tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26185565846635224442024-03-15T17:38:13.625-07:00Turn to 400The Fighting Fantasy re-discovery blog in which YOU are not the hero. You are just a reader.Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17408095504472495097noreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618556584663522444.post-5562858655060844012024-01-04T20:09:00.000-08:002024-01-04T20:15:14.776-08:00#16 - "Seas of Blood" by Andrew Chapman (1985)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJmar_vrBdwlzLafiACbDKYv0CIsFNccQlbZ4PUaJyT4psEcfzjgFZpDDo3DcZenrLv-s5IHe9dEVP8gi3-nBG8XZNa3tG4w_15YWME1KkHmSpIobrhQ3gNReGcUNIHqUhSJgftj3Zd34/s3264/20210905_084658.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="1956" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJmar_vrBdwlzLafiACbDKYv0CIsFNccQlbZ4PUaJyT4psEcfzjgFZpDDo3DcZenrLv-s5IHe9dEVP8gi3-nBG8XZNa3tG4w_15YWME1KkHmSpIobrhQ3gNReGcUNIHqUhSJgftj3Zd34/w240-h400/20210905_084658.jpg" title="The ship has a little face and is looking at the hydra!" width="240" /></a></div><p><i>Seas of Blood </i>is Andrew Chapman's third and final contribution to the mainline Fighting Fantasy series. And that's a shame, because he really hits his stride here with a well-written piratical picaresque full of variety and fun twists on old-school D&D tropes. The plot is wholly amoral, concerned only with the acquisition of treasure by any means fair or foul, including but not limited to: banditry; fraud; gambling; piracy (expected); being disguised with unlawful intent; obtaining financial advantage through deception; collecting or making documents likely to facilitate terrorist acts; public nuisance; carrying out work without a building permit; giving false or misleading information to tax officers; injuring with intent to injure; and, oh yeah, actual human slave-trading (yikes!!!) <br /> </p><p>This blatant skullduggery removes the usual cognitive dissonance of playing a "hero" who commits the indiscriminate violent killings that are typically required to get through these books. Paragraph 400 comprises of you yelling <i>"I am the greatest rascal, the best sacker of cities!"</i> in the face of your rival "Abdul the Butcher", a pallet-swapped dirtbag. In this story, you are doing Just Pirate Tings and people should not expect anything better of you. <br /></p><p></p><p>This will be a short and hard-won post, despite and even <i>because</i> of my esteem for this book. How so? </p><p>(a) There's not much wrong with it (other than ethically), plus; </p><p>(b) it's <i>punishingly difficult </i>and I didn't get very far at all.</p><p>Between those facts, there's a little material for me to mean-spiritedly riff upon, which has always been 90% of what powers these posts. Has this catty little bitch finally had his claws clipped? Let's see how we go. </p><p></p><p> <br /></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><h1 style="text-align: left;">Background</h1><div style="text-align: left;">The intro is brief yet evocative. You're an infamous pirate captain based in the lawless city of Tak. You and Abdul the Butcher are recognised by lesser pirates as the "<i>kings of daring and greed</i>". Each of you habitually squanders the spoils of your raids on the pokies and it's during one such session out the back of the RSA that someone suggests you and Abdul should have a contest to settle once and for all which of you is the greater pirate i.e. which of these two human turds is REALLY the biggest scumbag of all time. There is no veneer over your murder and other villainous exploits, the evil wizard Bombo Trombo sn't gathering all the green-skinned people for a big protest march or whatever - you're an actual pirate whose usual depredations are being accelerated by a pointless dick-measuring contest. How refreshing!<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The contest requires each captain to travel south from Tak to the Isle of Nippur in 50 days, gathering as much plunder as possible along the way. If you make it on time and have more gold to show than the other guy, you win! What a concept, could be an early 21st Century reality show!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The intro is followed by a map which, to my delight, <i>is actually useful when you play through the book</i>.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0rglHHwgVlBcwVmtviBT3-JIRMwrNrPwgyKwGCU69gFrcDI8oYyRYgj1nCodP50Crb8-Xvpz30oyHOKUFmXDczUuFbORE-aQ5AbEoy3BabrZoNS-sG_UU1AsUyL-DUKtseyjtZ4K4qrc/s3052/20210905_084811.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3052" data-original-width="1856" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0rglHHwgVlBcwVmtviBT3-JIRMwrNrPwgyKwGCU69gFrcDI8oYyRYgj1nCodP50Crb8-Xvpz30oyHOKUFmXDczUuFbORE-aQ5AbEoy3BabrZoNS-sG_UU1AsUyL-DUKtseyjtZ4K4qrc/w390-h640/20210905_084811.jpg" title="I mean I'm not 100% sold on the shape of the coastline but, on the other hand: "BARBARIANS"" width="390" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>That is.... not a bad map actually.<br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table><i></i><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><h1 style="text-align: left;">Rolling Up My Dude</h1><div style="text-align: left;">SKILL - 8</div><div style="text-align: left;">STAMINA - 19</div><div style="text-align: left;">LUCK - 10</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Not loving that SKILL 8. But, as the captain of the good ship <i>Banshee</i>, I don't need to be that tough because I have a crew to fight for me, right? Yep, <i>Seas of Blood</i> has additional stats and rules for the strength of your crew plus an abstract approximation of how many of them are still alive. Basically just SKILL & STAMINA.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">CREW STRIKE - 8</div><div style="text-align: left;">CREW STRENGTH - 8</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Huh........ okay. My crew's a little sub-par too. Well no worries, I'm sure my pirate cunning will carry us through. There's a reason I'm known as the <b>main</b> king of daring and greed, not to be confused with other guy, the that weird meat-themed guy, right? Right????</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Another innovation in this book is that you need to keep track of time, because if it takes you more than 50 days to reach Nippur, you lose. You add the count of days in your log whenever you travel, and the healing mechanic for your STAMINA is 1 point healed for every day you add to your log. Very elegant!</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><h1 style="text-align: left;">The Adventure</h1><div style="text-align: left;">As you know, my <i>modus operandi</i> is to play through with TOTAL CHARACTER IMMERSION, to completely adopt the mindset of the protagonist and in doing so, reverse engineer a fully fledged human psyche and personality from the options and outcomes presented in the gamebook. Then, after a few short years of occasional rumination, I write up my findings for you. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So excellent and rigorous is my method that usually the original text cannot bear its suffocating weight, and it collapses into absurdity. Then, I get to hypocritically point and make fun. <i>Seas of Blood </i>however, is frustratingly <i>good</i>. It... it holds up. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In my earlier drafts of this post, I had a series of (unfinished) "Captayne's Logge" entries written in cod-Shakespearean English that dramatised the rivalry of Abdul the Butcher and his foe, "Bennie the Baker" (me) - who unlike Abdul, didn't get his nick-name because he ground his enemies' bones into flour or burned them up in a big oven or whatever. He actually was a baker of bread, and his entanglement in piracy was a wacky comedy of errors, full of thrills and spills to delight the whole family! Or so I intended - yet unfortunately, that whole exercise turned out over-wrought and under-funny. It now lives in its fabulous new home: the fucking rubbish bin. It's said writers must be ready to kill their babies - but before I finally capped him in the back of the head, this infant was already sitting in the last row of high school biology class, wiping boogers under the desk and practicing drawing naked ladies. Truly a sad day for literature! Live and learn I suppose... (very slowly, in my case).</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh473OXQC6B8hnUt9ucb1Gkmp4uteQIICgdqi89S1XbVph416iF7FaWUnWznCs8InjzeM0zwU0MRMF6BHH9B-y_aH0mZMqRzBk8IeEBBwA61D0dpaE0ffgrIEwsH1MIylFPehuPDHCrKzlDAgWA_Us_8dvWWFezRcpoW8dXEtb2Nm9LoGGDrMdG1-tT/s2896/20210905_091006.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2896" data-original-width="1732" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh473OXQC6B8hnUt9ucb1Gkmp4uteQIICgdqi89S1XbVph416iF7FaWUnWznCs8InjzeM0zwU0MRMF6BHH9B-y_aH0mZMqRzBk8IeEBBwA61D0dpaE0ffgrIEwsH1MIylFPehuPDHCrKzlDAgWA_Us_8dvWWFezRcpoW8dXEtb2Nm9LoGGDrMdG1-tT/w382-h640/20210905_091006.jpg" title="Fellow pirates, let's enjoy this mean-as hangi before blundering ineffectually to our demise." width="382" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bennie the Baker lays in a hangi. </i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p>So anyway let me give just give you the bullet points of my grand career as a swashbuckler:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>I decide to go the Scythera Desert to "plunder the rich western caravans" because I'm a contrarian and wanted to get some desert banditry in. Boarding merchant ships on the high seas is so played out! Leave that shit for "lame-stream" buccaneers like Abdul. Imma park my boat and go shoplifting. <br /></li><li>My crew and I spend three highly unpleasant days camped out in the dunes, during which nothing happens, not even an attack by NEEDLE-FLIES. Bloody-minded and foolish to the end, "Bennie the Baker" decides to double-down and just keep waiting, even as our food and water dwindles. "This loaf is gonna rise for sure, fellers!" he assures his men. "You just gotta have the patience of a master baker - like me, 'Baker Bennie'. Mark my words lads, we'll be dining on fresh crumpets before you can say yo-ho-o!"</li><li>To which: "What," say the crew of degenerate sea dogs.<br /></li><li>At last, a gang of LIZARD MEN mounted on weird 8-legged diplodocus thingies shamble into sight of our ambush.<br /></li><li>We attack them, and they slaughter us to a man.</li><li>...</li><li>That's it.</li><li>That's the end.</li><li>That was the whole adventure. </li><li>RIP Bennie.<br /></li></ul><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEidlua10bwhg2GD4aB2lcYNft6qV_CuacKXYdCQXXmmsdGkkdp9JOaRVkRCPewQFO3PvIcC6jvGKeff1ao2mpQtoF-VjvAHEY2EVIGT1tyfAoodv4rTPSv7U1Wx1YbWfug0upaMPLbR6LyVOkRb-YJkGeeYDHagGGsTnU8V2Ajxn5DVFcl2VDvhOi2o=s2952" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2952" data-original-width="1856" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEidlua10bwhg2GD4aB2lcYNft6qV_CuacKXYdCQXXmmsdGkkdp9JOaRVkRCPewQFO3PvIcC6jvGKeff1ao2mpQtoF-VjvAHEY2EVIGT1tyfAoodv4rTPSv7U1Wx1YbWfug0upaMPLbR6LyVOkRb-YJkGeeYDHagGGsTnU8V2Ajxn5DVFcl2VDvhOi2o=w402-h640" title="and if you beat them, the loot is shite anyway!!!" width="402" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Yeah, I got pwned by a bunch of wrinkly web-footed dorks in little kilts :(</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><h1 style="text-align: left;">Failure and Death </h1><div style="text-align: left;">Yep! </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><h1 style="text-align: left;">Notable Encounters</h1><h1 style="text-align: left;"></h1></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;">My
personal list of fave encounters in this book is dauntingly long and
impressively diverse. There's a highly satisfying variety of settings and types of challenge, from dungeons crawls, traps, social encounters, underwater adventure, naval combat, weird magic, et cetera. It has the vibe of an old-school D&D hex-crawl combined with an Jack Vance rewrite of Homer's <i>Odyssey</i>, except Odysseus plunders everywhere he goes and everything bad that happens is his own fault. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpSgdgSoeNpQplez9B0SBSB-mkAZjKvYfwRfAfYJ7AdFULiQ6CVvjaUh7G0_ZYMCn-7NVan7jbrtRhCrG9XDhX2ZOgjIi-eS6wSJIyiMOlJSoRHp0iw4UlZb5jp4eT47oO711gAwcOwdivCpZ0rxIS0RzJfKV-z2_SN4y5VS6H5rHWFyHJI8evdE1rUr4/s1024/1298191-golden-axe-windows-giant-turtle.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpSgdgSoeNpQplez9B0SBSB-mkAZjKvYfwRfAfYJ7AdFULiQ6CVvjaUh7G0_ZYMCn-7NVan7jbrtRhCrG9XDhX2ZOgjIi-eS6wSJIyiMOlJSoRHp0iw4UlZb5jp4eT47oO711gAwcOwdivCpZ0rxIS0RzJfKV-z2_SN4y5VS6H5rHWFyHJI8evdE1rUr4/w400-h300/1298191-golden-axe-windows-giant-turtle.jpg" title="Greedily, Golden Axe has both a giant turtle stage AND a giant eagle stage. They must have thought they weren't getting a sequel." width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This bit from Golden Axe more or less happens too. </i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Since I procrastinated and avoided this post for so long, I even toyed with the idea of adapting it into a 5e D&D module and publishing that instead. As if that would be more achievable? I think there might be a flaw in my method - "I'm not going to finish, because I might start an even bigger piece of work instead".</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Hmmmm.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyway in case I really do make that hex-crawl (I won't), let me just touch on a couple of episodes here. One of the things I consider innovative about <i>Seas </i>is the relatively high proportion of encounters that can be resolved with narrative choices rather than via combat dice rolls - the only earlier precedent I can recall is the boss fight with Balthus Dire in <i>Citadel</i>.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">As an example, exploring one of the islands you may stumble across Dave Bautista in Barnie Rubble cosplay:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqunZ8URz_xn1nbvezscmylpgCuBgEMJpHCuXwWCwHAYGH2WWmaHUpN-WJy5iztZRoFSsUjaXtY7XShFbligwd4r47z7RR_6_F9ZEdAOww15RFA0l8E2mJ6gNyP5qxu9JjepGbMl84nf5L-W8Y_PYT0CE0Oudvtaq_dXSCcEC_LvwC7YrVReglZzgMGn4/s3294/20231222_144706.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3294" data-original-width="2065" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqunZ8URz_xn1nbvezscmylpgCuBgEMJpHCuXwWCwHAYGH2WWmaHUpN-WJy5iztZRoFSsUjaXtY7XShFbligwd4r47z7RR_6_F9ZEdAOww15RFA0l8E2mJ6gNyP5qxu9JjepGbMl84nf5L-W8Y_PYT0CE0Oudvtaq_dXSCcEC_LvwC7YrVReglZzgMGn4/w402-h640/20231222_144706.jpg" title="The other bloke reminds me of (I think) a supporting character in one of Guy Ritchie's early films but that's far too deep of a cut, even for me." width="402" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>GIANTS - STRIKE 9, STRENGTH 6</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The GIANTS object to you crossing their territory. In a typical FF book, this would just be a straight combat encounter with <i>maybe </i>an alternative solution if you have a jar of protein powder or somesuch macguffin in your pack to buy them off with. And sure enough you can just send your crew to scrap with them and roll it out on the 2d6. However, you can instead propose a contest and<i> </i>"<i>being simple souls with simple tastes, they agree wholeheartedly</i>" - leading to further choices about the nature of the contest and what tactics to use. This can lead to insta-death or severe injury, but in the best possible outcome the GIANTS are so impressed by your gumption that they join your crew. Which we can agree is <i>sick as hell</i>. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The most extensive example is an unavoidable brawl with a CYCLOPS at the end of the book which is a whole branching series of moves and counter-moves that you must select from, keeping track of you and your foes' STAMINA scores as you go.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV9uwU9nJyCdw3M_KsOKINu9d8FIoWBencC2Y_BT_yPIZ71RjDWsDS4KMV88YFSHP2Duej_lAY7_t0MTNI5qNCKBJ5vHGItDQkHmtniBYfyPw_wxEJwUVTj7PisL1ipXu0IDWsvm5YrNvL9w0pO-a29lhDCxh7zRQ3d-Ld4cC2x_bJrMkIkkxEaLTguCg/s2470/20231222_155835.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2057" data-original-width="2470" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV9uwU9nJyCdw3M_KsOKINu9d8FIoWBencC2Y_BT_yPIZ71RjDWsDS4KMV88YFSHP2Duej_lAY7_t0MTNI5qNCKBJ5vHGItDQkHmtniBYfyPw_wxEJwUVTj7PisL1ipXu0IDWsvm5YrNvL9w0pO-a29lhDCxh7zRQ3d-Ld4cC2x_bJrMkIkkxEaLTguCg/w400-h333/20231222_155835.jpg" title=""Kick to the groin" gives you a sprained ankle and doesn't damage the CYCLOPS, which honestly makes me wonder if the author knows ANYTHING about self-defence AT ALL" width="400" /></a></div> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">A working knowledge of contemporary 1980s self-defence techniques is
invaluable at this point to determine your most effective move.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3vbBjAfwmeKi2VD7ETORuZ67L-OBFrq-6P_dnJkFk7tjMeu6VnG3mtpR0JeiyCJNS28CfjZqc4GpqQp8zgr2mO3LN0DC2v5cUlhitiy6Ve5YHfO8NULwhwHotVFTud9325k5UMEGhhzzQzWQdl8rNtVDdSxnd230dd53DXIR1I7-_pVkWUsBnNuA428g/s361/attacks%20to%20the%20eyes.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="290" data-original-width="361" height="321" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3vbBjAfwmeKi2VD7ETORuZ67L-OBFrq-6P_dnJkFk7tjMeu6VnG3mtpR0JeiyCJNS28CfjZqc4GpqQp8zgr2mO3LN0DC2v5cUlhitiy6Ve5YHfO8NULwhwHotVFTud9325k5UMEGhhzzQzWQdl8rNtVDdSxnd230dd53DXIR1I7-_pVkWUsBnNuA428g/w400-h321/attacks%20to%20the%20eyes.png" title="The "Assisted Salute"" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The pages of this self-defence manual have browned at the edges just the same way as my Fighting Fantasy collection, or indeed a genuine Pirate Treasure Map.<br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I do have one minor quibble to level at the book, and without any angle on genuine absurdism in this review I will resort to "Cinema Sins" style pedantry and air it. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Fantasy, as a genre, is highly derivative of history. You can summarise most fantasy settings as something like "cod-medieval Europe", "cod-Roman Republic", "cod-Byzantine", "cod-Viking", "cod-Persian", etc. It gives a foundation and short-hand for the general society & technology level of your setting that authors can then focus on the points of divergence - often a magic system - and teasing out all the implications of this. You know, what if the French Revolution but there's telepathy and Louis XVI is a vampire. This is totally fine and as a history buff something I enjoy about the genre - in fact, when authors try to go their own way and consciously avoid parallels with real world history, I believe they frequently struggle, because all that short-hand context you lift for free from history is helping the audience as much as the author.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyway in <i>Seas of Blood</i>, Chapman is clearly going for a Bronze Age Mediterranean vibe, <i>Jason and the Argonauts</i> type steelo. Exhibit A - the cover, in which a hydra molests what is I suppose a trireme, bireme or a monotreme or whatever with nothing less than a bloody amphora on the sail: symbolic of the material culture of the era, and anachronistic in that it's something exciting to future archaeologists but more or less disposable to people of the time. (Imagine if you will a modern yacht flying the symbol of a plastic 6-pack ring or a barrel of toxic waste).<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijXaaEw339FzBLZPKkpqERav3VEl1lA6Bp2k0TuidYuGs3XszZeBwYPZuUoFV80gn3b-FL8sUrWr4Xfxpfp0yd436i_j4UjAcWI7J9v4MeFuEANurL6i-pthKGpww_IJXruIrxNPeqUMWwBeL40leS1oIRAMf4zJ17RGBb86Rc163CU3QY4SrPeLhavlo/s1200/jason%20and%20the%20argonauts%20skeletons.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="890" data-original-width="1200" height="475" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijXaaEw339FzBLZPKkpqERav3VEl1lA6Bp2k0TuidYuGs3XszZeBwYPZuUoFV80gn3b-FL8sUrWr4Xfxpfp0yd436i_j4UjAcWI7J9v4MeFuEANurL6i-pthKGpww_IJXruIrxNPeqUMWwBeL40leS1oIRAMf4zJ17RGBb86Rc163CU3QY4SrPeLhavlo/w640-h475/jason%20and%20the%20argonauts%20skeletons.jpg" title="Jason and the Argonauts (1963). But the earliest reference I can find for skeletons being sick as hell in mass media is Disney's "Skeleton Dance" (1929)" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Jason and the Argonauts has an excellent SKELETON Count and, come to think of it, is the right vintage to have been a formative influence on writers in the Golden Age of Fighting Fantasy.<br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Consistent with this, biremes are depicted in an encounter where you accidentally drift into the midst of a naval battle between two rival city-states - another cool concept for an encounter BTW. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWOiSgSTbkoBzjvteP6LtokT8bQGAOfOVy7C9uJSpiuSe9NJv404lcAkKEsR6qwkgu3C66r6tQOn1tetQV8O22BBnGB2j9FxlKG7sCG2q_Xl-5aKoYaB20aAPduMoIA4mKnyk7BeTMBmRYcDPAaB421NptruX_bXE8REQi0rm3sBAe8TEb7UnnAaKn/s2656/20210905_085209.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2656" data-original-width="1584" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWOiSgSTbkoBzjvteP6LtokT8bQGAOfOVy7C9uJSpiuSe9NJv404lcAkKEsR6qwkgu3C66r6tQOn1tetQV8O22BBnGB2j9FxlKG7sCG2q_Xl-5aKoYaB20aAPduMoIA4mKnyk7BeTMBmRYcDPAaB421NptruX_bXE8REQi0rm3sBAe8TEb7UnnAaKn/w382-h640/20210905_085209.jpg" title="If you're wondering - biremes have two banks of oars, triremes have three, and monotremes have a common opening for the urogenital and digestive systems" width="382" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Best believe the guys pulling those oars aren't getting paid either. <br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>Elsewhere, you may run afoul of these guardsmen in period appropriate sandals and little skirts. <br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjratfnlg2FJXQ4DqYbW7WeVO1iovG0w5GzdcHDFA4T3SorQ2sN4AwyxceuexfVtXfqS0RMmtDLhK1DFXgb7eEKjZDRAaPD_m4ChUv7vhn_HpVm04ESGP9ufslsN6UUgDR8WAmxQiz0cSE/s3024/20210905_085816.