brother_1

Amber: Character Generation.

2007-12-04T06:54:26Z

I've been RPing for many years, and I've seen all sorts of character generation: dice, dice+charts, point distribution, card distribution.

None of that here. Amber's character generation, as written, has no randomness to it, but manages to not quite be in the hands of the players either. How they handle this is a point distribution scheme nestled inside of an auction.

Almost anyone reading this is familiar with the concept of the auction, but I'll lay it down for the heck of it: some guy babbles while people take turns making obscure gestures until everyone gives up and the last person to twitch gets stuck with first place. In Amber, however, everyone winds up spending on the item (a statistic, 1 of 4, collect the whole set!).

The dynamic of the auction becomes riveting with larger groups, and Amber is one of the few games I've enjoyed more as the pool of players increases. Actually, it's the only serious one that doesn't cap at about 6 players for enjoyment.

Everything else is purchased in a predictable manner using the points (meaning you can open the book before the auction and plan that out). Really, the best part of it is the competition with your fellow players for placing in a given stat. There are even secret bids and ways to psyche out your opponents.

The whole mechanic works nicely to set you in the mood for some backstabbing chicanery and full-tilt bastard work. If you can't stab someone in the face after the auction, you aren't playing right.

I suppose that knowing something of the game setting is helpful, but the beauty of the game lies partly in its flexibility. Roger Zelazny wrote a series of books back in the 70's that detailed the Patternfall war as seen through the eyes of a Prince of Amber. Amber is a pole of reality, representing Order. Chaos is the other pole. No, I don't think "Good" and "Evil" form additional poles. At any rate, Corwin (the prince mentioned above) was a lying bastard. Only a few things are corroberated by external sources, and those are only if we believe Corwin. Between Order and Chaos are all of the possible realities - shadows. Agents of either pole can navigate those realities.

Powers, Shadows, and goodies are purchased with the points. Skills are determined by the player, as is background. GM gets final approval, of course.

Explaining the next few...

2007-02-20T05:27:10Z

I posted them in reverse order so that others would see them in the right order. It works on my other blog. A few seconds from now I'll be relearning how to insert a "cut", because I'm a moron and didn't think of it before just now.

Apologies.

Nesting Dolls, 1

2007-02-20T05:25:59Z

The city was gray, thick with smoke. The sidewalks were gray and pitted. Ed was gray, too. He was wearing a suit that made storm clouds look cheerful and his long coat slouched over one arm, while a briefcase dangled from the other. He moved down the sidewalk the way that a sack of garbage slowly descends stairs when pushed—he slumped.

A turn from the sidewalk and down a set of stairs led to his basement apartment. It was a sickly home. Years of polishing, finishing, and waxing the wooden floors had not concealed the diseased wood of the faux parquet. The ceiling leaked in the living room from the bathroom directly above it, and Ed had decided early on that he did not want to know whether the tub or the toilet was the source of the leak.
Placing his coat on the console sewing machine, he set about cleaning counters. He was focused, intent on removing the dust of the day. He missed his co-workers, mourning their absence from his life. As Ed went about his work, he thought about the day of his promotion.

The memo had read:
To: Employee #209
Re: Position change
It has come to our attention that you have worked on the floor beyond the recommended date for promotion. To this end, we have decided to either relieve you or promote you. Your new position is quality inspector. Please report to floor room C-12 for immediate orientation.

Ed had waved goodbye to his comrades of the last 4 years, and happily directed his feet toward the cluster of floor rooms. While each one had been separate, they had also been near to each other, and he had been sure that quality inspectors took lunch together. Orientation! he had thought, A meeting with a senior designer or even a floor manager! These thoughts had been amazing. In all his time, he couldn’t have remembered seeing a manager of any sort.
The gunmetal gray cube marked C-12 stood like an awaiting paradise. He could not have imagined what he would find inside. He had opened the door, the index card denoting its number slanted awkwardly inside a small metal frame.
Inside had been a stainless-steel desk, a funnel from outside leading to its left end. A standard doll was nailed to the wall inside of a frame as an example. The floor was carpeted the same color as a battleship. On the right-hand side of the desk was a thick book with a drab cover bearing the title “Orientation.”
Having sat down on the metal chair that matched his new desk, Ed started to read the book, disappointed but determined to do a good job. He was still looking at the table of contents when a doll slid out of the chute, spinning across the smooth surface of the desk. He had begun his first day as quality inspector.
Now, rising from a clean floor, Ed went to his coat. He pulled free a doll from an inner pocket of his coat, where it had been hidden most of the day. The dolls he inspected every day were the same: the same airbrushed bodies; the same shiny, soulless eyes.

