Bar, Grill & Employment Agency

The Yellow Crescent Inn, Weaselton, Kingdom of Possiltum, Klah.

Striding purposefully through the doorway, C'nutsakh approached the innkeeper, who was absentmindedly cleaning flagons, "I'd like to hire some Dwarven warriors."

"You're a dwarven warrior, bub."

"I know that.  I want to hire some more."

"You don't know any?  'Cause if you do, there's a shortage and I can find work for them in a jiffy."

"Wait a minute!  You're the placement agency, and you're asking me to find you warriors?"

"Dwarven warriors, sure.  They're worth a premium.  Not like Timmy-the-Window-Licker over there...  HEY!  QUIT LICKING THE DAGGONE WINDOWS!"

Surveying the room, C'nutsakh saw the serving wench scurrying around an exotic entertainer to deliver fresh flagons to two experienced looking... individuals conversing with one another.  He deflated a bit at seeing the group at the front table.  Beard up, chest out, he approached the two conversing at the back table.

HeroQuest figures by Milton-Bradley; Innkeeper, Serving Wench and Bonzo by Reaper Miniatures; Belly Dancer by Flying Frog Games, Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner by Warren Zevon.

"Good day gentlemen, I have a proposition for you."

The white-faced one mutely peered at him from over his flagon while the other poured mead down his neck hole.  

Finally, the evil clown spoke, "Boy, you only got your name two sessions ago.  We're retired."

C'nutsakh didn't know what manner of strange, metal item the silent one held, but when he pulled back a small handle that slammed forward with a menacing CLICK, he realized:

1. The item is a weapon.
2. The weapon is far more deadly than any he'd ever heard of, less seen.
3. These... gentlemen were best left to conduct their business in privacy.

With resignation, C'nutsakh turned toward the group at the front table, and discovered two of the three gazing at him in the same way a fourth-grader does when he knows the answer: Pick Me!  Pick Me!  Regrettably, but unexpectedly, the third appeared to be licking the window.

Without hope for an affirmative answer, the dwarf asked as he approached, "Do any of you have a name?"

The Warrior was still oblivious to anything in the room while Elf and Wizard immediately began examining the floor.

"Wizard is a title", was the barely audible reply.

"Have you at least quested yet?"

"If getting here from across town counts, then yes, and it should."

"Alright, I'm C'nutsakh and you're hired, on condition that you keep the window licker from doing any too stupid.  I know you can't completely prevent his stupidity, but I expect you do keep an eye on him at all times.  Let's go."

As the dwarf led his new grunts, the innkeeper called out, "Hey Dwarf, got any Gold Talos?"

"My name is C'nutsakh!  You'd best remember that, and yes I have... one or two."

"I've got just the thing you need.  A Healer."

This occurred to C'nut as a darn good idea.  "Half a Talos!"

"Two Gold Talos.  This fellow will keep your knuckleheads alive and in the fight."

"One Talos."

"I'll meet you in the middle, two Talos."

"Hey! That's not the middle!"

"The middle of the room", said the innkeeper with an unusual brown-robed man behind him.

"Where's the healer?"

"He's the healer.  Best kind of healer available.  A Florist Friar.  Just be sure to keep him away from sheep.  Only Ewe can Prevent Florist Friars."

Episode 2

The Name Quest

So yesterday, I played my first game of Warrior Heroes - Legends, and managed to write up a story in the same day.  Today, I played a follow-up, an this is the write-up.  This is the first time in over fifteen years that I played games on consecutive days!  Winning!

"Damn!", C'nutsakh swore when he turned the corner.

Elf quickly pushed his way forward, "I had better be getting my name!... What in the Nine Hells is that?"

As Barbarian stared in mute incomprehension, Wizard softly spoke, "They know we've been here.  That means there'll be at least one PEF.  If we break that Majick® seal, we'll have an immediate encounter with the Big Bad."

"Well, time to kick the doors and steal the whores!", exclaimed C'nutsakh as he pulled open the first door near the Majick®  barrier.  Inside, an orc was tutoring a goblin on the finer points of "interviewing a detainee".

"Say my name, Byotch!" shouted Wizard as the crackling energy of a Damage spell shot forth from his staff, striking the orc dead on the spot.  Seeing his comrade slain in an instant by arcane energies, the goblin did something goblinish.  He ran out the back door.