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="1868" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjratfnlg2FJXQ4DqYbW7WeVO1iovG0w5GzdcHDFA4T3SorQ2sN4AwyxceuexfVtXfqS0RMmtDLhK1DFXgb7eEKjZDRAaPD_m4ChUv7vhn_HpVm04ESGP9ufslsN6UUgDR8WAmxQiz0cSE/w396-h640/20210905_085816.jpg" title="Front row, second from right - return of the Attack Moustache!" width="396" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A warm welcome from the staff at "Centurions" bath-house </i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>All cool and good - Harryhausen style nautical adventure is a sick vibe to nail. But! I'm not sure if the same artist was used throughout and/or inconsistent art direction was given. Elsewhere ships are depicted as 15th Century carracks. <br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJips1ZuSfNmouqFfBKgx9HYhbRqhc7_vfzdtSNP8jw2i4kZuDsr1xiFVfqFri0XOvdvM4OQI6qFMgPMLbjrFdbLERAEMs05RNgZHJmVBUbvYvLdpXxWmPj5anRi7DFqpZJpv6_tKCaK63gQOv4yfjdgLbDZTGzCXE2NC6zIVz8LJFCI3Ab4JMST07/s2082/20210905_090842.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1705" data-original-width="2082" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJips1ZuSfNmouqFfBKgx9HYhbRqhc7_vfzdtSNP8jw2i4kZuDsr1xiFVfqFri0XOvdvM4OQI6qFMgPMLbjrFdbLERAEMs05RNgZHJmVBUbvYvLdpXxWmPj5anRi7DFqpZJpv6_tKCaK63gQOv4yfjdgLbDZTGzCXE2NC6zIVz8LJFCI3Ab4JMST07/w400-h328/20210905_090842.jpg" title="As you doubtless know, a caravel woul have triangular sails. I would hate to be out-pedanted by YOU, dear reader!" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I almost called this a caravel but I thought if I'm gonna be pedantic I better do some research.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Elsewhere some cross-eyed bro<i> </i>shows up all high chivalry in chain mail and a tricked-out hoss like he's gonna joust you after sniffing a lady's handkerchief or something. <br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdSJ_UDUtBYK1tQsaJau8HvDL5j91tFNdsX0SIegvEHIdgZxXXjhG-uypC4WKnhJUdjr3QzRKs283nf2QusMLtm1HKB3mYqte0jZthn6RJVFCPTX78CSZeGH9THuxzDRD7_1TVBI8CtTQWVsVip7lfdGL9-gEqw3mN58c2yJJHukMOfT-Ma_jZhWXt/s2400/20210905_090319.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="1312" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdSJ_UDUtBYK1tQsaJau8HvDL5j91tFNdsX0SIegvEHIdgZxXXjhG-uypC4WKnhJUdjr3QzRKs283nf2QusMLtm1HKB3mYqte0jZthn6RJVFCPTX78CSZeGH9THuxzDRD7_1TVBI8CtTQWVsVip7lfdGL9-gEqw3mN58c2yJJHukMOfT-Ma_jZhWXt/w350-h640/20210905_090319.jpg" title="Ah DURH, well met sirrah, ah durby-dur-dumb <fart noise>" width="350" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This dude really takes a raw dump on the Sinbad vibes. </i></td></tr></tbody></table><p> </p><p>So yeah, something was slightly off. DING! Murray's a hack. This is what I'm reduced to.<br /></p><p></p><p>And get one final, unrelated jab in at the art - there's an encounter where you can re-enact the tragic opening scenes of <i>Island of the Lizard King</i>, I can only assume this was a reverential tribute on the part of Chapman. </p><p>While the illustration is thrilling and evocative, the anatomy of a CRAB clearly remains a matter of speculation.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUbUxfoj-GtizDlQ4LZnudEQWyNce2ndwcUClTLl0NCTpuj2ASlMPXiU7tmw-x2moerGJpRMuiVjgQl7gejiMmcCuZ2IOR1tYSpQ_A9RAaWm-gTU2wKT1YeEAk1y-vav3W1gH6ihPjOas7Fog3R0ghGaecW05LtzoqqRNsn-sJMMo6bFn1EHn84jnF/s2892/20210905_085321.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2892" data-original-width="2060" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUbUxfoj-GtizDlQ4LZnudEQWyNce2ndwcUClTLl0NCTpuj2ASlMPXiU7tmw-x2moerGJpRMuiVjgQl7gejiMmcCuZ2IOR1tYSpQ_A9RAaWm-gTU2wKT1YeEAk1y-vav3W1gH6ihPjOas7Fog3R0ghGaecW05LtzoqqRNsn-sJMMo6bFn1EHn84jnF/w458-h640/20210905_085321.jpg" title="This is like one of those illuminated manuscripts where the monk's auntie once heard a drunk sailor describe a walrus." width="458" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The guys sitting in the foreground is the audience surrogate, tear-streaked and paralysed by memories of sweet Mungo. </i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><h1 style="text-align: left;"> </h1><h1 style="text-align: left;">The SKELETON Count </h1><p style="text-align: left;">Chapman limits himself to but a single SKELETON squirreled away in the corner of a fun little mini-dungeon. It is a normal looking and unsuspicious dead SKELETON with golden rings on one hand, but if you attempt to pilfer them, it suddenly grabs your arm and won't let go! "<i>The supernatural grip proves stronger than your mortal strength or human weapons. Your death comes slowly from hunger and thirst</i>."</p><p style="text-align: left;">What a gyp! Pretty sure you could chop your own arm off and maybe take a 2 SKILL point penalty plus 3 pierogis' worth of STAMINA loss, but whatever.<br /></p><h1 style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZSlcivnJFTcFQ9bItNFWCeZ_ljOzfuSWbBt3izhyHrMJzcz_wcH2HYKVvkhxHGbhil3oC8oWYzufIdHP5vhFA-iuYHkM78GLr8J2i4U9TwrWI5RAs8Lcff2gL4bRVCbWMLW_VeFpznwHC-NwDqktxqsUgjc6QfO_2pm8boCHM3bqm3pQAXm29q6P/s3136/20210905_090816.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3136" data-original-width="1952" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZSlcivnJFTcFQ9bItNFWCeZ_ljOzfuSWbBt3izhyHrMJzcz_wcH2HYKVvkhxHGbhil3oC8oWYzufIdHP5vhFA-iuYHkM78GLr8J2i4U9TwrWI5RAs8Lcff2gL4bRVCbWMLW_VeFpznwHC-NwDqktxqsUgjc6QfO_2pm8boCHM3bqm3pQAXm29q6P/w398-h640/20210905_090816.jpg" title="The thought of eventually DEATHTRAPPING someone eventually has kept me smilin' and wilin' these past 700 years!" width="398" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p><i>That coy little smile along with the fact that all the bones are still stuck together into an articulated SKELETON is a bit of a giveaway now that I think about it.</i></p><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></h1><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><h1>Final Thoughts</h1></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;">My colleague - you might say successor? - over at <a href="https://deathtrapsanddungeons.blogspot.com/2022/12/seas-of-blood.html" target="_blank"><i>Deathtraps and Dungeons</i></a> did not rate this one highly, but I love it. Perhaps I am going soft in my autumn years. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The
world feels fleshed out, there are regional power struggles and a history only alluded to within the book. It gives a satisfying
suggestion that the world existed prior, and will persist beyond the
hapless career of my pitiful Cap'n Bennie. There are at least three occasions where
you can encounter sketchy characters who have history with the protagonist, and they have some past debt or grievance that complicates the adventure. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div>These
small flourishes do much to sell the fiction, and are not typical of FF
where the protagonist, as a cipher for the player, often feels like an
teenager dropped in from suburban 1980s Brighton. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Reviewing Chapman's previous books, I popped off a few shots about inconsistent effort in the prose. Here he hits his stride and both tonally and in terms of imagination, and the execution reads consistently throughout. I alluded to Jack Vance earlier, which is maybe a stretch, but something of the cynical humour and the unalloyed self-interest of the characters hits a Vancian tone. For instance when you attack one merchant ship, it turns out one of the passengers is a Warlock and he summons a SHADE which flies over the water to attack you. Should you prevail, the crew and other passengers tie the Warlock up and throw him overboard to mollify you. "<i>Forgive us for harbouring such an unworthy fellow! We place ourselves at your bountiful mercy!</i>" Something about this fusion of fantastical imagination and cynicism about human nature feels Vancian to me, and very amusing. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div></div><div style="text-align: left;">I say I love <i>Seas of Blood</i> for the tone and the content - in terms of gamebook design, yeah it's way too hard with a great many arbitrary random deaths. Mechanical difficulty aside, the feel of this hex-crawl is head and shoulders above comparable predecessors such as <i>Forest </i>and <i>Swamp</i>, and the crew battle, time tracking and travel mechanics - that actually reward looking at the map in the front of the book! - are small but welcome innovations. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">At this point we must sadly bid farewell to Andrew Chapman in the series - he did work on an interesting two-player FF off-shoot <i>Clash of Princes</i>, which I played as a child but do not own copies of today. Not long after this he understandably spat the dummy at publisher Penguin over authorship credits, <a href="http://andrew-e-chapman.blogspot.com/2013/02/how-i-stopped-being-fighting-fantasy.html">as he recounts </a>on his blog, and never worked with them again. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Clash of the Princes is the kind of thing I might hypothetically review as a victory lap after finishing the mainline series. But well... you all can see the pace I work at. I'm aging just as fast as my audience - one day every 24 hours. Blood's still pumping though! Keep an eye on the horizon, you scurvy dogs!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu9XEoWagwk4uQPaHo6vdmcSh693HJlaIvdjTGEdDdb7nIbHzLPfNT1rrHzEOc4b3wocJs_yaG_38kLSWYfK62eYv2pP_4TRjsnvYJsr7axFy7BE4HR51D1q3r2PRFDN0H3dQMY0GaRUPWQv00MQDGiheBH9SE2MmHT7mRYO50s_VUtgqgcZaSNr2COlI/s1280/sir%20ian%20speech%20balloon.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu9XEoWagwk4uQPaHo6vdmcSh693HJlaIvdjTGEdDdb7nIbHzLPfNT1rrHzEOc4b3wocJs_yaG_38kLSWYfK62eYv2pP_4TRjsnvYJsr7axFy7BE4HR51D1q3r2PRFDN0H3dQMY0GaRUPWQv00MQDGiheBH9SE2MmHT7mRYO50s_VUtgqgcZaSNr2COlI/w640-h360/sir%20ian%20speech%20balloon.png" title="Shall we knight Steve Jackson??? I dunno boss, has he done enough to make up for Creature of Havoc???" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Belated congrats to Sir Ian Livingstone, who was knighted since my last post...?!? What the heck?!?<br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><h1 style="text-align: left;"><br /></h1> </div><br /><br />Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17408095504472495097noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618556584663522444.post-50412228284018878442021-08-30T00:14:00.004-07:002021-08-30T00:18:29.734-07:00#15 - "The Rings of Kether" by Andrew Chapman (1985)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTH-BDoZiGA-Js6s8AtEpY8z3M5fLXyIhdmkygJQDW5uq-0nbraQzfiEz68hc40VFWPPj0Zdhi73OiBd2NLuYDipxx9r0fP32XDFc0dMiCuKjgyR08Lc_amwi_KZt72QUL3XHBFJgL6Mo/s3488/20210529_091951.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3488" data-original-width="2164" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTH-BDoZiGA-Js6s8AtEpY8z3M5fLXyIhdmkygJQDW5uq-0nbraQzfiEz68hc40VFWPPj0Zdhi73OiBd2NLuYDipxx9r0fP32XDFc0dMiCuKjgyR08Lc_amwi_KZt72QUL3XHBFJgL6Mo/w199-h320/20210529_091951.jpg" title=""WHERE DO YOU SEE YOURSELF IN FIVE YEARS" well if im honest, probably feeling guilty about not finishing a post for Seas of Blood yet" width="199" /></a></div>This time I have no flash of recognition nor eager swell of nostalgia - either I've never read this book or it made nil impression upon me. The cover may be a factor. What I can surmise is that YOU are a Space Guy who is interviewing for a job and you need to impress this chunky middle-manager in the regulation corporate skullcap. Perhaps it is inspired by author <a href="http://andrew-e-chapman.blogspot.com/2011/09/how-i-became-fighting-fantasy-writer.html" target="_blank">Andrew Chapman's experiences working in the Australian Bureau of Statisics.</a><br /><p></p><p>Already this book is failing the quality test I established in <a href="http://turnto400.blogspot.com/2012/10/12-space-assassin-by-andrew-chapman-1985.html" target="_blank">my review of Space Assassin by the same author</a> - i.e. that the title and cover should tell us everything about the book. I don't have a damn clue about this situation.<br /></p><p>I get that it's in space. That much is conveyed. But the title - <i>The Rings of Kether</i>. For years I thought it was like "the rings of Saturn", an astronomical feature. NOPE! Maybe it's like "Shang Tsung and the Legend of the Ten Rings" and the doughy fellow staring us down is Lord Kether the Kantankerous, final boss of the book <u><b>but</b></u> his magic rings aren't pictured for some reason. Maybe they are covered by his elbow-length pinstripe gloves; which I would comment on, but, if I get started on homeboy's wardrobe: WE'LL BE HERE A WHILE. <br /></p><p>So anyway I'll stop dancing around it - it's drug rings! There's a planet called Kether (in space), and there's just a bunch of drugs coming out of there, I guess somebody's gotta go bust these rings man! By which I mean "drug rings"! Go get it! (that's the plot)</p><p>I went looking for the U. S. cover of this book but sadly for the first time in 1985 they realised they could just use the same artwork as the UK - the bloke who always drew all those weirdos in the background was I suppose, let go, and in an immeasurable loss to the art world it seems he set down his pencil evermore. </p><p>Hence, here is my alternative cover for <i>The Rings of Kether</i>, which I believe improves on the original by hewing much closer to the book's actual content.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2GiV4WkImI7mJiMkXuJbG__RiD3oEDCDMmkIAmBCQE-qalpZ1Nn-nbpsbJZR_PSkChJrEfoZ4RXM6YZnaV4cBFvep8xgMeL0qhBG-UZZyvoWP2hJuL9-f8dN1TlUYKcD8t1SebvypeAU/s1261/spaaaace+viiiiice+v2.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1261" data-original-width="922" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2GiV4WkImI7mJiMkXuJbG__RiD3oEDCDMmkIAmBCQE-qalpZ1Nn-nbpsbJZR_PSkChJrEfoZ4RXM6YZnaV4cBFvep8xgMeL0qhBG-UZZyvoWP2hJuL9-f8dN1TlUYKcD8t1SebvypeAU/w293-h400/spaaaace+viiiiice+v2.png" title="A thrilling futuristic adventure in which YOU are supposedly a space cop, but perhaps more plausibly a delusional madman like Leo Dicaprio in that one movie!" width="293" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>At its peak, Miami Vice had so much influence on men's fashion that they probably COULD have got this skullcaps & pauldrons thing started, had they only tried.</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><br /></p><h1 style="text-align: left;">Background</h1><p>The "mission briefing" is extremely prosaic so let's hustle through it. We're in space, there's a Galactic Federation comprising hundreds of worlds, they have a bunch of laws including certain drugs being banned. Presumably they have other laws too about how fast you can fly your spaceship and whatnot, but in the heavily implied but not actual words of Andrew Chapman: <i>who gives a fuck, you don't need to know any of that</i>. </p><p>A large supply of the illicit drug "satophil-D" is emerging from the Aleph Cygni system. YOU are a "Grade 1 Investigator" in the "Federal Central (Vice)" department of the "Federal Police Force" and you get assigned to go to Aleph Cygni undercover as a travelling salesman and BUST DEM RINGS. In true Fighting Fantasy fashion, you will have zero support from anyone else!<br /></p><p> </p><h1 style="text-align: left;">Rolling Up My Dude</h1><div style="text-align: left;">SKILL - 12</div><div style="text-align: left;">STAMINA - 17 </div><div style="text-align: left;">LUCK - 11</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Pretty good rolls. You also get stats for your spaceship:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />WEAPON STRENGTH - 9 </div><div style="text-align: left;">SHIELDS - 12</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Rules for ship-to-ship combat are a little different and you also get two smart missiles which let you auto-win space fights, however ship-to-ship combat never came up in my play-through.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Both ship combat and "blaster combat" have variant rules where hitting the enemy depends entirely on rolling under your SKILL, rather than rolling against the enemy's SKILL test. The latter still applies for melee. This is a new but quite intuitive mechanic, reflecting the fact that a gunfight probably depends more on how good you are at pointing the gun, than how good the other bloke is at getting out of the way.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="269.000" src="https://gifer.com/embed/8MMn" width="480"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-GpXUrmSbkY" target="_blank"><i>If gunfights operated with opposed SKILL checks.</i></a><br /></p>
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Like Space Assassin, for healz I have four futuristic pep pills instead of a kilo of beef jerky wrapped up in an old towel. Ironically, I think "pep pills" is originally slang for amphetamines so I wonder if this particular Grade 1 Investigator has been volunteering to lock up the evidence room after everyone else goes home...?<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><h1 style="text-align: left;">The Adventure</h1><div style="text-align: left;">Paragraph 1 drops you straight out of hyperspace and into Alpha Cygni. The immediate info you have is that this solar system has one planet (Kether), which has a moon called Rispin's End, and there's an asteroid belt consisting of "hundreds of thousands of asteroids". Your first choice is to pick where to start your search - the planet, the moon, or the asteroid belt? To which I can only say: WOW. THEY REALLY GAVE YOU NOTHING, ZIPPITY-ZAP, NADA. YOU HAVE ZERO INTEL WHATSOEVER. Just: wow.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I chose to start my search on Kether itself because, frankly, landing on the moon and asking random little green men if they know where to score seemed crazy. And even the book makes fun of you if you decide to search the asteroid belt. It's like, what the heck dumbass, it would take twenty ships ten years to search all these asteroids - go land on the planet you dumbfuck. (That's a precis). <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Kether only has one spaceport, which is on the "continental land-mass" and nearby the "capital city" - I already noticed in <i>Space Assassin</i> also that Andrew Chapman was pretty frugal with proper nouns. Not a huge deal, but as a part-time Dungeon Master who relishes inventing names, it kind of bothers me nonetheless.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> <i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcCcEKPK3TdvACpUgmE82gh47mzd7tyZHSag_lPl2yb4BE2hPSAM8r_-EWE7MtxX7diCTBDXgAXSWd8uDI1KxACcfjWP-aT0y8uhbzbCRUtBG-ltRUzBffKyLA8b3ayJrcOsrbHYmm4o8/s700/space+miami+vice+base+poiotn+3.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="700" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcCcEKPK3TdvACpUgmE82gh47mzd7tyZHSag_lPl2yb4BE2hPSAM8r_-EWE7MtxX7diCTBDXgAXSWd8uDI1KxACcfjWP-aT0y8uhbzbCRUtBG-ltRUzBffKyLA8b3ayJrcOsrbHYmm4o8/w400-h286/space+miami+vice+base+poiotn+3.jpg" title="THE RINGS OF MIAMI" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ah yes, the iconic duo known to everyone as "two men". <br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Some Customs officers show up when you land and search your ship for "contraband technology" - your "spy beam" is confiscated, and you're instructed to cross it off your inventory. Which is fine, since it's not on your inventory, and it never comes up in play. Nice editing, team! Your cargo hold is full of authentic space bananas which you stock-piled to support the cover story that you're a merchant but disappointingly, they don't bother to search it. They just wanted that sweet spy beam - <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/world/2013/aug/22/gchq-warned-laser-spying-guardian-offices">which I'm guessing is a ray gun that lets you hear what people are saying when you shoot it at them</a>? </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Pretty suspicious behaviour for Customs Officers TBH, but I blithely ignored that important clue as I sauntered out of baggage retrieval, pondering how to begin my investigation. Well, as for leads: I have no leads. The options given are:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">1) Just start bailing up random people in the airport like: WHERE ARE THE DRUGS COME ON CREEP DONT HOLD OUT ON ME DO U WANNA GO TO JAIL CREEP GIVE UP THE GOODS etc<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;">2) Go ask for help at the nearest police station - might be sensible but the intro implies that local authorities could be corrupt, so, maybe not. <br /></div>3) Hit up the local dive bars.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Since I've got nothing, I figured I needed to work my way up from street level so I decided go for #3. This would also satisfy the requirement in 1985 that any police investigation involve at least one visit to a strip club. </div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Given the chance to write some about hard-boiled extraterrestrial night life, Chapman abruptly does a hand-brake turn into literary extravagance and lets his spirit soar. I'll reproduce paragraph <b>299 </b>in its entirety since I lack the mental wherewithal to even attempt a summary.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>The canteen you find is advertised by a gaudy crypto-fluorescent animated sign, depicting a large 'Crush' class stellar battleship diving into a foaming glass of undefined liquid. The sound-effects are defeaning, full of fusion-motor roars, laser zaps and dam-size splashes. Looks promising.</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i> </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Entering the premises, you find the joint packed with drunken flotsam and jetsam; there is hearty laughter, the obligatory fight in the corner, and it is all very, very noisy. A small sign over the bar announces that no aliens are allowed. Very promising.</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i> </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Will you approach one of the barmaids for a tip about who in the bar might best be approached for a bit of underworld largesse (turn to <b>30</b>), or just mingle to see what you can find out (turn to <b>362</b>)?</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i> </i></div><div style="text-align: left;">That's quite a passage. I can't fathom what I might have derived from it when I was eight years old.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But one thing is clear - anyone swanning up to the barmaid asking about "underworld largesse" is unmistakably a HUGE NARC. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZMDbB0dbQZWgYFmft3xX4IhMbVTATVMqohg56pgIXNhVXrOOI32XRPucKP3a5vjXuz8QE3c3TXYUAwHFVi0zubhez3U3lXmGkFAztjeXC7OCZmgj7zsiCBSGRhQDoE_PLUE7z_CMV1Ks/s748/NARC+title+screen.