door. The man saw Jack and said 'You Brodys friend?'

Jack flicked the remains of his smoke into the gutter and simply nodded. The guy grunted and heaved the heavy door open.

As Jack stepped inside he noticed three things immediately. One, it was scorching hot inside, especially coming in from the cold. Two, the whole place reeked of a nasty combo of booze, sweat and old sex, and Three, everyone looked like they had just been punched in the gut. All big eyes and startled, tense body language.

From the outside, the building looked like any one of the thousands of old school brick warehouses that dotted the district, but inside it was quite different. The main area was sectioned off by walls and decorated in varying styles like the habitat decorations at Ikea. If Ikea mainly sold beds and sex toys that is. At a quick glance, Jack counted nine mini sets. Pretty industrious he thought, as he was ushered through the area and past the staring people. He noticed that most of the girls were either on the verge of tears or quietly sobbing, while the guys mainly looked angry and scared.

Beyond the studio area, Jack found a dim corridor with lots of dark green doors, one which was ajar, and next to the door stood Brody. At 6'4” Brody was a sizeable guy, but tonight he looked deflated and very very tired.

'Jack,' he shouted, 'Thank fucking God you came. I really need your help here man, I'm seriously up shit creek and the paddle is firmly wedged in my ass.'

Jack supressed a grin, something told him this was not going to be pretty. He shook Brodys hand and said, 'I got here as fast as I could. What's the deal buddy?'

Brody rubbed a meaty hand over his face. 'I don't know.' He saw the look on Jack's face and added, 'I swear, I can't explain this, but I need help to get a handle on it. Look for yourself, but just so you know, it's bad.'

Jack nodded and squeezed past Brody. A sickly stench seeped out from beyond the door, cutting through the smell from the studio. He nudged the door open with his foot and peeked inside. A makeshift dressing room. Foldable furniture, bare lights, piles of make-up and clothes scattered everywhere, but what made Jack rear back and smack his head against the door was the thing on the back wall. The thing resembled a butchered hog but had been a living breathing woman that same morning. She was naked apart from a pair of black panties, but what really drew Jacks attention was not her voluptuous flesh, but rather the two huge iron spikes that had penetrated through her eyes and nailed her head to the wall just below the ceiling.

'What the fucking fuck?' Jack stared at Brody, who shrugged.

'Told you it was bad,' he said. 'I told you, I have no idea, none, what's going on, but you gotta help me, man. You owe me.'

Jack felt his stomach do a little dance. It was true, he did owe Brody big time. He closed the door and leaned against it. Somehow he got a cigarrette lit, and some of the hot smoke down his lungs. Calmer he asked, 'Well, what can you tell me? Who is she?' he nodded towards the door. 'Give me something to go on here.'

Brody lit a cigarrette of his own, and smoked for a little while before answering. 'Her name is, was Candy Cane,' he caught Jacks look. 'Yeah I know, all the talent want a special name, but it's not like we pay anyone with checks, so who cares? Her name was Candy and that's that. Anyway, she came in late tonight, and I sent her back here to get ready, you know? All the other girls were already in costume, so I went over the scene with them while we waited. Only she never came back, so I sent Kayla to go get her. Sometimes they can have some trouble with the lingerie, and sometimes it's drugs, or feminine problems, but best to always send a girl to get a girl. A minute later we all hear Kayla screaming like someone's trying to rip her arm off, and me and a couple of the guys bolt over. Thought maybe some creep had managed to sneak in and was trying to get a little taste. Rare, but it happens. I'm charged up, ready to kick some ass, but I find the door open, Kayla sitting pretty much where you're standing, still screaming. I look in and... fuck it. Slammed the door, and called you.'

Jack nodded. 'Where's Kayla now?'

'Gave her some pills and had the sound guy drive her home. Told everyone Candy killed herself. Had to say something, everyone heard the screaming. Better send the rest home too, yeah?'

Jack nodded again, took a deep breath before opening the door. He had seen some deeply disturbing things during his time in the army, even more so in his short time with the NYPD, but the way Candy hung on the wall, apparently unharmed except for the spikes through her eye sockets made him sick to the core. He stepped inside carefully, aware that no one had been inside since the killer. No one since the killer! Shit, he could still be here! The room was cluttered with racks of costumes, the stained sofa wasn't flush against the wall and the shoddy lighting left deep shadows in the corners. Plenty of places to hide.

Quietly Jack pulled out his piece, a dark solid 9mm semi-auto, and began looking through the room. He kicked the racks to the side and peered carefully around the room. With a sigh of relief he holstered the gun. No one there. He reluctantly turned his attention to the deceased.