Right into The Crypt of Not Exactly Unmentionable, but We Prefer Not Bringing it up in Polite Company.

Elf raced into the in shouting, "Skeletons!  Hold my Beer!"

Barbarian rushed forward alongside the pointy-eared adventurer, curses on his face and a snarl in his mouth.  Or something like that.  Doesn't actually matter, because as he raised his massive sword to cleave his undead foe, the mummy grabbed his Fabio-Like mane of flowing hair and smashed his head against the crypt in the center of the room.  Interesting how even though barbarians don't display any use of their brains, removing them does indeed result in immediate death.

Elf slashed his rapier across the nearest skeleton, which fell in a heap.  Unfortunately, as is all too often the case, the owner of this dungeon had stocked more than one skeleton.  Can't blame the dungeon owner, skeletons are just so reasonably priced when purchased in bulk.  The massive scythe wielded by the "Buy-One-Get-One" skeleton instantly decapitated the rather less economic Elf.

C'nutsakh simply swore under his breath as he approached the desiccated scion of unlife and the two became locked in combat.  In a moment of genuine usefulness, Wizard successfully Dazzled the goblin before it could escape again.

As is so often the case with the undead, the mummy stood motionless long enough for what passes for the hero of this story to act with inspiration.  C'nut noticed that the struggle of combat had caused the mummy's bandage to become unfastened in one location; with his free hand, the Redheaded-Son-of-a-Dwarf snatched the loose wrapping and pulled as fiercely as he could, simultaneously pulling the monster off balance and unraveling the wrappings.  As the dried husk leaned off-balance against the sarcophagus, C'nutsakh cleaved his axe down into the animated corpse, sending it back to the silence of death.

Whether Wizard was inspired by C'nut's victory, or he just saw the goblin as "easy pickings", the spellcaster strode toward the stunned goblin in order to strike his staff across the small, green humanoid.

and missed.  

Which isn't all that surprising now, is it?  Spending all that time indoors studying Majick® instead of going outside and playing some sports doesn't help an adventurer in a combat situation, does it?

On the other hand, the goblin had been quite the Qwik player during his time at Evil Preparatory School, and he used his still-respectable reflexes to swing his sword in an upward blocking motion, and Wizard obliged the greenskin by stabbing his left biceps onto the point of the defending blade, at which point, he fainted at the sight of his own blood.

For a few moments, the battles was silenced, replaced only by the labored breathing of the two survivors.  The goblin peered through eyes stinging with fear-laden sweat at the stoic Dwarf surveying the carnage.  In reaction to the colossal display of ineptitude, C'nutsakh lowered his head in a facepalm, and in that moment the goblin made and acted on a desperate, life-or-death decision.  Screeching like The Wicked Witch of the West, he leapt up on the sarcophagus and launched himself toward C'nutsakh like a Winged Monkey on crystal meth.

C'nutsakh didn't have time to think, much less speak or step aside, so he held his arms up in front of himself.  He still had his axe firmly in his grip; the goblin's trajectory sped the poor SOB face first onto the blade.

"When I get back to town, I'm hiring Dwarves only".

Episode 1     Episode 3

Into the Dungeon...

In 1992, I picked up a copy of HeroQuest at Service Merchandise while shopping for my soon-to-be daughter's crib, and found this to be excellent bait for Valpurgius, Viper and a few others to come by my house while I waited on Milady Awaiting labor.  Shortly after Daughter v2.0® was born, I spotted the expansions at Toys-R-Us, and snagged one.  If I knew then what we all know now, I would've bought every box on the shelf, but that's a different story.  

Back in 2013, I backed Dwarven Forge's first Kickstarter and bought the original Dwarvenite Dungeon set X3, unpainted.  Last November, I painted it.  Also in 2013, I bought Warrior Heroes: Legends.

This week, I'm putting together units for some skirmish warfare, and to demonstrate that rules written for use with any miniatures are typically both easier to play and have more equitable outcomes (primarily due to a complete lack of Codex Creep), I dug out my old Fimir from that game and expansion.  Last night, I saw a post from the Two Hour Wargames forum from a youngster asking how to play an RPG using THW.

