let dash off dot com

Rory’s Story Cubes, where a huntsman is given a magical book, and eats a magnet. 

This is a story created by the students at my day job: young adults with disabilities like Autism and Downs Syndrome.  It’s a fantastic, accessible tool for pretty much anyone to make a satisfying tale, and spend time together or on their own making stories.  We had fun putting this one together.

THE INDIAN IN THE DESERT

Once upon a time…

There was an indian who lived in a tepee in the desert.  They spent a lot of time hunting with a bow and arrow for food.  One day when the indian was out hunting, they met up with a large group of people.

They group told the indian that they had found a magical book.  They also said the book was found inside an old building.  The indian took the book and thanked the group before going out hunting again.  While hunting, he came across a big, green-shelled turtle that happened to be sick with a cold.  Upon noticing this, the indian gave an apple to the turtle, hoping that the turtle would feel better.

The indian said, “I have a thought.  Things will get better around here.  I’ll make sure things will be okay.”  The indian took out his magnet and started to eat it.  Finally, the indian cut down the only tree in the desert so he could take the wood out of it.

THE END.

Tags: day job, game-making, writing // Add Comment »

Karen and Steve decide to make a community garden in their neighborhood.  Here’s a clip of the day’s assessment.

Tags: food, video // Add Comment »

Being obsessed with tabletop game design has its advantages.  One of them is that your impulse shopping takes on unique forms.

It’s not chocolate, tea, or frozen slabs of meat being shipped to my house.  It’s stuff like this:

Or stuff like this:

Or even these little guys:

…I mean, do you know how much this stuff would cost if I ordered it from a game supply company?  If it wasn’t wholesale, it would be a lot more than 17 cents each.

“Learning Toys” (that is, games and toys designed to hoodwink kids into learning something) are some of the AWESOME-EST items for a game designer.  Pretty much every site you’ll find has something on discount.  You’ll be able to find dice, spinners, shapes, counters, winks and chips, and even figures for incredibly affordable prices.  You’ll totally be able to feed your habit.

I used to love Oriental Trading Company (their blatant offshore manufacturing exploitation aside) for this kind of stuff.  But educational supply companies are where it’s at.  My new toy store is Hand2Mind.  We’ll see how long this love affair lasts.

My first shipment from them was $40.  And I barely scratched the surface.

Tags: board games, game-making // Add Comment »

UPDATE 1: this game is now available!  Have a look here!

///

This past weekend I challenged myself to finish a board game prototype in two days’ worth of work.  Although I didn’t spend the entire weekend on it, I ended up completing all the placeholder artwork, card designs, board design, and selection of components.  I should be receiving my prototype from The Game Crafter in a week or so.

In “Stinkin’ Incans,” you and the other players take turns controlling six conquistadores who have stolen some Incan gold; Incan soldiers continually raid your boat, trying to steal back some of the precious cargo you’ve stolen.  Fend off the Incans until you can move your ship far enough out to sea to escape.

Long story short: it’s a satire of imperialism disguised in a cooperative-competitive game.

Here’s some of the placeholder artwork, and although I doubt it would make it far in the hands of a publisher, I’m proud of it (at least a couple of the pieces, anyway):

Here’s a simple Incan vase:

Here’s a pouch of gold nuggets (my favourite of the bunch):

Here’s a solid gold vase, complete with turquoise accents:

Another series of pickups can help the player in certain circumstances, like this flintlock pistol:

If the player wants to move some cargo, the stevedore’s Hook will come in handy:

Send some Incans back to their heathen gods with the cutlass:

When all else fails, you can count on the Grace of Santa Maria:

Move a little quicker with these winged boots:

Tags: board games, game-making // Add Comment »

THIRTY-SIX
————–
A solitaire card game.  It uses a standard deck of cards with the Jokers removed.