He guessed Candy had been in her late twenties, had worked out on occasion, and had gotten a pretty decent boob job a few years ago. The ceiling wasn't all that high back here, but it was still a good eleven feet from the floor, and Candy's head was pressed to the ceiling. How the hell did he manage to do this? She must weigh at least onefifty. Consious she's struggling, knocked out or dead, she's limp. What the hell is going on?

He turned to Brody, who was leaning against the door jamb pointedly not looking at Candy. 'You'd notice if three beefy guys moved around here with a ladder, right?' he asked.

'Very fucking funny!' Brody snorted. 'We don't let anyone in that don't belong. Yeah, sometimes depending on the site, someone might be able to sneak in, but three guys? No way man, no fucking way!'

'Well, I can see no other way of getting a girl up there like that with any less than three guys, and they'd all have to be standing on something.' Jack looked closer at her upper body. 'Huh, weird.' he said. 'There's no bruising under her arms or around her neck.'

'What's so weird about that?' Brody asked. 'Candy didn't do bondage.'

'No,' Jack answered. 'Think for a moment. How would you hold her, to get her up there? You can't put that kind of pressure on the skin without leaving marks, and she's got none. Blood clots quickly postmortem, and that leaves vivid bruises.

They both looked at her hanging there. 'You're not calling the cops I take it?'

Brody shook his head. 'Can't. Way too much illegal stuff going on here. Even if they didn't try to pin this on us, which they would and I couldn't blame them, we'd all head straight to big house. Just going to have to bury her somewhere quiet I guess. I know some guys that can handle that, but I want to, no, I need to know how this happened, and you're going to find out for me.' He held up a meaty hand before Jack could argue. 'I'll pay you five grand a month plus expenses, ok?'

The protests died on Jacks lips. 'Yeah, ok.' he said. He needed the money way too much to walk. 'Let's get out of here.'

Just as they were leaving the room, they both heard a soft scraping sound from behind. Jack glanced over his shoulder and bumped violently into Brody. Candys limbs were slowly contracting upwards and as they gawked in horror, her mouth dropped open and she moaned. Before either man understood what was happening, Candy braced herself against the wall and with a wet crunch and a high pitched squeal launched herself across the room. She crashed, arms stretched out, straight into Jack, and they went down in a heap. The impact jarred him out of his shock and he just managed to hold her back as she, giggling madly, tried to tear out his throat with her teeth. Jack tried to throw her off, but she had her legs clamped against his sides and was still trying to sink her teeth into his jugular. Her fingernails dug painfully into his shoulders and inch by inch, pulled her mouth closer, until her slimy tongue flicked across his cheek. She giggled again, and he felt the hard, sharp points of her canines scrape across his skin. He screamed and with a desperate burst of adrenaline got her head up and to the side. A violent explosion tore through the cramped area, and the front of her head erupted in a red shower all over Jacks face. Instantly, she went limp, pinning him to the floor, blood pooling around them.

Hot water, strong soap, and a large amount of scotch later, Jack lay back on a couch. Brody had managed to wrap Candys body in a tarp, and nameless men had taken the carcass away for disposal. The money Brody was offering was damn good, but deep down he knew, if he didn't solve this, he'd never be able to sleep with the lights off again. 

Continued in Chapter 2

Thanksgiving Dinner

This whole nasty mess started on Thanksgiving a couple of years ago. I was a fresh detective in Homicide, which is why I was on call that night. Didn't mind though, since I don't have much of a family, and what I have I don't like all that much.

The night had been pretty quiet, at least for me. I knew emergency services were busy as hell, what with extended families getting together and doing some heavy drinking and all. That always does it, but so far no one had gone far enough to need me. That of course changed with the shrill howling of my phone.

Forty minutes later, I pulled up outside an old worn-down house. It was a bit out of the way, and frankly, without GPS I would never have found it. It was one of those remnants of the old city that you can walk past a hundred times and never really see. The kind that all the kids in the neighbourhood knew of and feared. You remember right? The house you and your friends were convinced was occupied by an old witch, or maybe some older kid had told you the same story he once heard, that some maniac had butchered a whole family and still lived in the basement, the sort of stuff only kids take seriously. As I got out of my car, all those feeling rushed back as I looked up at the delapidated house. They didn't stay long though, I'm an adult and a cop so I turned my mind to the present and walked up to the patrol men who were the first responding officers. Turned out to be a veteran sergeant and a rooky trainee.

I knew the sergeant vaguely, not enough to remember his name though, so I just nodded and asked, 'What's the situation?'