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="562" data-original-width="748" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZMDbB0dbQZWgYFmft3xX4IhMbVTATVMqohg56pgIXNhVXrOOI32XRPucKP3a5vjXuz8QE3c3TXYUAwHFVi0zubhez3U3lXmGkFAztjeXC7OCZmgj7zsiCBSGRhQDoE_PLUE7z_CMV1Ks/w640-h480/NARC+title+screen.png" title="HULLO LOVE NICE DAY INNIT, 'ANG ABOUT DARLING WHERE'D YOU FINK I MIGHT COME BY SOME O' THAT "UNDERWORLD LARGESSE", GOT AN ITCHY NOSE IF YOU CATCH MY DRIFT, NAH NAH NAH JUST JOKES LOVE, JUST JOKES, UNLESS U DO KNOW IN WHICH CASE DEFINITELY NOT JOKING ACTUALLY, HA HA HA WE HAVE FUN DON'T WE, I'LL SAY ANYTHING, ME" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Dang, what gave me away, was it the outfit or the personalised license plate on my Porsche 911<br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Racking your brain in the heat of the moment, you position yourself as a recently arrived chemist looking for "easy money". I don't think the barmaid is remotely fooled but she sees an opportunity to extract a bribe so offers to help for 3000 kopecks which is... probably a lot? She has a wry instinct for mischief - after I pony up for the Barmaid's Annual Charity Ball, she steers me towards the only other undercover in the pub. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">You sit down at his table and the bloke allows you a few moments to disgrace yourself by asking for "the down-low on some Tangy Fruits" or whatever the same mind that spewed out "<i>underworld largesse</i>" can come up with. Then he laughs in your face and tells you plainly that he's made you, BUT: <i>He is quick to reassure you. Leaning closer, he whispers, 'We can't talk here. Meet me in two hours at the Hotel Miramar, room 1201.' </i>Then he pounds the rest of his Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster and wanders off. <br /><i></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So that's definitely a lead! Or a casual sex thing. But's let's suppose it's a lead. I have no useful information at all, hence, let's go meet this stranger in his hotel room. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Upon the appointed hour of our <i>tete-a-tete</i>, I arrive at the Hotel Miramar and have to take the stairs to the 12th floor becasuse the elevator's out. (Sidenote - that's not super <i>science-fictiony</i> is it? But I guess stairs are one of those technologies that have really endured over the centuries). You see a shifty looking bloke exit room 1201 as you arrive and are given the option to tail him - seems likely my informant has just been murdered but I figure if dash in there quickly enough I might just be able to catch the last twenty minutes of his dying words. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The door is locked and I can hear my guy probably dying on the other side - the book gives me a second chance to rush after the suspected killer, which proves too tempting so I dash down the stairs. But thanks to my dithering, he has gotten away scot free. Overdubbed from off screen I hear a cry of "Yikes, murder!" and the cops are apparently there immediately with four helijets. I lay low since I don't trust the local fuzz. I'm at a dead end and unsure what to do next - fortunately, the book takes the wheel.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Next day, you head off the to the City Central Library to see if anything can be found out about the man you saw running down the stairs - </i><i>at least you know what he looks like</i>. Sure, that makes a lot of sense. I know what he looks like... so I will go and look him up, in the library. <i> </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipgktTKUoa1651TW1QZkOteOlgCERGqF_xiLoVK_j0M51y0-eEUT0CZxY8ugTN-dpHaY75E57jQKbhxXljoTqfi8aVEabiLrkc-hPe3E453mPOVta1H0899YTmBp6N4t8C45zw_Q3yBLU/s1400/microfiche+2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1257" data-original-width="1400" height="574" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipgktTKUoa1651TW1QZkOteOlgCERGqF_xiLoVK_j0M51y0-eEUT0CZxY8ugTN-dpHaY75E57jQKbhxXljoTqfi8aVEabiLrkc-hPe3E453mPOVta1H0899YTmBp6N4t8C45zw_Q3yBLU/w640-h574/microfiche+2.jpg" title="RAMS OPEN '69 SEASON AGAINST SWEA C. blares the "Rolfe Arrow", incomprehensibly" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Yeah, I'll just get on the microfiche and look at every photo in the last ten years' issues of </i>The Kether Star-Herald <i>on the off-chance that I recognise the SPACE ASSASSIN I glimpsed last night</i>.</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Smash cut to - INT. SPACE LIBRARY. It is the next day. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Being an eerily prescient science fiction guy isn't that easy. William Gibson's embarassment that people were using pay-phones in <i>Neuromancer </i>is on the record.<i> </i>Andrew Chapman has a go at imagining the role and nature of the library in a high-tech culture boasting faster-than-light travel, and he decides that it's a huge complex that's mostly empty because people usally get the information they need sent to them "<i>by cable</i>" which... kind of sounds like the internet actually? Not bad! That's some pretty decent prognostication, right up there with <i>Star Trek: The Next Generation</i>'s anticipation of the touchscreen tablet. Try to imagine the high technology of hundreds of years in the future, and you might just land on something that's ten to twenty years off.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTpAW4dqIgc2BkQ9wmMDw9zT-qseP4zeQ8lSHTA5Hq8AXz6H7-tZPdGw3vpEchuKBsDCI5egFJVxHlCHb62805RBroE4im2IudOLvQB233hCL3y-GvkYnqKMDfZf7x_Sxb7tkH8v1kKjA/s450/picard+get+ipad.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="450" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTpAW4dqIgc2BkQ9wmMDw9zT-qseP4zeQ8lSHTA5Hq8AXz6H7-tZPdGw3vpEchuKBsDCI5egFJVxHlCHb62805RBroE4im2IudOLvQB233hCL3y-GvkYnqKMDfZf7x_Sxb7tkH8v1kKjA/w640-h484/picard+get+ipad.jpg" title="PACARD GET IPAD" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>DELICIOUS! ... DIVINE! ... SUGAR CRUSH!</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">So anyway I jump on a public terminal and spend several hours trawling through old crime reports in the public media. There's basically nothing about the drug trade, except for a single reference to a court date from 4 years ago which reads - <i>Central Criminal Court 3: State vs. Z. Gross and B. "Blaster" Babbett. Before Justic Zark. Charge: trafficking in illicit organic substances (Satophil-D). Sitting 10:30 am.</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i> </i></div><div style="text-align: left;">There are no other references to the case or any ruling - so I look up Z. Gross and B. Babbet in the "vidiphone directory" - and Blaster B has his address listed in the goddamn phone book! I tell ya, you can forget your fukken spy rays and what have you, ain't nothing beat old school traditional detective work! Pounding the streets! Nosing about strip clubs! Looking up perps in the phone book! Classic stuff!</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Nevertheless - as a lead it still feels pretty thin. So rather than going straight over there and kicking the door in, I decide my next move is to check the "<i>State Computer File Centre</i>" for more information. "Hello", I resolve to tell them: "I need to examine your computer files". Steeling myself for any manner of bureaucratic nonsense, off I go.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiiUx4OT__zID3aODsSMXppgb9sBooqLJ4w2WRRrDQyrsE72tGQM39epqA2VgK6t5bcGCFOIXMdTwiwX76xlusthpeoEXh8rMMucKJyLew0FNPFbzlQngI4YXpK_ibSv2pNdiaCalPteY/s1536/state+computer+file+centre.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="864" data-original-width="1536" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiiUx4OT__zID3aODsSMXppgb9sBooqLJ4w2WRRrDQyrsE72tGQM39epqA2VgK6t5bcGCFOIXMdTwiwX76xlusthpeoEXh8rMMucKJyLew0FNPFbzlQngI4YXpK_ibSv2pNdiaCalPteY/w640-h360/state+computer+file+centre.jpeg" title="oh how compelling was it when all those characters who had barely been established and we didn't care about nobly sacrificed themselves to get the floppy disk" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I'm picturing something like the giant building from </i>Rogue One <i>wot had all the tapes in it. </i><br /><i></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Sadly, the State Computer File Centre is mostly inaccessible to the public, and I don't appear to have any official authority. So I wait 'til nightfall, climb a drainpipe up on the roof and drop through a skylight. "Teehee", I think to myself, "what if the precinct captain could see me now! '<i>You're a real loose cannon mate, you better straighten up and do things by the bloody book or whatever</i>': I bet that's what he'd say!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Such whimsical thoughts are quickly cast aside as I drop to the floor, directly into the torch-beam of a patrolling guard (having failed a Luck test).</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7YI4nplsR4xmV5dBESDGKloj5iTVblELzPg6fow-jNFcab_dyKu0gDdEzJFr4YKjAF6pB4lRJYsO4qWAukcpaKGGQlr0UKwYROd76I6BjttQ3W2phKb_1R_5z3j60wggdOcL2Feb8MA0/s3012/20210529_093050.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3012" data-original-width="1824" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7YI4nplsR4xmV5dBESDGKloj5iTVblELzPg6fow-jNFcab_dyKu0gDdEzJFr4YKjAF6pB4lRJYsO4qWAukcpaKGGQlr0UKwYROd76I6BjttQ3W2phKb_1R_5z3j60wggdOcL2Feb8MA0/w388-h640/20210529_093050.jpg" title="FOOLISHLY DISMISSING THE LITTLE PEW-PEW GUN" width="388" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>SECURITY GUARD, SKILL 10, STAMINA 8. <br />He has some sick Oakleys and a little pew-pew gun.</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I decide to add assault to my list of infractions in the line of duty and violently subdue him without much difficulty. Hopefully he's not dead? The book doesn't say. Stepping over his crumpled form, I access a terminal that's right there under the skylight I dropped through and I just log into it without a password or <i>anything</i>. However, weirdly I only have access to government files about transportation, so I can't look up anything to do with <i>State v. Z. Gross & B. "Blaster" Babbet </i>(BTW I love that the prosecutors decided to use his nick-name in the official records). <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I quickly pick up that there are suspicious gaps in the air traffic control records, so my investigation takes yet another 90 degree turn and I decide to go bail up the Chief of Air Traffic Control. <i>You go to the main heli-port where the Air-Traffic Chief works </i>- clearly an unremarkable place, not worthy of a description of its "crypto-fluorescent" signage or the suchlike. It's round about knock-off time, so I'm given the option of either tailing the chief home from work, or waiting for him to leave and breaking into his office. Given the flair for cat-burglary I've already shown, I opt for the latter. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">This proves to be a matter of looking up the building directory to find the guy's office, then going in there. <i>Sneaky</i>. There's a 50/50 chance that the Chief is still in his office, but in my universe he was not. I immediately delve into his "private computer files" and find a reference to a large amount of unauthorised traffic between Kether and a rock in the asteroid field named C230. Somebody's coming so I bail out of the office and head back to my spaceship to immediately chase down this extremely tenuous lead!<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk3ThSKKb6k5MS_5qPh_2CnenKafq9PadTJT9CKNG6PhStjD2pNyJiHdjsrp8UvaUzLwP6YfYSprn35Gsn1Rus70bkvXsH2GGf59qQAHW4H2fro8-gMR4DOYyXEnOaFAW9NlKsU0W03GU/s336/asteroid+gif.gif" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="252" data-original-width="336" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk3ThSKKb6k5MS_5qPh_2CnenKafq9PadTJT9CKNG6PhStjD2pNyJiHdjsrp8UvaUzLwP6YfYSprn35Gsn1Rus70bkvXsH2GGf59qQAHW4H2fro8-gMR4DOYyXEnOaFAW9NlKsU0W03GU/s320/asteroid+gif.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Cue travel montage!</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So, space asteroid C230 is a <i>real trip</i> y'all. I zip in there in my wee spacecraft and space-walk over to a vent, since crawling through the vents Die Hard-style seems to be very in line with my character at this point. Peeping through the first grille I encounter, there's like a "<i>guttering red flame</i>" in an otherwise empty room. This is some bizarrely Conan the Barbarian type shit to come across in the midst of my sci-fi detective story so of course I can't resist checking it out. <br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">As I approach, the flame flares up into a "<i>hellish purple</i>" and I think better of meddling with things beyond my ken and head for the exit- but the doors slam closed in my face. Turning back to the flame - here is what I am confronted with:</div><div style="text-align: left;"> <br /></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitVzOYaVe9561M2zPV17OjrA5_J9R6ASjod6-36HVGjQHGRIfL9F3Zqes0q_gq4y8XPo7SOhR-KIWGugBpD400NamyyMEHsUH7e2Udt4KbLlWdDNrqsJcYyX7kB8HRCI57yc7x3OV2PVI/s3530/20210529_093157.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3530" data-original-width="2413" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitVzOYaVe9561M2zPV17OjrA5_J9R6ASjod6-36HVGjQHGRIfL9F3Zqes0q_gq4y8XPo7SOhR-KIWGugBpD400NamyyMEHsUH7e2Udt4KbLlWdDNrqsJcYyX7kB8HRCI57yc7x3OV2PVI/w438-h640/20210529_093157.jpg" title="DO NOT WANT" width="438" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Oh no! No, no no. Nope. Noooooooo thank you. </i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>If that awful image were to be animated, you would see that the abberation also turns blue and keeps sprouting new appendages in front of your gaping eyes. <i> </i></p><p><i>THIS. SHIT. REALLY. TOOK. A. TURN. HUH.</i></p><p>You can<i> </i>shoot at it or talk to it. I don't like my chances drawing down on this fucking Lovecraft monster, so I wrack my brain for a suitable question to ask. The book gives you 3 options:</p><p>1) ARGH OH NO WHAT IS IT WHAT IS IT, PLEASE GOD PROTECT ME FROM THIS THING, WHAT IS IT<br /></p><p>2) HOLD UP WHAT THE HELL KIND OF SPACE STATION IS THIS EVEN<br /></p><p>3) Hi there! Know anything about the "Rings of Kether"? By which I mean drug rings, I'm looking for them. I appear to have taken a wrong turn, sorry!<br /></p><p>Question #1 seems like the most relatable and best role-playing option, however at this point I very clearly need a lot of help with my detective work so I went with Question #3. And against all expectation, the unimaginable cosmic <i>Thing </i>rocks back on its maggot-like haunches, thinks for a moment and busts out a dubious Yoda impression.</p><p><i>In the wrong place, you are.</i></p><p><i>Misled, you have been.</i></p><p><i>With the Customs officials, you should be. </i></p><p>Then it telekentically hurtles you out of the room and slams the door. <i> </i>"<i>Well sir,</i>" I think to myself as I gingerly rub the bruises on my butt,
"<i>this is about the darnedest police investigation I ever did embark
upon.</i>" </p><p>Seems like this particular eldritch blashpemy is now my star informant though - remember those dodgy Customs guys who confiscated my super cool spy raywhen I arrived on Kether? The ones I didn't give a second thought? In retrospect: that was kind of suspicious, wasn't it?</p><p>You can further explore the space station but I didn't see much point and headed back to the airport (again), wondering if these little jaunts out to the asteroid belt were taking weeks or months, as they might in any realistic space travel scenario. Maybe that's why I packed so many space bananas. The book gives no indication. <br /></p><p>Before I push this narrative into its final, unedifying phase, I bet you're wondering WTF that monster was. Me too, so I took a peek at the answers to the other questions. What is it? In its own words: <i>a mind parasite, one of the great old ones from ancient Kyth</i>, so yeah, very much an surprise veer into Lovecraft homage in this sci-fi gumshoe story. And the space station itself is <i>a monastery dedicated to the merciless Thuvald of Kyth</i>, which is scarcely information worth getting Jazzy Jeffed out the door. Thus I'm glad I asked for a clue instead (but probably could have ask for the bloody Lotto numbers am I right??!?!)</p><p>To investigation Customs, you have options of intimidation, bribery or sneaking about eavesdropping. Stealth has pretty much been established as my character's MO at this point so I slink into the freight depot and hide in a locker. Conveniently, a group of corrupt officials take receipt of a consignment of Satophil-D right in front of me, loudly proclaiming things like "<i>This must be the stuff - you know, Satophil-D - dope, stuff, dust" </i>before stamping the crates as approved for export. I spring forth brandishing a blaster and enact an on-the-spot interrogation. </p><p>"Who's in charge of this racket?" I bellow, holding my little pew-pew gun sideways in a gangsta grip for added intimidation points. My fearsome posture is too effective, if anything, and they respond in a series of mangled sentence fragments that I reproduce here:</p><p><i>'The Isosceles Tower...' says one Customs official.</i></p><p><i>'...in the city...' says another.</i></p><p><i>'...top floor...' says the last.</i></p><p><i>'...and don't forget the communications satellite in the L16 orbit...' gasps </i>(?!)<i> the helicopter pilot.</i></p><p><i>'No... we won't,' say the others. </i><br /></p><p></p><p>I then arrest the group - or is the better word kidnap? - locking them up in my spaceship, without troubling with any follow-up questions or further clarification of that string of nonsense. I have the option of going to Isosceles Tower or checking out the satellite. It seems I have an unerring instinct for wasting my time in this adventure, so I fly up to the satellite, risk my life in a spacewalk over to it (couple of SKILL checks you need to pass), and learn that it's a comms uplink, basically a clue that points directly back to Isosceles Tower again! </p><p>Incidentally, you can choose to blow up the satellite instead of spacewalking to it, which results in a failure ending because you have "destroyed your last clue" - seems like a flaw in the book since I already knew about Isosceles Tower. Anyway the satellite was pointless so I head off to Isosceles Tower just a little bit older and stupider than I would have been otherwise. <br /></p><h1 style="text-align: left;">Failure, and Death<br /></h1><p>Well, an isosceles triangle is where two lines of equal length meet in an acute angle, but the Isosceles Tower is where Yours Truly meets an obtuse fate. On the 50th floor I find the office of "<i>Z. Gross & Associates, Import/Export</i>" - Z. Gross being the person charged alongside "Blaster" Babbet in the old court records I found earlier. The office is unlocked, and venturing inside I am confronted with the first and only T-junction of my adventure - truly a sign of what an unusual FF gamebook this one is. I head right, entering a room where two "<i>brutish-looking characters</i>" are shredding paper files and chucking magnetic tapes into an incinerator. "<i>This must be a museum showcasing office technologies of the late 20th Century</i>", I think to myself before hitting the deck cos these naughty boys are drawing down on me. I finally get to have a shoot-out and I drop them without difficulty thanks to my excellent but underutilised SKILL score. One of them had a pew-pew gun with full-auto mode, which I get to keep (for the remaining few seconds of my lifespan). </p><p>Heading into the next room, I am ambushed by a "<i>tall, gangly bureaucrat</i>" who brains me with a paperweight (another of the museum's exhibits I suppose). Instakill on a failed Luck test - that's all she wrote :(<br /></p><p></p><h1 style="text-align: left;">Notable Encounters<br /></h1><p>Who could forget the mind-parasite from ancient Kith? What the hell was it doing in this book? Other than that, most of the encounters are vanilla henchmen, security guards and the like. So not too much to say here. But flicking through the book, there is this guy, ARCTURIAN VANQUE: </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2968" data-original-width="1912" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpJ41G0NFOjNg7KmdkhbopKxI0-ALluxVNRngahvQO_07fcDTJtpB_PohNVgeMK703FazUB3qmlHYt7Mrx1WJHtCGRJ8mSkIJSczKu05GiLUQm_jSn6wF4-Yp9_vGqDCkE2YJ7l1WTIXE/w412-h640/20210529_093746.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="ARCTURIAN VANQUE, SKILL 7 STAMINA 10" width="412" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Wait, is that.... electrified underpants that he's holding???</i></td></tr></tbody></table> <p></p><p>There's also a robot dog that someone has loving pasted fur onto... </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAaug4sa1KmGXxKdW3vPUPLZgEQgngUNoIjPeXITK_pPgVMAUFrEBnao4GbRayVb9oygTb0rghT1CrUVR05CTC6lT3r-GJ-f3dW_MzBKSIR5SGkPja2qqQRcH7TJOhEVwg_YVwsv2tB8M/s2676/20210529_094120.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2676" data-original-width="1736" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAaug4sa1KmGXxKdW3vPUPLZgEQgngUNoIjPeXITK_pPgVMAUFrEBnao4GbRayVb9oygTb0rghT1CrUVR05CTC6lT3r-GJ-f3dW_MzBKSIR5SGkPja2qqQRcH7TJOhEVwg_YVwsv2tB8M/w416-h640/20210529_094120.jpg" title="Goddam manufacturers with your bespoke cables, is USB-C not good enough for you???" width="416" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I suppose the gross hole in its neck is where the charging cable plugs in. <br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>...and TV's Richard Karn makes a cameo as "Mr. Samuel", a beleaguered member of Kether's Vice Squad and the only straight cop in Kether.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu_E3JlYFalkcb9HdAIDuIVdEz4bqhy8uSXw1w39VJ2HJg-G5l8JWEFZbDb_3GeZEj0ZrDaGJjenFFdEflUv6eZ_1wdZ7mecFpcrMUzFuMLbayKRXxHmFpohrO0rCWd2_5Hb0G1S9GjzU/s2048/i+think+not%252C+timothy.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1247" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu_E3JlYFalkcb9HdAIDuIVdEz4bqhy8uSXw1w39VJ2HJg-G5l8JWEFZbDb_3GeZEj0ZrDaGJjenFFdEflUv6eZ_1wdZ7mecFpcrMUzFuMLbayKRXxHmFpohrO0rCWd2_5Hb0G1S9GjzU/w390-h640/i+think+not%252C+timothy.png" title="I have the feeling that Tim Allen, on the other hand, would definitely be up for some Satophil-D" width="390" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mr. Sammy shows up if you attempt to contact the local authorities in the beginning.