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Hack For More

WEEK 16: 07/01/04

by Edward McEneely
Jul 06,2004


Hack For More

WEEK 16: 07/01/04

Well, I entered this week in a less-then-pleasant mood.

My second hedgehog, which I purchased to replace Philippe, who died of cancer earlier this year, was stolen.

I'm serious. She didn't escape, because Hedgehogs don't close the lid on their cages when they get out. I tore my apartment to pieces looking for her, repeatedly, but to no avail. I put up flyers, but nobody contacted me. As near as I can tell, someone walked into my (foolishly) unlocked apartment, past my computer, past my books, past everything I own, and just took my hedgehog. Why, I have no idea.

I imagine you're asking "but what kind of sick bastard would do that?" I wish I knew. Because then I could kill them.

In other news, Erich seems to have made some progress on the dating front, causing the mass suicide of thousands of media-savvy rocker girls; I'm happy for him, of course, because, hey, how often do gamers really strike it rich in that department? (I know, I know: thousands of gamers have healthy, functional relationships with supermodels---some even in real life---but the only time I run into them is when they crawl out of the woodwork to try and disprove my sweeping generalizations.) Of course, this probably means I'll see less of Erich, which is saddening, because in many ways, he's probably my best friend. Of course, there's always the hope that things will crash and burn spectacularly, but that'd be deucedly unsportsmanlike to hope for, now wouldn't it?

At any rate. We convened for gaming for the first time in quite a while, as my long-time reader may have noticed. Gaming got off to a slow start, as we all fraternized and joked amongst ourselves while trying to remember where we left off (and I was definitely the most guilty party here), before we dimly recalled the events of the last session.

Once we remembered where we left off, the players began trundling down the passageways of the dungeon, intent upon measuring and mapping it out with the aid of Erich's donkey.

This is very boring for me. I did not create this dungeon for it to be mapped, I created it for the PCs to fight things in. Treasure should also be found.

Tonight, I had no real plans. My job was extra-special crappy, thanks to the incipient holiday weekend, and all sorts of things went wrong. I slept the whole train ride to Lake Bluff, so I had nothing prepared.

For kicks, I sicced a pack of Orcish war dawgs (which are, improbably, way, wayyyy tougher than orcs, and worth many, many more EPs) on the players, who did quite well, or would have, if not for a freakish critical hit that darn near took Seth's arm off. (Excuse me. The arm of Seth's character. After the disastrous "Alive!" LARP, I've never inflicted actual damage on a player.)

The battle took a while, but the final score was Wardawgs: one reanimated donkey, Players: six wardawgs. Shortly after using her last magic missile, Laura fell asleep. Not in the game, either. This was wholly understandable, as she too had had a long hard day, but it wasn't exactly a stirring testament to my awesome GMing skills. Of course, neither is this column, so hey!

I decided the Wardawgs were the vanguard of a group of Orcish slavers, who quickly showed up and convinced Erich's gullible character to parley with them vis-a-vis reparations for their destroyed wardawgs. Of course, they decided only Erich would do, because it was late and I'm immature. Erich tried to bribe them with a philtre of lust (bad plan, Erich) and Seth set about to murderin' the orcs, who were caught all unawares. The orcs were tougher (and luckier) than they must have seemed, because they knocked Seth clean out of the fight and battered Erich down to null hitpoints. Laura woke up just in time to be reduced to a single hitpoint as the party triumphed victorious over its underwhelming opposition.

Incidentally, we've been discussing potential contests amongst ourselves: the current plan is to have all comers try and match our names to our faces and our cars (Laura is excluded, as she does not own an automobile and didn't want to run the risk of misidentification); the winner would win a copy of Synnibar autographed by all of us, for the ultimate anti-fame-rub: no dice who touch our signature could possibly roll well ever again. Pretty cool, huh? Hopefully, we'll get things moving soon. Of course, I hardly need tell you that RPG.net itself is not involved, endorsing, or legally responsible for anything bad that happens as a result of this ill-conceived plan. If something good happens, however, it was all RPG.net. We promise. Also, in other, minor news, I'm working on an article about the Cromwell Cruiser tank of World War II, hopefully to be submitted to Pyramid. Wish me luck!

It was late, we were tired, and we all decided to go home.

The List Would Have Been Better If The List-Taker Had Not Been Asleep:

Laura: The once-and-future Ham?
Erich: Why, thank you.

Seth (as a fat man, hitting on the Ottoman Empire): Heyyy...we're both collapsing under our own weight.

Seth: Don't diss the Lego Monorail.

Erich: Klingon TARD!
Ed: You know, that's how the Eighth Sarcasm War of 2273 got started.

Erich (on olestra, forehead alimentary canals, and other unpleasantness): ...And the good thing is, you don't need lubrication. [Omnes: Horrified silence.] ...I'm going to a special Hell.

Ed (on RIFTS): Some of the other PA suits were tougher than the Glitter Boy, if you look at them right.
Seth: What, through beer goggles?

Erich: There's just gotta be something that I can do to reduce these pigs to bacon.

Seth: I was a general...
Ed: In the Army of Bjork.

Laura: Take my dignity! But don't take my peacock!

Erich (is a liar): Using this spell...you can...repair...a donkey.

Erich (after a surprise massacre): WAIT! Come back! We're not finished negotiating!

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