I remember thinking it odd that a veteran would look so pale. In my five years on the force, I had seen some horrific sights, people wounded in ways I never imagined possible before, but human nature is a funny thing, and you can get used to almost anything. That the rooky was a mess came as no surprise, he was white as a sheet, and against all regulations, sat on the hood of the patrol car and smoked. You do what you have to in order to survive. I didn't give a shit if he needed a smoke.

The sergeant scratched his neck and looked at me with haunted eyes. 'Sir, I don't know...I-I, just look for yourself, OK?' He turned away and spat, mumbling under his breath. That's when I noticed a very pale, shaking woman sitting on the porch, mumbling and sobbing quietly.

'Who's she?' I asked nodding towards her. The sergeant glanced at her.

'She's the one that called us. Says she owns the house, inherited it from her grandma, hasn't been here in years.'

I shrugged and went up to the front door. Like a glorious cliché it stood slightly ajar, the dimly lit hallway just visible through the crack. I glanced at the woman, but judged her to be in no condition to talk to me yet. I looked back and saw both of my fellow brothers in blue staring at me, almost as if daring me to cross the threshold. For a second I almost asked the sergeant to come with me, but my pride stopped me, and I opened the door.

The house was a mess. Not in the way I expected, with furniture thrown around, with all the familiar sights of a struggle. No, it was orderly in that sense, it was just old and very dirty. Dust lay heavy everywhere except in the hall leading towards the dining room, which seemed to be the only room that was lit. Cautiously I stepped over to the double doors separating it from the hall. The room was lit by candlelight from two huge silver candelabras on the table, which was cluttered with the remains of a large Thanksgiving feast. Plates with scraps of food, dirty cutlery, glasses with the dregs of wine at the bottom, and lots of bowls and plates with food left in them. If it wasn't for the rest of the house being what it was, it didn't look out of place in any house in America that night. Except for one detail. One ghastly, disgusting detail that made me want to scream and vomit and run away. How do I explain this?

Imagine a classic Thanksgiving feast. Or for that matter any large family feast. The bowls with sweet potatoes, the corn, the greens, all that good stuff, and in the place of honor, the roast. But this was no turkey. Oh no, this was the stuffed, cooked and picked clean carcass of a human baby!

I stood there, I don't know how long and just stared. My mind tried to understand, but it couldn't. I've seen what rage can do, and it's ugly. Likewise hate and jealousy. But to calmly take someones child, butcher it, and prepare it like a piece of meat bought at the supermarket and then sit down with your friends and eat it? That I can not wrap my mind around. I hope the day never comes when I can.

GM Tips, Choosing a setting

So you've decided to be a GM, but you're not sure which game to master. What to do? Basically you have to make a decision between four alternatives.

1. You can choose one of the many published game settings, such as the World of Darkness games, i.e. Vampire, Mage, etc, a D&D setting like Forgotten Realms or Dark Sun, or many many more. There are so many games to choose from you are almost certain to find something you like.

2. There are also many published settings taken from intellectual properties outside ”pure” game worlds. Star Wars, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, A Song of Ice and Fire, Firefly, etc. The list is enormous.

3. You can make up your own world and rules.

4. Finally you can take the setting from one game and the rules from another. Or make up either one.

The easiest option is without a doubt, number one. Everything is premade for your convenience, all you have to do is learn the rules, familiarize yourself with the setting and off you go. Keep in mind though that some players love certain settings so much that they technically fall into category two.

It should also be pointed out that some games and their systems can be...eccentric. But there's a game out there for almost everyone.

Option number two is similar to number one in many aspects. Indeed you could argue that Dungeons & Dragons 3rd ed. is the same as Star Wars d20. And they are similar, but the difference is still huge.

Any game that's based on an established (and often hugely popular) IP, has an external authority that you as a GM not only has to be aware of but also has to answer to. Let's take Star Wars as an example.

With six movies and countless novels and comic books, fans have an enormous wealth of canon to look to. Let's say you choose to run your game in the classic Rebellion era. You have to keep in mind all major happenings that takes place, because your players surely will. That means that should they say, encounter Darth Vader, they know he's immune from dying, as he's destined to die later. Likewise you can't just claim Alderaan was never blown to pieces.

You can of course go against the grain, and just keep the setting without the major events, but you will have to inform you players before hand. Otherwise you may have some very disgruntled players who were expecting a very different game.

Gamemastering a well loved IP can be very rewarding, but it does come with a lot of baggage. And should you choose to do so, make sure you choose one that has room for the players to be the heroes. There's little point following in the foot steps of Indiana Jones or James Bond. Their tales are told, it's the PC's time to shine.

