“Something fell…”

(Two points to the one who recognizes the reference.)

Over eight thousand words written today. Good, strong words that’ll stand up in a court of law. It was good to write like I used to. 3k a day was my goal. I’d hit it before noon. Today, I wrote, I ate, I napped, I saw Hot Fuzz, I got groceries, I ate, I scanned the ‘net, and I wrote some more. At the end of the day, the word count says 8k. I’m not quite done yet. Still working, but I feel myself slowing down.

And in the middle of making words, I had a hankerin’ for a song. I looked at different versions and found this one.

I’ve kept my magician’s vow for a long time now. And I haven’t felt any need to break it. Something spiritual is stirring in me. I can feel it. I’m on the edge of exhaustion. Something is calling to me. Singing to me.

My fingertips tingle. My stomach lifts, like I’m falling.

A shadow against the window. The scent of her hair. The sound of her voice, singing.

She tied you to her kitchen chair
She broke your throne and cut your hair

The sound of breaking glass. The sound of a broken promise.

The muse is kind, the muse is cruel
She can make the wisest man a fool
Her song can cut to the bone
Until you learn
It was always your own

Three Big Wows.

First big wow. Spider-Man 3. Big wow. I enjoyed it very much. Felt like Raimi trying to close everything he opened with the first movie. I thought he did it very well. Yeah, it had too much. I don’t think that was entirely under his control, thus his desire to leave the franchise. That’s a bit of speculation, but I think the evidence is on my side.

Second big wow. Hot Fuzz. Holy fuckin’ wow, this movie rocked me. If you haven’t seen it, go see it now before it leaves theaters. Spider-Man will be around for a while. In the meantime, go to the empty theater down the hall and see this movie. By far, the most thoughtful, well-made, and hillarious action movie I’ve seen since Die Hard.

Third big wow. An anonymous gift. This will be mine in two weeks. Just in time for the local LA con.

Houses of the Blooded: Aspects, Part 1

In this chapter, we talk about aspects. How they affect the game, how to tell a good aspect from a bad one, and I’m gonna give you a whole ton of example aspects. But first, a short history lesson.

Aspects were first presented to me in a game called Spirit of the Century. Spirit uses an open license game engine called “FATE.” It was written by Robert Donoghue, Fred Hicks, and Leonard Balsera. (FATE itself was designed from another game called FUDGE, written by Stephen O’Sullivan.) You can find a link to the open source documentation at the end of this book. When I saw how aspects worked for the first time, I was excited. Aspects made sense. They were also the missing link in making this game, fulfilling one of my most crucial goals: getting rid of ambiguous and abstract elements from my anti-D&D RPG.

With aspects, a player doesn’t just choose from a list of skills, he has to think about who his character is. He has to think about where she came from, who she knows, and what she’s learned. In other words, aspects were anything but abstract. They represented the character’s real experiences and the skills, talents an abilities she learned from those experiences.

That’s what you should be thinking about when you create your character’s aspects. Not just who your character is, but how it all happened, when it happened, where it happened and why it happened.

Of course, with most RPGs, we have some sort of abstract skill system that implies these questions, but the system itself does not put you in the position of having to ask them.

So, with all that in mind, exactly what makes a good aspect? Let’s start by building one from scratch. A Name, for example. In fact, let’s build Shara’s.

Your Name
Names have powerful symbolic and supernatural influence over every ven. Shara is no exception.
When designing Shara’s Name, I have to ask three questions: how the Name can be invoked, tagged, and compelled?

Invoke
Invoking your Name gives you bonus dice for a particular risk. For example, Shara’s Name means “veiled rose.” I could draw all kinds of meanings from that esoteric phrase, but the one meaning I choose is that she’s damn good at keeping secrets. So, when she’s doing just that, I can invoke her Name and gain bonus dice for my risk.

Now, this is important. Remember that invoking your Name gets you bonus dice for a risk. If you aren’t rolling dice, you aren’t invoking your Name. Also, you may only invoke your own Name. You can’t invoke someone else’s.

Tag
When another player (or the GM) tags your Name, they get some sort of advantage out of it. This is when they are using your own Name as an advantage against you in a risk. Again, this is important. Unless someone is rolling dice, they cannot tag your Name. Tagging an aspect only comes into play when rolling dice. If you want a narrative advantage against someone, you compel their aspect. You can read about that below.

Also, you cannot tag a third party’s Name for an advantage against someone else. I don’t exactly know how this would work, but one of the playtesters asked if they could do it, so I’m putting it in here. If one person thought of it, someone else must be thinking it, too.

