timgray

Poo. The Black Industries Warhammer FRPG site now redirects to its new home at FFG, but the nice library of free fan-made scenarios isn't there. I was going to see if I could find one for my gaming group on Sunday. I have grabbed some already, but was looking forward to prospecting. 

I've come to the conclusion that actually there isn't a vast amount about Warhammer that grabs me apart from the ease of use and availability of material. It's fine and it's well done but the grottiness of the setting doesn't float my boat and the system doesn't cause interesting things to happen. Great as a pick-up/fill in game though.

We just have the very end of one of these scenarios to do this week, then whatever else I come up with. Then we need to work out what we're playing next. The summer's all a bit uncertain, with one of our small group away for some or all of it.

robin_d_laws

BRISBANE, AUSTRALIA — News crawls generate cognitive dissonance at the best of times. When you’re traveling and don’t get the references, they’re even more cryptic. A morning show crawl referring to a local “iguana scandal” evokes a range of intriguing possibilities. Imagine my disappointment when I Google the phrase and discover that the scandal does not revolve around an actual iguana but is instead a dust-up over a politician’s misbehavior at a nightclub called Iguanas.

One of my goals for the trip was to finally crack the secret of a mimicked Aussie accent. This is a challenge for anyone whose repertoire of funny voices is built on a bedrock of Python. Python Australian is basically Eric Idle’s regular voice, much louder. Now that I am immersed in the true source, the mission progresses acceptably. Not to the point where I will demonstrate it to genuine Australians, mind you. The secret, along with the swerving vowels, lies in the uptalking. So far, though, the holy grail of the Aussie accent eludes me still: I can’t quite nail all three vowels in the word “no.”

Wednesday is given over to unscheduled poking around. The third day of an overseas con trip is usually when the Big Crash occurs, so the day is designed assuming an epic nap in the middle.

I swing by the convention centre to grab my badge. The place is ginormous, and could easily swallow the Indy facility. Gen Con Oz will take up one of three or four massive halls. An international poultry conference is in full swing in the adjacent hall. A conference regarding poultry, not for poultry, in case you were worried.



This son of the snowbank is still trying to wrap his head around sub-tropical winter. In the early afternoon, a tour of the city’s post-Expo riverfront area takes me past a manufactured beach, where bikini-clad maidens roast in the sun. But when five o’clock comes, night falls hard. Minutes later, and it’s time to switch the hotel air conditioning unit to its heat setting. Yet I think during my walk I may have gotten a sunburn on the tops of my feet -- through the weave in the fabric of my socks. Whether this is due to proximity to the equator, or because the rays of the winter sun come at you all sneaky and sideways, is a question I leave to the meteorologists in the house.

That was yesterday. After posting this, I’m off to the very first Gen Con Australia. Full report tomorrow!

evilgaz

Played Sundered Skies last week.  It definitely needs the Mad Max turning up and Fantasy turning down.  Lots of good ideas, but all kind of thrown together.

When I look back at Earthdawn for example, I used to think some of the excuses for things in the game were a bit shonky, but they did work.  All that stuff about the Horrors, Scourge and Kaers, in the end justifying having “dungeons” in the game world.  But it worked.  The kernels of elemental material thing wasn’t brand new, but when you were told that airships could fly and it was because of the elemental air and earth in the keel – you bought it.  Simple as that.  It made some kind of sense and sounded cool.

In SS islands float around in the endless void.  The writer has even come out and said he doesn’t know why and offered up some ideas.  Presumably with the advent of Triple Ace Games, some supplements will address this and other problems.  But currently, its not even been thought about.  Sky ships fly, but people don’t.  Jolly boats do, but can they gain height and how?  Does rowing in the air really move you on?  Why?

There’s no explanation for it and it sucks.  Ships can’t fly directly over islands.  Why?  Just because.  It would spoil the game.  Doesn’t make any sense and there’s no effort to come up with a reason.  I can make one up, sure, but I can do all that without buying a book, just take the idea.  There is some good stuff, but rules for red hot cannon balls?  What, you take metal (the universal coin of the realm, more valuable than anything else) and fire it off into the Void?  What’s more you heat it up first so its red hot and roll it down towards some gun powder…  WTF?  Stone cannon balls, made out of carved chunks of ruined cities, now that’s cool.  Having specialist masons who compete to have the smoothest, roundest, truest flying ammunition in the Skies… that’s interesting too.  But I just made that up.

SS has got some interesting bits in, some new odds and sods for Savage, but ultimately is too brief and the effort hasn’t been made to provide in-game excuses for all the weird sh!t that’s detailed.  Its just not thought through.  If you want popcorn for the brain fantasy, or a starting point to the hammer out your own setting – its got legs definitely.  I haven’t got the resources and time to do it myself, so would probably go for Earthdawn if I tried fantasy again.  It’s a lot better thought out, older and wiser.  The excuses for the way the world worked sounded a bit patchy in places, but looking back, most of it is well thought out.  Which is the Correct way to go.

Still, for a convention game, as a one off, there’s plenty there to go at, so I’m going to show it off at Continuum and Furnace and those people who like their fantasy without too much thought put into it will no doubt love it.  Its just that, for a campaign game, it’s a bit too light and lazy.

robin_d_laws

Whenever I go to a new city, I check out the attitude of the man in the “walk” signal, as a general indicator of its overall zeitgeist. In Milwaukee, the walk signal man is hunched and oppressed. London’s man, if I recall him correctly, is stolidly obedient. (Or maybe that’s the “don’t walk” man.) In Toronto, he is brisk and ready to go. Indy’s guy is jaunty and pleased to be a Midwesterner. Here in Brisbane, the man moves forward with a sense of cautious purpose. He knows where he’s going but does not want you to think he’s headed there with undue haste. Also, he’s an optimistic shade of green.

Fact I was unsurprised by: when you order lamb biryani, it’s much better than the lamb in the biryani back home.

Basic geographical fact I should not have been surprised by, but nonetheless am: if it’s winter in Australia, that means the sun sets around 5 pm. Warm temperatures + early evening nightfall = Robin’s ability to accurately guess the time is completely shot.

Today I am provided with a most excellent minder in the person of Kevin Powe, who drives me north of the city to Australia Zoo. (The Hickmans are meant to go, too, but due to a communications snafu do not know the plan. I hope they have not missed their opportunity to behold slumbering wombats.) It’s Canada Day, and Kevin helps me celebrate the spirit of my own homeland by periodically apologizing for no reason. (Although this raises the epistemological question of whether it is in fact Canada Day if back home it is isn’t July 1^st yet.)

Australia Zoo is the facility developed by the late television personality Steve Irwin from humble beginnings as a roadside reptile attraction run by his parents. Crocodiles, koalas, kangaroos, wombats, dingos and cassowaries calmly grant audience to the punters from the comfort of their large, clean enclosures. In the snake house, the many venomous serpents laze about, confident in their supremacy, as their non-toxic cousins slither and wriggle for their share of attention. Tasmanian devils lope in demented circles around their pens, waiting in vain for their transformation into miniature tornadoes.

The place hovers in a state of paradox between a modestly sized modern zoological facility and a kitschy celebration of Irwin’s celebrity. Eerily absent is any acknowledgement that something really bad happened to Steve Irwin. One is encouraged to pose with pictures of him, buy his action figures, and read info signs written in shouty Irwin-ese as if he is still with us. His nearly 10 year old daughter, Bindi, groomed to take his place in the family business, makes prominent appearances in signage and merchandising. The gift shop’s most disturbing item is a picture of the little girl smiling and giving double thumbs up, over the legend, “I want to be just like Daddy.”