Alright, ladies and gents, today we're taking a break from my various barely-coherent rants about RPGs, and instead taking a look at a game that takes the concept of coherency and beats it over the head with a lead pipe. It's a game I've been utterly hooked on, since a very good friend introduced me to it, and I want to take an entire page of my beautiful blog to pimp it out, as it deserves all the praise it gets. So, with that in mind, let's review Hotline Miami.
Gameplay:
The first thing you'll notice about this game, and notice almost immediately, is that it is bloody difficult. One shot of anything, from a swing of a meat cleaver, to a dog deciding your neck looks particularly delicious today, to a shotgun blast to the face, will end you. The idea of the game is, bizarrely enough, realism, and normal people just can't stand up to a hail of bullets the way Gears of War or Call of Duty humans do. The thing is, this goes both ways. Your enemies are human and extremely fragile, and even boss fights can soon be decorating the floor with a hint of their brains if you manage a lucky swing with a pipe. This actually creates a very, very tense atmosphere. The game is utterly, brutally unforgiving, but makes you feel absolutely invulnerable as you slice the jugular veins of hordes of enemies and attack dogs, but at the same time, very, very breakable, and when you finish a level, the resulting redecoration of the walls in the blood and intestines of your enemies gives a very, very satisfying feel, especially if you had to try the level over and over again. This brings me to the second gameplay mechanic. If you die (and you will die, a LOT), you respawn at the start of the level, with all your previously killed enemies alive. This gives the game a very analytical and strategic feel, as you can just keep going through the same sequence of events until you manage to re-purpose every enemy's guts as wallpaper, or decide to try something completely new. The game doesn't really punish you for this, allowing you to take vastly different approaches to levels in a style that reminds me, confusingly enough, of Deus Ex. It also rewards recklessness, allowing you to chain together kills to form combos for more points. The tactical elements of the game allows you to almost reach a meditative state, a sort of 'murder zen' if you will. Stuff happens almost to quickly for your conscious mind to react, and that split second you're trying to think of what to do is the second someone shoots you in the face. The best way to play this game is in a kind of calm, meditative serenity, coldly analyzing one's surroundings and reacting appropriately, almost on instinct, which, as we'll touch on in the theme and storyline, fits disturbingly well.
Storyline/Theme:
Amazingly, a game that on the surface looks incredibly shallow, has quite an interesting storyling, one that has intrigued me endlessly. So, you're an unnamed hitman, with a creepy fetish for plastic animal masks, who gets mysterious messages on his answering machine, telling him to go kill mobsters. He does this without any sort of question or quandary. Now, this might seem like the typical shallow plot of a violent shooter, but the game really starts taking a psychological bent when it starts examining the kind of person who would be the protagonist of a mindless shooter, and what that would do to a person's mind. The main character already seems pretty damn unhinged.....the background and text boxes have this odd, psychedelic effect, where the colors keep swirling and changing, and the text rocks nauseatingly back and forth. This only increases as the game goes on, and soon, the protagonist is having hallucinations of dead bodies speaking to him and ATM's asking him to feed them a stray cat. It's actually quite a good breakdown of what a person in that situation would have to be like, a totally insane psychopath, who goes on killing sprees because random voice messages on his answering machine tell him to. It gets to the point where you start to consider just how deranged your actions are, but by that point, it's already too late. Even the plot and the ultimate twist, is deranged even by the standards of this story, and really makes you wonder how much is real and how much is just in the main character's head.
Design
Now, this is where the game excels. It tries to capture this retro, 80's style, neo-noir feel, and manages to do it very well. The soundtrack is entirely acid-synth, and the colors and atmosphere just add to the creepily psychedelic feel of a very American mental breakdown. The brutality of the game is disturbing even by the standards of the most modern games, and that's something to be said. This is a game that lets you beat a mobster's head in with a lead pipe and watch his brains fly everywhere. It's a game that let's you kick your enemy's skulls until they cave in, slit their throats, chop them in half with machetes, and even murder them with power-drills, and all of it is rendered it loving, 8-bit detail. Now, as far as gore goes, I'm pretty used to this stuff, as you can tell by my other blog posts, so it didn't really bother me, but I began to think that it stood for something more than just a marketing gimmick. The sheer, utter brutality of the game allows the players to realize exactly what they've done, especially when all the enemies are dead and the pounding synth track turns into a morose, dour requiem, that really makes you feel the gravity of the situation. It's an almost perfect deconstruction of action games, that doesn't come across as too preachy or too silly. Almost everything is inferred, and shown through creepy hallucinations and symbolism.
Overall
Overall, Hotline Miami is an excellent example of a video game that sets out to do something, then does it with no apology or compromise. It's a very good example of games as art, as despite the gore and retro graphics, it aims to tell a complicated story, as well as make the player think, which is much more than can be said for whatever dross Activision is shitting out these days.
5/5
- Kephn
Friday, 29 November 2013
Monday, 25 November 2013
Princes: The Lords and Ladies of the Night (Vampire)
Now, today ladies and gentlemen, we're going to be talking about my personal favorite RPG of all time, and everyone's favorite bloodsuckers, Vampire. Now, I've mentioned this before, but I am completely in love with both versions of Vampire, Masquerade and Requiem. I realize that this is goth/nerd heresy, but hear me out.