Using the above example, let’s figure out how Shara’s “veiled rose” can be used against her in a risk. This is someone taking some kind of risk against her, rolling dice, looking for additional advantage. In this case, I define that advantage as “untrustworthy.” In other words, Shara keeps her cards close to her chest. So much so, that sometimes she appears just a little too secretive to be trusted. When Shara is trying to make a case for relying on her word, someone can tag her aspect, veiled rose, and gain bonus dice. Why? Because she’s just a little too veiled to trust.

Compel
When folks invoke and tag aspects, they get bonus dice, but compelling an aspect is a bit more direct. In other words, tagging and compelling are mechanical advantages and compelling is a narrative advantage. (Or, in your case, a disadvantage.) When someone compels your aspect, it limits your ability to act. But the real trick here is this: both you and other players (including the GM) can compel your own aspects.

Using the above example again, someone can compel Shara’s “veiled rose” aspect to make her act a certain way. I have to come up with how that would work. After some thought, I come up with the answer. Again, this time, it has to do with trust.

Shara does not trust people. Her mother’s journals and her father’s behavior have taught her that those around her are weak. With the sole exception of her mother, of course. For Shara, weakness is like a disease. If you get too close to it, you can catch it. So Shara doesn’t let the weak get close to her. She doesn’t allow herself to trust.

Compelling Shara’s “veiled rose” aspect means she won’t trust you, no matter what you say to her. Because this limits her behavior in a specific way, it is an appropriate way to compel her aspect.

Now, other people can compel her aspect to make her not trust people she should. Or, I can compel her aspect to force her not to trust people I feel she should not. Both are viable options. I can even compel Shara’s aspect just for dramatic effect. Remember, the ven love drama. So should you. Putting your character directly in harm’s way, or even losing a small advantage, is good form. And you’ll be rewarded for it.

Compelling an aspect is narrative, not mechanical. By that, I mean that you don’t get any dice for compelling someone’s behavior. Also, you cannot compel someone while they are taking a risk. Risks must resolve themselves out before you can try compelling someone. All the dice have to be rolled and all the wagers have to be spent before you can compel an aspect.

To be clear on this issue—which is rather important—do not mix tagging, invoking and compelling. This way leads to madness. One thing at a time, each thing in its own time.

So, with all that in mind, how is your Name invoked, tagged, and compelled?

Choices
When building an aspect, you have three choices. Like I mentioned above, aspects can be invoked, tagged, and compelled… but you don’t have to have all three. You could choose just two or even just one.

  • You could choose an aspect that can only be invoked, tagged or compelled.
  • You could choose an aspect that can only be invoked and tagged. Or tagged and compelled. Or compelled and invoked.
  • Or, you could choose an aspect that can be invoked, tagged and compelled.

All of these choices are valid, but there’s a benefit for how many choices you include in your aspects.
Aspects get you bonus dice when taking risks, but how many bonus dice depends on how “deep” your aspect goes.

  • If an aspect can only be invoked, you get one bonus die when you invoke it.
  • If an aspect can be invoked and tagged or invoked and compelled, you get two bonus dice when you invoke it.
  • If an aspect can be invoked, tagged and compelled, you get three bonus dice when you invoke it.

It’s up to you how deep you want your aspects to go. No rule says all aspects have to go three deep. If you want an aspect only you can play with, go for it, but you’ll only get one die when you invoke it. If you want a bigger bump from your aspects, you’ll need to add tagging and compelling to them in order to get the big dice.

Limits on Invoking
Here’s an important rule. Aspects may only be invoked once per adventure. Once you use an aspect, you can’t invoke it again until the adventure is over. Not unless you’re willing to pay for it.

You can refresh any aspect by spending a style point. That allows you to invoke it again. You can refresh aspects as many times as you like as long as you have style points to do so.

The Reward of Tags and Compels
Whenever someone tags one of your aspects, they gain two dice to use against you on that particular risk. You, on the other hand, get a style point. You cannot use the style point during that particular risk—you have to save it.

Likewise, if someone compels one of your aspects—even if it is you—you gain a style point. Now, if someone compels you in a way you don’t like, you can cancel that compel… but it costs you a style point. So, you can either go with the flow and take the disadvantage you asked for to begin with when you made the character or you can be a snotty brat and spend your style point to ignore the compel. It’s up to you.

(End of Part 1. Tomorrow, we’ll talk about the Houses, their Names, and how you can invoke, tag and compel them.)