This afternoon, for the first time ever, I not only used the dungeon tiles in a game, I also played Warrior Heroes: Legends.  Modified.  Okay, Heavily Modified.  I drew out some tiny tiles and printed each on business cards, each corresponding to a portion of HeroQuest's first quest and shuffled the Gargoyle's room (WHL: Big Bad) into the bottom five cards.  Shockingly, I began to play immediately.

Hey, four years is actually fairly quick for me to get around to doing something.

I present:

Down the stairs they crept, ever deeper into the cool, damp, foreboding darkness.  

They knew Zargon knew they were coming.  

They knew Zargon knew they knew Zargon knew they knew...

Still, incomprehensibly they came...

A traditional start - our heroes at the bottom of the stairs.

Barbarian:  "When do I hit something?"

Wizard: "Good grief, this place could use some Febreeze"

Elf: "That's not the dungeon, it's Barbarian"

Barbarian: "Hey, it's part of my 'own particular idiom'"

Elf: "Whatever.  Dwarf, are you gonna open the door or what?"

Dwarf: "Quitcher Bitchin', Tree Humper" - CLICK

And before them was a dark hallway...

Barbarian:  "When do I hit something?"

Wizard:  "Will you quit with that already?  I told you, you'd get to hit stuff real soon"

Elf:  "Why are we here again?"

Dwarf: "Seriously?  You can't remember that?  You've been hitting the ritual whacky weed again, haven't ya?"

Elf:  "Nah, though that seems like a good idea.  I was trying to give the author a slick way to describe the goal of our quest, rather than simple narration."

Wizard: "Thank you, Elf.  Dwarf, we're here on a Name Quest.  Once we complete a quest, we'll get names instead of these stupid generic titles."

Dwarf:  "Bullshit.  My name's  CENSORED 

Elf:  "Hah!  You dumbass!"

Wizard:  "Shut up, you two and open that door on the left."

As Dwarf stealthily opened the door, Barbarian charged past him, yelling incomprehensibly.  Inside, two Orcs suddenly had their DNA sequencing research interrupted.  Barbarian charged to the closest orc, raised his sword over his head for a mighty killing blow...

... and the orc kicked him in the 'family jewels', bringing Barbarian to his knees, whereon his head smashed against the corner of a lab table, knocking himself unconscious.

Elf remarked, "this is off to a typical start" as he and Dwarf each dashed into the room towards the two startled scientists.  Wizard shrugged and took a tentative step into the room, looked down at Barbarian and quietly backed out into the hallway.

Elf slashed at the second orc; the two locked blades.  Dwarf calmly strode to the first orc, gestured down at the Barbarian and said, "The way you took down that chump was a smooth move."  The instant the orc looked down, Dwarf smashed his target's head with an axe, knocking him to the floor.

Dwarf leapt upon the chest of the fallen orc and spun around.  Covering his foe's face with his cloak, the unleashed a truly horrific "Dutch Oven"; the unfortunate researcher asphyxiated inside the noxious makeshift execution chamber.  The second orc was aghast as such a vile act; Having had more exposure to the stout, beer-swilling Dwarf than he'd ever wanted, Elf wasn't distracted and took advantage of his foe's distraction by stabbing his sword through the humanoid's windpipe.

Considering the stench spreading through the lab, it was most certainly a mercy killing.

Hearing the brawl quiet to only Elf's vomiting, Wizard re-entered the room and announced, "Good work.  Let's see if they have any treasure, and get the meat mountain back up to town."

Elf:  "Wow, thanks a pantload for all that help, chickenshit."

Wizard:  "I was covering your backs!"

Dwarf: "Chickenshit"

One orc had 3 Gold Talos, the other had a food item and a scroll.  Wizard immediately shouted, "Dibs on the scroll!" and snatched it.  

Elf protested, "that's total BS!  You ran away!"

Once again, Wizard insisted, "I was covering your backs" and headed towards the stairs.

Elf and Dwarf exchanged looks, sighed and began dragging Barbarian towards the stairs.

Elf:  "Do you suppose banging his head on all those steps is going to matter?"

Dwarf:  "I've never heard about that being in the rules, so probably not.  Besides, who cares?"

Epilogue

Dragging the unconscious warrior down the dirt path into Weaselton, a voice cried out:

A Voice:  "K'nutsakh!  You made it back!"