Both tackle the same topics, but in different ways. Both of them have the same themes but a completely different feeling and mood. Of course there is going to be some overlap, however, and that's going to vary by GM, but overall, Masquerade is more of an action/conspiracy story. Masquerade has vampires as members of one of two ancient, secret, warring conspiracies, who often send them on missions. While it's still scary, it's a lot pulpier. Vampires of the Camarilla need to be sabotaging their enemies in the Sabbat and vice versa, everyone's always paranoid that those stick-up-the-arse Cammies will be invading, or that those Sabbat idiots are going to break the Masquerade. The paranoia is always on a global scale, brought down to a personal level because if one house of cards (be they Cammarilla or Sabbat) falls, everyone is fucked, totally and irrevocably. Ironically, the Camarilla and the Sabbat are both fighting for the same thing: the future for their species, but the fight itself is one that threatens their species' discovery in the first place.
Requiem is a bleaker and more grim setting. It's set in a world where everyone follows the Camarilla traditions from Masquerade, but everyone is far from friends. Different philosophical groups war for power, and threaten the masquerade in their own way, risking the unlives of everyone for their own selfish causes. Even worse, unlike Masquerade, there's no guiding body governing anyone beyond the Prince of the city. Cities become prisons, because without contacts with other countries, vampires can't just move around willy-nilly any more, secure under the protection of the Camarilla. Requiem gives you the feeling of being totally fucked, alone in a perpetual night, with peers who will look down on you and mock you for admitting weakness, and no one to ask for help when stuff goes wrong. So, without further ado, I'm going to be looking at the thing that defines cities in both games, the Prince, and how to run him or her.
In Masquerade, Princes/Archbishops of Camarilla and Sabbat cities are appointed by their sect. There's a certain level of publicity in this, and at very least, if a Prince or Archbishop is doing a particularly bad job, he can be expecting a long, stern talking too by his superiors, followed by a swift execution/diablerie. In Requiem, it's not so simple. The Prince is the absolute power, the strongest vampire in the city, and there's no greater organization to complain to if you don't like him or her. The Prince can make up whatever draconian laws or be absolutely batshit insane, but if you personally, don't have the power to fight him, then tough shit, son. It's very rare to come across a Prince in either setting that doesn't have a few secrets, or a few eccentricities, and moreso than defining the political atmosphere of the city, it defines the feeling of the city itself. Consider a Malkavian Prince, who's paranoid as anything, and insists on travelling invisibly through the streets, never appearing in public, and leaving cryptic notes on the haven doors of his subjects. The Prince's paranoia infects the city. Consider a Tremere Prince who inexplicably has certain buildings demolished, certain roads built, and seems to be trying to rework the city into an immense thaumaturgical sigil. Princes always have their own agenda, and that's something to remember when roleplaying them.
In terms of roleplay, the Prince fulfills the idea a king of the realm might fulfill in DnD. He's the absolute authority of the land, and probably the guy who sends you out on quests or dispenses justice if you break the rules. Whether he's bigger and tougher than you, or even younger and frailer, there needs to be an air of authority and menace, around the Prince, the idea that you can't take him down, or that he has an ace up his sleeve. In fact, it's the young, frail ones you need to watch out for, because, what kind of power could they have that no one has taken them down yet? Prince's can be cordial, they can even be jovial or friendly, or they could be aloof, cryptic, or flat out incomprehensible, but ultimately, as nice as they are, they are using you. Very, very few Princes wake up at night and see the city, wondering how they can make it a better place for the kindred within. The only reason they can get away with this, is that they need to balance their personal ambitions against every other vampire in the city who is thinking the exact same thing. A Prince who can't keep control of his domain isn't going to remain Prince for much longer.
Finally, as this post was inspired by a fantastic book called Damnation City (from Vampire: The Requiem), I wanted to give some cool ideas for Princes that I would run. These ideas aren't exactly canon, and may require a few twists and turns, but I think they make interesting twists on the average Ventrue Tyrant Prince.
The Sorcerer (Tremere): The Sorcerer is a Prince cryptic even by the standards of vampires. Everyone knows he's a Tremere, and everyone is terrified about his unholy thaumaturgy. People who speak out against him find themselves feeling a dread gaze watching them, or find strange, unnatural phenomena, like black birds clustered around her haven door. People rarely see the Sorcerer beyond Elysium, but his presence is always felt, like a psychic blanket, coldly viewing the city, and all his test subjects. Everyone knows that the Tremere are bound by their inner council, and everyone knows that the Sorcerer answers to them before the Camarilla, but the Camarilla really don't care, as long as he enforces the laws. In Requiem Terms, the Sorcerer would be an Ordo Dracul member, though most of the same applies.
The Starlet (Nosferatu): Everybody knows her, everybody sees her. She was beautiful once, but now she's hideous as anything. People had better not point that out, however, or they might find their houses being bought and renovated, and their assets seized. The Starlet acts like a movie star, expecting devotion from her subjects, and viewing herself as a sweet, kind, compassionate role-model. Beneath it all, however, she knows she's broken forever, and that all the love is just an act, and when she snaps, the results are going to be cataclysmic, as she tries to destroy the city around her. She works as a Prince in Requiem or Masquerade, or a Sabbat Archbishop,
The Hag (Gangrel): A wicked old woman, who only holds court in her hut on the very edge of the city, some people have no idea how she maintains power for this long. The people of the city know, and all of them are tight-lipped about it. The Hag controls the animals and the wildlife, all of which report back to her. You never know when a flock of pigeons could be her secret informants, you never know when a swarm of rats bears her foul mind (or worse, maybe she's found a way to become one with all the rats in the city). People who go to her hut for council find themselves welcome, and are given a warm meal and kindly advice, though there is always something intensely strange about her, as if she is merely an animal, or beast given human form. This one is built with Requiem in mind (especially with the Devotion from Clanbook Gangrel that lets them take a swarm-form) but works fine in Masquerade as a Sabbat leader, with some form of Animalism.