Nesting Dolls, Middle

2007-02-20T05:25:10Z

This one was different, and he was supposed to report it and “return it to its base components” for correction. But he couldn’t. Something about it was appealing. Maybe it was the dull look to its eyes, or the way the blush had missed it altogether. Its hair was out of sorts as well, giving a disheveled, bed-head look. All it needed was some fixing.

He set the doll on his couch and corrected it. Brushed the hair. Carefully applied the paint that was used for blush. As time went on, he forgot his appointment with the television. Night fell.
Ed grew tired and took down a box he had stored socks in. He set the socks carefully into his drawer next to the ones he had calculated he would use up during the remainder of the year. The empty box became a nest for the doll; carefully collected tissue paper surrounded her.
He looked upon her with the warmth of a creator. She was his contribution to humanity, beyond his toil. Should others look upon her, they would see something of his soul. She needed a name. “Belle,” he said with a smile as he placed her next to his bed in her box. He left the lid off, and the light from a streetlamp outside flickered across her face.
The morning sun did not have the angle to enter the small window, but Ed draped a silken pillow sham over Belle, knowing that noon would come and cause her harm with its vicious rays.
He made breakfast and a lunch to take (cucumber sandwiches, with the crusts cut off, just like his mother used to make), before leaving his home. The long walk to work started as the sun was still rising, but Ed’s ashen suit resisted any joy the light might offer.
A week passed with Ed hovering over Belle. Her hair had become like a model’s, perfectly coiffed. Her plastic had taken on the tone of life, with the blush hinting at blood vessels beneath the surface. Tonight he set her on the couch and they watched television together: “The Wizard of Oz.”
As Dorothy opened the door and looked into the land of the munchkins, Ed noticed a drop of water that had traced itself down Belle’s makeup and was clinging to her chin. He went to the kitchen to retrieve one of his carefully stored and folded handkerchiefs and returned to find that the drop had fallen onto the gingham dress she’d worn for the occasion. “Bother,” he said as the blue ran together.
He wiped her face gently, careful to not muss her hair or smudge her makeup. “I have a surprise for you,” he whispered. He went to his case, dialing the security number on the side before the catches released. Where he usually kept his lunch and a few journals, there was now a doll.
The new doll had rather thick eyebrows and her hair was slick, but otherwise she was identical to Belle. For the rest of the evening, Ed fixed the new doll, whom he’d dubbed “Margaret.” Belle watched in silence. The new doll, if one ignored the eyebrows, became more beautiful than Belle under Ed’s delicate and precise hand.
For Margaret, Ed had prepared a special box. It had scrollwork along the sides and was made of dark stained oak. Ed had little to spend his money on and, having saved up for a better place to live, had a well padded bank account from which to draw.
Ed introduced the two of them congenially. “Belle, this is Margaret. Margaret… Belle.” He then left them on the couch to become better acquainted while he prepared a simple dinner of chef’s salad accompanied with sparkling cider.
Dinner was served. Belle and Margaret didn’t argue, but they did stare coldly across the table, without touching their food. Ed ate cheerfully until he noticed the awkward silence and slowly lost his appetite. He eventually slunk off to his bedroom, leaving the others to stare at each other in the moonlight.
When Ed awoke in the morning, the boxes were occupied and the dishes had been put away. He decided not to disturb the others after what was, no doubt, a late night for them, and quietly went about his morning routine before going to work.
Even with the tension of that night, over the next few weeks Ed brought home several more dolls. Through the catalogs he had purchased several outfits, hoping that the girls would like them. Mostly he was right.
Pat, an androgynous doll who preferred to wear trousers and had thick, curly blond hair, was the first he brought home after Margaret. She decided to spend most of her time with Margaret, leaving Belle to sulk alone in the bedroom.
The stark white skin of Miko contrasted with the others, but Ed didn’t mind; it made her more distinctive. Ed had dressed her in a kimono for the first day, but Miko had insisted on a leather jacket and jeans and he had acquiesced.
Cheryl was the unassuming short, plump one with a bob cut whom Ed had spent almost an entire week on. She never seemed to live up to his image of what she could be, no matter how hard he tried. She often watched television in a bathrobe and ignored the others. In return they ignored her.
The last to join them was Denise. Denise had hair like Pat’s but lacked the ambiguous gender. In fact, it was quite possible that nothing was wrong with Denise. Yet Ed had to fix her.
For the first time, Ed manicured a doll, including nail polish, before completing his work with her. In the end, although she was made of the same cheap plastic as the other dolls, she looked like she was made of china. If there was perfection in the household, Denise was it.
After Ed completed his work on Denise, he fell asleep on the sofa next to Cheryl. The television was playing the Muppets, and Cheryl could not turn away. In the morning Ed rose from his couch and saw Cheryl leaning quietly against a pillow. He got up and tried not to disturb the others before leaving for work.
When he arrived home, Ed felt worn down by work. In his hand was a small note from his boss, which he had read at stoplights:

To: Quality Control
From: Workforce Management Unit
Re: Asset Reduction
It has come to our attention that, over time, several dolls have gone missing. Our profits could be up this quarter by 3/4ths of a cent, were it not for the absence of these dolls. Whoever has taken them should return them to bin #33-42a and visit our resource evaluation team.

This note had depressed Ed; he was certain they knew about him and that the finger of justice was firmly planted on his head, ready to squash him. Still, he couldn’t return them if it meant their certain death, which it did.
These thoughts were predominant when Ed opened the door, note in hand. He gasped in surprise. On the floor, face down between the couch and the kitchen, was the body of Denise. Her arms and legs bent at unnatural angles.

Nesting Dolls, End

2007-02-20T05:23:54Z

Thinking quickly, Ed threw the note onto the couch as he ran across the room. He knelt next to her and took up her wrist, checking for a pulse. Nothing. He carefully rolled her over, hoping that there wasn’t a spinal injury, before checking her breathing. Still nothing.

The phone was suddenly in his hand, and he was dialing 911. He barely noticed when the operator answered.
“It’s Denise… I think she’s dead,” he said with a sob in his voice. “I’m not getting a pulse and she’s not breathing.”
More chatter from the other end as he looked over the scene. There had to be something to tell him what had happened. The operator asked for his location.
“At home,” he said before stammering off the address. It was still a shock, but he was trying to remain calm. “Is there something I can do?”
The operator suggested CPR, offering to stay on the line and help him.
“Of course,” he replied, not believing that he hadn’t thought of it earlier. He hung up.
Ed immediate began trying to revive the lifeless body of Denise. But it was no use. Somehow, in some way, she had passed beyond this world. He had to know what had happened. He immediately began interviewing the others. He wrote everything down in his journal with the same meticulous care that he used with everything in his life.
Miko had been bathing. Her music was on (she preferred older heavy metal bands), so she had been unable to hear anything. Her story had an odd feel to it. Miko was hiding something—but what?
The others had been together in pairs, each alibi hard to refute. Belle and Margaret had been arguing in the kitchen, loud enough so that, from across the apartment, Pat had heard Belle scream. Pat and Cheryl had been in Ed’s bedroom, reading a fascinating volume on human anatomy that Ed had acquired some time ago and never bothered to get rid of.
It dawned on Ed that there was nothing he could do about this injustice when the door began to quake under the pounding force of a ham-hock fist.
“Police,” came the voice as the door opened.
The voice on the other side of the door was imposing, but not half as imposing as the man who possessed it. He displayed his shining badge with the pride of a newly recruited officer. Ed looked around the massive policeman for the inevitable partner. He saw a woman, withered in years and seasoned in the way that police officers often are, by pain and duty. Her hair wanted to go gray, but she wouldn’t let it. She spoke gruffly.
“We understand that you have a homicide?”
“I… I found her on the floor,” he said as he gestured to Denise, who was now inside of a carefully marked outline. “I tried CPR…” He shakily offered her his notebook. “I took notes. Interviewed everyone.”
She looked over the notes, raising an eyebrow as she turned page after page. “Good work. Figured out who did it yet?”
“N-no.” He blinked.
She thought about it. “I’m a fan of a good mystery,” she said with a grin. “When you figure it out, bring it to me, okay?” She winked at him while handing him a card with her name and desk number on it.
The large policeman blinked. He’d been certain they would read the guy the riot act for calling up about a murdered doll. He’d only been on the force for 2 weeks, but he’d still expected Trish to be more heavy-handed than that. She gave him a warning look not to say a word, but spoke again.
“He’s not hurting anyone,” she said to her partner, as she shut the door.

Ed dutifully wrote down an account of everything that had happened. He turned it in at Patricia Closkey’s desk at Precinct 13 very quietly the next day. Patricia’s uncle proved to have some clout with a publisher and got Ed’s novel a viewing, which got him a contract—mysteries are always popular.
He was fired from his job at the doll factory, but he didn’t mind. After his books started selling the guys from the factory dropped by once in a while: to talk or see the dolls. A manager even stopped by to talk about promotional work, but Ed decided not to see him.
Ed never did manage to move out of the basement apartment that he occupied with the dolls, but he did live all right off of his savings and the income from the books, which he kept writing. Not all of them were mysteries, of course—dolls lead such interesting lives.