SETUP: deal the deck into three separate stacks.  Two stacks will be of 17 cards; these are the ENEMY.  The final stack of 18 cards is for the PLAYER.  Set the two ENEMY stacks in front of the player with a little distance between the two of them. Draw the top card off each of the ENEMY stacks, and place them next to one another.  The player then draws the first six cards off the top of the PLAYER draw stack and sets them in front of the player in a row.  Now you’re ready to begin.

OBJECT: You want to score more than 36 points.  You do this by collecting more valuable cards than you let go when you face off against the enemy.

GAMEPLAY: look at the total of the enemy cards that are face-up.  Number cards are their face value, Aces are 1, and Jacks, Queens, and Kings are all worth 10.  The ENEMY total is what the player wants to “meet or beat” to claim cards.  The player chooses any number of their face-up cards and adds them together.

If the player’s card total is equal to or greater than the ENEMY total, the player moves their cards to their own collection stack and one card of their choice from the two face-up ENEMY cards.  The remaining ENEMY card goes to the ENEMY collection stack, and is out of the game.

In other words: if the player wins, they keep the cards they played as well as one of the ENEMY cards as a trophy.

If the player’s card total is less than the ENEMY total, the player must take one of their row cards and add it to the ENEMY collection stack.  Then move their one remaining player card to the player collection stack.  The remaning ENEMY cards go to the ENEMY collection stack.

In other words: if the player loses, they lose a card to the ENEMY collection stack from the player row.

Once the winner is determined, if any face-up cards remain in the ENEMY play area they go to the ENEMY collection stack.

At the end of that turn, draw one more card from the PLAYER stack and add it to the cards in the player row.

If the player has no more cards in the player row at the end of a turn, they instead draw a full complement of up to six cards to create a new player row. An example of this is shown below:

If a player’s PLAYER stack is empty and they need to draw cards, shuffle the player collection stack and make that the new PLAYER draw stack.

The game ends when the ENEMY stacks are empty.

At the game’s end, count up the points in the PLAYER collection stack.  Number cards are 1 point, face cards are 2 points, and Aces are 3.  If the player has more than 36 points, they win the game.

Played repeatedly, an experienced player will begin to win most of the time, and losses will be due mostly to the luck of the draw.  At that point, variations are recommended to increase the challenge.

VARIATIONS
To increase the difficulty, try any of the following, or make your own:
- allow only three cards to be added to the player row once the row is empty of cards.
- the player must always discard the right-most card from their row if they lose a turn to the ENEMY.
- the ENEMY always wins a turn if they show an Ace.
- the player must always “beat” an ENEMY hand with a face card in it to win that turn; they can’t simply “meet” the total.

Have fun!

Tags: board games, game-making // Add Comment »

Rory’s Story Cubes, where a hermit’s dream alters reality.

Once upon a time…

It was a night just like tonight. The fog was as thick. An eerie silence pervaded the blackness, as if the entire world was waiting in anticipation of…something.

Inside her hut, the hermit Baba Doku lay, dreaming. Hers was the sleep of the mystics of Jonshu, an ancient ritual wherein cryptic visions would illuminate those who slumbered. Some would merely awaken confused, unsure of the rituals efficacy. Others, however, would be so affected by the phantoms that plagued them in the Betweener’s Realm of Jonshu, that their lives would never be the same. Some would never awaken, their souls drawn into the Betweener’s Realm forever.

It was in this Betweener’s Realm that Baba Doku now wandered in a hilly landscape, with a frothing crimson ocean to her left, and a stark shrivelled forest to her right. Eyeless, featherless birds flew overhead, their reptilian tails wavering behind them. They would call out an alien, warbling cry as they pursued the cloudless horizon.

Almost too suddenly, Baba Doku discovered a featureles orb of the clearest crystal. She crouched low to examine it, then tapped it lightly with her sandaled toe. Seeing no harm in it, she hefted the glassy sphere in one leathery hand, then continued on her way.

An aged, stooped man clucked at Baba Doku from atop a carved wooden stool. One hand supported a silvery, metallic wand the shape of a tree limb, while the other shook as if he was in a frenzy or seizure. But his features were kind, and Baba Doku felt no fear, so she approached him.