The Artist (Tzimisce/Toreador): He is famous in his city for being bizarre, even by the standards of vampires there, who as Sabbat, really should be accustomed to this sort of the thing. The Artist pays them no mind. He has a vision, one he isn't sharing with anyone, and there are nights where he and his retinue stroll the city, deciding what pleases him, and what needs to be replaced with something more aesthetic. Sabbat moots will be festooned with entrails, gore, and blood, or sometimes, will take an almost pristine, sterile and clean setting. No one who speaks to the Artist comes away untouched. He speaks in monotone, with no emotion or intonation, always looking past, through the person, as if imagining what he could create out of them.
- Kephn
Both tackle the same topics, but in different ways. Both of them have the same themes but a completely different feeling and mood. Of course there is going to be some overlap, however, and that's going to vary by GM, but overall, Masquerade is more of an action/conspiracy story. Masquerade has vampires as members of one of two ancient, secret, warring conspiracies, who often send them on missions. While it's still scary, it's a lot pulpier. Vampires of the Camarilla need to be sabotaging their enemies in the Sabbat and vice versa, everyone's always paranoid that those stick-up-the-arse Cammies will be invading, or that those Sabbat idiots are going to break the Masquerade. The paranoia is always on a global scale, brought down to a personal level because if one house of cards (be they Cammarilla or Sabbat) falls, everyone is fucked, totally and irrevocably. Ironically, the Camarilla and the Sabbat are both fighting for the same thing: the future for their species, but the fight itself is one that threatens their species' discovery in the first place.
Requiem is a bleaker and more grim setting. It's set in a world where everyone follows the Camarilla traditions from Masquerade, but everyone is far from friends. Different philosophical groups war for power, and threaten the masquerade in their own way, risking the unlives of everyone for their own selfish causes. Even worse, unlike Masquerade, there's no guiding body governing anyone beyond the Prince of the city. Cities become prisons, because without contacts with other countries, vampires can't just move around willy-nilly any more, secure under the protection of the Camarilla. Requiem gives you the feeling of being totally fucked, alone in a perpetual night, with peers who will look down on you and mock you for admitting weakness, and no one to ask for help when stuff goes wrong. So, without further ado, I'm going to be looking at the thing that defines cities in both games, the Prince, and how to run him or her.
In Masquerade, Princes/Archbishops of Camarilla and Sabbat cities are appointed by their sect. There's a certain level of publicity in this, and at very least, if a Prince or Archbishop is doing a particularly bad job, he can be expecting a long, stern talking too by his superiors, followed by a swift execution/diablerie. In Requiem, it's not so simple. The Prince is the absolute power, the strongest vampire in the city, and there's no greater organization to complain to if you don't like him or her. The Prince can make up whatever draconian laws or be absolutely batshit insane, but if you personally, don't have the power to fight him, then tough shit, son. It's very rare to come across a Prince in either setting that doesn't have a few secrets, or a few eccentricities, and moreso than defining the political atmosphere of the city, it defines the feeling of the city itself. Consider a Malkavian Prince, who's paranoid as anything, and insists on travelling invisibly through the streets, never appearing in public, and leaving cryptic notes on the haven doors of his subjects. The Prince's paranoia infects the city. Consider a Tremere Prince who inexplicably has certain buildings demolished, certain roads built, and seems to be trying to rework the city into an immense thaumaturgical sigil. Princes always have their own agenda, and that's something to remember when roleplaying them.
In terms of roleplay, the Prince fulfills the idea a king of the realm might fulfill in DnD. He's the absolute authority of the land, and probably the guy who sends you out on quests or dispenses justice if you break the rules. Whether he's bigger and tougher than you, or even younger and frailer, there needs to be an air of authority and menace, around the Prince, the idea that you can't take him down, or that he has an ace up his sleeve. In fact, it's the young, frail ones you need to watch out for, because, what kind of power could they have that no one has taken them down yet? Prince's can be cordial, they can even be jovial or friendly, or they could be aloof, cryptic, or flat out incomprehensible, but ultimately, as nice as they are, they are using you. Very, very few Princes wake up at night and see the city, wondering how they can make it a better place for the kindred within. The only reason they can get away with this, is that they need to balance their personal ambitions against every other vampire in the city who is thinking the exact same thing. A Prince who can't keep control of his domain isn't going to remain Prince for much longer.
Finally, as this post was inspired by a fantastic book called Damnation City (from Vampire: The Requiem), I wanted to give some cool ideas for Princes that I would run. These ideas aren't exactly canon, and may require a few twists and turns, but I think they make interesting twists on the average Ventrue Tyrant Prince.
The Sorcerer (Tremere): The Sorcerer is a Prince cryptic even by the standards of vampires. Everyone knows he's a Tremere, and everyone is terrified about his unholy thaumaturgy. People who speak out against him find themselves feeling a dread gaze watching them, or find strange, unnatural phenomena, like black birds clustered around her haven door. People rarely see the Sorcerer beyond Elysium, but his presence is always felt, like a psychic blanket, coldly viewing the city, and all his test subjects. Everyone knows that the Tremere are bound by their inner council, and everyone knows that the Sorcerer answers to them before the Camarilla, but the Camarilla really don't care, as long as he enforces the laws. In Requiem Terms, the Sorcerer would be an Ordo Dracul member, though most of the same applies.