<br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><br /></p><h1 style="text-align: left;">The SKELETON Count</h1><p>You wouldn't expect SKELETONS in a sci-fi book about busting drug-runners, but then you wouldn't expect a giant fiery snake with the face of a middle-aged school-teacher and spindly little chitinous arms poking out of its neck either, <u><i>and we sure as shit got one of those</i></u>. But sadly, the author's derangement did not extend so far as to have SKELETON GUARDS at Blaster Babbet's stash house or anything like that. <br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-pl8SGVBzxRSXVCN1F2Wcy_xcksr9iMqSxKOgHw3kMBxslNrPaGdWQzZ4gMe8UcjzX6bhxBQiox3yIyjvfvjxyx6qfYM64dv8Sc7YKIMiXxtSwLFOrz3988WK5pfFfXpTsX05rDWOd5I/s320/space_skeleton.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="226" data-original-width="320" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-pl8SGVBzxRSXVCN1F2Wcy_xcksr9iMqSxKOgHw3kMBxslNrPaGdWQzZ4gMe8UcjzX6bhxBQiox3yIyjvfvjxyx6qfYM64dv8Sc7YKIMiXxtSwLFOrz3988WK5pfFfXpTsX05rDWOd5I/w320-h226/space_skeleton.jpg" title="The silver lining is that I get to re-use this image yet again" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><h1 style="text-align: left;">Final Thoughts<br /></h1><p></p><p>The idea at the heart of <i>Rings</i> is interesting, in that you are working through an investigation rather than exploring a dungeon or similar adventure location. Conceptually, the "map" of this gamebook is a bunch of investigative options, which have "exits" towards other leads that may put you closer or further away to closing in on the drug ring. Certain sections, such as the "GO TO THE LIBRARY" bit seem to be fall-backs for when you've made the wrong decisions elsewhere. The book feels very rushed in many areas and as such the concept doesn't quite come together, especially if you take a very sub-optimal path as I did. Make no mistake - my investigation was a real dog's fukken breakfast. Let's recap it quickly:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>turned up on Kether with five thousand kopecks, ten thousand space bananas, and zero fucking clues<br /></li><li>went to a bar, embarassed myself talking some shit about "underworld largesse", then bribed a waitress with some ridiculous amount amount of money (like, she probably would have done it for HALF what I offered)<br /></li><li>guy she introduced me to immediately made me for a narc, then got killed before I could learn anything from him<br /></li><li>went to the library to (apparently) "research" the killer I saw leaving the hotel room (?!?)</li><li>found a couple of random names in the court records, looked them up in the phone book but ignored what I found<br /></li><li>broke into government archives, possibly murdered a guard, looked up the space traffic records and found something faintly dodgy, but totally unconnected to the drug trade<br /></li><li>broke into the office of the Chief of Air Traffic Control and found references to some random asteriod in connection with the same bum lead<br /></li><li>went to said asteroid, which turned out to be a freaky space monastery somehow parachuted in from a different genre </li><li>met a Cthulhu monster who took pity on me and dropped a hint that I should be investigating Customs</li><li>hid in a locker in the Customs freight depot for a while, then jumped out and scared some guys with my gun (BTW we must assume these guys are dead from starvation now because I locked them up on my starship and never came back)<br /></li><li>acting immediately on the first mangled garbage that dropped from their mouths, I fly up to a satellite and risk my life doing EVAs to learn nothing new whatsoever<br /></li><li>go to Isosceles tower, kill two guys in a shoot-out and then get my skull renovated by some pencil-neck from the Accounts Payable department of a front company</li><li>die miserably<br /></li></ul><p>It doesn't exactly read like one of Sam Spade's finest. At this point, I have to ask - <i>was I even really a cop??? </i> I had no support, seemingly no official authority - looking at the things I did, several of them were <i>actual crimes </i>and I could very reasonably have been sent to jail myself. Basically the only smart thing I did was ask the non-Euclidean ululating space menace to tell me what to do, <i>and that bitch might have been a hallucination all along</i>. Could it be... in true Fighting Fantasy fashion... I was just another wandering, homicidal lunatic???</p><p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9waUtVwHsIPAaB_j-O06c7uKJxn0hiSOMr7IwfKgtLx98uMF30W5rlpktyhJ7ehocCPUFx1xmY2dsZ6JDrrQZg68V72jZdHQNzItviHKTVcNd4CUWoy1iAPmVpck4SxmCVk8kzPMGI_U/s320/r8antdixon.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="211" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9waUtVwHsIPAaB_j-O06c7uKJxn0hiSOMr7IwfKgtLx98uMF30W5rlpktyhJ7ehocCPUFx1xmY2dsZ6JDrrQZg68V72jZdHQNzItviHKTVcNd4CUWoy1iAPmVpck4SxmCVk8kzPMGI_U/w211-h320/r8antdixon.jpg" title="At this point, this is perhaps too deep of a cut even for New Zealanders." width="211" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Makes ya think. <br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p> </p><br /><br />Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17408095504472495097noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618556584663522444.post-2362719951463946592021-05-28T13:53:00.002-07:002024-02-24T23:13:21.675-08:00Afterword - Temple of Terror game for the ZX Spectrum <p> Heya,</p><p> Thanks for the enthusiastic comments and of course all the friendly BOMs. I have done my play through of <i>The Rings of Kether, </i>write up has begun. Permit me to say: <i>Rings </i>is an odd one.<br /></p><p>Last post I made liberal use of screenshots from a ZX Spectrum adaptation of Temple of Terror as a text adventure. There's a full playthrough on YouTube here:</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xHy3m37njvc" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="850" data-original-width="1217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8e8IcTSRttrcZambPM0CBX4yKvNxnjKp3RLBws94LsizHrNKQAC6baKptwPIQhAf6Q4ejh7Nf2nVt4uQccC0mTL0xYQLkjlVva0qJS5OF0P5Zt2uzSHofTpYOHtqVV5moFHqEJOYqmtA/s320/serpent+guard+in+speccy+game.PNG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xHy3m37njvc" target="_blank">CLICK ON SERPENT GUARD<br /></a></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p></p><p>My first computer was a Speccy 48K and so I have strong nostalgia for this era of gaming, though I've never played the Temple of Terror text adventure itself. I can't exactly recommend the video, especially considering that in true Spectrum fashion, the entire soudtrack is just a harsh grating beep that plays for each and every key-press. Nevertheless if you're a true Pit Friend like me, it may hold some interest to see how the gamebook was adapted to text adventure format, where there is greater freedom of options and no combat system. Surprising options such as KICK SAND AT SERPENT GUARD become available!</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br /></p>Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17408095504472495097noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618556584663522444.post-53637218047541864632021-05-24T02:13:00.004-07:002021-05-24T02:14:35.407-07:00#14 - "Temple of Terror" by Ian Livingstone (1985) <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZHCe2mmhqHclsCs0Prp5T4Upyu9ULkpbXr9CF9HJaN1FtJxQPjBiWyQTmvQV6yh2_8ZwwcJKzax_IIFlG5J_9I56yn3cQcoN9y7NeDkYXxoTmaVdh68t1xLQ-sP19zFaTbnKqwUdBtVk/s1600/FF14_Temple_of_Terror.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZHCe2mmhqHclsCs0Prp5T4Upyu9ULkpbXr9CF9HJaN1FtJxQPjBiWyQTmvQV6yh2_8ZwwcJKzax_IIFlG5J_9I56yn3cQcoN9y7NeDkYXxoTmaVdh68t1xLQ-sP19zFaTbnKqwUdBtVk/s320/FF14_Temple_of_Terror.jpg" title="WHAT'S UP, CUTIE???" width="193" /></a></div>
Somehow I'm here again, volunteering for another suicide mission.<br />
<br />
<i>'We need a fearless young warrior who is willing to risk life and limb to save us all. Is there one among you who would volunteer?' </i><br />
[...]<br />
<i>With a wry smile on your face, you raise your arm in the air and offer your services. Yaztromo sees you and says, 'Haven't I seen you somewhere before?'</i><br />
<br />
Well, it was like ten years ago, and I <b>think </b>I wouldn't have been wearing a crown, can't remember exactly when I started doing that but it was maybe later, and, ah - <b>oh yeah</b> - probably also I had no wings back then and <b>I was</b> <b>not continuously on fire</b>, but yes, we <b>have </b>met before, Yaztromo. You were my boss.<br />
<br />
Some folks got a great memory for faces I guess, or in your case Yaz, something more like a memory for <b>silhouettes</b>, what with my body being a more or less totally charred and blackened husk after the last mission you sent me on.<br />
<i> </i><br />
<br />
But hey, Yazza - it's good to see you. Nice to be working together again.<br />
<br />
<br />
Hello, my friends - today we are playing <i>Temple of Terror</i>, and because it's a direct sequel to <a href="http://turnto400.blogspot.co.nz/2010/08/3-forest-of-doom-by-ian-livingstone.html"><i>Forest of Doom</i></a>, I'll be playing as THIS GUY:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifsxxUE47x-eLpsvTJoPM0yME6ESkDdE1JUefHQLrdub3J0QphQvTSsvIp0p0-PniYeqx63qXkjNvCIe80u0TFkX8ETQOJ2vv3bae-QcNMMqWotgaytQNxFbHzHX9Q1NWYtP576u37mwE/s1600/fire+demon.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifsxxUE47x-eLpsvTJoPM0yME6ESkDdE1JUefHQLrdub3J0QphQvTSsvIp0p0-PniYeqx63qXkjNvCIe80u0TFkX8ETQOJ2vv3bae-QcNMMqWotgaytQNxFbHzHX9Q1NWYtP576u37mwE/s640/fire+demon.jpg" title="FIRE DEMON" width="419" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"Never mind," says Yaztromo, "you look like the kind of person we want."</i></td></tr>
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<h1 style="text-align: left;">
<b>Background</b></h1>
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So, to back it up a little - I am cooling out in Stonebridge<i>, "after the rigours of a recent quest... enjoying the merry company of the Dwarfs... the local blacksmith has honed the blade of your sword as only Dwarfs can"</i>.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWcZUx-sscNfq522fIWsL8F0isfLlHlEWSY4v5O2RgzdgOrz7NL1tjRqtevsRVhmKVVAdVCEAnZOm5V6U54ZaVl8-j2IORaAs20mu0xdf0pL4CjmgX1A77OI9xODUFhSxQ7ua4eMJ0Wn4/s1600/sexy+dwarfish+blacksmith.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWcZUx-sscNfq522fIWsL8F0isfLlHlEWSY4v5O2RgzdgOrz7NL1tjRqtevsRVhmKVVAdVCEAnZOm5V6U54ZaVl8-j2IORaAs20mu0xdf0pL4CjmgX1A77OI9xODUFhSxQ7ua4eMJ0Wn4/s400/sexy+dwarfish+blacksmith.jpg" title="google image searches for "blacksmith" and "sexy blacksmith" have a neglible delta" width="303" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Hooray! A statement which was intended innocently by the author, can instead be interpreted as a sex thing!</i></td></tr>
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Since, as diligent readers will recall, I did not win <i><a href="http://turnto400.blogspot.com/2010/08/3-forest-of-doom-by-ian-livingstone.html">Forest of Doom</a>, </i>but instead turned into a FIRE DEMON and took over management of an underground mushroom farm entirely staffed by wizened, inscrutable CLONES, I will say that my "recent quest" was, like, I had a mushroom delivery for King Gillibran and I needed to hit the general store to pick up thirty kilos of baking soda to re-up my cloning vat.<br />
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I don't remember what were the supposed consequences of failing to recover the Hammer of Gillibran in <i>Forest</i> - but, we can safely assume they were not as bad as everyone thought. Though given that I'm a fire demon, psychopath, and someone who just wears a big evil crown 24/7, perhaps it caused some crazy shift in societal norms, a greasy slide into moral decadence that enables Yours Truly to somehow avoid the status of a total pariah, and thus be gladly getting on that Merry-Merry with my main Dwarfs - <i>as only Dwarfs can</i>. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBE7BG5rEDDqfusXFogFxdSDzuEkwPYP5F4FU18iw9y7JvV83BBr9hYA0U-F0T0dmAkqk1UYJ65tvLOsJ13S_ORJGPnodg9TPpGjiZdGW3WNV455qQkABvzhqlyUO2E7bd0YfXBBLYq8E/s1600/dishwashing+song.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBE7BG5rEDDqfusXFogFxdSDzuEkwPYP5F4FU18iw9y7JvV83BBr9hYA0U-F0T0dmAkqk1UYJ65tvLOsJ13S_ORJGPnodg9TPpGjiZdGW3WNV455qQkABvzhqlyUO2E7bd0YfXBBLYq8E/s400/dishwashing+song.jpg" title="Gettin' on that merry-merry" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Pictured: Flair dish-washing, a merry dwarfish pass-time.<br />The nihilistic/annoying lyrics are because they didn't get their dumb hammer back. </i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></td></tr>
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It is against this background that Yaztromo comes "<i>huffing and puffing</i>" into the Stonebridge town square like a database administrator who's been cajoled into a fun run. He must have jogged all the way from his tower - up the "Footpath", past the "Hills", over the "River" and then over the <b>other</b> "River"<b> </b>- which is quite a stretch for an old feller. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAkEIz61Agcs0r7RwjCyOav9CzmpwNpS7xZSn3JkqCMvgAhDnRPR5nAroe7Rxsy3kIB1NMWoK2GT20yJi2EEkG6hUR-BFvtUVx_9uN6ytmyIh37lmbRtcsrmxdj7w6ZkB7PT2XmQ78S6w/s1600/terrible+map.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAkEIz61Agcs0r7RwjCyOav9CzmpwNpS7xZSn3JkqCMvgAhDnRPR5nAroe7Rxsy3kIB1NMWoK2GT20yJi2EEkG6hUR-BFvtUVx_9uN6ytmyIh37lmbRtcsrmxdj7w6ZkB7PT2XmQ78S6w/s400/terrible+map.jpg" title="If I was responsible for this map, I would not even bother to authentically crinkle the edges and curl up the ends like that! I would scribble on it and write "NO" on top of the scribble!" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I'll say it again - this is one shitty fuckin' map. </i></td></tr>
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So, this gasping, sweat-soaked, hairy recluse - whose only reason for maintaining contact with the outside world, Ian tells us, is his love of cupcakes - this <i>known weirdo</i> clambers up on a soapbox in the town square and starts
telling everyone about a conversation that his pet crow overheard.</div><div> </div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSLvKqBQOPxwaSvTTA-be3x3ApbczdUH2vfDiF5GcTrJ14MCF7MYQwETg1EsDPEP4KO6MvUn0b4GVRUrDDhqLxjQ9jXwYhRSo0zoIxrEs79oEjV4THkWLQu0Iyx14TnLktTQH1i7usjJk/s3684/20210523_123242.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3684" data-original-width="2028" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSLvKqBQOPxwaSvTTA-be3x3ApbczdUH2vfDiF5GcTrJ14MCF7MYQwETg1EsDPEP4KO6MvUn0b4GVRUrDDhqLxjQ9jXwYhRSo0zoIxrEs79oEjV4THkWLQu0Iyx14TnLktTQH1i7usjJk/w352-h640/20210523_123242.jpg" width="352" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The artwork in </i>Temple <i>is pretty hit-and-miss but I will say this portrait of Yaztromo is mmm-mmm *chef's kiss* mwah, delizioso!</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div><p>The gist of his story is; there is a guy called Malbordus who was abandoned by his mother and raised instead by "Darkside Elves" in Darkwood Forest (Darkwood Forest has a Dark Side, apparently). These <u><i>Very</i></u> Dark Elves have been grooming him as an evil wizard and war-leader, putting up motivational posters of Balthus Dire on his bedroom wall and whatnot, and now as a final test of his excellence in evil, they are sending Malbordus to the Lost City of Vatos in the Desert of Skulls to find five ancient dragon charms which can totally turn into Real Actual Dragons. The plan then being that he will fly his five magic dragons back to Darkwood Forest, and in the meantime, the Elves will have raised a huge army, and then they will invade Poland. <br />
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What I enjoy about this set-up is that it reveals Allansia's baddies <b>also</b> have no problem with pinning their entire hope on one guy completing a fetch quest all by himself. I imagine the Darkside Elves sending Malbordus out the door with 10 x PROVISIONS and a pat on the bum, before turning to the enormous effort and cost of raising their army while they wait for him to return. Potentially a massive waste of effort should Malbordus fail to e.g. pick up a ball of beeswax that was inside the mouth of an ornamental soap dish shaped like an
alligator, in a room three doors down a side-corridor that he breezed straight past because it looked, <i>and I quote</i>: "a bit slimy". <br />
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So! Yaztromo was tipped off after his crow overheard one conversation that covered all this stuff.. Possibly it was someone's dying words, already proven to be the <a href="http://turnto400.blogspot.com/2011/12/9-caverns-of-snow-witch-by-ian.html">densest unit of information in Allansia</a>.<br />
<br />Predictably, Yaztromo's genius counter-gambit to the Dark Elves' plot is to send his own wandering swordsman to Vatos to grab up those dragon charms before Malbordus does. Which is where I come in.</p><p><i></i></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_kAE_Mvao1XPSoQPpVmZagViteqr4OIO0hZXqa7lCWMeVf4uVbJ4jhxB3e9I5xNRJS7iAu2Rl9E7NYhzQXm7JM5zH_9wdxHE8J3-b5wmu41ad-7MilKjhcX0mnfFEsZDKYAXDl4x-jDw/s250/volunteers.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_kAE_Mvao1XPSoQPpVmZagViteqr4OIO0hZXqa7lCWMeVf4uVbJ4jhxB3e9I5xNRJS7iAu2Rl9E7NYhzQXm7JM5zH_9wdxHE8J3-b5wmu41ad-7MilKjhcX0mnfFEsZDKYAXDl4x-jDw/s16000/volunteers.jpg" title="Put that shit on my tombstone" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's me! Willing, and... able? Ish? Definitely willing anyway!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i></i></div><p>
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</p><h1 style="text-align: left;">
Rolling Up My Dude</h1>
Let me address the baluchitherium in the room - it has been a <i>LONG-ASS TIME </i>since I completed a post! I apologise to those who had already mourned my death. In fact, there have been two previous attempts to write up <i>Temple of Terror</i>, about three years apart maybe, both honouring the original rules of play, rolled up in regulation style, and both ate shit almost immediately, <i>in exactly the same way</i>.<br />
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You see, a little while after Yaztromo sends you trudging off towards the desert on foot, he gets on Reddit or something and reads a bunch of horse-shit about how Gandalf could've clocked Lord of the Rings really quickly by summoning a giant eagle to carry Frodo to Mt. Doom. You might think that sounds quite sensible, but: it is a very bad idea and you are dumb for liking it. <br />
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Why, you ask? I will let my dude the Grey-dogg break it down directly, and in his own inimitable style.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpW3GA50KGlJIIgLOFTBdGIx9N3qu15D2ffKZHW2u4bngx-o1URcmRU4Xtiv-tGUerlwonbpMGDVPRUHXkqBJsIxfCuV_CIA5e8U5jHOPfPMpXVSQOMLdKQyEMHOqz735ddoeZad1opF0/s1600/gandalf+monologue+pt+1.png"><img alt="" border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpW3GA50KGlJIIgLOFTBdGIx9N3qu15D2ffKZHW2u4bngx-o1URcmRU4Xtiv-tGUerlwonbpMGDVPRUHXkqBJsIxfCuV_CIA5e8U5jHOPfPMpXVSQOMLdKQyEMHOqz735ddoeZad1opF0/s640/gandalf+monologue+pt+1.png" title="I better hurry up and publish this before the Amazon series becomes the most relevant cultural reference for Gandalf!?!?!" width="584" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWD0d-U-UULmWqOXGX4f15_YwhGRKin8BfoNK_r4XEucETUceyHL7Hepuhm7Qkdw1H3WDbU5rmFNdZuSyRPDkiVRI6oI1FcbBSDyf4c9kTjJWSxX8bJTsHupdipMDfUEuaQucKC45JG7I/s1600/gandalf+photoshop+to+include+poster.png"><img border="0" height="348" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWD0d-U-UULmWqOXGX4f15_YwhGRKin8BfoNK_r4XEucETUceyHL7Hepuhm7Qkdw1H3WDbU5rmFNdZuSyRPDkiVRI6oI1FcbBSDyf4c9kTjJWSxX8bJTsHupdipMDfUEuaQucKC45JG7I/w640-h348/gandalf+photoshop+to+include+poster.png" title="Well do I remember that sense of panic as my bleary eyes focused on the Gandalf poster - WHOSE FUKKEN ROOM AM I IN?!!??" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5_LhTLaJxN7ZcF8T7FIoU-TryIv_kFWEZSC0aCns781La8IOJi-rZPB3p8bE6TjXcNgLOupjI6ugMtidQKV8cI5zvEVzgDNCatyCqY4Wn6h6IYF_hG4P7gtGjYqCOInYxSPyH2M1vxho/s1600/gandalf+monologue+pt+3.png"><img border="0" data-original-height="626" data-original-width="799" height="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5_LhTLaJxN7ZcF8T7FIoU-TryIv_kFWEZSC0aCns781La8IOJi-rZPB3p8bE6TjXcNgLOupjI6ugMtidQKV8cI5zvEVzgDNCatyCqY4Wn6h6IYF_hG4P7gtGjYqCOInYxSPyH2M1vxho/w640-h500/gandalf+monologue+pt+3.png" title="Me: immortal Maia, kin to the Valar, old before the world began. You: a 43 year old nerd who lied about finishing the Silmarillion." width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnfwoJrX2jXeCeRRj9y_P4HD53YPR1rTaVSHWfQyR79HMexFz5NiOp13cbaUVrSXmjO7_dpaQ83owsDBVxqfBCfKdspz5hMcB3XwG0x5zL6ZRf1uE-Skx3DDD1EQTSNEo9aoEoDJdHn_0/s1600/gandalf+monologue+pt+4.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="698" data-original-width="855" height="522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnfwoJrX2jXeCeRRj9y_P4HD53YPR1rTaVSHWfQyR79HMexFz5NiOp13cbaUVrSXmjO7_dpaQ83owsDBVxqfBCfKdspz5hMcB3XwG0x5zL6ZRf1uE-Skx3DDD1EQTSNEo9aoEoDJdHn_0/s640/gandalf+monologue+pt+4.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhICYgNNmqMlRuGQkx97Q1AIAmbvPpk9HcfzvpYa0jszvIX9xjx5E6YvS0H4k1FuF1Z4xA2S-Cy7Qh6yvxuj4XXQiQC6Sj6jJpfyv5OvZseMyGUWQZnNNWYJKipbyyLXtuH5ZK07lUzjOU/s1600/gandalf+whispers+to+moth+-+large+font.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="659" data-original-width="1600" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhICYgNNmqMlRuGQkx97Q1AIAmbvPpk9HcfzvpYa0jszvIX9xjx5E6YvS0H4k1FuF1Z4xA2S-Cy7Qh6yvxuj4XXQiQC6Sj6jJpfyv5OvZseMyGUWQZnNNWYJKipbyyLXtuH5ZK07lUzjOU/s640/gandalf+whispers+to+moth+-+large+font.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>
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So yeah it's PTERODACTYLS. That was the reason.<br />
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Yaztromo though, is just a third-rate knock-off of ya boy the Shadowfax Kidd and he doesn't get it. If you decide to walk all the way to Vatos (like an idiot - you can take a boat instead) - he will send a Giant Eagle to give you lift.<br />
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Well, sure enough once you have been flying through the air for a bit a "<i>hideous PTERODACTYL</i>" attacks. The annoying thing about this combat is that it's between the GIANT EAGLE and the PTERODACTYL - apart from one round of ranged combat if you have a bow or the right spell, YOU cannot contribute. And because this is probably the same dumb fukken eagle that dropped the Hammer of Gillibran in Darkwood Forest, the PTERODACTYL has higher SKILL, making it mathematically very likely that you're going to eat shit.