“Brother Jonshu sends you his regards,” crowed the man in a reedy, lilting tone. His one hand ceased its shaking and then opened, releasing a pair of bone dice.

“Fourteen!” cawed the man. “Not bad. You may go now.”

Baba Doku realized that not only had she acquired a crystal orb, but she was now holding the silvery wand with the shape of a tree limb. Sensing more purpose, she bid the man farewell and turned to the forest to continue.

The forest was blasted and barren, as in the aftermath of a great fire. Wiry, charred tree trunks pointed accusingly to the sky above. The ground below was rocky and cracked like an acient porcelain bowl.

It was while navigating this forlorn landscape that Baba Doku discovered a lamb, obviously too weak to carry on. Her heart instantly open, Baba Doku knelt by the lamb, laying the crystal orb on the ground so that her freed hand could pet and gently stroke the weakened animal.

The animal stirred, but its weakness prevented it from acting on its typical fear of unfamiliar creatures. Instead, its eyes called out to Baba Doku, begging for respite.

Turning away from the prone animal for a moment, Baba Doku gently arced the silver wand with the shape of a tree limb, so that it touched the orb. Instantly the orb opened, making the sound of a shell dashed on rocks. Its watery contents spilled across the parched forest floor.

The water was quickly drunken by the cracked earth, and emerald grass instantly sprang forth. Baba Doku snagged a handful of the luscious new growth and eased it to the lamb’s mouth. With a twitch of its nostrils, the animal ate: first timidly, then with eagerness as its strength and courage returned.

“You are a wise one, Baba Doku,” keened the old man, who appeared from behind a shriveled tree. “Take that key, and your companion will follow you always.”

With a start, Baba Doku awoke from her slumber. It had lasted for three days.

Baba Doku became aware of her immense hunger and thirst almost instantly. she resolved to fetch herself some fruits from the forest surrounding her secluded woodland home. Wrapping her woolly cloak about her shoulders for warmth, she drew her hair from her face with an outstretched hand.

She gasped, noticing for the first time the silver markings - like the twigs from a tree - encircling her wrist.

Mystified, she emerged from her hut. As if for the first time, Baba Doku gingerly walked along the woodland trail she had worn down over countless years, seeking the apple orchard she knew to be there.

Resting beneath the largest apple tree of the grove, its head bowed, lay a magnificent, sandy-brown stallion.

Baba Doku knew. “Hello, Brother Jonshu,” she said. The stallion opened its beautiful, beautiful almond eyes.

Tags: board games, game-making, writing // Add Comment »

Rory’s Story Cubes, where a rogue runs out of options.

Once upon a time…

Haakon spat on the ground, then wiped the back of his hand across his jagged lips.  He stared through his brows at the heavily-armoured figures standing astride the bridge.  He was never pleased with toll guards.  But the ravine was too steep, the waters churned too rough, for him to find any other convenient way around.  Otherwise his delivery could be weeks late.  Not a pleasant thought.

“There’s one last thing I ought to try,” he muttered to himself.  Still crouched in the underbrush and hidden within the fragrant pines, Haakon gently patted the thick coil of rope lashed to his back.  He then crept forward a few small steps.  Soon Haakon was close enough to the edge of the crevasse to smell the vapours from the frothing rapids below.

Unslinging the rope from his shoulder harness, Haakon sized-up the distance as best he could.  Lashing the spring-loaded grappling hook to one end with a pair of sailor’s knots, he crouched again, stock-still, to guage the distance…Easily three-score hand-spans.  Not easy.  But still doable.

He stood slowly, the grappling hook now depending perhaps half and arms’ length from the loose coil in his hand.  After a few test swings, he whirled it in earnest, his left hand above and straining at the wrist; his right, softly cradling the remainder of the rope.  With Haakon’s great exhalation, the grappling hook coursed through the air, the arc of the rope graceful and perfect behind it.