Say "Hello" to my little friend...

2006-11-24T08:41:32Z

Meet Rush.

Tell him Tom sent you, and win a... well, sympathy, I think.

Turkey day...

2006-11-23T22:17:11Z

Today I have played with my children, worked on my pseudo-novel and wandered around my kitchen with a turkey on my hand like a puppet, making noises like Mr. Bean.

Truly a glorious holiday.

I have been asked...

2006-10-23T05:00:02Z

To prove that Grace Kelly would be a better Flora than Veronica Lake (herein known as "the tart"). To this end, I shall provide photographs, undoctored, that enable the viewer to, at will, make trumps of good, or even superlative, quality. (after cut)

I believe I have a few more about, but I was trying not to duplicate work and, honestly, there was some aggrivation on this end when uploading.

Try this...

2006-10-14T03:46:09Z

This proved... fascinating.

HowManyOfMe.com

There are:
0
people with my name
in the U.S.A.

How many have your name?

White & Nerdy

2006-10-14T03:25:00Z



"White & Nerdy" on Google Video
"Weird Al" Yankovic's music video from his new album "Straight Outta Lynwood" (in stores Sept. 26)

More Amber goobery

2006-10-10T06:10:47Z

I sit here, looking over the trumps and histories put forth by fellow players, and feel completely out-classed.

Damn them and their talent.

I suspect that I can trump them with my bizarro-factor, should it come to that. Sometime in the future I should post my Halloween Dot email for you and let you feel the Cthuloid might of pumpkins oozing over your keyboard and seeking to give you a purple-nurple.

Character Design

2006-10-08T05:41:53Z

I go into the process totally blind, finding bits and pieces as I feel around the darkness. This kind of suggests that I feel up the characters, which I suppose I do.

At any rate, Chadwick, my current Amber character, is a few things that I've never done before, including a trump artist. I generally avoid artistic characters in favor of more... hard to say. Definitely creative.

I'm also playing a complete innocent in Amber, which should yield... hell, that boy's gonna get killed.

Time Under Chaos

2006-09-30T15:34:22Z

I have a reason for checking out LiveJournal (asside from Schlock!

And that reason is... more cowbell!

Next gaming things

2006-07-09T03:05:21Z

So, I was watching the "video" for "Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds" when an adventure idea hit me:

I'd love to set this up with a movie pitch idea (the "Think:" section I've been tossing up), but I can't come up with one... not that a movie hasn't been done, I'm sure.

The child (daughter, perhaps?) of an affluent member of society decides that she's had enough of the good life and decides to become an adventurer. Her parent(s) hire the PCs to protect the daughter on her next adventure.

The hitch? The job is a robbery of her parents home/apartment.

Your mission

2006-07-07T02:18:07Z

Think: "Mission Impossible" meets something that didn't suck with dragons in it. I can't think of one.

Special Agents of the crown (the PCs) have been commanded to go forth and arrest a dragon for disturbing the peace, harrassing damsels, etc.

Oh, and suspected of murder. Lethal force not permitted.

Gaming

2006-07-07T02:03:34Z

Someone suggested that I use my LiveJournal account to keep a list of gaming ideas.

Mine for today.
Think: "Jurassic Park" meets "The Fifth Element"

The characters are brought to a resort in space filled with dinosaurs. One, or all, of them has been hired by an opposing scientist/company/government to steal the research, one sample, and to destroy the facility.

Introduction

2006-06-24T17:46:34Z

Today I'll give you some information about myself and tell you what subjects this journal will cover. Since I can cover this information in a small post, that's what I'll do.
I've traveled a bit, mostly inside of the U.S. Most of that travel was among the southern states (both East and West), so my image of those to the North is probably wrong. I've also never traveled to Asia or Australia, but someday I will.
I was in the military for 4 years. My job was as a signals analyst, and I tend to glorify that a bit. In fact, most everyone I've met that was in the military after WWII is a chatterbox and a half when it comes to their experiences. I'm only mildly different.
I'm attending school in hopes of getting a degree so complicated that it breaks boundaries and has people re-evaluating the definitions of some departments.
I'm the father of 3 boys.

While I have another blog that details my personal life to some effect, I intend on using this one for communication inside of the "geek" community. The topics covered here will include anything you can attach to that label.

Also, if you feel like correcting my grammar, either as an exercise for yourself or as a favor to me, go for it.