Houses of the Blooded: Table of Contents

Part One: Introduction

Chapter 1: Shanri & the Ven
Chapter 2: System Basics
Chapter 3: Making a Character

Part Two: The Great Game

Chapter 4: Taking Risks
Chapter 5: Virtues
Chapter 6: Aspects
Chapter 7: Wagers
Chapter 8: Violence
Chapter 9: Manners

Part Three: The Visible World

Chapter 10: Seasons
Chapter 11: Domain
Chapter 12: Orks

Part Four: The Invisible World

Chapter 13: The Sorcerer-Kings
Chapter 14: Artifacts
Chapter 15: Suaven
Chapter 16: Relics

Part Five: Secrets

Chapter 17: Players
Chapter 18: Game Masters

Greatest Movies Ever Made (#3)

In Alice Hoffman’s novel, Practical Magic, she spends a lot of time talking about love. In Hoffman’s world, love is not an entirely beneficent force. In fact, it can be a destructive force. Something that wrecks you. Ruins you. Destroys you.

Love is something that must be approached with humility. Patience. Reverence.

The beauty of magic is that most of this can be communicated without words. The exoteric meaning of angels and demons–extradimensional creatures who tempt us for good or evil–is far less beautiful than the esoteric truth.

Angels represent the bliss of love. The joy. The giving.

Demons are none of that. Desire. Want. Burning need.

Angels and demons are not supernatural creatures who dance on pin heads. We are angels. We are demons. We are love. Selfless and beautiful. Selfish and destructive.

When I mention this director’s name, a lot of people make the pot gesture. You know, the hint that you need to be high to understand or appreciate his work. They’re wrong. You don’t need to be high. You just need to pay attention. And understand the secret language he’s speaking.

So much of magic is unspoken. So much of magic is piercing what you see to get to how you feel. The language of magic is also the language of dreams. The horse is not a horse. The cigar is not a cigar. The woman in the blue dress and veil is… well, I don’t know what she is. But she’s in my dreams. Haunting me. And every time I try to lift that veil, I wake just before I do. And I’m sweating and almost screaming and grateful I woke before I could see the face that hides there.

Love transforms us. Makes us greater than what we are. Makes us less than what we are. So much of us are afraid of love. Rightly so. Some of us are not strong enough to survive its alchemy.

Some of us are destroyed by it.

Some of us are transformed.

This is a story about love. Transformation and destruction.

Alchemy.

The secret language of magic.

Greatest Movies Ever Made (#4)

The first movie I remember seeing. Two years after it’s released, still running in the movie house, my dad finally schleps out with me to go see it. I’m seven years old.

My dad and I stop for cheeseburgers before we head into the theater. He hates the concession prices, but we get popcorn anyway. We talk like fathers and sons talk. The typical dialogue. What I want to be when I grow up.

“I want to draw comic books!” I tell him.

He smiles. “We’ll see,” he says.

I’m already reading Spider-Man and Batman. My mom won’t let me read Ghost Rider, so I have to sneak those under my bed. And Vampirella.

Ah… Vampi.

Sitting in the dark theater, we talk. About what I’m reading. About school. About hockey. He’s coaching a hockey team and I’m one of the players. We can say it now, but we couldn’t then. I sucked. I sucked at everything physical. I know this and my dad knows this. I want to impress him, want to make him proud of me, but the only thing I’m good at is being smart. I get great grades. The teachers move me up in the class so I can sit with the older kids. My reading level is through the roof.

“You’re smart,” my dad assures me. “I’d rather that you be smart than strong.”

The lights go dim and the movie begins. The first movie I remember seeing. Sitting with my dad, the dark theater. I’m seven years old.

I still remember hearing the music for the first time. I’m enchanted. I had never heard anything like it before. The credits open like a storybook, and there, on the screen before me, are characters larger than life.

For the two hours I sit there, I’m enraptured. I barely understand the language, but I watch the action and I’m completely enthralled. I can’t stop watching. I see what’s happening and I want to be a part of it. Want to be them.

The first five minutes of the movie were the most important five minutes of my life. Shaped everything I’d want to be forever. Taught me something important. Something I’d never forget.

And as the story moves to its close, and all looks bleak and dark, I squeeze my father’s hand. I remember crying a little. But then, at the last moment, a wicked grin. The good guys win. And the audience nearly cheers.

I’ve heard people stood and cheered when seeing the ending before. I’ve never been in an audience where that was the case for me.

The movie is over. The music rolls again. And we get one last look at our friends as the screen goes dark. I squeeze my father’s hand again and my whole life is changed. My world is different now. And the conversation I had with my father is even more present in my mind.

In the bright light of the afternoon, I walk out of the theater and I look up at my dad. I say, “I want to be that when I grow up.”

My dad laughs. “We’ll see,” he says.

Five minutes. In the span of a seven year old, that isn’t much. Enough to make a mark. A mark that has lasted even to this very day. This very second.