Dwarf:  "Keep it down, will ya?"

Elf and Wizard:  "K'nutsakh?"

Dwarf:  "Yeah.  That's my name.  Gotta problem with that?"

Elf turned to A Voice and said, "Say my name!"

A Voice:  "Whaddaya talking about?  You didn't earn a name, dumbass.  And before you even ask, don't", while pointing at Wizard.

Elf:  This totally blows!

Episode 2

I Was in Search of a Story, and for My Sins, They Gave Me One

After only four or five years and two versions, I finally got around to playing 5150: Urban Renewal.  The following is true in the sense that I fudged no dice rolls...

Lunchtime, New Hope City Pub & Rec district.

"Hey Jerry, do you suppose Mercury Jones is her real name?"

Jerry replied while staring at traffic out the front of the news van, "It doesn't make any difference, Pavel.  She's a hotshot lawyer with big-time connections; she can call herself the Queen of Sheba for all anybody cares.  All that matters is whether her information is real.  The bar should be up on the next corner."

"Relax Jerry, I've been there before", said Pavel as he parked the Galactic News Service mobile broadcast van in front of The Drunken Clam.  As he turned off the vehicle, a sleek, black sports car turned through the intersection and parked across the street.  As Jerry Rivers, the ace GNS investigative reporter, and Pavel Datsyuk, his broadcast engineer, walked toward the building entrance, a well-dressed woman and a large man emerged from the vehicle and began walking towards the same destination.

Jerry lead Pavel into the bar as two uniformed NHCPD officers, Reed and Malloy, were settling their bill with The Samurai.  Pavel greeted the warrior / bartender / chef / optometerist loudly, "Hey John!  How's it going?"

To Jerry, the Samurai's response sounded like a Razorback Growler gargling razor blades, but Pavel seemed to understand, or at least fake it well.  "John says today's special is Ameglion Major Cow, but it's frozen, not fresh", as he led Jerry to a table near the back.

 A moment later, the same woman and man Jerry had seen outside entered the restaurant.  After a quick scan of the dining area revealed only Jerry and Pavel, the large man's grim expression broke into a broad grin, "Johnny!  My man!  What it is!"

The Samurai's reply sounded something like a cheerfully drunken wombat happily fighting a garbage disposal as he set four Pilsner glasses of Golden Monkey on Jerry and Pavel's table, while the newcomers approached.  Jerry began to remark that nobody had ordered the drinks when both Pavel and the large man each raised a glass, turned to the Samurai, shouted, "Sun Wukong!" in unison and took deep drinks of the dark, amber beer

The woman smiled warmly to Jerry and said, "I'm Mercury Jones and this is my associate John Slade.  You look older in holo-cast", as she seated herself while the others followed suit.

Jerry took a drink and looked into Mercury's eye, "So, what's this story you want me to look into?"

"What do you know about Prosperity Corporation and Green?"

"Enough franchises have opened up here in NHC that they opened a processing facility.  So what?"

"Do you know the ingredients?"

"I don't cover business or science human interest stories, why don't you -

Mercury cut Jerry off mid-sentence, "That's what they want you to think.  Haven't you wondered why that new facility is so secretive about their raw materials and waste?  Has anybody at all noticed that the Black Jack abductions began right when Prosperity opened their facility?

"

The Faces of New Hope City

I've been collecting, building and painting odds and ends for a few years with the intent of a Two Hour Wargames 5150: New Hope City campaign series.  This morning I pulled out most of what I've finished; I'm overdue to get this going.  

This started as a shopping center for All Things Zombie, but I just never was all that into the Night of the Living Dead and it's reboots.

S-Mart is 22" X 28" and can be the entire scenario.

I'm still getting around to stocking this with Binford tools, especially chainsaws.

Foree Electric was my first project making paper terrain on a computer to cut, fold and glue.  The building started life as a Starship Troopers base game box lid and I did almost nothing to disguise that.

The Drunken Clam and Mike's Hardware were actually made from leftover material when I made S-Mart.

Soylent Industries is inspired a little by the movie and a lot by the scenario from Irrational Number Line Games

Jerry Rivers, Investigative Reporter, Hank the Cameraman and Pavel the Engineer are from the West Wind 'Nam series.  Paulie & Joey Baggadonetz are Hasselfree Legends of Gogol figures.