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjITKizJXH5MU1DZ3prY5sJ8CIotGjLOOarzWnquPfYyqjyAoP_7gz5d7PdR25BPdCEwWVlDPMjXqmuUXuHlTJ1L-ASPoMMx-AWOPfHlsoApmzb6Cb2dvlvWZEg8jg3yb-WUeuy7uG2h2Y/s1600/you+are+attacked+by+a+terodactyl.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjITKizJXH5MU1DZ3prY5sJ8CIotGjLOOarzWnquPfYyqjyAoP_7gz5d7PdR25BPdCEwWVlDPMjXqmuUXuHlTJ1L-ASPoMMx-AWOPfHlsoApmzb6Cb2dvlvWZEg8jg3yb-WUeuy7uG2h2Y/s400/you+are+attacked+by+a+terodactyl.png" title="I like to think this is a deliberate and principled rejection of the Silent P and not just a spelling mistake." width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Anatomy of a Wack Situation</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Anyway here's my dude, a strong little on-fire man from <i>Forest of Doom:</i><br />
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<i> </i><br />
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<i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOKGGr3HOC_-S4MVgDKyRJGYg1BskgFOPHwmDNwaF_gF9yI9IkaCDhnpcirEjd3RVD3dnAzI9hvSMsT0BwQQpkJLCiAC-uEXWumkvkGep_Z3oWubOsYmHWY5g4wq3-w21taVHxxwUbzG0/s1600/cute+fire+demon.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOKGGr3HOC_-S4MVgDKyRJGYg1BskgFOPHwmDNwaF_gF9yI9IkaCDhnpcirEjd3RVD3dnAzI9hvSMsT0BwQQpkJLCiAC-uEXWumkvkGep_Z3oWubOsYmHWY5g4wq3-w21taVHxxwUbzG0/w640-h480/cute+fire+demon.png" title="Arte Friki is my absolute favourite Spanish language crochet blog" width="640" /></a></i></div><p>
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SKILL - 12<br />
STAMINA - 15<br />
LUCK - 11<br />
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Plus on each combat round, roll 1d6, on a 1 or 2, I hit the bad man with my whip for an extra 1 STAMINA damage.<br />
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Is this cheating??? Nope! Just very great role-playing!<i> </i><br />
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</p><h1 style="text-align: left;">
The Adventure</h1><p>
Yeah so you get to his tower and Yaztromo, that <i>slapdash motherfucker</i>, makes a big deal out the ten flimsy Level-1-ass spells that he knows, only lets you learn four and then boots you out the door with 25GP pocket money.<br />
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I decided to opt for utility spells over combat options, since I already hit like a goddamn tyrannosaur. <br />
<i>Detect Trap - </i>in case there is trap!<br /><i>
Create Water - </i>for when I'm thirsty!<br /><i>
Language - </i>for Google Translate!<br /><i>
Light </i>- in case it gets dark!<br />
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These spells cost STAMINA points to use by the way, with the exception of Create Water, which is nice 'cos it's the only one that turns out to be useful. <br />
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Yaztromo's crow - whom he unsentimentally addresses as "crow" - escorts you for the first three hours / six sentences of the journey, which to be fair is a lot more support than you usually get as a lone adventurer with the fate of the world hanging in the balance. Thanks, "crow"!<br />
<br />
So, we gotta make our way to the Desert of Skulls. Dare I hope some of the skulls will have boney bodies attached? (gentle whisper: "SKELETONS"). But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Our first big choice is whether to travel downriver to Port Blacksand and try to take passage by sea, or just, you know, walk. Walking is clearly the dumber option, which triggers an exasperated Yaztromo to send his crappy Giant Eagle to come help you. I'd rather thumb a ride with Richie Valens and the Big Bopper than go through that again, so instead I jump onto a barge with these "rough-looking characters":<br />
<br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwJ4h6Nusg9whG7KlNresqU_KyCZxthyphenhyphenLsvFKm_6MsBVT1QctKM_Dkm9in21Y6pjD82iKDVjabZdF2hb2KISbmVikmLrCpMy_iOPTzDuhRz2H5Tq9s8ng6GD6e1Pg1Azmm-ad4gp54L_M/s3632/20210523_124020.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3632" data-original-width="2096" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwJ4h6Nusg9whG7KlNresqU_KyCZxthyphenhyphenLsvFKm_6MsBVT1QctKM_Dkm9in21Y6pjD82iKDVjabZdF2hb2KISbmVikmLrCpMy_iOPTzDuhRz2H5Tq9s8ng6GD6e1Pg1Azmm-ad4gp54L_M/w370-h640/20210523_124020.jpg" title="Easily handsome enough for the core cast of Coronation Street ." width="370" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A realistic depiction of ordinary British men circa. 1985. This is what half the dudes on BBC TV looked like back then.</i><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />
The captain is a little surprised that someone is willing to pay to go to "the city of thieves" (Ian Livingstone:<span class="emoji">😉</span>); but otherwise doesn't seem to mind ferrying an on-fire demon-boy with a spooky crown, so we're golden.<br />
<br />
I reached Port Blacksand by the evening of the same day. It's a brief stopover - there's not a lot of Port Blacksand content in the book - but nevertheless I manage to get swindled and jumped by ne'er-do-wells twice before booking passage out. I'll spare you the details, but as a general piece of advice, if "<i>suddenly an old man in tattered clothes jumps out of a doorway</i>" with an offer that seems too good to be true - it probably is!<br />
<i></i><br />
Paying off a bartender gets me a seat next to the first mate of the good ship <i>Belladonna</i>, who introduces himself as Gargo. And I introduce <i>myself</i> as Dread Lord Rantastuphan, Master of Mushrooms AKA the Clone King AKA The Embodied Flame AKA Candle Guy. Gargo shakes me down for ten geeps and puts me in charge of loading cannonballs during the voyage south, because, hey why not put the permanently on-fire man right next to the powder magazine. <br />
<div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNIoKMd63btA3XkqlFHpRIsdBosJBqLuG75EobAYBGjQz-ueiJ2BjGmOPFwpXxTfhDgFOSgzBlkFnvmUARrD8hxVZXZfPhx-iA_LWTSxIVGJMMuF_LxVeBNk1LmDuVQNtLzQltJagJrRo/s777/Gargo.PNG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="777" data-original-width="485" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNIoKMd63btA3XkqlFHpRIsdBosJBqLuG75EobAYBGjQz-ueiJ2BjGmOPFwpXxTfhDgFOSgzBlkFnvmUARrD8hxVZXZfPhx-iA_LWTSxIVGJMMuF_LxVeBNk1LmDuVQNtLzQltJagJrRo/w400-h640/Gargo.PNG" title="This MF is a vampire man with a laser light, AND a glow-in-the-dark Vampire Staff, AND he's got a little blue mate who I guess is an "ALIEN DEMON". Galoob really just chucking everything at the wall here huh" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Turns out the most famous namesake for First Mate Gargo is "Gargo the Vampire Man" from the Galoob line of toys and 1981 TV cartoon called Blackstar, which I guess was some kind of Masters of the Universe precursor. I'm sure everyone reading this will assume I know all about Blackstar but I never heard of it until one second ago. </i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div></div><div><br /></div><div>So, I'm supposed to be working for my passage (on top of paying 10 GP, the bloody cheek of it!!!) You'd think that just loading cannonballs wouldn't really be a full-time job, but this is <i>Fighting Fantasy</i>, so of course we get into a naval battle pretty much immediately and the <i>Belladonna</i> is unavoidably sunk. <br /></div>
<h2>
</h2><div>I chose not to swim towards the ship that sunk us in case they execute me for being a presumed pirate and/or presumed mid-level boss of an MMPORG. So after taking 2d6 STAMINA damage from getting wet, I wash up on the shore of the Desert of Skulls itself. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>At least I've reached my destination. Or rather... the vicinity of my destination. Which is to say, I've manage to strand myself in a pitiless sea of dunes, a bone-dry death trap that stretches from horizon to horizon, and somewhere within is my destination: the Lost City of Vatos. One speck of gold in a fistful of sand! And why is it called the Lost City of Vatos? Cos nobody knows where it is! It's worth taking a pause here to step back and evaluate - WHAT THE FUCK WAS MY PLAN ACTUALLY?!?!? Wander around the desert alone until I just stumble across the Lost City?</div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>Apparently: yes, that is the plan. Might as well get to it.</div></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG6ZwKh1Xjy3ezul-UTQyVGAgtyD-tMee-VbLprgFecJ8q36FTyZcAqGvdffKJTVz41r8FgZwSdz_PmuCWnKo1FZslSliiQt8L-J5Z2QD2jFflocKhigI4xvZnva-5bzsj8GHCYCXBVvk/s610/uncharterd+3+desert.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="343" data-original-width="610" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG6ZwKh1Xjy3ezul-UTQyVGAgtyD-tMee-VbLprgFecJ8q36FTyZcAqGvdffKJTVz41r8FgZwSdz_PmuCWnKo1FZslSliiQt8L-J5Z2QD2jFflocKhigI4xvZnva-5bzsj8GHCYCXBVvk/w640-h360/uncharterd+3+desert.jpg" title="Will I ever experience the emotional growth that Nate achieved by the end of Uncharted 4?" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>If Nathan Drake can do it why not me? We're both lovable, mass-murdering rogues.</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div></div><div>Wandering through the desert doesn't go too badly, all things considered, since I can magically create water at will. And I found some coconuts (?) on the beach (??) of the desert (???). That takes a lot of tension out of the situation! Though I do cop a bit of heat-stroke damage since I don't have a knotted hankie to keep the sun off my head. Some NEEDLE FLIES attack me - one at a time, which is very considerate - and they're not really a problem. I take 2 damage from a sand-storm and find a brass hand-bell poking out of the sand afterward. A guy on a camel says what's up. All iconic desert vibes, you know. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTKk3RhwJCeS-YxNk-RYZhzktQLmqxiBGmF3hzr_xITUflgmmZ0o4tcWe5jcN5OKfoHcEepLM5Z7AirGbDSE08ugcSPGVn1W0c158bncUZ1BD798ocpQ9OHXbjIYp_S1Ag-zk4O517680/s3552/20210523_123449.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3552" data-original-width="1972" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTKk3RhwJCeS-YxNk-RYZhzktQLmqxiBGmF3hzr_xITUflgmmZ0o4tcWe5jcN5OKfoHcEepLM5Z7AirGbDSE08ugcSPGVn1W0c158bncUZ1BD798ocpQ9OHXbjIYp_S1Ag-zk4O517680/w356-h640/20210523_123449.jpg" title="Plenty of Desert - fewer Skulls than in the brochure :(" width="356" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>ICONIC DESERT VIBEZ<br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div></div><div>Further aimless roaming gets me to a nomadic trader's tent. The proprietor, Abjul, is a stand-up G who comps you a kebab with the works. He's selling a bunch of antique store tat with no indication of what any of it does. I spent the rest of my cash 'cos you cannot take it with you when you die - which is more than a platitude in the Fighting Fantasy context since I am very likely dead within the next ten paragraphs. </div><div><br /></div><div>All of the items he sells are conspicuously featured in the accompanying art. This necessitates the "Crystal Key" being about the length of Abjul's forearm - it's like the big novelty "Key to the City" which Buster would get from the mayor for, I don't know, saving a cat from drowning in the canal or some similar act of working class childhood heroism. And if that reference is too bewilderingly specific - let me remind you that you're reading a blog that deep-dives into a gamebook series that about 0.01% of the population has any awareness of, let alone fondness for. Y<i>ou knew what you were getting into</i>. <br /></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><br />Here's what I scooped from the lucky dip:</div><div><i>Silver Mirror</i> - because even if it's not enchanted, mirrors are kind of useful, e.g. for touching up those weeping cracks in the skin of your blackened, smouldering face<br /></div><div><i>Bracelet of Mermaid Scales</i> - Abjul assures me this is the real deal, "straight off of a mermaid's butt". Probably lets you breathe underwater or whatever. Knowing my luck with magic items, it transforms your head into a fish's pee-hole.<span><br /></span></div><div><span><i>Ivory Beetle Charm</i> - 'COS I <3 BUGS </span>;)<br /></div><div> <br /></div><div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrfjDQkh4vAZGyw9Z7VmkL04ON7OKd9QZ-oJC1KeYejzRAdIviHWNj86_CPH350sbkpljfSUFy3jwuJMBoV5cQcjOL_wsYWQshHvEZF8TzhR-JN6NU0vOnVsZ8CP_jIVFSxg0I8d6g9QQ/s3344/20210523_124318.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3344" data-original-width="1876" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrfjDQkh4vAZGyw9Z7VmkL04ON7OKd9QZ-oJC1KeYejzRAdIviHWNj86_CPH350sbkpljfSUFy3jwuJMBoV5cQcjOL_wsYWQshHvEZF8TzhR-JN6NU0vOnVsZ8CP_jIVFSxg0I8d6g9QQ/w360-h640/20210523_124318.jpg" title="Is it racist of me to wonder if his body tapers down to a wispy little genie tail instead of a pair of feet?" width="360" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"Welcome effendi! Please inspect all my clearly-depicted, novelty-size wares!"</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div></div><div>Abjul is even kind enough to give me directions, of a sort. He "<i>thinks Vatos lies in the southern part of the Desert of Skulls</i>". Okay well - thanks for narrowing it down, brother.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I trudge southwards, wondering what further iconic desert encounters I could possibly experience now that nomads, camels, and (uh) NEEDLE-FLIES have already been exhausted. When I feel a rumbling beneath my feet...<br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQZvmt9VPMqZxF7im85DX2yQid4b3bmKzFwC2owJd_uOnH8nhjprYvXR9nI0JPXNtS8YXiPnan0N90D8Yv3ImV_WLLlGF9BtwyIwvEK13OClVeAwPIo5oolpLlcJk7hcTXs69cJNdgzS8/s2928/20210523_125623.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2928" data-original-width="1632" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQZvmt9VPMqZxF7im85DX2yQid4b3bmKzFwC2owJd_uOnH8nhjprYvXR9nI0JPXNtS8YXiPnan0N90D8Yv3ImV_WLLlGF9BtwyIwvEK13OClVeAwPIo5oolpLlcJk7hcTXs69cJNdgzS8/w356-h640/20210523_125623.jpg" title="GIANT SANDWORM SKILL 10 STAMINA 20. My aunt's chiropractor's wife found one of these swimming around in her old waterbed mattress, word to god." width="356" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"You realise with horror that a Giant Sandworm is about to engulf you with its spiked oval mouth. It is at least twenty metres long and you must fight it."</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>It's really not clear how this would work in practice, but I manage to kill the titanic worm with my sword and whip. Just stabbin', whippin', and a whole lot of patience I guess. Before moving on, I chip off one of its teeth to use as a knife, because Ian really wants you to know that, yes, he has read <i>Dune</i>. And I immediately use it to saw the crusts off my ham sandwiches because you best believe I need some num-numz in my tum-tumz after taking a few knocks from that big boy.</div><div> </div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKAJUy2EMy04q1yUgp6J_4t8OHwFBkEQ5fhRTGkwOnqTBTqMKAL-2-AKlDGMPePWHEaMngR-hD5IzXW5loJbfdg4FK6wHYNZMK5r3p0A__KF6kVKV0oJpkGjcp9XBXtiF024VFq0sz0TQ/s640/dune+2+sandworm.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="640" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKAJUy2EMy04q1yUgp6J_4t8OHwFBkEQ5fhRTGkwOnqTBTqMKAL-2-AKlDGMPePWHEaMngR-hD5IzXW5loJbfdg4FK6wHYNZMK5r3p0A__KF6kVKV0oJpkGjcp9XBXtiF024VFq0sz0TQ/w640-h400/dune+2+sandworm.jpg" title="I also have read Dune, but more importantly I have played Dune 2: Battle for Arrakis" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>UPDATE - ONE known weakness (i.e. being hit 10 times with a sword)</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Moments later, I just stumble across the Lost City of Vatos<i> "less than half a kilometre away</i>" (I guess I was day-dreaming and it snuck up on me). As per the text: <i>"Vatos!" a voice inside you shouts</i>, which is a little bit concerning phrasing since it heavily implies it's <u><i>somebody else's voice</i></u>.<br /><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjerM1uXA_oiZPc5gIvl6G1jN5zioMevQZ7YNI-kKtavobm1pkSVr3txePyzPBlD5Baik9CZ-YWZQA6teUba9BVZ-PGEidIIDZ6aqc5CHDjRfYwdEZVQzyBIlYiYRgpqzncoDUv1S-41Zk/s2048/vatos+4+life+final.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1159" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjerM1uXA_oiZPc5gIvl6G1jN5zioMevQZ7YNI-kKtavobm1pkSVr3txePyzPBlD5Baik9CZ-YWZQA6teUba9BVZ-PGEidIIDZ6aqc5CHDjRfYwdEZVQzyBIlYiYRgpqzncoDUv1S-41Zk/w362-h640/vatos+4+life+final.jpg" title="Unrelated thought - how do Italian people feel about Mario & Luigi?" width="362" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>These Super Mario themed vatos are yelling the word "VATOS!" in front of the city of Vatos. But you hear it coming from inside your body...!?!?!<br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div></div><div>The city walls are still in pretty good nick, thus, for lack of appropriate burglary spells, I pretty much just have to ring the doorbell. And who should answer but my dearest darling boy, SERPENT GUARD!<br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGAo_W0pABr1X6fYvdPTfNjooSZxAraGJkVSRgA1sAcw3is4yfZK1IWD5X1B044qzvGQ-WbE_3pSHXQgg-BtC6b_A6tLp7g7mZfKDaCnB4Y3EpRGCqi8J9VRhxXf33S_bJOdt5KIAjdE4/s320/temple+of+terror+spectrum+48k.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGAo_W0pABr1X6fYvdPTfNjooSZxAraGJkVSRgA1sAcw3is4yfZK1IWD5X1B044qzvGQ-WbE_3pSHXQgg-BtC6b_A6tLp7g7mZfKDaCnB4Y3EpRGCqi8J9VRhxXf33S_bJOdt5KIAjdE4/w640-h480/temple+of+terror+spectrum+48k.png" title="SERPENT GUARD SKILL 10 STAMINA 10" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Hiiiiiiiiiii! </i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>"O, SERPENT GUARD!" I say, my eyes welling with tears, "how many years hath it been that thine wildly enthused eyes, and thy unhinged and gaping :D face hath beamed back at me from the tattered copy of <i>Temple of Terror </i>'pon mine desk, buoying me up, imbuing me with heartful courage - <i>come on mate, come back and finish your blog! You got this mate! I'm here for ya maaaaaaate...!"</i></div><div> </div><div>I'm practically blubbering as the memories crash over me and sweep me up like a storm tide. </div><div>"Come to my embrace, o squamous saint!" My arms spread wide, "BRING IT IN HOMIE!" <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>SERPENT GUARD slithers towards me over the pulverised remains of the Fourth Wall and says: "HIIIIIISSSSS!" </div><div> </div><div>Then he hits me with his weirdly dainty, long-handled axe! It's like a back-scratcher but for if you wanted to chop up the hard to reach spot between your shoulder-blades with an axe! (Seems like the kind of thing you could buy on Wish, probably?!?) And I can't help but notice his combat power is exactly equivalent to the twenty metre long giant sandworm that I just fought. Crazy!!!!<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I think I misread this situation!</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, then I snap back into character with the audible crack of a fiery whip: <i>wha-PEESH!</i> </div><div>I temporarily forgot that I'm the psycho fire demon from <i>Forest of Doom</i> - so of course I mercilessly ram my sword down the throat of the SERPENT GUARD and step on his corpse on the way through the doorway. Not so irrepressible now, eh motherfucker?<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>So! My lunatic behaviour of wandering around aimlessly has again been rewarded with success, and I've made into the long-lost city - specifically into a featureless courtyard behind the main gate. <i>On the opposite side of the square there is a large stone archway. It seems as good a place as any to start your search for the Dragon artefacts. </i>Yeah it does. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's never clarified who was responsible for hiding the Dragon artefacts in Vatos and for what reason, but it's basically an Easter egg hunt from this point onwards, except in a trashy old city full of death-traps instead of your grandad's back yard. Below (<b>spoilers!</b>) I list where the richly detailed Frankton Mint commemorative pewter dragon figurines are to be found:</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Gold Dragon</b> - inside the mouth of a bronze statue of a dog<br /></div><div><b>Ebony Dragon</b> - hidden in crack in a carving which depicts Vatos under attack from three GIANT SANDWORMS<br /></div><div></div><div><b>Crystal Dragon</b> - a GNOME has it. He'll swap it for a telescope</div><div><b>Bone Dragon </b>- inside a bucket of bones hanging from a rope attached to the ceiling of featureless room where a CENTIPEDE lives <br /></div><div><b>Silver Dragon</b> - fuck knows, couldn't figure it out even by cheating<br /></div><div> </div><div>So you can see that we'll be falling back on some classic FF Bizzare Search Behaviour. But! It gets complicated when this dude shows up: </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzaX_dkBuENJOrWO7Bs_KM8JK_zS3mYQsnFp_S8hYrR-RR50pRCvIAw44BUi61Y8OKJXMK2WpQv0yyHBjZSMzU_X3f6QdsRIUkvdiB7D_Id5g5pxO6fQ-mbe6FM3ABrHx1rkb0uPr7jBk/s1506/messenger+of+DEATH.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1506" data-original-width="1033" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzaX_dkBuENJOrWO7Bs_KM8JK_zS3mYQsnFp_S8hYrR-RR50pRCvIAw44BUi61Y8OKJXMK2WpQv0yyHBjZSMzU_X3f6QdsRIUkvdiB7D_Id5g5pxO6fQ-mbe6FM3ABrHx1rkb0uPr7jBk/w438-h640/messenger+of+DEATH.png" title="homeboy got a pretty serious hayfever problem" width="438" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>MESSENGER OF DEATH</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Not long after you arrive in Vatos, this creep taps you on the shoulder and gurgles the word "death" in your ear, then vanishes. That in itself is super grody and more than enough to spoil your week - but it gets worse. Evidently the MESSENGER has a bit of a rep because the protagonist already knows what's up:</div><div><br /></div><div><i>The Messenger of Death is a sadistic killer who plays games with its victims. Staying ahead of you, it will place each letter of the word 'death' in various locations. Should you come across and read all the letters of the word, the Messenger of Death will reappear to revel in the sight of your life draining away.</i></div><div><i> </i> </div><div>So now it's more like an Easter egg hunt in a trashy old city full of death-traps where half the eggs have <u><i>razorblades </i></u>stuck in 'em, <u><i>plus</i></u> the Easter Bunny has a penchant for revelling in the sight of my life draining away, and there's snot leaking out of every hole in his fluffy wee head. No good! </div><div> </div><div>I already have to toss the whole city in case someone left a Dragon Artefact hidden in the toe of an old boot, and now whenever I try I might accidentally find a cursed letter A fridge magnet instead. It's a real situation. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><h1 style="text-align: left;">Failure and Death </h1>
<div style="text-align: left;">I can take some small spiteful satisfaction that the MESSENGER didn't get to do any revelling and wasted the rest of his day sneaking about painting letters on the inside of chest lids and whanot, because not long afterwards, I died of unrelated causes. Though I did manage to find the Bone Dragon artefact from the aforementioned innocuous bucket. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkKjC4TpnRjLwxCZR3UKQRvFqo34g5_iZ0YZ7BP8od3jAsaPo868iKxXjdEA9C3OLmAJUVdBe309eu_TQraGBv52rwI-bcL79MzQW4E1hvAYLPABNhQ1a0gNGjeHAqfKRS56RTVBhl4pg/s2756/20210523_125358.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2756" data-original-width="1620" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkKjC4TpnRjLwxCZR3UKQRvFqo34g5_iZ0YZ7BP8od3jAsaPo868iKxXjdEA9C3OLmAJUVdBe309eu_TQraGBv52rwI-bcL79MzQW4E1hvAYLPABNhQ1a0gNGjeHAqfKRS56RTVBhl4pg/w376-h640/20210523_125358.jpg" title="Just another giant arthropod drawn without reference material" width="376" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>What a normal and fully acceptable room.</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />A scant few direction choices later I was dead, thanks to this big squidgy polyp!<br /><div style="text-align: left;"><i> </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i> <br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdtDMKGFlOggzc0oIew_H34uEUehr4WwpJ28d9F6EqSDVZK52QlyW-gtgkdnTfaU5l9kKskcSDd_6j2TMcZzQlxEewhI5kYaJHoZpmX4kJGEMMMvY4ZXI-ld4uloiB_gXq2Ofvu1fK_-Q/s3236/20210523_123912.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3236" data-original-width="2660" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdtDMKGFlOggzc0oIew_H34uEUehr4WwpJ28d9F6EqSDVZK52QlyW-gtgkdnTfaU5l9kKskcSDd_6j2TMcZzQlxEewhI5kYaJHoZpmX4kJGEMMMvY4ZXI-ld4uloiB_gXq2Ofvu1fK_-Q/w526-h640/20210523_123912.jpg" title="I really don't like looking at that puckering around the central eyeball :(" width="526" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">EYE STINGER<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></i>Evidently EYE STINGERS are a well-known hazard as FIRE DEMON MAN is already familiar with their modus operandi - hypnotise with the eye, petrify with the stingers. Thinking myself fabulously clever, I whip out the mirror I bought from Abjul to reflect its gaze back on itself, but, that's not a thing apparently. In fact it's so useless that I just drop the mirror onto the floor, shattering it and losing a LUCK point. Inconveniently, I must then Test My newly-depleted Luck in order to stab the levitating kina without meeting its gaze, and I fail.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">That naughty echinoderm's pokey bits brush my face and I am quickly turned to stone. <i>Later that day the Serpent Guards will take you away to join the other gargoyles on the city walls</i> - there's a nice symmetry in that thought, that I shall become an art object for SERPENT GUARDS to ogle and enjoy, even as I ogled and enjoyed their cute little faces in life. Plus I already have demon wings, so, probably one of the better gargoyles up there I reckon! Easy come, easy go!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><h2></h2><h2></h2><h1 style="text-align: left;">Notable Encounters</h1></div><p>Well, I did want to mention this dumb corridor:</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQZay9XZor0i4E4Z2T1a1mdqS9WSxqgsKaM86-1hFaNExZns5GXY-gs_vFHPt7YdG_PfHgqpNfg0ILve5wqajOlFMszOjXxr45chuncEkJ-8MBxerlAzBKi4mavfbusEOouzFpnEpXVFg/s3412/20210523_125013.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3412" data-original-width="1932" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQZay9XZor0i4E4Z2T1a1mdqS9WSxqgsKaM86-1hFaNExZns5GXY-gs_vFHPt7YdG_PfHgqpNfg0ILve5wqajOlFMszOjXxr45chuncEkJ-8MBxerlAzBKi4mavfbusEOouzFpnEpXVFg/w362-h640/20210523_125013.jpg" title="equally dumb as SWORD TREES, or even dumber? YOU be the judge!" width="362" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This is so dumb I can't even think of a bit about it. Like... what if they gave you high-fives instead? Is there a gag buried in that idea, somewhere?</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Right near the end of the adventure a poor half-dead dwarf from Stonebridge shows up because apparently Yaztromo and King Gillibran started second-guessing themselves for leaving the whole impending apocalypse for a local mushroom farmer to handle. Also Yaztromo forgot that you would need the Hammer to be able to destroy the Dragon artefacts (I swear half the wizards in Allansia are senile). <br /></p><p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3AaniMj0Nvik1YWbb7Xm6CbyzpTDMkg8tkotoD3s4fpYX3KYWSSB1dmjT9mdf0JQGYezNJ92fcxt01j7Q2P97m6vd0hSmWS-uf22lplVKuBQBikn4f2LZyMis9F0TjFAXgZWh5pNcmRs/s3464/20210522_142118.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3464" data-original-width="1972" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3AaniMj0Nvik1YWbb7Xm6CbyzpTDMkg8tkotoD3s4fpYX3KYWSSB1dmjT9mdf0JQGYezNJ92fcxt01j7Q2P97m6vd0hSmWS-uf22lplVKuBQBikn4f2LZyMis9F0TjFAXgZWh5pNcmRs/w364-h640/20210522_142118.jpg" title="do you know.... how long... i've been crawling... down this one bloody corridor.... it's really... looooooong ahhhh DEAD" width="364" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"Sorry about that... we decided... to take this shit... more seriouslyyyy, ahhhhhhh" DEAD<br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>I imagine he came in on the giant eagle, he looks like the local TERODACTYLS have really had a go at him. <br /></p><p>Finally I'll touch on the named boss characters in this book. Firstly, while it's not super clear what the community situation is in Vatos, this chick named Leesha seems to be in charge. She has a VIP lounge where you have to pass through a golden shower (Ian, really?!) which neutralises all your magic spells. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4aoL_FfW9irRF0VKm5TycVIiwM5yNzhGBPTSYUQTlQGlHtQduIPmkvHdOkQxDg5c36HmEgwgKFhq4Jrt7OhjbRQGpp7Z45CNTdYcW9oAkYqAsJizWaGNglbjP7EMkoacHzgtIRzL30Mk/s3606/20210523_123555.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3606" data-original-width="2040" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4aoL_FfW9irRF0VKm5TycVIiwM5yNzhGBPTSYUQTlQGlHtQduIPmkvHdOkQxDg5c36HmEgwgKFhq4Jrt7OhjbRQGpp7Z45CNTdYcW9oAkYqAsJizWaGNglbjP7EMkoacHzgtIRzL30Mk/w362-h640/20210523_123555.jpg" title="described only as having the "muscular torso of a man" and a gaunt face with milky-white eyes, it cannot be excluded that he may have SKELETON legs" width="362" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>An unperturbed Leesha about to get clouted across the back of the head by the 1985 Coro Street version of Vin Diesel. </i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>Oddly enough, when you face her in battle you are asked if you want to attack her with the Giant Sandworm Tooth, which is the only time this option is offered. You know, use it as a knife? Like in the novel <i>Dune by</i> Frank Herbert, now a major motion picture? <i><u>And it just so happens</u> </i>that this is her only weakness! How did our protagonist intuit this? Were those inner vatos shouting hints at your brain again? Probably, who knows!</p><p>Unlike our old mate <a href="http://turnto400.blogspot.com/2011/08/7-island-of-lizard-king-by-ian.html" target="_blank">the Lizard King,</a> Leesha is smart enough to bug the hell out when somebody is brandishing the only object in the world that can harm her. You can chase her but she gets away - AFAIK she never shows up again in subsequent books but you know what? She's pretty cool, I hope I'm wrong about that. <br /></p><p>