As I mentioned above, some official game settings become so popular that they take on the traits of the IP based games. The older they are, the likelier this becomes.

A good example of this is Vampire the Masquerade by White Wolf. The twin ”pitfalls” here are the gigantic mass of sourcebooks the were published. No GM (or ST as it were) had the money and time to read them all. This invariably led to players bringing parts of the canon to the table the GM never even heard of. The second part was the mass of fan creations and fan interpretations often viewed as canon. Most Vampire GM's have had to say ”I don't care what you've read, this is my game”. Or the player who says ”There's no way Elminster would do that”.

Naturally this is different from the Star Wars example, but it's worth keeping in mind.

Another point about IP based games I feel is worth bringing up is the danger of the setting characters stealing the lime light. Jaime Lannister and Luke Skywalker are both cool characters, and there's nothing wrong with having them do a cameo in your game once or twice, after all they are expected to pop up sometime, but if Luke shows up every other game to save the day, your players will likely toss you in a pit filled with d4's. They should occupy the limelight, not Buffy.

So with all this, why use an IP based game? Because they can be so awesome! Both you and your players have a common base to stand on. When you look at them and say ”An Imperial Star Destroyer jumps into the system”, you can see their instant reaction, and it's great. (Besides it's easy to get players interested when they already love the world).

I'll discuss building your own world and designing your own rules in a future post.

GM Techniques part 1

Without a doubt, the most important thing is the communitcation between the players and the Gm, and between the players themselves. This goes double during character creation and the campaign start.

The players can be divided into three groups at this stage; 1. those who know what they want to play, 2. those who don't know what they want, and 3. those who know what they want, but what they want is either unsuitable or impossible.

It's usually advisable to keep an eye on what kind of characters the players are making, but besides the obvious cases like the Str 32, Int 3 barbarians, there are more subtle dangers:

• The character who is just like another character but better in every way.
• The annoying lonewolf
• the ”I thought this would be funny” character.

The point is that every character has to fit into the concept of the campaign somehow.

Group 1 needs very little help if they know the system and the setting.

Group 2 needs moderate amounts of help. Usually the best thing to do is to suggest alternatives and let the players imagination do the rest.

Group 3 is the potential troublemaker. This player knows what he wants, but for various reasons you either can't or won't allow his character concept. Handling this conflict correctly is crucial.

Few things pisses off a player as much as getting a flat out NO from the GM. Sometimes the player is just testing you to see what he can get by you with the crazy concepts, either as a joke or as a strategy. He will usually understand your denial, sometimes even expect it. However, some players will be offended at a cold refusal of what they see as a genuine creative concept.

How to handle this? In my experience there are three useful solutions; ”no-but”, ”yes-but” and ”interesting idea, but not this time”.

No-but You turn down the suggestion but offer one of your own.

Yes-but You accept the suggestion but with certain conditions or parameters.

Int. Idea You and the player postpone the idea for another campaign. Most often the player then moves into group 2.

These three methods can work wonders and are infinitely better than just saying No. If you can't use any of the three, at least make sure you say ”No, and here's why”.

Before the whole circus of character creation can begin, you have to sell the campaign. It's absolutely crucial that you inform the players of what the campaign is all about, and what kind of characters are needed. After all, it would be pretty silly if you have planned a campaign about subtle intrigue and commerce, and the smartest PC can barely outsmart a mossy rock. The players have to know before they can do, and it's your job to inform them. Sometimes however you have a special campaign in mind and you can't really explain the premise without ruining the surprise. In this case, you instead have to explain the most usefull kind of roles, i.e. is the campaign action heavy or are technical skills usefull?

One can not overstress the importance of listening to the players. Wether they have a concern, a complaint or a suggestion. You have to take what they say seriously. That's not to say that you should let the players run the game! Quite the contrary. But actually listening to them is the crucial part of communication. After all, if you don't listen to them, why should they listen to you?

Deadliest Warrior

I'm conflicted about Deadliest Warrior. Let me explain why. The premise of the show is to pit two warriors against each other to see who is, as the title says, the deadliest warrior. The warriors range from primitive but fierce maori warriors to modern special forces. Of course, they don't pit ancient warriors against modern ones, as that wouldn't be much of a fight, but most pairings are still pretty dumb.

If you want to test the efficiency and lethality of different warriors, you have to take into account all the aspects of their war culture. However, this is understandably very hard to test. Still, this makes some of the contests very uneven, which kind of defeats the purpose of the show. Now the pairings are mostly fine, but they could be better.