With a snapping of branches and a great rustling of leafy boughs, the hook’s flight ended.  A sidelong glance to the bridge let Haakon know that he still had a precious moment or two before the guards were on to him.  He hastily gathered up the rope and bound it to the tree behind him.

At the point where Haakon began shimmying across the divide via his rope, a staccato tromp-tromp-tromp of heavy boots through greenery could be heard nearby.  Had he been back in one of the grand cities, his customary bravado would have forced a taunt or two at his attackers.  But he spared his breath this time, deciding to use it as fuel for his hand-over-hand clasping of the rope.  Haakon began to hear louder shouts now, these being in the indecipherable native tongue of the guards.

Without warning, a round - yet relatively soft - object pelted Haakon in the rump.  Nearly loosing his crossed legs in shock, Haakon glanced back at the nearer edge of the ravine.  He stifled a laugh: the guards had resorted to throwing apples at him.

Haakon continued his rope-crossing.  The apples still occasionally found their way to him but otherwise meant him no harm.  The further edge soon became not so far.  At once, the apples stopped; thinking his pursuers had for some reason given up the chase, Haakon’s scarred visage finally split into a smile.

It was too short-lived, unfortunately; one of the guards had cut through or otherwise loosed the rope from the tree Haakon had recently lashed it.  Haakon realized that he was now falling.  Technically, he was swinging towards the further end of the ravbine, but with one look back at the fang-like rocks of the ravine wal, he felt that perhaps a drop in the drink would have been preferable at that moment.

The impact was as if Haakon had rammed his shoulder directly into the granite walls of the impenetrable Fort Bluespire.  His vision darkened, and the shock-waves sent tremors through his arms and a hoarse shout from his throat.  Somehow he continued to hang on.  When his vision cleared, he could see his hands, both mangled in crimson-stained twists of rope: the only things keeping him from falling to a watery death below.

With a violent lurch, Haakon began rising.  Someone was reeling him in, perhaps half a dozen hands’-breadths at a time. Though his throbbing pulse still roared in his ears, though every tug on the rope battered and scored him against the ragged sandstone of the ravine’s edge, Haakon could still detect the voices of the bridge guards, ever louder.

“…All this, just to be spared a toll,” thought Haakon, as he drifted to the bosom of unconsciousness.

* * *

“Look…He’s finally awakened.”  Although thick with the Talissian accent, Haakon was still somewhat comforted when greeted in his mother tongue.  The comfort ended there.

“Yes, we know you’re of the Empire’s blood,” spoke the exotic voice once again. “We know of your ties to the Amber Talon (only then had Haakon realized that he had been stripped naked, exposing the curved brands festooning his shoulder blades), and we know we’ve caught a thief.”  The speaker paused for a moment before continuing; Haakon could feel the icy trickle of his own blood sliding down the side of his face and neck.  “The only interesting question that remains is: what will you tell us to spare your life?”

Haakon knew not the identity of this interrogator, though it didn’t matter anyway.  He chose, without reservation, the decision to abort.  His was a lost cause.  The Amber Talon would soon learn of his fate, and send another operative. His next step was to commit his own murder.

Haakon struggled to speak clearly.  “May I…warm myself by the fire a moment?” he asked.

“But of course,” replied his interrogator, in a genial and patronizing tone.

The warmth of the cobblestones beneath his broken fingers helped in guiding him to the fireside, as his eyes were nearly swollen shut.  With effort, Haakon raised his head to view the source of the flames.  It was a stone fireplace with a metal grille covering its front.  “Splendid,” though Haakon to himself.

Without further thought beyond a greeting to the gods, his mangled hands wrenched the grille open and he thrust himself, head-first, into the flames.

Tags: board games, game-making, writing // Add Comment »

Rory’s Story Cubes, where a tale of elementary school kids in a nature center allows for some surprising transformations.