I was seven years old. And I’d never seen anything like it. And since that moment on, I’ve been practicing. Rehearsing. Reading. Learning.

Because in the end, the good guys didn’t win because they were stronger or faster or had kung fu or even light sabers.

In the end, the good guys won because they were smarter.

And when all my friends who were ranting and raving about Star Wars, I laughed and nodded and said, “Hell yeah!”

But in my heart of hearts, the movie that changed me most was not that one. It was this one.

Just the first five minutes.

Greatest Movies Ever Made (#5)

In Minneapolis, there’s this great bookstore called Uncle Hugo’s and right across the street is the sister store, Uncle Edgar’s. Hugo’s sold new, used and rare science fiction and fantasy. Edgar’s sold mystery. In those stores, I stumbled on Micheal Moorcock, H.P. Lovecraft, Richard Stark (aka Donald Westlake), and Robert Anton Wilson. It was RAW who got me in all the trouble.

Years after reading The Illuminatus Trilogy, I was raving about it to the desk-clerk and he suggested I pick up something he thought I might appreciate.

Now, this is the early ’80’s. I’m still in high school, still enamored with a particular young woman, my best friend had just joined the Army, and I was stunned by RAW’s revelation that “reality” was not a singular noun, but a plural verb.

(That one, I still haven’t recovered from.)

I was questioning everything, getting in all sorts of trouble in school (I was an A student), pulling pranks wherever I went, and danced on this side of getting arrested every weekend. Not for drugs or alcohol. No, siree. My kind of trouble was far more cerebral.

Inspired by the cosmic jester (that’s RAW again), I embraced everything Discordian. I wanted to smash the world in the face with all of its own preconceived notions. But not the kind of crap the Jackass morons pull. Chaos is nothing without meaning. A prank has to hit people in the gut, but it also has to make them think about the pain even after the pain is gone.

So, there I am, in Uncle Hugo’s, talking about Wilson like a fan boy, and the guy behind the counter tells me he’s got a book for me to read. He pulls it out, puts it on the desk, right there. I look at it.

“You’re kidding me, right?” I ask the guy.

He shakes his head. “No joke. This is right up your alley.”

I looked at the author’s name. Looked at the title. There was no way this was for me. I turned the book over, read the back jacket.

And every word I read brought me closer to understanding exactly why the guy on the other side of the desk knew exactly what he was talking about.

I dropped the cash and brought the book home, spending the entire weekend reading it. Front to back.

Of course, I loaned the book to a friend and never saw it again. Two years later, the book’s more rare than a Hannibal Lector steak. And I never got to read it again.

Jump ahead twenty years.

The movie rights get bought up. An adaption is made. The book is back in print. I go to the bookstore and snatch it up, reading it again before I go see the movie.

Of course, I should mention, this is also the first movie I saw alone in seven years. The first movie I saw without my wife. The first movie I saw after I moved out of the apartment.

It’s mean. It’s cold. And it’s about how alone each and every one of us are with our past. It’s about regret and pain and selfishness. How we are all so damn selfish. We’re so concerned with what we want, we never see what we have.

Of the five Greatest Movies Ever Made, this one is #5.

America’s Last Journalist

Earlier this week, Bill Moyers and PBS released “Buying the War,” a documentary about the run-up to the War in Iraq and the media’s complicity in that decision. (Click on the link and you can watch it yourself.)

I don’t think it is any secret how I feel about the current administration or its policies regarding almost every element of American life, but watching this documentary showed me things I never even knew. Documented facts. Not opinions. Evidenced facts.

All of which add up to why this administration currently enjoys a ~26% approval rating. And why we–as voters–have to face up to the fact that we have not been doing our jobs.

Democracy is hard. It isn’t Social Studies. It’s advanced citizenship. We have a duty to pay attention to the people we elect and hold them accountable for their actions. If we sit by and do nothing, we deserve everything we get.

We have a right to defend ourselves. I hear 2nd Amendment advocates saying that all the time. (For the record, I’m one of them.) But, at the same time they scream about having the right to defend themselves, they don’t know who their local elected officials are, don’t vote, don’t pay attention, don’t care.

You don’t just defend yourself with a gun. You also defend yourself with a vote.

What’s the cliche? The price of freedom is vigilance?

Well, it’s time to start living up to that.

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Houses of the Blooded: Playtest

Tonight, the game played the way I’ve always wanted it to play. I’m giddy. Very tired, but giddy.

I have a shit ton of writing ahead of me. I’ll have an ashcan for Gen-Con. The complete game… just without art.

Damn, I’m excited.