Malbordus, on the other hand - when he finally shows up - turns out to be just a really gross nerd. Here he is, inexplicably popping up out of the floor in a featureless room, busting out the special intense stare that he practices in the mirror while squeezing zits and reciting self-affirmations that he really is just as good as Zagor & Balthus Dire (untrue).</p><p>
</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNhJaXxygOfKx1AEbqWVU4A9DQ-BB_5zlSpmMqhSFemi9UuJQEHgK1zZ-PL8Wg5U-T115fx9GeBKGzwBuwMSFMIUZe4nei27rSxB7PM7s9h0JDoj6c0twrOFzA0-yTORr31Vxs11WIs44/s3436/20210522_141737.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3436" data-original-width="2540" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNhJaXxygOfKx1AEbqWVU4A9DQ-BB_5zlSpmMqhSFemi9UuJQEHgK1zZ-PL8Wg5U-T115fx9GeBKGzwBuwMSFMIUZe4nei27rSxB7PM7s9h0JDoj6c0twrOFzA0-yTORr31Vxs11WIs44/w474-h640/20210522_141737.jpg" title="How could anyone resist the urge to pull out the Hammer of Gillibran and just bop this oily-haired dufus right on top of his stupid lozenge-shaped head? Like: Whack-A-Mole vibes are at 100% in this picture." width="474" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Hello, it is I, Malbordus, a definitely credible and impressive villain who doesn't have any self-esteem issues. I was waiting underneath the floor for you to arrive.</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i> </i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">If you find all the Dragons and wipe out this loser, your reward is that you get to walk back to Stonebridge where you assume Yaztromo MIGHT deign to teach you some more spells (you hope). Whoop-de-fukken-do mate. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><h1 style="text-align: left;"> The SKELETON Count</h1>
<div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwtJXJ1rjCIWdIBBirM142_0vha04WRml9I0oHAr2mh6fcVOrL2F9DUa269vJ7cgB3qNCf_xQD-b_MtFdhXVHcrDAkh_IHGv3OU9Yethb3vPafhZjtTQ0-2d0Q5bf8qFzRxi-d3NFCH3A/s2048/SKELETON+count.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1148" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwtJXJ1rjCIWdIBBirM142_0vha04WRml9I0oHAr2mh6fcVOrL2F9DUa269vJ7cgB3qNCf_xQD-b_MtFdhXVHcrDAkh_IHGv3OU9Yethb3vPafhZjtTQ0-2d0Q5bf8qFzRxi-d3NFCH3A/w358-h640/SKELETON+count.jpg" title="The action lines implies some very vigorous jostling between these two SKELETONS." width="358" /></a></div><br /> Here's a couple of bonnie boys, you can just bump into them somewhere in Vatos. It's a basic "wandering undead guards" encounter, which is a classic use of SKELETONS in fantasy that I completely endorse. There's nothing especially notable about the encounter, other than the fact that they're wearing armour which leaves their pelvises exposed. I feel that's somehow obscene in a way that doesn't apply for a fully nude SKELETON. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Meanwhile - what to make of these dirtbags?</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVbamtR7EX8B4jHsz_Kk1OmuhPa6wCuaNhZR0GQGrA6YGQTcg5E0JVi9-PDzGDh3sQHAzq_H-EpPnXxt95QyrbQ0AHfAjoLZOOJlqctnoZQR7GF6Z2sEj0dqNRHaD_8Pm8DHxyKPfUroY/s3656/20210522_141838.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3656" data-original-width="2020" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVbamtR7EX8B4jHsz_Kk1OmuhPa6wCuaNhZR0GQGrA6YGQTcg5E0JVi9-PDzGDh3sQHAzq_H-EpPnXxt95QyrbQ0AHfAjoLZOOJlqctnoZQR7GF6Z2sEj0dqNRHaD_8Pm8DHxyKPfUroY/w354-h640/20210522_141838.jpg" title="Leesha is one of those sheilas that's way into Egyptian tat and she INSISTED on the hats" width="354" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>SKELETON Count or SLAMMIN' BODZ Count? Or both???</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Like Skeletor, these SKELETON MEN have skull heads and
beautifully muscular male human bodies. They can talk (they get precisely one line) and are guards outside of Leesha's boudoir. I'm excluding them: but I know in my heart that if it wasn't for those unambiguously genuine SKELETONS elsewhere in the book, I probably would have talked myself into counting them. And what does that say about me? Very troubling. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>
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</div><h1 style="text-align: left;">Final Thoughts<br /></h1><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">Back when I was a young scumbag in my 20s, I flatted with a number of like-minded scumbags. Thanks to our deeply held anarchist principles, we never instituted any chore roster, and this combined with the inherently perverse and slovenly nature of young scumbags soon meant that we were squirming in our own filth like a RAT KING, each waiting to see who would break first and clean something (anything). <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">This stand-off deteriorated to the point where I announced that I was hiding the letters D-I-S-H-E-S in secret spots around the house, and whosoever was the first to accidentally see them all was going to have to do the dishes. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">My plan was deeply flawed because of course nobody ever moved any objects and revealed the hidden letters since it would have been an activity somewhat adjacent to "tidying up". Besides, at this point in our descent, we would soon become fully engaged in chewing up aged mandarin peels and carpet fluff and adhering ourselves to the walls in cocoons formed from the resultant paste.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Flatting - I do not miss it. But the actual point of the story is that it's only mostly exaggerated, this book really did leave a strong impact on me as I child and I expected people to just get it and fall into line when I tried to invoke the authority of the MESSENGER OF DISHES. The Messenger is certainly the most interesting and novel thing in <i>Temple</i>, and in case I neglected to mention, he does have slime ceaselessly pouring out of his eye sockets and mouth. It makes an impression. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Of coure, his mechanic only really makes sense in a world driven by Bizzare Search Behaviour. I thought <i>City </i>was getting pretty wild with the searching, but <i>Temple </i>makes you search most bizzarely even to even find the dungeon that you're supposed to do your main searching in. And then once you're in there it adds this whole layer of meta with the Messenger. Truly bizotic behaviour! Will we see anything to top that?<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyway I'm back. Type in BOM if you want to give me another chance!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh44TMlI1qLsVT4YmfHZFhjFrp4e39lkgr7eqNRRAsyMI74NnhQZbMMCgrWt3ldW2f0IcsavXQ2tmvJ3bsBPLMJDXIbzQuH4EDdn6LQXdvK3QnlihYDITOu8XfsisPQv3zbDpiClekMOQs/s320/you+useless+adventurer.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh44TMlI1qLsVT4YmfHZFhjFrp4e39lkgr7eqNRRAsyMI74NnhQZbMMCgrWt3ldW2f0IcsavXQ2tmvJ3bsBPLMJDXIbzQuH4EDdn6LQXdvK3QnlihYDITOu8XfsisPQv3zbDpiClekMOQs/w640-h480/you+useless+adventurer.png" title="his kink is making you type BOM" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
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<br /><br />Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17408095504472495097noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618556584663522444.post-6320457167881282022017-09-02T17:54:00.000-07:002017-09-02T17:55:52.245-07:00That Is Not Dead Which Can Eternal Lie......and in strange aeons, even this blog may be updated.<br />
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Believe or not I have a half-written post for<i> Temple of Terror </i>that I intend to complete and publish before the end of the year. Two earlier drafts died face-down in the muck in the intervening years (they were not good), but this one I think will make it.<br />
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My grown-up daddy's life doesn't afford a lot of time for writing nonsense anymore and such time as I do have for creative endeavour is largely consumed by <b>DUNGEONS & FUKKEN DRAGONS.</b><br />
<br />
Recently I decided to share some of the homebrew stuff I've done for D&D, so if you have any interest in such matters you can check out the new "companion blog" over here:<br />
<b> </b><br />
<h3>
<a href="http://5ebrewskis.blogspot.com/"><b>http://5ebrewskis.blogspot.com/ </b></a></h3>
Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17408095504472495097noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618556584663522444.post-46781490966733199312013-10-31T14:45:00.000-07:002013-10-31T14:45:04.997-07:00Teaser of Terror #5<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgEg503FvuQ_b_AESPu1HD6P1Amf2sfb9EjGdvlIMJJF0qnosKZ0NaFlbwPjp_4XGtzUYWW5sYbzUwee_iu30e79SIzWzg2qmzun5H6ELF67x5DvRZegrmWnxtUAacPzbumU2DMRK1pT0/s1600/crypt+snakebomb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="when i pop the trunk, hit the deck (cos a bunch of heads are ganna come flyin' out)"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgEg503FvuQ_b_AESPu1HD6P1Amf2sfb9EjGdvlIMJJF0qnosKZ0NaFlbwPjp_4XGtzUYWW5sYbzUwee_iu30e79SIzWzg2qmzun5H6ELF67x5DvRZegrmWnxtUAacPzbumU2DMRK1pT0/s640/crypt+snakebomb.jpg" width="390" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Sproing!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Might be you thought I was gone... just been busy/lazy, had another kid, and have had segments of my creative imagination colonized by a <a href="http://paizo.com/products/btpy88yj?Pathfinder-Roleplaying-Game-Core-Rulebook">Pathfinder</a> campaign me and some bros are running.<br />
<br />
(I did write once that the Fighting Fantasy 2d6 is a gateway dice to more hardcore polyhedrons, how I chortled at that one! But oops, it's real). <br />
<br />
But the Great Work is not yet over... what else will there be to put on my epitaph?Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17408095504472495097noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618556584663522444.post-44970535445861795962013-07-08T01:45:00.003-07:002013-07-08T01:45:52.757-07:00Teaser of Terror #4<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9fscrnrGIccxw6pKs7-CLbl-e8_nRgcmIhyhcD3UJ0l88Tp_xP6F_aASogfg02pYP3zCpYJCX5hknz-cFfSSSszP4HfSZ9fc8GUAwEkjyk3DLy46OsIRe5E5tPLv6U4AKp9Jn6U3qlik/s1600/trial+snakebomb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9fscrnrGIccxw6pKs7-CLbl-e8_nRgcmIhyhcD3UJ0l88Tp_xP6F_aASogfg02pYP3zCpYJCX5hknz-cFfSSSszP4HfSZ9fc8GUAwEkjyk3DLy46OsIRe5E5tPLv6U4AKp9Jn6U3qlik/s640/trial+snakebomb.jpg" title="visually - easily the worst. conceptually - possibly the best?" width="388" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>We in the V.I.P. but we don't got a pass</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17408095504472495097noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618556584663522444.post-46957997712059698992013-07-01T01:50:00.005-07:002013-07-01T01:50:56.932-07:00Teaser of Terror #3<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWTvVGf7y3EeU-K-BAKpoKjJ2n68i7gqEjhJSbvszML6dBV6nb5Zbmdpk-N9n6_mHnCL70hz1H5lpEqkDwQCxoEGQ1hjVQ5UlXE35wpOUO6HjwtifWaQNEGHlaU0RqlEvTozoaSrYwSoU/s1075/city+SNAKEBOMB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWTvVGf7y3EeU-K-BAKpoKjJ2n68i7gqEjhJSbvszML6dBV6nb5Zbmdpk-N9n6_mHnCL70hz1H5lpEqkDwQCxoEGQ1hjVQ5UlXE35wpOUO6HjwtifWaQNEGHlaU0RqlEvTozoaSrYwSoU/s640/city+SNAKEBOMB.jpg" title="HANG IN THERE BABY!!!!" width="396" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The True Optimist</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17408095504472495097noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618556584663522444.post-41686334934802872022013-06-24T01:15:00.003-07:002013-06-24T01:15:23.994-07:00Teaser of Terror #2<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1-4NTxFDPRwVASBknFxUz3LynRQiYeSBhfvKrLZDtFlEdXUMXuS5CayRS4tqAmdci0TodDmZeCpwUEgz15FUhD_mRP590sozTmVUMxVilL1VGwj-uitZ21mJhzNtC2T0Aoj15RAnKVrE/s1600/snow+witch+templebomb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1-4NTxFDPRwVASBknFxUz3LynRQiYeSBhfvKrLZDtFlEdXUMXuS5CayRS4tqAmdci0TodDmZeCpwUEgz15FUhD_mRP590sozTmVUMxVilL1VGwj-uitZ21mJhzNtC2T0Aoj15RAnKVrE/s640/snow+witch+templebomb.jpg" title="This guy. He is donkey. Drive me crazy, every day." width="388" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Oh, am I interrupt-iiiiiiiiiiing?</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17408095504472495097noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618556584663522444.post-32781811810444206522013-06-15T19:47:00.000-07:002013-06-15T20:05:25.888-07:00Teaser of Terror #1Hi readers,<br />
<br />
Well, it has been a struggle to work on the blog lately but when I picked up <i>Temple of Terror </i>and glimpsed that <a href="http://images3.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20080525221006/fightingfantasy/images/8/86/Figfan14.jpg">SERPENT GUARD</a>, I was reinvigorated. He is a beautiful, bright-eyed
bubble of enthusiasm and I simply adore him.<br />
<br />
Something about the irrepressible spirit shining from his mirthful,
ophidian gaze made me imagine him photo-bombing the covers of other books, blowing up the
spot of the other, more serious FF poster boys and being furiously chased
off set a few seconds later.<br />
<br />
After I had stopped congratulating myself over this amazing idea I decided to create a series of these alternate covers to release as little nuggets of content to string you all along while I avoid doing any hard work on the next post.<br />
<br />
Here is the first one:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjb4LyGJI6_TmswH1Wq8FV5LP7RYbIXMGvCwOEEEg2MedOUaOyueOsVFvYIWl-n2sr1Kmb_92ZNmzgmbNg-fQLHT2uBtaxj3KR0UQo1mF81ICWopFhhRpjYmZogGSUwzaSQsS7V284it4/s1600/deathtrap+photomb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjb4LyGJI6_TmswH1Wq8FV5LP7RYbIXMGvCwOEEEg2MedOUaOyueOsVFvYIWl-n2sr1Kmb_92ZNmzgmbNg-fQLHT2uBtaxj3KR0UQo1mF81ICWopFhhRpjYmZogGSUwzaSQsS7V284it4/s640/deathtrap+photomb.jpg" title="Just another day at 'Centurions' spa club" width="392" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"Any room for one mooooooore?"</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17408095504472495097noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618556584663522444.post-71760537564493523362013-04-01T00:08:00.000-07:002013-04-01T00:17:13.683-07:00One last thought before I move on...Whenever you say "Mad Max" everybody immediately thinks of "Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior", but did you know there was a Mad Max 1? <br />
<br />
It's true, though very few people have seen it. But I am one of them so I can impart some information to you. Basically it is about some bogans chasing each other around Queensland. Mad Max spends half the movie cooling out with his girlfriend, which is nice for him but hey, my man, the audience paid to see a car do a jump.<br />
<br />
There's not really that much connection between the films apart from Mel Gibson and lots of driving. It is kind of on some bullshucks really, which is why nobody really thinks about it or mentions it.<br />
<br />
But if you must have a taste, here is a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hokREtrk4eM#t=1m23s">bull crap scene from Mad Max 1</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17408095504472495097noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618556584663522444.post-10205608680068966012013-03-31T11:49:00.000-07:002013-03-31T11:49:09.769-07:00An additional thought regarding "Freeway Fighter"Some people are no doubt wondering why I did not sound off on the matter of <i>Freeway Fighter</i>'s artwork, an issue that is known to inflame the passions and set brother against brother.<br />
<br />
You see, I am given to understand that some Past Readers have
experienced critical thoughts regarding the artwork in this book and
moreover that a minority of this disgruntled group have also seen fit to
give form to those thoughts and publicly express them to others.<br />
<br />
Let me not be misconstrued! I make no such criticism here. Construe me exactly on this, please. The <a href="http://web.archive.org/web/20020223110653/http://fightingfantasy.com/fflett.htm#Kevin%20Bulmer">archives </a>indicate
that the artist has in fact personally responded to such things before,
pointing out that he was in a big rush when he drew everything 'cos he
was called in at the last minute, and only had nine days to finish
everything, and four of them were spent getting the broken branch in the foreground of this drawing<i> just so</i>.<br />
<span style="background-color: yellow;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqvA4pYyMVdsaYRu1MPTVFD43myoMVsWD6CEjt5undPBvU1GivQ_nhuSHuoibdrPf-qgpl6ffEmS_0pdPlxAHJ-EqsfLjS6rmkIQ3xj6FHJnxX_uK-EkOxvpIvAB47rEQzvdVPV6PcR_Q/s1600/i+drew+a+stick+on+the+ground+but+then+i+was+like+woah+lets+not+overdo+it.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Damn, fifteen minutes to deadline, I caint be drawing all these blades of grass in!"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqvA4pYyMVdsaYRu1MPTVFD43myoMVsWD6CEjt5undPBvU1GivQ_nhuSHuoibdrPf-qgpl6ffEmS_0pdPlxAHJ-EqsfLjS6rmkIQ3xj6FHJnxX_uK-EkOxvpIvAB47rEQzvdVPV6PcR_Q/s400/i+drew+a+stick+on+the+ground+but+then+i+was+like+woah+lets+not+overdo+it.jpg" width="248" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>You know the roller ruler come out for this one too. </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF_kFvcs_hJeytpitRrCX5QHgT0tWHApw4MhmfNiBREyi0ImN9If6sua-pl72kEqONDBeR-MhRaQs7HNCo6e9u6AfYWD3huh73qL7lqWpwppXPCzkLAJIRCAfvt2E_h1CIOTgStAzEtw0/s1600/stick+detail.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF_kFvcs_hJeytpitRrCX5QHgT0tWHApw4MhmfNiBREyi0ImN9If6sua-pl72kEqONDBeR-MhRaQs7HNCo6e9u6AfYWD3huh73qL7lqWpwppXPCzkLAJIRCAfvt2E_h1CIOTgStAzEtw0/s400/stick+detail.jpg" title="The essence of wabi-sabi" width="392" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Have you really looked at it though?</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This is, in fact, one of my direst fears - that some day,
someone I've mentioned will take umbrage at my churlish and unfair
ribbing, point a just and knobbly finger directly at my shrivelled
coward's heart and say to me: "And what, <i>blogger</i>, have YOU ever accomplished?"<br />
<br />
"Nothing," I will gasp out between the sobs, "I have done nothing."<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDBX7MOBKIsGaSW44UilaP60bB7KpjfuiTOMoxvoaxNtFZVl8ZnoxAWm7DXbTIDtaGjLS0ofWQP81hC3c59VGTGhD930m6LnGhCNSZiian9U7oZM4xNtgqe76QgHKRDUTf37ru_4THloA/s1600/its+sick+how+you+can+see+the+bullets+coming+out.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="siiiiiiiiiick"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDBX7MOBKIsGaSW44UilaP60bB7KpjfuiTOMoxvoaxNtFZVl8ZnoxAWm7DXbTIDtaGjLS0ofWQP81hC3c59VGTGhD930m6LnGhCNSZiian9U7oZM4xNtgqe76QgHKRDUTf37ru_4THloA/s400/its+sick+how+you+can+see+the+bullets+coming+out.jpg" width="251" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Illustrator
Kevin Bulmer has precisely captured the moment when the bullets come
shooting out of this gun. What have YOU done lately? </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17408095504472495097noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618556584663522444.post-88446321381090385012013-03-30T19:35:00.001-07:002013-03-30T23:42:38.501-07:00#13 - "Freeway Fighter" (1985), by Ian Livingstone<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDSppxcn_ITgD2Axto0UbnnBmJyr-tVz2ReORkgYsFm-Qen1ufnjVz95BkuNZgVYRSwQEPGmsZUgxhCKGJUDbw46r954m4hyILunHbfVXk97QRB6_G4-9upWJYV2J_sMn4DL9vqYs7tcs/s1600/freeway+fighter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDSppxcn_ITgD2Axto0UbnnBmJyr-tVz2ReORkgYsFm-Qen1ufnjVz95BkuNZgVYRSwQEPGmsZUgxhCKGJUDbw46r954m4hyILunHbfVXk97QRB6_G4-9upWJYV2J_sMn4DL9vqYs7tcs/s400/freeway+fighter.jpg" width="243" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The<a href="http://www.sunlightsupply.com/p-11491-ideal-air-silversilver-ducting.aspx"> aluminium-foil ducts</a> really give it that "B-movie" feel.</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i> </i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>Dateline: 1981</b><br />
<br />
The scene is a cold, concrete-floored garage where STEVE and IAN write gamebooks. They are not yet billionaires. Rain rattles upon the iron roof. A busted washing machine appears to have vomited its contents across one half of the garage, the foamy wash hemmed in by a dyke of sopping towels. A dusty black-board leans against the wall, a map of the Maze of Zagor marked up on it, variously smudged, scribbled on and over-written. There are two hammocks strung from the rafters. In the centre of the garage is a battered wooden picnic table, bearing a 1940s-era typewriter. Next to the typewriter, there lies a grimy tyre iron and an eyeless teddy bear. Unpainted war-game miniatures with missing heads and limbs are strewn everywhere.<br />
<br />
STEVE is sitting at the typewriter, tapping hunt-and-peck at the keys, pausing occasionally to alternately sigh or glare skyward towards an uncaring God. <br />
<br />
Metal rasps and graunches are heard as the roller door is raised. IAN enters.<br />
<br />
STEVE: "Ian! Where've you been all afternoon! You're <u>supposed</u> to be helping me break this GANJEES scene." <br />
<br />
IAN: "Oof, come off it, Steve! I've been down the pictures! Seen<i> Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior - </i>cor, it were a right blast! Top action, car chases, a fit bird in tennis gear, this film's got it all! One bloke gets his fingers chopped off trying to catch a metal boomerang, it's ace!"<br />
<br />
STEVE: (<i>annoyed</i>) "Well, that's fine and well, but if you're not going to help me I'll take your name off the cover of <i>Citadel of Monsters</i> (working title). Now listen to this - <i>suddenly, a big spooky face flies at your face. You throw yourself down on the ground and begin to feel frightened -- "</i><br />
<br />
STEVE chews on the end of a pencil. <i> </i><i> </i><br />
(<i>continuing</i>) "I don't think it's <u>intense</u><b> </b>enough. Maybe I should say <i><u>very</u> frightened.</i> What do you think? <i>You throw yourself down on the ground and begin to feel <b>very </b>frightened."</i><br />
<br />
IAN: (<i>offhandedly</i>) "Very frightened, definitely." <br />
<br />
STEVE: (<i>nodding</i>) "Yeah... mmm."<br />
<br />
STEVE produces a bottle of Twink and begins daubing it upon the manuscript. Meanwhile, IAN paces up and down, visibly pumped up from watching Mad Max.<br />
<br />
<br />
Moments pass, Ian suddenly jolts as if hit by a static shock.<br />
<br />
IAN: "Here, I've just had a wizard notion, Steve!"<br />
<br />
STEVE: (<i>tongue protruding from corner of mouth as he hunches over the manuscript, twinking away</i>) "And what would that be, Ian?"<br />
<br />
IAN: "Listen, do you think we can get the license to do a <i>Mad Max </i>gamebook?"<br />
<br />
STEVE: (<i>sighs, looks up</i>) "Fat chance, mate. You know I wanted to get the license for <i>Star Trek </i>but I couldn't keep Roddenberry's assistant's assistant on the line long enough to even explain what a gamebook is! Don't even bother. Look though, there's no reason you can't do a gamebook about driving around the wasteland and just call it <i>Mad Gordon </i>or something."<br />
<br />
<br />
IAN: "What a smashing idea! Yes, I'm <u><i>definitely </i></u>going to do that!"<br />
<br />
--------------------------<br />
<br />
And that, friends, is how the world came to have: <u><i>FREEWAY FIGHTER</i></u><br />
But as we shall see, the road from conception to reality can be rocky and bandit-harried...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiX3jZh2RV0ZktEh1f5JqfiSYc6VELvAJlABkFceIUY6P0bYxvDunBn3-evoHhfSuNIEhxQcNg6WyjE7NC7Fr195t3vHYvDtbU6vXJ6u8pfmF49EYtPTjYNaxCp7CCFPO9Cxrx8mLsF-4/s1600/freeway+fighter+american+cover.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiX3jZh2RV0ZktEh1f5JqfiSYc6VELvAJlABkFceIUY6P0bYxvDunBn3-evoHhfSuNIEhxQcNg6WyjE7NC7Fr195t3vHYvDtbU6vXJ6u8pfmF49EYtPTjYNaxCp7CCFPO9Cxrx8mLsF-4/s640/freeway+fighter+american+cover.jpg" title="if you have a magnifying glass, you can see the RV from Breaking Bad in the background" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Never thought I'd say it, but the American cover is better.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<h2>
<b>Background</b></h2>
Well if you want a post-apocalyptic setting you need an actual apocalypse to get there and while there are many options, only a few are classics. Given the vintage ('85) you might expect that Ian would go for global thermonuclear war, but he obviously thought that was played out and you know what: he was right. So instead he went for a devastating pandemic which may seem pretty obvious to today's reader but I assure you was quite <i>recherche </i>in the mid-80s.<br />
<br />
Ian decides to really throw Us Readers into the moment of the World's Doom by forgoing the FF-traditional title "BACKGROUND" and instead titling the passage:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
VID NEWS BULLETIN</div>
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DATELINE 21 JULY 2022</div>
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This boundary-pushing format is then <i>instantaneously</i> abandoned in favour of the usual past tense narrative - somewhere along the creative highway the concept was turfed but the title remained, lingering uselessly like an outie belly-button. Ian tells us that actually the world of 2022 is super utopian, World War III was completely averted, East and West are cooling out together with a vodka and Coke, some kind of revolution in agriculture means no-one is hungry, and "<i>increased mobility </i>[has] <i>led to people's greater understanding of one another.</i>" (Do not forget that the man went back-packing around Thailand to research <i>Deathtrap Dungeon</i> so he knows what's up)<br />
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Ian then says that 21 July was a hot day (everywhere?) and he remembers about the news bulletin idea and he tells us what was on the news that morning, which was basically that everything is great and "<i>England is to play the United States in the World Cup final in Sydney</i>" - no doubt this notion tickled him pink, but what must've seemed like a truly fantastical scenario in 1985, nowadays seems kind of more viable (except for the part about England making the final, obviously) </div>
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Okay so there's nothing in the news bulletin about an apocalypse anyway, but <i>later that afternoon </i>a killer virus breaks out in New York and four days later, 85 percent of the world's population is dead. As far as viruses goes this is over-achieving and I bet the virus had cause to regret it afterwards. Better to piss around for generations havin' a ball like the common cold, than burn yourself out from workaholism and leave nobody alive to infect afterwards. Take it from me, viruses, you gotta play it smart in the modern world.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJCXgHeLBDmvcb78ZAttljF_nvanv3qggM3I4cP9_eKaRBRcwCgYjlx-bhBksGzR0hlzStKqdcti3C6OLyO7Zd8QlEAF1zUcZLGyJaPDBetKmDLfgLjgsVGARMtOVsQjJclSJt8-koeJU/s1600/cartoon-virus-md.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJCXgHeLBDmvcb78ZAttljF_nvanv3qggM3I4cP9_eKaRBRcwCgYjlx-bhBksGzR0hlzStKqdcti3C6OLyO7Zd8QlEAF1zUcZLGyJaPDBetKmDLfgLjgsVGARMtOVsQjJclSJt8-koeJU/s1600/cartoon-virus-md.png" title="Caint even find a reliable vector up in this piece!" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I tell ya! Today's virus got it tougher than evah!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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But anyway. Ian then labours through half a page in order to tell us that "Mad Max happens". Mad Max is such effective short-hand for this scenario that the author'/s annoyance at having to explain Mad Max from first principles is palpable. So I won't put myself to the same trouble because you already know the drill - one thing that struck me though was that Ian Livingstone describes the marauding wasteland gangs as "<i>the new barbarians</i>", which is also the title of an entertaining Italian film that coincidentally explores many of the same themes.<br />
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<i>"The New Barbarians" is considered a snuff movie by fashion store mannequins.</i></div>
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<br />
To complete the circle, the trailer for <i>The New Barbarians </i>is, by chance or fate, a functional precis of the plot of <i>Freeway Fighter</i> (you can watch it in lieu of reading the rest of the post if you are in a rush).</div>
<br />
Anyway, we established that Mad Max has happened. YOU are one of
luckier people in this scenario, you eke out a comparatively civilised
existence in a walled town called New Hope, that clings to some virtues
of the vanished world. One day you are cooling out the garage tinkering
with some shit and a couple of guys "<i>from the town council</i>" run
in all pumped up about something they heard on the short wave. Somewhere
to the south is another town called San Anglo and they called up to
make a deal - 10,000 litres of petroleum in exchange for "<i>grain and
seeds</i>". They tell you that a Dodge Interceptor will be kitted out with
guns and a bunch of James Bond shit and suggest that you are just the
man to volunteer to drive. You immediately agree, in accordance with the
now well-established tendencies of Fighting Fantasy protagonists (i.e.