Once upon a time…

“…The hell is wrong with this thing?!?!” exclaimed Aaron.  He had never seen smoke peal from the business end of a microphone.  Just then, it began to buzz like a swarm of angry hornets.  Aaron threw it in any direction that didn’t matter, its cord trailing afterward like a kite string. children sat stone-faced and still on their benches, eyes wide.  Inside the reptile display to their left, the tortoise looked at nothing in particular.  She absently munched on a lettuce leaf.

From her hiding place in the corner, Mrs. Halberstram sprang into the light.  “I’m certain that these children have no idea what you mean,” she said emphatically, with the unblinking glare and unflattering smile of a lantern fish.  “But can we please continue on the tour?  I’m sure you can find it in you for perhaps one more stop before lunch time.”

Aaron forced a smile of his own.  “Missus Halberstram, I’m afraid that, due to a combination of budget cuts here at the Reptile Mansion and to circumstances beyond our control, we’ll need to skip past this last little bit of the tour and head straight to lunch.”  He paused for a moment, then bowed his back as he scanned the crowd of pint-sized visitors.  “I bet that by the time we’re all done with our sandwiches, Mister Alligator will have come out of his own hiding place, eh kids?”  The crowd of miniature citizens erupted into a hearty cheer, mostly regarding that part about sandwiches.

“To the cafeteria!” announced Aaron, and the children began to file along the shadowed hallway towards the luminescent green exit sign.

Resigned to following the jaded tour guide’s directions, Mrs. Halberstram resolved to make the most of it.  “We’re now a school of fish, children!” she called out.  “Let’s move along to the cafeteria like a school of fish.  Swim, children,” she said, her voice wavering like seaweed in the current.  “Let us all swim to the cafeteria.”

And swim like a school of fish, they did.  Once past the exit sign, the children began flapping their arms at the elbows and wrists, puffing their cheeks, and bugging-out their eyes.  All the while, Aaron and Mrs. Halberstram calmly guided the children through the Natural Discoveries Museum, towards the Australian Devil Ray Memorial Cafeteria.

“Here’s a question for all you fishies out there,” announced Aaron, who still felt a certain kind of way about a microphone.  “What do you suppose fish eat for lunch?”

An excited murmur simmered up from the group.  every now and again a word would pop out from the din.  “Seaweed?”  Aaron shook his head.  “Seashells?” asked another.

“Nope,” answered Aaron.

“Smaller fishies?” asked a third, timidly.

“Some times, if the fishies are big enough to bite another one,” replied Aaron.  “But you all look like some little fish to me.  What else can you think of…What other little, squiggly thing can you think of, that a little fish might eat for lunch?”

One little kid’s eyes brightened as the answer crept upon him, and he screamed: “I know!  WORMS!!!”

Mrs. Halberstram’s once-hopeful face darkened once more.  “That’s right!” shouted Aaron.  “Worms, and bugs, and other disgusting, crawling things…” At once excited and terrified, the school of once-orderly fishes burst into a chaotic cloud of flailing arms and legs, half-filled with bursts of mischievous laughter, the other with squeals of revulsion.

Now, nearly in a panic herself, Mrs. Halberstram frantically darted about, trying in vain to wrangle the disorderly, amoebic mass of children.  When she gathered up three, four more would scramble about.  When she reined in that small group, another two groups of three began to aimlessly wander.

In desperation, Mrs. Halberstram lunged outward before a screaming mass of children skittered off to the Chameleon Corner.  She stumbled gracelessly on a curled-up floor mat, landing with a yelp.

Hopeless, she saw her salvation: the microphone.

With the quickness of a moray, she snatched up the mic, and roared, “CHILDREN!”

At once, all the dizzying children froze.  Even Aaron started, shaken from his amusement.

The damaged microphone lent a rather hideous quality to Mrs. Halberstram’s typically sing-song tones.  “TO THE CAFETERIA IMMEDIATELY.”  The command bellowed forth like the dictates of a saurian taskmaster, and the children could do nothing to resist.

“NOT THAT WAY, FOR GOODNESS SAKE!” screeched the PA system.  “GO LEFT!”