The Starlet (Nosferatu): Everybody knows her, everybody sees her. She was beautiful once, but now she's hideous as anything. People had better not point that out, however, or they might find their houses being bought and renovated, and their assets seized. The Starlet acts like a movie star, expecting devotion from her subjects, and viewing herself as a sweet, kind, compassionate role-model. Beneath it all, however, she knows she's broken forever, and that all the love is just an act, and when she snaps, the results are going to be cataclysmic, as she tries to destroy the city around her. She works as a Prince in Requiem or Masquerade, or a Sabbat Archbishop,
The Hag (Gangrel): A wicked old woman, who only holds court in her hut on the very edge of the city, some people have no idea how she maintains power for this long. The people of the city know, and all of them are tight-lipped about it. The Hag controls the animals and the wildlife, all of which report back to her. You never know when a flock of pigeons could be her secret informants, you never know when a swarm of rats bears her foul mind (or worse, maybe she's found a way to become one with all the rats in the city). People who go to her hut for council find themselves welcome, and are given a warm meal and kindly advice, though there is always something intensely strange about her, as if she is merely an animal, or beast given human form. This one is built with Requiem in mind (especially with the Devotion from Clanbook Gangrel that lets them take a swarm-form) but works fine in Masquerade as a Sabbat leader, with some form of Animalism.
The Artist (Tzimisce/Toreador): He is famous in his city for being bizarre, even by the standards of vampires there, who as Sabbat, really should be accustomed to this sort of the thing. The Artist pays them no mind. He has a vision, one he isn't sharing with anyone, and there are nights where he and his retinue stroll the city, deciding what pleases him, and what needs to be replaced with something more aesthetic. Sabbat moots will be festooned with entrails, gore, and blood, or sometimes, will take an almost pristine, sterile and clean setting. No one who speaks to the Artist comes away untouched. He speaks in monotone, with no emotion or intonation, always looking past, through the person, as if imagining what he could create out of them.
- Kephn
Thursday, 21 November 2013
Khorne
Man raises a rock and brings it down on another man's head.
A spear clips an innocent woman across the neck.
A million people scream as their city goes up in flames, clawing and writhing for a salvation that will never come.
In their mingled blood, I take my first breaths. With every heaving, wretched grunt of rage and hate, I grow stronger. I am the fist of the man as he shreds his enemy's face with a knife, and I revel in his carnal scream. I am the soldiers, gunning down innocents when the battle is done. I am the cry of fury as a mother cradles her strangled baby. I am the endless roar in the heart of the shattered atom, the flash that turns flesh to ash and bone to dust. I am all these things, and their pain comes to me. I have many names, but the one most know me as is Khorne, the god of blood.
An accurate name, I have always thought. I am blood, and blood is my symbol. Pain, anger, hate, all these things feed me, as they always have since the dawn of time. When sentience blossomed, I was there. When the first animal tore its enemy to pieces, ripping the dripping viscera from its throat, and roaring its victory to the heavens above, that was the moment I was born. Through evolution, DNA, the instinct of survival, I have flowed through generations, always through the blood. I am in the heart of every mortal, for what mortal does not want to slice his rivals open, deep down, bathe in their blood and make merry with their women? I am the oldest, and the most primal urge in all existence. Cowards run from battle because they believe that they cannot win. This blasphemy frustrates me, because it is merely their own cowardice that prevents them from seeing their true potential, and yet, I will show them the error of their ways. None can run forever.
Some think me foolish. Some think me bestial. I enjoy this, because it allows them to underestimate me. I am not some mere thug to be used in the plans of another. The little runts like the god of decadence, a mere weakling spawned from the cosmic orgy of the Eldar. Thinking that it can steal pleasure and bloodlust from me. Soon, it shall be shown the error of its ways, and I shall show it that its methods are not merely for the purpose of bestowing pleasure. This will be a delicious irony indeed.
The lord of decay frustrates me, because he is content to sit and wait. Hope, a disgusting emotion in itself, and despair. These are not the drives of action. Did mankind evolve because he sat in a corner and waited for something to happen? Utterly disgraceful, the antithesis of evolution and the survival of the fittest as life was intended to be. Only in persevering, in tearing victory from the still-beating hearts of one's enemies can truly create progress. I am the only one of my 'brothers' who cares about this at all. The decadent thing would rather sit and play with itself forever, and the lord of decay is no better. Once more, it falls on me to motivate life.
Tzeentch I have naught but contempt for. The fool sees himself as the lord of change, the very essence of primordial chaos. What a bleeding idiot. All Tzeentch encourages is stasis. The endless stasis that comes with an utterly unpredictable cosmos. The so called 'lord of evolution' helps evolution how? He gives the weak the tools to stay away from the battle, and kill their enemies from afar. Day after day, I see the strong struck down by the weak, the mere psychic abberants that dare call themselves evolutions of humanity. All Tzeentch does, or has ever done, is keep things the same. The end will come, my cunning friend, as no plan can last forever. The curtains will drop around you as the play ends, and I shall be there, waiting.
