Sworded Tales

That’s a question I don’t have difficulty answering.  Granted, there are a host of wonderful contenders, and my answer would vary based on specific genre.  I tend toward the nostalgic wonders though, and the pinnacle of a game experience for me is Dark Tower.

The setup, the music, the scrolling of the tower, even the feel of the pieces summon memories and elicit sensations that no other game can.  For those who haven’t had the good fortune to experience Dark Tower, I would recommend it.  Not because it plays as an outstanding game, though it has its moments, but because it is a piece of board gaming history.  And in 1981, that revolving tower was nothing short of magical.  With it, I have haunted ruins, filched from bazaars and flown with dragons.

So for International Tabletop Day, we dipped into the well of childhood and cracked open the Dark Tower.  A flip of the switch…and the tower stayed dark.  Fuck.

Many, many flips and fresh batteries later, and I was still trapped in the present and the crowd was not happy.  I’m talking very unhappy.

My quest turned down a different path and culminated in a sojourn with the soldering gun.  This was not the first time I had dabbled within the innards of the great machine.  Nor do I imagine it will be the last.  Tangling with vintage technologies is not for everyone, but I’m pleased to say that the phoenix rose from the ashes again.

When that music and the sounds of battle rang out once more, I was ten again and no journey was too far to reach the tower.  I like to think that Roland of Gilead would approve.

What’s my favorite game?  My stock answer is, “I’m for the Tower.”

Merinde turned and dry heaved along the trail again.  Deep painful chucks that ended with her surprise at the lack of internal organs splayed at her feet.  ‘By the gods she was out of shape!’ her mind crowed.  She was sure she would pay the price for last year’s sloth with a kidney.

The game trail was doing little to facilitate a smooth journey, though the narrow defile was more promising than the rest of the rugged terrain surrounding them.  She had regurgitated her light breakfast shortly into what became a rather intense dash across the landscape.  Merinde would have been angry with Gerard but for two things.  One, anger required effort, and two, that damn Halfling was barely breaking a sweat! Continue reading

Tag finished tapping his fingertips together and said, “I’d say that’d be about 200 posts.”

“That’s allotta goddamn posts,” his partner groused, spitting sideways onto the trail.  Jikk didn’t mind work as a rule, but digging was no better than sucking love from a porcupine’s ass.  Hell, the porcupine would probably leave fewer splinters.

“That’s a lot of goddamn stock,” Tag mimicked back with a chuckle.  His eyes roved over the range of desert scrub they’d selected.  Now they just needed to construct the pen.  “Figure, two an hour, ten hours a day for ten days, and that leaves us plenty of time to string the line.” Continue reading

The dead rose and feasted on the living, but not until the spring.

Winter was a hell of a time for armageddon to come knocking in North America.  If the living dead planned their invasion this way, someone among their ranks needed to be released without severance.

There were a bundle of isolated incidents  in morgues and mortuaries, at accidents and funerals, but the uprising of the walking dead was quelled without much ado.  Modern culture had saturated the populace against zombie apocalypse so well, that no serious outbreaks occurred.  Hard to believe with a shit ton of imbeciles walking around, but one thing that everyone could seem to agree on was the best way to stop a zombie. Continue reading

The Knighting of Colin McGrath

Had storybooks been written about the true history of the faerie creatures which danced amidst the countless dreamers, there no doubt would have been a multitude of chapters dedicated solely to the tales that were woven around a rather savage legend who went simply by the name of Madeleine…the Butcher. Continue reading

Lister tried not to laugh, but sweet butter meats, the way the soothsayer said her name was a theatrical orgy.  If he had known his life would be forfeit, Lister was pretty sure he could have restrained himself.  Pretty sure.  But holy love knuckles, you had to be there.  You still could be there actually.  She still does readings and sees the future for the right price.  Just, whatever you do, don’t laugh.   Don’t.  Fucking.  Laugh.

The traveling sideshow made the circuit through the southern arch of towns on a semi-regular schedule.  The tents would erect and the banners flap every other year near the old mill, usually, if the weather suited wagon travel through the lowlands.  A handful of ill-timed rainy seasons had put the gypsies off course for over six years.  Long enough for a lot of the memories to blur, for a lot of the newer folk to the area to be ignorant of the fortuneteller named Rosema Fusto. Continue reading

But the groundhog’s life was no longer his own.  The soul-sucking sweetness of the pastry ring vanished with a  twitch of shadow, but his loins told him he had traveled too far down the path.  The meat between his legs shriveled further with a brisk rush of wind, and his nose shrieked at the carrion stench which favored none but the bald wingers.

Death stalked the corridor adjacent to his kingdom, though he knew not how he had been ignorant of it for the entirety of his reign.  Then his mind was eradicated by instinct.  Survival drive sent him hurtling into the underbrush.  The path was murder, and he sought the cover of stump and shadow. Continue reading

The groundhog king craned his neck around the edge of the dark column.  Well, craned might be an exaggeration.  He blubber shuffled his mass to one side such that his meaty marmot head could swivel far enough to gaze down the overgrown corridor.  Bramble snakes and desiccated tree limbs wove a lattice of intrigue across the shadows.

Doubt crept into his sturdy frame.

A change was coming in the weather.  The duties of his kingdom beckoned.  The ratcheting fire of the stone wall blow machine echoed that sentiment and sounded more distant than what would have pleased his tiny ears.  The corridor could wait.  Adventure would come again with the warmth of the sun. Continue reading

Sizable was the groundhog’s girth, an homage to the succulent excesses of past royalty.  The steel posts stood as unforgiving sentinels over this corner of his kingdom, the sodden earth relenting no further where this narrow defile had been birthed.  No matter though, the whispers called, and the king’s need became fervent.  The dusky rime lubricated the adventurous creature just enough, that his sizable ass snaked into the wilds with a hairy splort. Continue reading

Disney World has officially jumped the shark.

I know, I know.  But it’s the most magical place on Earth!  Well, there are two sides to the arcane, and Disney has definitely started the spiraling descent into the dark side of magic.  What started as one man’s dream has turned into a nightmare for millions.

Pardon me while I rant. Continue reading