The geographic variations are of little consequence but the historical variations can cause great disparities. And sometimes the missed tactical implications are enormous. Worst example is perhaps the Roman Centurion vs. the Indian Rajput Warrior. The Rajputs fought as individuals, but the Romans fought as a unit, never as individuals. In the test however, the Centurion was alone. Naturally this led to the Rajput winning with ease, and they even admitted it. Why test the fight if one side really can't win? Sure they run the computer simulations a thousand times to factor out lucky blows, but some fights are pointless.

Another thing they fail to take into account is the difference in warrior roles. A good example is the Samurai vs. Viking episode. Now the Samurai won, but it was a pretty close fight. Add to that the fact that the samurai is an elite warrior, whilst the viking is a regular joe. Warriors as well as sailors and farmers. If an average member of a culture can fight an elite warrior almost to a stand still, who really is the deadliest?

The differences in weapons and gear is usually the deciding factor, but not always. Some fights can be really surprising and quite entertaining, tough most of the modern fights are usually pretty dull, not to mention sometimes in pretty poor taste. Somali Pirates vs. Medellin Cartel? IRA vs. Taliban? Yeah, a bit too soon, as they say.

So why do I watch it? The weapon tests, that's why. Both from a writers as well as a roleplayers perspective, the tests are very valuable. Can you cut a man in half with a single blow? With the right weapon and traning you can! Can a chainshirt stop a katana? Yupp. The wielder of the katana cut two pigs in half with one blow, and managed to both draw and slice through three rolled up tatami mats in one movement, but the chain shirt stopped him in his tracks. I never would have guessed, but now I know. That's why I watch it.

The show was cancelled after three seasons, so what you see is what there is. If you can make it past the stupidity, it's well worth watching.

Warning! The following clip is very bloody. Watch at your own discretion!

Gloom

Recently I've been playing Gloom a lot. Designed by Keith Baker and published by Atlas Games, Gloom brings something new to the world of card games. It 's made for 2-4 players, with one extra player added per expansion pack (together with some extra features).

The object of the game is to cause as much hilarious misery as possible to your chosen family, which causes negative pathos, while inflicting good things on your opponents families to sabotage them, as this gives positive pathos. You can't kill a family member unless it's selfworth is negative, and once a family is wiped out, the game ends, and the player with the greatest negative score amongst it's dead family members wins.

The main feature that I think makes the game stand out, are the transparent cards. Instead of the glossy cardboard cards familiar from most games, the Gloom cards are made from transparent plastic. This not only makes the cards more durable, as well as spill resistant, but adds a great mechanic. New cards are played on top of previously played cards, overwriting the effects. This has the added benefit of keeping the game area quite small, as some games can occupy the whole table. There are several different strategies you can use, depending on your hand, from killing your opponents family members before they get too many negative points, to ressurecting them from the dead and saddling them with great fortune.

The game goes quickly thanks to the fast and furious rules, and it's a great way to spend an evening. Well worth getting if you like macabre humor.

The Laundry Files

I can honestly say that the Laundry Files series by Charles Stross is some of the best stuff I've read in years.

So far the series consist of; The Atrocity Archives (2004), The Jennifer Morgue (2006), The Fuller Memorandum (2010) and finally The Apocalypse Codex (2012).

These books take a new fresh look at the Cthulhu Mythos originally created by H.P. Lovecraft and his friends like Robert E. Howard and August Derleth.

The main character of the books is Bob Howard a, as he puts it, computational demonologist working for The Laundry, a super secret branch of the British Secret Service. The Laundry deals with the ancient occult horrors of the Cthulhu Mythos (Cthulhu, Nyarlathotep, Shoggoths ect.) who are trying to invade and consume mankind.

The Laundry Files combines the bureaucratic humor exemplified by Yes Minister, with the British spy/intelligence stylings of James Bond and Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. They are funny, exciting and incredibly well written. The blend of classic style magic like hands of glory and pentagrams, mixed with computational magic done with palmtops and smart phones, is both imaginative, fresh and well thought through.

These days you can easily fill your shelves with books written by authors who are either inspired by or just flat out copying Lovecraft directly. Most of these books are a bit mediocre at best, but not the Laundry Files! Charles Stross has created a setting both unique and highly entertaining. I found these books almost impossible to put down, and there were many a night I when went with way too little sleep. All worth it though.

Personally I wouldn't call this horror as such, but neither could I call it satire or comedy. It is it's own thing, and it stands proudly on it's own.

The only negative thing I can say is you really should be familiar with Lovecrafts original works to get all of the references, but if you're looking to read these books, you probably are.

As I write this, I have just started reading The Apocalypse Codex, and I don't know if there are more books in the pipeline, but I do hope so!