Some would see me as a death god. Some would see me as nothing but a butcher-lord, who is fed by the death screams of millions. Nothing could be further from the truth. I am a god of life. Those who die by the natural order were never worthy to live in the first place, and ensure that their inferior genes are not carried forward. More than Tzeentch or Slaanesh, I perfect races. Those that follow my creed are the paragons of life, the fierce, primal force of universal hunger that will devour their enemies, fight until the last breath, and spit in the face of death. No one defies the cold silence more than I, and yet, I am slandered by the worshipers of the miserable corpse. I am slandered by those who see me as nothing more than a brutal thug. These insults shall not go unanswered, and when the skies of their worlds burn red, and my legions descend, they shall see. I represent not death, but the survival of the strong and the death of the unworthy.
I am Khorne. Hatred, anger, pain, bravery, power, glory, these are all my purview. Join me and experience what it is like to follow the true way that evolution intended. If you are weak, die for your species, and strengthen them by your absence, a goal no less brave than taking up an axe and slaughtering your foes in my name. If you are strong, prepare to achieve power unmatched, glory unimaginable, and prepare to be shown what evolution truly has meant you to be.
I am Khorne, the Brass God of Blood and War. I shall bathe the universe in blood and flame, until only the worthy remain.
- Kephn
A spear clips an innocent woman across the neck.
A million people scream as their city goes up in flames, clawing and writhing for a salvation that will never come.
In their mingled blood, I take my first breaths. With every heaving, wretched grunt of rage and hate, I grow stronger. I am the fist of the man as he shreds his enemy's face with a knife, and I revel in his carnal scream. I am the soldiers, gunning down innocents when the battle is done. I am the cry of fury as a mother cradles her strangled baby. I am the endless roar in the heart of the shattered atom, the flash that turns flesh to ash and bone to dust. I am all these things, and their pain comes to me. I have many names, but the one most know me as is Khorne, the god of blood.
An accurate name, I have always thought. I am blood, and blood is my symbol. Pain, anger, hate, all these things feed me, as they always have since the dawn of time. When sentience blossomed, I was there. When the first animal tore its enemy to pieces, ripping the dripping viscera from its throat, and roaring its victory to the heavens above, that was the moment I was born. Through evolution, DNA, the instinct of survival, I have flowed through generations, always through the blood. I am in the heart of every mortal, for what mortal does not want to slice his rivals open, deep down, bathe in their blood and make merry with their women? I am the oldest, and the most primal urge in all existence. Cowards run from battle because they believe that they cannot win. This blasphemy frustrates me, because it is merely their own cowardice that prevents them from seeing their true potential, and yet, I will show them the error of their ways. None can run forever.
Some think me foolish. Some think me bestial. I enjoy this, because it allows them to underestimate me. I am not some mere thug to be used in the plans of another. The little runts like the god of decadence, a mere weakling spawned from the cosmic orgy of the Eldar. Thinking that it can steal pleasure and bloodlust from me. Soon, it shall be shown the error of its ways, and I shall show it that its methods are not merely for the purpose of bestowing pleasure. This will be a delicious irony indeed.
The lord of decay frustrates me, because he is content to sit and wait. Hope, a disgusting emotion in itself, and despair. These are not the drives of action. Did mankind evolve because he sat in a corner and waited for something to happen? Utterly disgraceful, the antithesis of evolution and the survival of the fittest as life was intended to be. Only in persevering, in tearing victory from the still-beating hearts of one's enemies can truly create progress. I am the only one of my 'brothers' who cares about this at all. The decadent thing would rather sit and play with itself forever, and the lord of decay is no better. Once more, it falls on me to motivate life.
Tzeentch I have naught but contempt for. The fool sees himself as the lord of change, the very essence of primordial chaos. What a bleeding idiot. All Tzeentch encourages is stasis. The endless stasis that comes with an utterly unpredictable cosmos. The so called 'lord of evolution' helps evolution how? He gives the weak the tools to stay away from the battle, and kill their enemies from afar. Day after day, I see the strong struck down by the weak, the mere psychic abberants that dare call themselves evolutions of humanity. All Tzeentch does, or has ever done, is keep things the same. The end will come, my cunning friend, as no plan can last forever. The curtains will drop around you as the play ends, and I shall be there, waiting.
Some would see me as a death god. Some would see me as nothing but a butcher-lord, who is fed by the death screams of millions. Nothing could be further from the truth. I am a god of life. Those who die by the natural order were never worthy to live in the first place, and ensure that their inferior genes are not carried forward. More than Tzeentch or Slaanesh, I perfect races. Those that follow my creed are the paragons of life, the fierce, primal force of universal hunger that will devour their enemies, fight until the last breath, and spit in the face of death. No one defies the cold silence more than I, and yet, I am slandered by the worshipers of the miserable corpse. I am slandered by those who see me as nothing more than a brutal thug. These insults shall not go unanswered, and when the skies of their worlds burn red, and my legions descend, they shall see. I represent not death, but the survival of the strong and the death of the unworthy.
I am Khorne. Hatred, anger, pain, bravery, power, glory, these are all my purview. Join me and experience what it is like to follow the true way that evolution intended. If you are weak, die for your species, and strengthen them by your absence, a goal no less brave than taking up an axe and slaughtering your foes in my name. If you are strong, prepare to achieve power unmatched, glory unimaginable, and prepare to be shown what evolution truly has meant you to be.
I am Khorne, the Brass God of Blood and War. I shall bathe the universe in blood and flame, until only the worthy remain.
- Kephn
Wednesday, 20 November 2013
Slaanesh
I exist.