obedience to small town authorities, and a thriving death-wish).<br />
<br />
By
the by - it occurred to me on later reflection that the unspecified
amount of grain you are delivering to San Anglo has to be able to fit
into a highly modified 1984 Dodge Interceptor, which is a two-door and you couldn't put a baby in the back seat even if you <i>folded </i>it, whereas it is clearly
stated that you will be driving a petrol tanker back with ten thousand litres
in it. <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPNwSVRpJOvjrjhRuohktTg1o2naAb053bYmhD7xVcru_1thSmMqpxWfNh3JWFfEAgukoCrD3E2QnAlM2n58CtoW5BzOO1haGul3HyiqV7mDkBvc9o-siAbveWef6lbx4nBs7H_UdoAHY/s1600/Interceptor.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="we could've put some grain on the roof-rack but we replaced it with a rocket launcher, soz"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPNwSVRpJOvjrjhRuohktTg1o2naAb053bYmhD7xVcru_1thSmMqpxWfNh3JWFfEAgukoCrD3E2QnAlM2n58CtoW5BzOO1haGul3HyiqV7mDkBvc9o-siAbveWef6lbx4nBs7H_UdoAHY/s400/Interceptor.jpg" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Interceptor - it fits exactly <u><b>one</b></u> sack of grain, propped up in the passenger seat like a person.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Gotta be a trap, right? Who's gonna trade ten thousand litres of Texas Tea for three handfuls of trail mix? Gotta be a trap.<br />
<br />
<h2>
Rolling Up My Dude</h2>
First up there is an exciting innovation in the Character Sheet for <i>Freeway Fighter </i>as it includes a field
for "Driver's Name", which to my delight had been filled out already by a
previous imaginaut:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP3FxWViyJGeIc3RlkSNe58wV8OXm8_BaTOP9NEhyK-h5Tl1twZkcrad9c3noKblo4qq0lk6Zbd6ROgD9MVGN4KksNNSeCO3FJSlSSdLNcNVRoHLvgGSyUDa7tvdrFvtzeTtgKCOLndWc/s1600/dartin+star+shot.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="his parents were second-wave Tolkein fans"><img border="0" height="82" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP3FxWViyJGeIc3RlkSNe58wV8OXm8_BaTOP9NEhyK-h5Tl1twZkcrad9c3noKblo4qq0lk6Zbd6ROgD9MVGN4KksNNSeCO3FJSlSSdLNcNVRoHLvgGSyUDa7tvdrFvtzeTtgKCOLndWc/s400/dartin+star+shot.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Dartin Shot. They call me "Star". As in "star shot". Which means, like, "good shot".</i><br />
<i>I am good at shots. Am like a Hollywood star, of shots. Shot celebrity. </i><br />
<i>I can shoot darts.</i><br />
<i>Okay seeya. </i></td></tr>
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And here are Mr. Shot's stats, they are okay:<br />
<br />
SKILL - 10<br />
STAMINA - 23<br />
LUCK - 8<br />
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You also get to roll stats for your vehicle:<br />
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FIREPOWER - 8<br />
ARMOUR - 28<br />
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This is basically just SKILL and STAMINA for cars. The Interceptor also gets its own character sheet which is pretty sick:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAgJszBYI-bDmE9rKK0zacwXZ_-JMczjSq8H7lyj4M6C1S1Pez9WYWsQ8HMqW_-B-_06WZTasKSm4vbUZG2WmKrQFJjGa2OqeQyI9ykNLnOqXhq364pgBAhsEMWtVCYn6AcD8qDZuwtSI/s1600/interceptor+spec.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="my car also has two gas pipes where the gas comes out"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAgJszBYI-bDmE9rKK0zacwXZ_-JMczjSq8H7lyj4M6C1S1Pez9WYWsQ8HMqW_-B-_06WZTasKSm4vbUZG2WmKrQFJjGa2OqeQyI9ykNLnOqXhq364pgBAhsEMWtVCYn6AcD8qDZuwtSI/s400/interceptor+spec.jpg" width="257" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Come on, they're not called "Spare Wheels" you damn nerds. Do some research. </i></td></tr>
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Since some punk kid had already written on (and carefully shaded) parts of my DODGE INTERCEPTOR SPECIFICATION, I got my pencil out and under "Car Modifications" wrote:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_cSIaMZr4mjs6GQuNn6uf2FBMlkLBnW-wyif0M7eoSrd4TL5Qk8e6qQUlw0oq4yiUjvxDrTFIk-NgySOCRQN8UNYjieHv_UxeSFejMLfCynqMa-Yg8UgeobeEKk4d5N2DEVClMoe3wAs/s1600/no+grain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_cSIaMZr4mjs6GQuNn6uf2FBMlkLBnW-wyif0M7eoSrd4TL5Qk8e6qQUlw0oq4yiUjvxDrTFIk-NgySOCRQN8UNYjieHv_UxeSFejMLfCynqMa-Yg8UgeobeEKk4d5N2DEVClMoe3wAs/s320/no+grain.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>In my version of Freeway Fighter, Dartin Shot threw away the grain.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhTXDK5QJ0pYOVCvzomnZqTTzPXfVdIUPTc_TBqNbCSDv7IrPr4wcehvlPOL97-tjqLZxXlihavj-DESjJXPoWYGqAxt3vtOATvyDkwRoZfbz0jVcmUeAZC_brEYvUvHK8SBzzKovHZ6U/s1600/no+grain.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a>
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<h2>
<b>The Adventure</b></h2>
Something felt very familiar to me about this adventure, mainly because I have seen <i>Mad Max</i>, but also because I have driven road trips before. Your main concerns in <i>Freeway Fighter</i> are basically the same as driving inter-city in the real world, i.e.<br />
<br />
1) Am I Gunna Run Out Of Petrol, and;<br />
2) Those Other Assholes On The Road, plus;<br />
<strike>3) Am I Gunna Get A Speeding Ticket.</strike><br />
<br />
But oh yeah, we can scratch #3, because in the lawless badlands of the hollowed world, of course you will not get a speeding ticket. Dartin Shot, being a "glass half-full" kind of dude, devotes significant time and mental energy to this consideration:<br />
<br />
"<i>Despite the hazard of having to avoid abandoned cars, the highway is
wide enough for you to gather plenty of speed. It's exciting to drive
so freely, without fear of being hauled in by the police for violating
some traffic regulation or other. "</i><br />
<br />
What a refreshing attitude! Contrast this with that <u><i>other </i></u>well-known work of post-apocalyptic fiction, Cormac McCarthy's <i>The Road</i>. Well, I think we can agree that the guy in that book is a right gloomy sod and no mistake. <br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">“<i>You
walk out in the gray light and stand and you see for a brief moment the
absolute truth of the world. The cold relentless circling of the
intestate earth. Darkness implacable. The BLIND DOGS of the sun in their
running. The crushing black vacuum of the universe. And somewhere two
hunted animals trembling like GROUND-FOXES in their cover. Borrowed time
and borrowed world and borrowed eyes with which to sorrow it.</i>” </span></div>
<div>
</div>
<br />
This guy resolutely refuses to see the "upside" of the collapse of civilisation/all-moral-boundaries. Does the
protagonist in <i>The Road</i> ever take a moment to appreciate life?
Not really. But look what he's getting away with - no laws, no limits -
you can wee wherever you want - you can take the shopping cart out of
the supermarket car-park and push it around with all your stuff in it,
and you won't get in trouble. <br />
<br />
But here's ya boy Dartin "Star" Shot again:<br />
<br />
<i>"The road is open and wrecked cars are an infrequent hazard. The
speedometer reads well above the maximum speed-limit that used to
control the road, but you know that there is no chance of getting a
speeding-ticket now."</i><br />
<br />
He's still thinking about it! It's still a big deal for him. This is truly to "make lemonade when life gives you lemons".<br />
<i> </i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiA7T7za-tYofkxayF8XTeT-JnR2EvO6WWq0tQ3TNJP9YdmRL6Vbb4Yru3GrNEjqrfN_uOk7-3d6wP2cf8H2NSfs9vMIQM-1JIlH3tmN-UL4nhwwXuR2XxWVsmr4Ol6PE7Bw3MexYLtZM/s1600/theroadwarrior2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiA7T7za-tYofkxayF8XTeT-JnR2EvO6WWq0tQ3TNJP9YdmRL6Vbb4Yru3GrNEjqrfN_uOk7-3d6wP2cf8H2NSfs9vMIQM-1JIlH3tmN-UL4nhwwXuR2XxWVsmr4Ol6PE7Bw3MexYLtZM/s1600/theroadwarrior2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i>
<i>When life gives you New Barbarians... just take a moment to appreciate that at least there's no fukken five-oh breathin' down ya neck, ya feel me?</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Anyway the first couple of encounters once you roll out the gates of New Hope are not much to write about. Dartin overhears a guy shooting at a dog and then drives past a phoney gas station which is pretending that it still sells gas, an obvious trap. Instead of falling for that one he goes to a McDonald's drive-in and pretends to order. "This is sick!" Dartin says to himself, "I can do whatever I want." <br />
<br />
And he has another one of his Deep Thoughts further down the road when he notices shit is kind of run down. <span style="background-color: white;"> "<i>You didn't realise how much maintenance was needed to support civilisation</i>." </span>Nobody is mowin' the lawns or nothing! Shit is crazy.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqbw33kpI7hXKXAkeiMjdWuuct5Nd4SAidwZP_ur7SgdH_EmeaQaFVuQotQYMwA_B0IXbee700YK7P-Vp1XtEYMAtQ5ZNVJO-2p1G6ZFkd_83G7hMnWLfc_70InC4IUSJhb8V2o7olauM/s1600/1300x605_421_Los_Angeles_2d_landscape_post_apocalyptic_night_picture_image_digital_art.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="image by Andree Wallin - credit where due"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqbw33kpI7hXKXAkeiMjdWuuct5Nd4SAidwZP_ur7SgdH_EmeaQaFVuQotQYMwA_B0IXbee700YK7P-Vp1XtEYMAtQ5ZNVJO-2p1G6ZFkd_83G7hMnWLfc_70InC4IUSJhb8V2o7olauM/s640/1300x605_421_Los_Angeles_2d_landscape_post_apocalyptic_night_picture_image_digital_art.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>People used to take a bit of pride, you know? </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;">At last Dartin gets an overdue reality check when the RED CHEVVY on the cover rolls up on him with guns blazing. I couldn't be bothered so I used one of my four rockets, which allow you to instantly win combat. Dartin surveys the wreckage. "<i>Who were these people and why did they attack you without warning?</i>" he wonders. </span>It's like topsy-turvy land out here! Dartin suddenly understands why the mechanics swapped his indicator lights and windscreen wipers for a hundred machine guns with infinite ammo.<br />
<br />
Just then the radio fires up, someone from back at New Hope lets you know that a biker gang attacked the town and kidnapped the town leader, Sinclair, "so, ah, keep an eye out for them, okay hon?"<br />
<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhQwedZ-b74ZNVVpkd-_PLlt87o3B2rGCvHgZqHD-MqnsW0lzK5WLMkeTu5DThl2vwaazWeP41rVmF04vN-3IbDX4hPtJwn8e7tjgWSHvaBhQ3S4tEMS-ofEUyk7ZQgAaTarRMLIu7e-U/s1600/Sir-Clive-Sinclair-001.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhQwedZ-b74ZNVVpkd-_PLlt87o3B2rGCvHgZqHD-MqnsW0lzK5WLMkeTu5DThl2vwaazWeP41rVmF04vN-3IbDX4hPtJwn8e7tjgWSHvaBhQ3S4tEMS-ofEUyk7ZQgAaTarRMLIu7e-U/s400/Sir-Clive-Sinclair-001.jpg" title="THE ROAD WARRIOR" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><i>Given that this book was written by an Englishman in 1985, I can only conclude that the character of "Sinclair" is a reference to the great British inventor</i><i> and <a href="http://www.spokeo.com/Clive+Sinclair+1/May+04+2010+Sir+Clive+Sinclair+Marries+In+Las+Vegas#13147621:48169501">lap-dance enthusiast</a>, Sir Clive Sinclair.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<i>You acknowledge the message and say goodbye </i>- the prose in this section is so workmanlike that you get the impression that Dartin Shot doesn't really give a shit about Sinclair - Dartin just rolls his eyes and nonchalantly drops the receiver with a careless flip of the wrist.<i> </i>"Sinclair? <u>That</u> guy? Pffft."<br />
<br />
Ian doesn't give much of a shit about Sinclair either, really. If you tiki-tour around for a while and blow up a few goons you can find him locked up in a shack in an abandoned town. Your only interaction is that <i>he tells you about the raid on New Hope and his kidnapping</i>. Normally that sentence would segue into some information about... the raid on New Hope and Sinclair's kidnapping, but in this case all we know is that Sinclair TOLD us about it, i.e. we know the general topic of some words he said. Readers are generously invited to<i> </i>dip their brush into the rich palette of their own imagination and just go nuts conjuring up this gripping account for themselves! A rare treat for Us Readers - but I wasn't feeling very inspired at the time, so my mental image of Sinclair's kidnapping was basically just the first ten seconds of this video:<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Sinclair: "Oh no, 'Mad Max' is happening to meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...!"</i></span></div>
<br />
Then he fucks off on a Harley. You get one LUCK point.<br />
<br />
Beyond that, there's a single, final off-hand reference to Sinclair on the winning paragraph <b>380</b>, where you return to New Hope with the fuel tanker and the grubby post-apocalyptic urchins of that town throw a sad parade with three handfuls of confetti they've been hoarding. And, we are told, "<i>if you managed to rescue Sinclair during your adventure, consider your mission a triumph.</i>"<b> </b>But if you didn't, hey, good job anyway. It's Mad Max out there, you're gonna lose your town mayor once in a while, right? People are over Sinclair already, I mean, <b>he only invented the motherfukken ZX Spectrum</b>.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/mh0g73JvFbo" width="420"></iframe>
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<br />
I guess Ian wanted to add some higher stakes to the story beyond "<i>will the town of New Hope manage to scam a butt-load of petrol</i>", but why bother to introduce this sub-plot if you're gonna leave it so soggy? Let's be clear, Sinclair is no <a href="http://www.turnto400.blogspot.co.nz/2011/08/7-island-of-lizard-king-by-ian.html">Mungo</a>, not by a long shot.<br />
<br />
<br />
Anyway, you have the general idea of this book already. You drive around and a bunch of dumb things happen, all of which are car-themed. e.g. you see a broken-down ambulance or a broken-down bus. You drive under a bridge and a guy on top of the bridge tries to drop a rock on you or something. I didn't really care about any of this stuff.<br />
<br />
<br />
<h2>
<b>Notable Encounters</b></h2>
There's really only one encounter in this book which rings my bell, which is this guy, Leonardi.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj35n6whQeR_0PWnXZstVqfcN1js7Ev4FdSbbUU69HYJyXIpYtJV9p6mGZbqEhMCsVPOCCr6_gtI1xtxk6U6RrsMkgo7oyrotuzIwPhsuWjg6ZIRA0rEgxYzfgaH7KRWDUwEJSyQx_zC2k/s1600/351+-+leonardi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="HI IM LEONARDI"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj35n6whQeR_0PWnXZstVqfcN1js7Ev4FdSbbUU69HYJyXIpYtJV9p6mGZbqEhMCsVPOCCr6_gtI1xtxk6U6RrsMkgo7oyrotuzIwPhsuWjg6ZIRA0rEgxYzfgaH7KRWDUwEJSyQx_zC2k/s400/351+-+leonardi.jpg" width="247" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>It's Leonardi! Love that guy.</i></td></tr>
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Leonardi and his pals have blockaded a road. Here's what happens when you reach the blockade:<br />
<br />
<i>Two armed men in leather uniforms approach you and tell you that the only way you will be allowed to drive any further south is to win a speed race along the straight road, against their ace driver. If you lose the race, you will be forced to turn back.</i><br />
<br />
Okay, but... why? What's their motivation? Who knows! Ian is wracking his brain for car-themed encounters here. Do you know how hard it is to come up with a whole gamebook's worth of car-themed encounters? It's pretty hard.<br />
<i> </i><br />
So then Leonardi pulls up in an E-Type Jag and he winds down the window and looks at you and here is an exact transcription of what he says:<br />
<br />
<i>"Hi, my name's Leonardi. I used to play ball for the Mets, but now I race cars. Too bad you are driving that old trash can, but good luck anyway."</i><br />
<br />
You then race up the road a little bit and the book tells us there are six people cheering at the finish line. If you lose, Leonardi will get out of his car and say:<br />
<br />
<i>"You're good, but you're just not good enough. You'd better turn around now and head back towards the canyon."</i><br />
<br />
...leaving us none the wiser. You can also get into a fight with Leonardi and blow him up but you'd have to be kind of a dick to do that.<br />
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<h2>
<b>Failure, and a Long Walk</b></h2>
<br />
Anyway I didn't get to race Leonardi when I played, because I fell foul of #1 on that earlier list - I ran out of gas. In fact this is the most probable way of losing, you need to employ Bizarre Search Behaviour to scrounge five or six cans of petrol on your way to San Anglo or you get sent to paragraph <b>364</b> which basically says "too bad you ran out of petrol, guess you're walking home, lol". <br />
<br />
It would be nice if the petrol scarcity thing was set up a bit better - just have a guy in New Hope warn you about conserving fuel or something, make you nervous right from the get-go since it is undeniably the
biggest threat in the game.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqXio4FZ-Zi8Euf-LbHoekFi2IBznJ12fCReyZOn-bk1MFlEkKQdIMYi-t0Qsp84wth7ZKoq3KJRNVOy1jekuZoRyQx7wSLg-Y7YAdOx55chvVSVqZRfEw86p2tBSMd2b5NPfpos9oltY/s1600/smart+car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqXio4FZ-Zi8Euf-LbHoekFi2IBznJ12fCReyZOn-bk1MFlEkKQdIMYi-t0Qsp84wth7ZKoq3KJRNVOy1jekuZoRyQx7wSLg-Y7YAdOx55chvVSVqZRfEw86p2tBSMd2b5NPfpos9oltY/s400/smart+car.jpg" title="HI IM LEONARDI IM A DOG. I USED TO CHASE CATS AROUND BUT NOW I RACE BITCHY LITTLE CARS. TOO BAD YOUR DODGE ONLY GETS THREE MILES TO THE GALLON BUT GOOD LUCK ANYWAY." width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Might coulda strapped a rocket launcher on one of these bad boys instead.</i></td></tr>
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<br />
<h2>
<b>The SKELETON Count</b></h2>
<br />
The inclusion of magically re-animated undead in this setting would have been a challenge to justify (while undoubtedly making for a better read). So, it will come as no surprise that: <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYmwk27OabKTeM5RE6c77VmMHjdDl8-7vdL1N4B4esUJSrqBPnQ3W3l-yiJM2H8n8vHkjGuN6XBWo8rzF5qjk54rB6eaqtCDuIUOgHGbCaYtEAANjQkmwoGd6JvCInVj4ZWPZqRnRbats/s1600/no+skeletons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYmwk27OabKTeM5RE6c77VmMHjdDl8-7vdL1N4B4esUJSrqBPnQ3W3l-yiJM2H8n8vHkjGuN6XBWo8rzF5qjk54rB6eaqtCDuIUOgHGbCaYtEAANjQkmwoGd6JvCInVj4ZWPZqRnRbats/s400/no+skeletons.jpg" title="i dunno what this is though. maybe a grab for attention from a late-career Liz Hurley?" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This message is brought to you by That Skeleton with the Weird Bosom Portholes from </i><b>The</b><b> New Barbarians</b>.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<br />
Before I explain what I counted instead, I should point out that it is hypothetically possible, however unlikely, that a female person or "Wo-man" might someday have cause to read this blog, and that this chimerical being, whom I have <b>dared </b>to imagine, might be dismayed by the sweaty-lidded Male Gaze inherent in my "SEXY DAMES Count", which you may recall stood in for SKELETONS way back when I wrote about <a href="http://www.turnto400.blogspot.co.nz/2011/08/7-island-of-lizard-king-by-ian.html"><i>Island of the Lizard King</i></a>, sometime around the turn of the century.<br />
<i><br /></i>
It has been on my mind for these many intervening years that the Sexy Scales are very much askew and that there is a balance to be restored, a debt that must needs be redeemed.<br />
Well, my Hypothetical Lady Readers - consider it <b>paid</b> <b>in full</b>: <br />
<h2>
The SLAMMIN' BODZ Report </h2>
(<i>Editorial notes - listening to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=39YUXIKrOFk#t=9s">"I'm Too Sexy"</a> is MANDATORY while reading this section</i>)<br />
(<i>Yes, "on repeat", of course on repeat, why are you even asking</i>)<br />
(<i>Okay if you're really that upset, you COULD listen to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O9u7-lWE54M">"Deeply Dippy"</a> instead but it will make a lot less sense thematically)</i> <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinjcX7WDBYimtQ9cW9FE5brOXikCpez26fbjk1Qs12a12uLog2dnCZTIgYeRYPLCqLRIQsB9tvU8ivxB7cpAOWsUI0TCW-odkA9qJ2kWSHyCwGen4z-3DFNU8bggIxMb1BsbApF8Z9zik/s1600/right+said+fred+today+-+slammin+bodz+count.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Remember, Time is friend to no man - those who are too sexy for their shirts, will one day find their shirts too sexy for them."><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinjcX7WDBYimtQ9cW9FE5brOXikCpez26fbjk1Qs12a12uLog2dnCZTIgYeRYPLCqLRIQsB9tvU8ivxB7cpAOWsUI0TCW-odkA9qJ2kWSHyCwGen4z-3DFNU8bggIxMb1BsbApF8Z9zik/s1600/right+said+fred+today+-+slammin+bodz+count.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The SLAMMIN' BODZ Report is brought to you by modern-day Right Said Fred. </i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></td></tr>