The moment I first saw Hasselfree's Maddog I knew he'd be a Street Preacher.  I don't remember where, when or from whom I acquired the platinum haired, leather clad young lady.  Beach Babe Libby shall be playing the recurring role of Trophy Wife.  The photojournalist is from the same 'Nam set as the TV crew; this fellow just screams, "Dennis Hopper" to me.  Mr. Belushi will likely be the proprietor of every establishment in NHC.  Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner started life as a Bolt Action Chindit given to me by my best friend, Scott.


I don't know of a scenario in which Those Meddling Kids aren't appropriate, useful and fun.

Armorcast's Big City PD were specifically bought for the Soylent Green scenario, but are just darn useful all the time.


Old Warzone Imperial Wolfbanes were going to play the part of mercenaries until I found these Foundry Urban Violence mercs in a bargain bin.  I've painted them so that they can reasonably be a SWAT team when required.

I picked up these Star Wars Battle Droids along with a dozen Trade Federation droids for $0.25 each and I like them as Symon better than the idea of fully human appearing, "Data" androids.

Some concerned citizens who've formed a highly proactive neighborhood watch.

Ghost of Karl Marx: “They took that bullshit seriously?”

Salem, Massachusetts

The Sisters of Gaea’s Sickle Collective, a witches’ coven and political action committee operating in the New England region held a seance in order to receive guidance from Karl Marx regarding the outcome of the Presidential election.  Gathered together in an amorphous, non-binary, gluten-free mass of bodies which they described as, “organic”, the participants used a copy of the US Constitution as kindling to light a sacrificial effigy of Ronald Reagan sprinkled profusely with a mixture of medical marijuana and bath salts in order to summon the spirit of the deceased political philosopher.

After several minutes of the group chanting the mantra, “we are the 99%”, a ghostly apparition coalesced into the appearance of the famed, Father of Socialism in a cloud of vapor which smelled of nitromethane, CLP, burning rubber and spent gunpowder.  Greeting the adoring women by loudly shouting, “Hey ladies!  Show me your tits!”, the German lawyer displayed visible disappointment at discovering that the summoning group was seeking his wisdom in enacting The Communist Manifesto worldwide.

Dressed in an Article 15, “Zero Fucks Given” t-shirt and carrying an ever-full Ranger Up, “Whiskey and Bad Decisions” glass of Jack Daniels, the 19th century dilettante addressed the crowd, emphasizing his words by gesturing drunkenly with a Kaila Cummings custom knife.

“Are you people fucking with me?”, he asked incredulously, “Have you no comprehension of satire?  That whole Manifesto thing was a prank I played on John Keynes”.

Members of the collective attempted to explain the attempts made at creating a socialist utopia by illustrating the USSR, China, Myanmar, Vietnam, Cambodia, Cuba and Venezuela, to which Marx replied, “bullshit!” and then vanished.

The Fishing Trip

While fishing at a secluded pond during sunset, I began to hear soft, droning, wooden flutes in the nearby woods. Dismissing it as my overactive imagination playing while my mind wandered, I continued to cast and tease my lure, but the slow, somber sounds grew. Not in volume or intensity, but in the number of musical voices contributing to the insistent, quiet chord, the likes of which I’d never before heard or imagined. I reeled in my bait, hastily packed my gear and unsteadily made my way up the trail I’d walked many times, yet this trek was saturated with a continuously growing feeling of reverence and fear. The sunlight had faded and the new moon offered no illumination, yet my eyes perceived an unearthly glow ahead of me, growing at a nearly imperceptibly slow rate. Trembling, my legs strode a few more steps up the gentle slope before I became paralyzed by the majesty of one tree. I’d never before paid any attention to the ordinary looking trees along this trail, but tonight, one shone with a regal brilliance in the center of hundreds of tiny, softly glowing entities weaving through the still air when I realized that the countless flutes were indeed also these miniscule, inexplicable spirits, swirling about the luminescent pine. Smothering in simultaneous awe and dread, a compulsion from somewhere within me enabled me to capture this solitary image before terror propelled me to my car, leaving behind the fishing tackle. I frantically dove into the driver’s seat; mercifully the car started and I somehow fled home without crashing from the panic in which I’d become engulfed.