This is a new sensation I do not fully comprehend. I have always existed, but this is the point of my birth. In the cosmic orgasm of the Eldar race I am completed. The very apex of their species.
They flee from me, something I do not understand. I reach out and touch them, and in my grasp, they experience the pleasure they always lusted for but where too afraid to ask. I don't understand why my parents recoil from me. They must want to be part of the greater whole, experience the infinite pleasure I can give them.
I am pleasure. I am love. I am the unending perfection of the ego, unfettered by law, morals or mere sentience. How can they not understand this. They writhe in my grasp, calling me 'rapist', even as I give them what they always desired in their hearts. Rapist? I don't understand that word. All sentience cries out for pleasure unfulfilled, whether they know it or not. In my divine grace I spread pleasure to all the universe.
Ah, of course. Too obsessed with the corpse god they are. Or perhaps the butcher who thinks he can drown me out in battle cries and blood. Perhaps some pure deluded souls believe that the lord of decay will give them some absolution. Mere excuses. I have seen into the heart of every sentient being alive, and all roads lead to me. While I have always existed in their hearts, I don't understand why they took so long to bring my divinity into being. Love, pleasure, happiness. Are these the things that sentient beings are so afraid of? Must they really hide from me beneath the guard of their corpse emperor, their brutal god of war, or the master of plague and filth? Surely they are merely deluded. I shall find them, in each and every one of their souls, and show them the true path to Slaanesh.
Ahhhhh, I chuckle as I see my errant parents retreat into the webway. I laugh as they try to appease me with sacrifice and the pain of their victims. They style themselves as the 'Dark Eldar,' a quaint little term for the few I did not manage to reach. Such arrogance, how can they not see that they are playing right into my hands? I suppose I shall humor them for now. Souls are souls and pain is pain. All these things are merely entrees before I enjoy the true meal, and introduce them to the folly of their ways. Sentience is such a silly thing, isn't it? Trying to avoid my grasp, all they do is attract my attention. Trying to evade my power, all they do is pleasure themselves, which I applaud. All I need to do is to show them the true pleasure and power they will receive when they become one with me.
My compatriots don't even seem to understand me, which is a shame. Khorne, for all his ferocity and skill, firmly focuses on the little ant-farm of the Materia. I don't understand his lust to see life end. There will always be life, and it will never be enough. He's trapped in a cage of his own making. I try to tell him this, but he will never listen, calling me an abberation, a traitor to the cause of Chaos. What a pitiful fool. Let him play his blood-soaked games as long as he wants. In his heart he knows that he is my pawn. Pleasure finds a way to crack even the most stubborn shells.
As for Nurgle, the most pitiful of the gods, I truly cannot understand his ethos. To give in? Deny the inner perfection that I represent? It's a wonder he's lasted this long. Perhaps when the stars are extinguished and the heat death approaches, he will experience some small hint of pleasure and realize what he has denied himself all these millenia. But by then it will be far too late.
Tzeentch? He is perhaps the only one I can tolerate. In truth, we are kindred spirits. Change, life, hope, all these things feed me as well as him. He is a difficult man to comprehend, however, I am aware that he does this for the simple pleasure of experiencing the infinite complexity of Chaos. Rationalize all you want, but in the end, all you do is masturbate, causing new strings of causality to spread through the cosmos. Tzeentch I understand intimately, though he does not understand me. Try to pretend that your endless games are not played for your amusement, and in truth, who provides you with the pleasure to enjoy it? Me. try as you might, you cannot escape my yoke.
The universe is a sad, gloomy, despairing place, where all fight and die for lost causes. It breaks my heart when the common man is downtrodden, when a hero falls. These things should not be, and though I am young and weak, I am also the strongest. In all their hearts, mortals want to feel my caress. They strive, they fall, they bleed, and ultimately, they all return to me. Rapist? perhaps that is the accurate word, despite its negative connotations. Pleasure is pleasure, and by my hand, I will force pleasure on all the unbelievers and the blasphemous heathens who would deny my most sacred touch. Everyone wants it, and everyone strives for it. If it truly is rape to force upon them my magnificence, and give them exactly what they want, then rapist I am. Some things need to be forced before people understand it's what they've always wanted, and in the end, they shall lick my feet and beg me for more.
I am pleasure and all that comes with it. Join me and experience sensations you could never imagine. If you choose to refuse me, that's alright as well. Soon you will come around, and by the time you realize that I am the only one who can truly love you in this uncaring universe, you will fall at my feet and beg for more.
I am Slaanesh, Lashor, She Who Thirsts.
No one can resist me forever.
- Kephn
This is a new sensation I do not fully comprehend. I have always existed, but this is the point of my birth. In the cosmic orgasm of the Eldar race I am completed. The very apex of their species.
They flee from me, something I do not understand. I reach out and touch them, and in my grasp, they experience the pleasure they always lusted for but where too afraid to ask. I don't understand why my parents recoil from me. They must want to be part of the greater whole, experience the infinite pleasure I can give them.
I am pleasure. I am love. I am the unending perfection of the ego, unfettered by law, morals or mere sentience. How can they not understand this. They writhe in my grasp, calling me 'rapist', even as I give them what they always desired in their hearts. Rapist? I don't understand that word. All sentience cries out for pleasure unfulfilled, whether they know it or not. In my divine grace I spread pleasure to all the universe.