Tags: board games, game-making, writing // Add Comment »

Rory’s Story Cubes, where a tale of self-examination and critique takes a decidedly Lovecraftian turn.

Once upon a time…

There was a middle-aged, out-of-shape man who spent many long hours working as a property manager: showing apartments for rent and arranging for new tenants, repairs, renovations, and turnovers.

It was after a walk-through inspection of an apartment with two soon-to-leave tenants when the property manager, alone and deep in thought, asked himself: “Is this what I really want to do with my life?”

Plagued with indecision and an unflagging sense of ennui, he elected to take a vacation.  It had been far too long since he’d taken one, rationalized the property manager.  He contacted his maintenance crew to explain his plans, gave his mobile phone and e-mail password to the crew lead, and before you could say the English alphabet backwards he was on an aeroplane, headed to paoints west.

Being an undocumented enthusiast of both mathematics and Asian history, he eventually landed in China.  There, he resolved to become absorbed by his new environs and discern his true purpose in life, or die alone in this foreign, alien land.

A bus he elected to take to western China broke down (for the last time, it turns out) in the mountainous plateaus of the north-central highlands, west of the winding Yangtze River.  With only his backpack and curiosity, he wandered along the pock-marked roadway until, just a short ways off the thoroughfare, he spied a small collection of cheerful huts, shacks, and fenced-off pastures dotted with the puff-ball forms of mountain sheet.  Sensing a new adventure and a possible solution to his conundrum, he decided to investigate.

Cresting a sheep-saturated hillock, his next encounter caused him to gasp.  There, beyond the herd’s pastures, lay countless row upon row of plum and apple trees.

The property manager was mesmerized by the brilliant greens and lavenders of the fruit, and honeys and ambers of the wood-bark that greeted his gaze in every direction.  The fragrance of the blossoms was intoxicating, and with every step he spied a new and ever-more interesting formation, row, cluster, or copse of trees within the mammoth orchard.  The sun began to sink to the horizon, but the property manager cared not a whim.  Gently cupping a luscious, aromatic bough in his calloused hand, the property manager vowed to begin his life anew.

Eventually winding his way back to the village, the property manager contacted his crew chief as quickly as he could, stating that he’d be back home within a week.  He then contacted the owners of his various properties and tendered his resignation to each and every one.  Finally, he sought out the keeper of the seemingly-ancient orchard.

It turned out not to be one person, but a trio of women, all sisters, who had maintained the orchard themselves.  In a short time, they appeased the curiosity of the property manager with tales of the origin of the orchard, which had been in the sisters’ family for over 10 generations.

Eager to begin an orchard just like the one he had seen on his sojourn through the orient, the man snapped off a branch of each variety of tree within the orchard, secreting them beneath his shirt and next to his skin.  Upon bidding farewell to the three sisters, the man began to walk along the China highway, back to the bus’ last known location.  Alighting the bus - which still needed repair - the man nestled into a coach seat for a fitful night’s rest.

Unknown to him, however, a voracious predatory worm had hitch-hiked on one of the purloined branches still snug beneath the property manager’s clothing.  Upon anesthetizing the property manager with a venomous bite, the worm would soon burrow into the man’s flesh, hiding there until back in the ‘States.  Once on foreign shores, the eggs laid in the man’s torso would hatch; the infant worms would feast on his heart, and he would die painfully, his dream never fulfilled.

Tags: board games, game-making, writing // Add Comment »

I’ve finished up three hobbyist projects, one long-term, the others not-so-much.  I wanted to include some personal notes for posterity here, without dwelling too much on them.

Oh, and the “legacy” concept?  It’s like trying to combine the “persistent world” aspect of role-playing games with the tabletop game mechanics and conventions.  It has potential, and I’m curious to see what the big studios do with it next.  One of our group is interested in developing their own game using the same type of mechanics for his own idea, which sounds promising.  We’ll see…

Tags: board games, free stuff, game-making // Add Comment »