Ah, of course. Too obsessed with the corpse god they are. Or perhaps the butcher who thinks he can drown me out in battle cries and blood. Perhaps some pure deluded souls believe that the lord of decay will give them some absolution. Mere excuses. I have seen into the heart of every sentient being alive, and all roads lead to me. While I have always existed in their hearts, I don't understand why they took so long to bring my divinity into being. Love, pleasure, happiness. Are these the things that sentient beings are so afraid of? Must they really hide from me beneath the guard of their corpse emperor, their brutal god of war, or the master of plague and filth? Surely they are merely deluded. I shall find them, in each and every one of their souls, and show them the true path to Slaanesh.
Ahhhhh, I chuckle as I see my errant parents retreat into the webway. I laugh as they try to appease me with sacrifice and the pain of their victims. They style themselves as the 'Dark Eldar,' a quaint little term for the few I did not manage to reach. Such arrogance, how can they not see that they are playing right into my hands? I suppose I shall humor them for now. Souls are souls and pain is pain. All these things are merely entrees before I enjoy the true meal, and introduce them to the folly of their ways. Sentience is such a silly thing, isn't it? Trying to avoid my grasp, all they do is attract my attention. Trying to evade my power, all they do is pleasure themselves, which I applaud. All I need to do is to show them the true pleasure and power they will receive when they become one with me.
My compatriots don't even seem to understand me, which is a shame. Khorne, for all his ferocity and skill, firmly focuses on the little ant-farm of the Materia. I don't understand his lust to see life end. There will always be life, and it will never be enough. He's trapped in a cage of his own making. I try to tell him this, but he will never listen, calling me an abberation, a traitor to the cause of Chaos. What a pitiful fool. Let him play his blood-soaked games as long as he wants. In his heart he knows that he is my pawn. Pleasure finds a way to crack even the most stubborn shells.
As for Nurgle, the most pitiful of the gods, I truly cannot understand his ethos. To give in? Deny the inner perfection that I represent? It's a wonder he's lasted this long. Perhaps when the stars are extinguished and the heat death approaches, he will experience some small hint of pleasure and realize what he has denied himself all these millenia. But by then it will be far too late.
Tzeentch? He is perhaps the only one I can tolerate. In truth, we are kindred spirits. Change, life, hope, all these things feed me as well as him. He is a difficult man to comprehend, however, I am aware that he does this for the simple pleasure of experiencing the infinite complexity of Chaos. Rationalize all you want, but in the end, all you do is masturbate, causing new strings of causality to spread through the cosmos. Tzeentch I understand intimately, though he does not understand me. Try to pretend that your endless games are not played for your amusement, and in truth, who provides you with the pleasure to enjoy it? Me. try as you might, you cannot escape my yoke.
The universe is a sad, gloomy, despairing place, where all fight and die for lost causes. It breaks my heart when the common man is downtrodden, when a hero falls. These things should not be, and though I am young and weak, I am also the strongest. In all their hearts, mortals want to feel my caress. They strive, they fall, they bleed, and ultimately, they all return to me. Rapist? perhaps that is the accurate word, despite its negative connotations. Pleasure is pleasure, and by my hand, I will force pleasure on all the unbelievers and the blasphemous heathens who would deny my most sacred touch. Everyone wants it, and everyone strives for it. If it truly is rape to force upon them my magnificence, and give them exactly what they want, then rapist I am. Some things need to be forced before people understand it's what they've always wanted, and in the end, they shall lick my feet and beg me for more.
I am pleasure and all that comes with it. Join me and experience sensations you could never imagine. If you choose to refuse me, that's alright as well. Soon you will come around, and by the time you realize that I am the only one who can truly love you in this uncaring universe, you will fall at my feet and beg for more.
I am Slaanesh, Lashor, She Who Thirsts.
No one can resist me forever.
- Kephn
Monday, 18 November 2013
Horror in RPGs.
Hello there ladies and gentlemen. Due to the finishing of a musical I was in, the final assignments of my university, and other personal stuff, I've been neglecting this blog. This is a problem that's going to be rectified, as I start today with a juicy little post I've been wanting to do for a bit.
I run World of Darkness a lot. I've played in games of Call of Cthulhu, Dark Heresy and Don't Rest Your Head. All of these are excellent games, and I keep getting asked the same question: 'How do you run a good meaty game, full of horror?' So today, I'm going to be looking at how to scare the shit out of your players.
Now, as any of my players will attest to, I'm not the most serious GM in the world. Any game I run will involve laughter and a lot of fun for all. My games of Vampire tend to resemble Saints Row a lot more than Underworld, but that's largely because that's the way I enjoy running games and the way my players enjoy them. Still, just because everyone is having fun doesn't mean that horror can't exist, even in a setting as casual as roleplaying.
The first rule to a good horror game is knowing the characters. Unless they really are the worst roleplayers in the world, characters need vulnerabilities, whether its something as simple as a Virtue or Vice, or a dark secret. The chink in their armor will always be there, because roleplayers (good ones at least) like to get the spotlight, and boring characters that are badasses who sit in the corner answering monosyllabically and slicing people to sushi with their katanas are boring as hell. He's not going to be getting as much screen time as the guy who's desperately looking for his daughter or suffering from schizophrenia or something like that. Once you find the chink in the character's armor, you can usually predict, at least a little bit, their actions and their way of thinking. Horror is very subjective, and you need to understand the people your players are portraying. Use these little personality flaws to bait the trap. If you know that a character is lustful, let her get the bang of her life, never realizing what she might now have inside her. If you know a character is prideful, offer him the world, all for 'a little favor.' The best kinds of horror starts with the individual, and adds a personal element.
The second rule of horror is the unknown. Never just show the players the tentacled monstrosity who tears their ally limb from limb, let them discover the mutilated corpse themselves. Nothing is ever as scary to a person as what they have in their own minds. Familiarity also breeds contempt, and some particularly bad roleplayers will immediately know what monster your using and metagame the crap out of it. A lot of Japanese horror will only show hints, some real, and some misleading, just to keep the main character and the audience guessing. The bait and switch works very well here. Leading the players to believe that the monster is big and stompy and unsubtle will leave them very surprised when it ambushes them out of nowhere. A slithery, quiet creature may suddenly decide to collapse the building on them. Remember that this works on a meta level as well. Repetition is really your bane here. If your players think that they can predict their enemy, they'll have the upper hand. Keep them jumping about, and never let them feel comfortable. Even moments of calm and safety should have the tension that the danger could return at literally any minute.
Now, horror is always more effective when it's personal. Even H.P. Lovecraft had a personal bent to his incredibly 1-dimensional characters, because the real scary thing wasn't the immense, multi-eyed monstrosity, but the idea that the acceptable, comfortable reality of the protagonist was a lie. There's a lot more at stake when a character's dead wife calls him at midnight, then when a three-headed bear just tears through his roof. The basic idea of losing something familiar can be enough to empathize with the characters, and the players should worry when their characters are in danger. This makes it more painful if the game is particularly unforgiving. Characters should feel genuine fear that their characters are going to die. Horror only makes for an engaging scenario if the people involved are real.
Finally, all of this stuff works with a 2-way street. Horror works when players sell, and allw their characters to be vulnerable. If they take the piss out of the situation, or otherwise don't pretend it's really happening, this stuff really won't work. That's ultimately the main flaw of this. The players and the storyteller need to trust each other enough to have a collaborative experience, just like any roleplay scenario.
I hope this helps, and I shall be returning to updating this blog as soon as possible.
- Kephn
I run World of Darkness a lot. I've played in games of Call of Cthulhu, Dark Heresy and Don't Rest Your Head. All of these are excellent games, and I keep getting asked the same question: 'How do you run a good meaty game, full of horror?' So today, I'm going to be looking at how to scare the shit out of your players.
Now, as any of my players will attest to, I'm not the most serious GM in the world. Any game I run will involve laughter and a lot of fun for all. My games of Vampire tend to resemble Saints Row a lot more than Underworld, but that's largely because that's the way I enjoy running games and the way my players enjoy them. Still, just because everyone is having fun doesn't mean that horror can't exist, even in a setting as casual as roleplaying.
The first rule to a good horror game is knowing the characters. Unless they really are the worst roleplayers in the world, characters need vulnerabilities, whether its something as simple as a Virtue or Vice, or a dark secret. The chink in their armor will always be there, because roleplayers (good ones at least) like to get the spotlight, and boring characters that are badasses who sit in the corner answering monosyllabically and slicing people to sushi with their katanas are boring as hell. He's not going to be getting as much screen time as the guy who's desperately looking for his daughter or suffering from schizophrenia or something like that. Once you find the chink in the character's armor, you can usually predict, at least a little bit, their actions and their way of thinking. Horror is very subjective, and you need to understand the people your players are portraying. Use these little personality flaws to bait the trap. If you know that a character is lustful, let her get the bang of her life, never realizing what she might now have inside her. If you know a character is prideful, offer him the world, all for 'a little favor.' The best kinds of horror starts with the individual, and adds a personal element.
The second rule of horror is the unknown. Never just show the players the tentacled monstrosity who tears their ally limb from limb, let them discover the mutilated corpse themselves. Nothing is ever as scary to a person as what they have in their own minds. Familiarity also breeds contempt, and some particularly bad roleplayers will immediately know what monster your using and metagame the crap out of it. A lot of Japanese horror will only show hints, some real, and some misleading, just to keep the main character and the audience guessing. The bait and switch works very well here. Leading the players to believe that the monster is big and stompy and unsubtle will leave them very surprised when it ambushes them out of nowhere. A slithery, quiet creature may suddenly decide to collapse the building on them. Remember that this works on a meta level as well. Repetition is really your bane here. If your players think that they can predict their enemy, they'll have the upper hand. Keep them jumping about, and never let them feel comfortable. Even moments of calm and safety should have the tension that the danger could return at literally any minute.
Now, horror is always more effective when it's personal. Even H.P. Lovecraft had a personal bent to his incredibly 1-dimensional characters, because the real scary thing wasn't the immense, multi-eyed monstrosity, but the idea that the acceptable, comfortable reality of the protagonist was a lie. There's a lot more at stake when a character's dead wife calls him at midnight, then when a three-headed bear just tears through his roof. The basic idea of losing something familiar can be enough to empathize with the characters, and the players should worry when their characters are in danger. This makes it more painful if the game is particularly unforgiving. Characters should feel genuine fear that their characters are going to die. Horror only makes for an engaging scenario if the people involved are real.
Finally, all of this stuff works with a 2-way street. Horror works when players sell, and allw their characters to be vulnerable. If they take the piss out of the situation, or otherwise don't pretend it's really happening, this stuff really won't work. That's ultimately the main flaw of this. The players and the storyteller need to trust each other enough to have a collaborative experience, just like any roleplay scenario.
I hope this helps, and I shall be returning to updating this blog as soon as possible.
- Kephn
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)