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<br />
Let the count-down begin!<br />
(<i>You are listening to the song, right?</i>) <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil20fgsZ3wacgVgHvQJDTdlRA4HeHHZRhqCb11hHZ7LMV37wcnINgDm-46eoUNkqp_ULvEhnoOKbRXR3FlK_RtJlADyLYJf2noei1yTo3-7KW_WEKY37jUPMjuwEmlxBkFD0_FULWLS50/s1600/chuck+no+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="hobbies include blimp racing and pulling barbed wire out his arse"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil20fgsZ3wacgVgHvQJDTdlRA4HeHHZRhqCb11hHZ7LMV37wcnINgDm-46eoUNkqp_ULvEhnoOKbRXR3FlK_RtJlADyLYJf2noei1yTo3-7KW_WEKY37jUPMjuwEmlxBkFD0_FULWLS50/s400/chuck+no+4.jpg" width="242" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Chuck</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Chuck here takes great care of himself, all of his striations and individual muscle fibres are plainly visible and just pressed up against his straining, creaking skin like you would not believe. Tap on those pecs and they'll sound off like a couple of finely tuned <i>timbales</i>! We asked Chuck for the secret behind his amazing achievement, it turns out he attaches diving weights to his Uzi and also he always take the stairs.<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>That's another Fighting Fantasy:</i> </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwz0QHAPkHz4vHPV8x2rD5nPPLqq2XQf_xjseAHjJDPafmfxb0sqfJRdmsw_e2ykDeU_X_9_jk_asrJ2wkJkHgKBB5Yd8iF0ohMAvt7q8QJdu95agmVkDPU4ZE59TBAAVE8wJ1GCmB8ao/s1600/Hot-Tip+-+small.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwz0QHAPkHz4vHPV8x2rD5nPPLqq2XQf_xjseAHjJDPafmfxb0sqfJRdmsw_e2ykDeU_X_9_jk_asrJ2wkJkHgKBB5Yd8iF0ohMAvt7q8QJdu95agmVkDPU4ZE59TBAAVE8wJ1GCmB8ao/s1600/Hot-Tip+-+small.png" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ6kiq4AcWLDiFS8BSIVDmDCPceE3DgPAYgWsPWiOBYfAD6SCbpjOxsq-2QEm97Q2EUJv8dsAMhDrFIvZUEWfAgT7gdPqMxlDSE3YUkH3AVw-F44XiaXFxM9H0k7-QMlFQWUFPLSLm7VU/s1600/kid+panther+no+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ6kiq4AcWLDiFS8BSIVDmDCPceE3DgPAYgWsPWiOBYfAD6SCbpjOxsq-2QEm97Q2EUJv8dsAMhDrFIvZUEWfAgT7gdPqMxlDSE3YUkH3AVw-F44XiaXFxM9H0k7-QMlFQWUFPLSLm7VU/s400/kid+panther+no+3.jpg" title="Vincente has a passion for celebrity trivia and he practices Parkour on Sundays" width="255" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Vincente "Kid Panther" Cobretti</i></td></tr>
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<br />
Ladies, some of you out there prefer more of a dancer's physique, am I right? Don't interrupt me to agree. Well look no further than the "Kid Panther", Vincente Cobretti. As the unacknowledged love-child of Lt. Marion Cobretti (<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mibmCWIdzLM">Sly Stallone's character in <i>Cobra</i></a>) and whoever Olivia Newton John was playing in <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWz9VN40nCA">the video for <i>Physical</i></a>, he attributes his bod almost entirely to lucky genes.<br />
"<i>But I also got my own technique called Micro-Training</i>!" he blurts. "<i>This week I've been really focused on pumping up that vein in my left elbow pit.</i>"<br />
<br />
The Total Micro-Training (C) System with Vincente "Kid Panther" Cobretti is available now on VHS and Betamax. <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibh9kuEJTGyBpzodMo6aRwsbNvYiGEH1ZL_bhVoVOYk18svLHPqXyQcR0DllX_xakj1-SfuNAKZ7dubAmxDZxmnQ-QQzm4iEBEDYDyvmwL1neL3YBH3Z7EaOko3A6oUfSkRQJf0aVMfE8/s1600/an-i-mal+no+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibh9kuEJTGyBpzodMo6aRwsbNvYiGEH1ZL_bhVoVOYk18svLHPqXyQcR0DllX_xakj1-SfuNAKZ7dubAmxDZxmnQ-QQzm4iEBEDYDyvmwL1neL3YBH3Z7EaOko3A6oUfSkRQJf0aVMfE8/s400/an-i-mal+no+2.jpg" title="ANIMAL wears the mask to hide his delicate, faun-like features. 'Nobody takes a pretty man seriously' he explains" width="251" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>ANIMAL</i></td></tr>
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<br />
As the leader of a gang of New Barbarians, ANIMAL has made it to the very top of his profession. But he still makes time to keep his body in top condition by energetically beating strangers to death in unregulated <i>lucha libre </i>combats, or "<i>pounding ass</i>", as he describes it. "<i>You better believe I am pounding ass day and night</i>", he will state unequivocally when asked, and sometimes when not asked also. <br />
<i> </i><br />
<br />
Incredibly, ANIMAL has achieved -1.7% body fat, yes that's <i>MINUS </i>1.7%. His body contains small amounts of the anti-matter form of fat, which scientists have not yet decided whether to call "<i>anti-fat</i>" or "<i>taf</i>". This also means that one sip of a thickshake would cause him to literally explode in a detonation three times more powerful than the destruction of Hiroshima. "<i>It definitely keeps me on target in my intake control,</i>" Animal confided warmly to us. "<i>Uh uh uh! No cheating!</i>" he added with a throaty chuckle, waggling one deliciously muscular index finger from side to side. <br />
<i><br /> </i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipG3GN99tEXq3cPIuCrimucn8dc2es7uolQGCRKi1cERceZvqJAM7lzry9HW90J0tZ1xKZMu4bHpczVS1Y7P7iJk43kdrrOdSLHK2XNho8j1sq2aFsY1v9PmlmRnngkb8XjI5-WFH5_zs/s1600/maximum+doombro+no+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipG3GN99tEXq3cPIuCrimucn8dc2es7uolQGCRKi1cERceZvqJAM7lzry9HW90J0tZ1xKZMu4bHpczVS1Y7P7iJk43kdrrOdSLHK2XNho8j1sq2aFsY1v9PmlmRnngkb8XjI5-WFH5_zs/s400/maximum+doombro+no+1.jpg" title="'Centurions' is a real place that exists but I don't know anything about it though" width="248" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Maximus Doombro</i></td></tr>
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<i> </i><br />
Maximus Doombro is a well-known local character, tooling about the wasteland in his instantly recognisable CHARIOT, a converted Toyota Hilux. We asked Maximus how he came up with his unique look.<br />
<br />
"<i>When the plague hit,</i>" he tells us, "<i>me and some buddies holed up at a sauna called </i>'Centurions' <i>where we always used to go, it was like a Roman-style place, just a fun place with a theme, you know.</i>"<br />
<br />
"<i>Eventually we ran out of tinned spaghetti and we had to go out foraging, and we didn't know what to expect, so we raided the costume closet and I found this gladiator helmet and some of the boys put on some legionary gear and we stepped out and said '</i>Hello, world! Here we are, this is us!'<i> Well, we felt a bit silly at first, but you know, everybody in the wasteland has been really supportive, the kids like it when they see us, the parents are supportive, a lot of the dads ask me how they can get into it, it's just a bit of fun and colour for everyone.</i>"<i> </i><br />
<br />
The CHARIOT has bullet holes in the fuel tank, so it's pulled by a harnessed team of six gleaming body-builders, crawling on all fours with ball-gags stuffed into their drooling mouths. <br />
<br />
"<i>We each get one day a week riding in the back,</i>" Maximus explains, "<i>it's fitness AND it's fun.</i>"<br />
"<i>And of course our friendship is stronger than ever!</i>" he laughs. "<i>Come on boys, mush, mush!</i>"<br />
And the CHARIOT is rolling again.<br />
<br />
------------------------<br />
<br />
Well, that concludes the <b>SLAMMIN' BODZ Report</b>, I hope all of the heterosexual women out there thoroughly enjoyed it. I felt a bit strange while I was writing it and zooming in closely on the detail of all those incredible muscles, but this was one for the ladies and I will do anything to be fair.<br />
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<br />
<h2>
<b>Final Thoughts</b></h2>
Well I suppose it probably fairly clear that I found this book pretty boring and a bit rubbish. I feel like Ian Livingstone didn't enjoy writing it, and thus I didn't enjoy reading it. He was much more enthusiastic writing high fantasy and it shows. It's a shame that the book got fixated on the car angle because there is a lot of fun tropes you can play with in a post-apocalyptic setting (consider something more akin to the <i>Fallout </i>series - there's no reason why this book couldn't have been populated with bizarrely mutated animals and such to spice it up). This is also a contributing factor as to why it has taken me so many months to finish writing about the bleedin' thing.<br />
<br />
Back in the day, of course, Ian had Steve Jackson to kick his arse for him...<br />
<br />
<b>Dateline, 1985</b><br />
<br />
The scene is a breath-takingly beautiful, sun-lit conservatory full of rare tropical plants and exquisitely tasteful furnishings. This is where IAN and STEVE write gamebooks. A small fountain plashes endearingly. Two white tigers lounge together on the floor. Hot ladies are carrying drinks around and what-not. <b> </b><br />
<br />
STEVE is stretched out in a sun-chair, reading a book about cryptography. <br />
<br />
STEVE (<i>looking up from his book</i>): "I say, Ian, I dropped three hundred thousand pounds at the roulette table last night, I think we better put out another gamebook, what! How's that <i>Mad Gordon </i>thing coming along?"<br />
<br />
IAN is seated at a mahogany table nearby. He looks up from a charcoal sketch he is working on. It is a manticore blazing a J. <br />
<br />
Ian: (<i>shrugs</i>) "Oh, I dunno mate, I started it but... cars are boring. I got bored."<br />
<br />
STEVE's eyes smoulder with rage, like lava from a magic volcano where a boss lives. <br />
<br />
Steve: "That's the bloody attitude I've been telling you about! <u>FINISH THE BOOK, IAN</u>."<br />
<br />
Ian: "Look mate, I'm really not bothered on this one --"<br />
<br />
Steve: "Don't tell it to me, <b>Ian</b>. Tell to <b>the Board of Directors </b>when you <b>hand in your resignation</b>."<br />
<br />
Ian: "Oo-er, I'll get cracking then, eh." <br />
<br />
And then he finished it off in a big rush in one afternoon, and he couldn't even think of an extra 20 paragraphs about cars so he made it finish on paragraph <b>380</b>. The End. <br />
<br />
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Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17408095504472495097noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618556584663522444.post-64954270529733200882012-10-30T23:59:00.000-07:002012-10-31T00:43:31.508-07:00#12 - "Space Assassin", by Andrew Chapman (1985)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1bCY4E7sRYJmxm1ySDAn1PfLLaEFRpP-P0rsNGRaoNZArsc_LGiiOB6MqVKfLUoXwJDSZJDbKJqRneNzNft2iI5OgorxxZoPPGhXEXPJo4LZ88tmsP4JMbJoB6zrA_l80zjj_5FIx7WA/s1600/space+assassin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1bCY4E7sRYJmxm1ySDAn1PfLLaEFRpP-P0rsNGRaoNZArsc_LGiiOB6MqVKfLUoXwJDSZJDbKJqRneNzNft2iI5OgorxxZoPPGhXEXPJo4LZ88tmsP4JMbJoB6zrA_l80zjj_5FIx7WA/s320/space+assassin.jpg" title="I love this SPACE ASSASSIN font" width="200" /></a></div>
Back in spaaaaaace! "<i>Space Assassin</i>" tells you everything you need to know right there in the title, which is a quality I very much admire about this book and the Fighting Fantasy series taken as a whole. It's even better when the cover literally depicts what the title describes as well. <i>Scorpion Swamp</i>, for instance, was a disappointment in that the cover failed to show one or more scorpions in a swamp, regardless of the fact the book was simply teeming with scorpions. These aren't books for adults - not real, grown-up ones - and ambiguity is intolerable. You cannot name a Fighting Fantasy book something like "<i>Glimpses of the Nearest Tide: A Novel</i>" and have the cover be e.g. a fountain pen lying next to a rose, or a silhouette of a guy experiencing loneliness, or a double-exposure of some tree branches and a fox's face, or whatever the fuck else they put on the front of dumbass proper literature that people respect, no! That will not play. This is not literature - the cover and the title need to tell you a lot, almost everything, so much that you can just about throw the book away at once. And it needs to <i>pop</i>.<br />
<br />
<br />
(I challenge serious literature to try this approach, by the way - e.g. I want to see an edition of Cormac McCarthy's <i>Blood Meridian</i> retitled as "<i>Bad Cowboys</i>", with depicted on the cover, some bad cowboys throwing donkeys off the side of a mountain. And sorry if that was a spoiler for anyone who hasn't read it.)
<br />
<br />
Now this is a pretty cool cover and no-one will disagree that it definitely <i>pops </i>but I think it is only showing a couple of Space Mallcops instead of a Space Assassin so I guess that's a 1 out of 2, which is just 50%. My favourite thing about this picture though is that the mallcops have a game of some kind of space football up on the big screens, having worked in similar environments in the past I can tell you this is exactly what really happens. They are supposed to be watching out for intruders at the T-junction but they have the footie on instead. If you examine the image closely you can see that the football is all spikey which probably means this future is<i> pretty dystopian, </i>maaaaan<i>.</i><br />
<br />
This book was written by an Australian, Andrew Chapman, interestingly he wrote the first draft after reading <i>Warlock </i>and after a few years in publication limbo it was picked up for the Fighting Fantasy series, though that was not his original intention. The book was born from the fertile desperation that only working a soul-crushing public service job can bring - he relates it all over at his <a href="http://andrew-e-chapman.blogspot.com/">blog</a>.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Background</span></b><br />
<b><br /></b>
So yeah, Andrew wrote the earlier drafts of this book after reading his little brother's copy of <i>Warlock, </i>before any other books in the series had been published. Interestingly, he hit upon a similar premise and structure as the second book in the series, <i>Citadel of Chaos</i>, still yet to published. Presumably this is a natural place for your mind to go as you <a href="http://www.turnto400.blogspot.co.nz/2010/06/warlock-of-firetop-mountain-steve.html">sit on a treasure chest, wiping snotty tears from your chin</a> - <i>why couldn't this just be about killing the Warlock? </i>So this is basically another case of <i>get in the castle, murder the wizard</i>, only it's in spaaaaaaaaace, and therefore rather than a buff sorcerer your target for space assassination is "<i>Cyrus, the tyrannical ruling scientist of Od (your local sector)</i>".<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuNVtKTOQjL66pHL9wGkhIEt2WP1exJeM8gLShOjL7yE5I6C0jZEsKE900yXgTjRUPF_j0jm7boRhYhsnBz0Kgy0jz3wf4On9lZsGo5Wd9EhQQXk9cW_RxEutJkJYrSRQi0eAPP6LbsO0/s1600/cyrus+bidniz+card.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="the light bulb represents my scientific genius"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuNVtKTOQjL66pHL9wGkhIEt2WP1exJeM8gLShOjL7yE5I6C0jZEsKE900yXgTjRUPF_j0jm7boRhYhsnBz0Kgy0jz3wf4On9lZsGo5Wd9EhQQXk9cW_RxEutJkJYrSRQi0eAPP6LbsO0/s320/cyrus+bidniz+card.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I just whipped him up a business card right quick at like bidnizcardz.com or wherever.</i></td></tr>
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<br />
He has been causing bad trouble all up in your planet by various methods that lean pretty heavily on robots and "<i>evil creatures almost certainly of mutant origin</i>", henceforth referred to only as "mutants". Kidnapping citizens for experimental surgery is, we are told, his "<i>most usual crime</i>".<br />
<br />
This is just a thing that most everyone has resigned themselves to, but then word reaches the unspecified bigwigs of your nameless planet that his next crime will be at the less usual end of the spectrum: "<i>he intends to use your entire world for one gruesome biological experiment in which he will cover the surface of the planet in radioactive isotopes while showering deadly viruses on all living creatures</i>".<br />
<br />
Let me say that as an experimental method this is unforgivably imprecise - I don't know <b>what </b>conclusions Dr. Cyrus believes he will be able to draw from this. Anyway the folks in charge decide that the best way to head this off is to have Cyrus assassinated, which is where YOU come in, in your capacity as a Space Assassin. <br />
<br />
So! While we don't know much about your home planet we can conclude it's the sort of backwater where this type of experiment can go ahead without anyone beyond the resident yokels being overmuch concerned - this is reinforced by the fact that the "<i>planetary Assassin's Guild</i>" is a rinky-dink outfit that provides the sole hope for the planet's survival with 1d6 credits and tells him to make sure he stays in budget and, for fuck's sake, hang on to the goddamn receipts.<br />
<br />
<h2>
Rolling Up My Dude</h2>
<br />
SKILL - 10<br />
STAMINA - 20<br />
LUCK - 7<br />
<br />
Okay rolls. Because we're in a high-tech yet dystopian future there are some more attributes to determine (and you get "pep pills" to restore your STAMINA instead of my beloved PROVISIONS).<br />
<br />
ARMOUR comes into play during firefights, if you get hit you roll two
dice vs. ARMOUR and if you roll lower than your armour, the damage is
prevented. ARMOUR is like LUCK in that it decreases by one point any
time you <i>Test</i> it.<br />
<br />
ARMOUR - 8<br />
<br />
A lowish roll, but hey, you only need armour if you gonna get hit right? I resolved not to get hit. Next up I needed to determine my equipment. You get 1d6 space credits to invest in weapons and other equipment. You can buy extra points of armour and neato gravity bombs and assault blasters and whatnot.<br />
<br />
BUDGET - 1<br />
<br />
...however if you roll a snake's wink like Yours Truly all you can afford is the <span style="background-color: white;">electric lash, described as - "<i>a small hand-gun which projects an electric pulse</i>"</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcNgK1HjtKdz3NcE3al4Mj3KjUIWocqfoxPGRJ8DYb9NwsBdOBPNIXnpQR_w-AsHNoU4nz7eZjJWYyEee2LG-Uy0klDgbjguss70EGM1sDfwG1M-Afs_Qkm058fiQoNi6k5K6gfnHb5go/s1600/naa09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcNgK1HjtKdz3NcE3al4Mj3KjUIWocqfoxPGRJ8DYb9NwsBdOBPNIXnpQR_w-AsHNoU4nz7eZjJWYyEee2LG-Uy0klDgbjguss70EGM1sDfwG1M-Afs_Qkm058fiQoNi6k5K6gfnHb5go/s320/naa09.jpg" title="the page I nicked this from has a section entitled FOOLISHLY DISMISSING THE MINI-REVOLVER" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Pew! Pew!</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">:-( </span></div>
<br />
There's a few explanations I can imagine that would justify this randomly crappy budget in story terms:<br />
<b>1) </b>The electric lash is the best technology available in your shitty backwater planet.<br />
<b>2) </b>No-one in charge really believes the rumours about Cyrus' evil science experiment but they hired a local night-club bouncer just to appease the paranoid fringe within the electorate. "<i>Quick mate put on this here Space Assassin armour</i>" they hiss as you are hastily stripped of your yellowing wife-beater. The cardboard box labelled "REAL Space Assassin Armour!" is hastily kicked under a desk. <br />
<b>3) </b>Planet Dumb-Dumb is more or less okay with the radioactive virus shower thing.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGLHP7ne_LmWmgaJX57dHJxM9rMAGTgvO6661JeIJFKpuirF8gt9FNYMGrLPwUYGaWfG0UU4RUXUti66io4eAL4kw07pbF2XoSZ8u6tNoFxpAYUAdv6DT5VpCCjXRIslebMxDHMRtvgig/s1600/chest_mutant.JPG" imageanchor="1" title="caint stend in th' way of pawgress, bro"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGLHP7ne_LmWmgaJX57dHJxM9rMAGTgvO6661JeIJFKpuirF8gt9FNYMGrLPwUYGaWfG0UU4RUXUti66io4eAL4kw07pbF2XoSZ8u6tNoFxpAYUAdv6DT5VpCCjXRIslebMxDHMRtvgig/s320/chest_mutant.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>"Caint harm us none mo then sixty gennerations of inbreedin', right bro?"</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>"Thess right, bro." </i></span></div>
<br />
Actually on reflection, none of these theories exclude each other, so I have chosen to believe all of them. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Adventure</b></span><br />
<br />
Okay so what you got here is not a morbidly obese ghetto blaster but in fact the mighty starship <i>Vandervecken</i>:<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0yIyAFSxI7BEEe9hBFWN-F3ipH2B2OM_7XtBIkTAn6r5zcs0dV17Wu7aGTch1RgXoRbi-fL5XgSY5m0l0fsObyUFL6HXfZ9FCCnaAEnEA7dF-uu9-_fgVmnFrek6eQl1OhWd3rYK-aG8/s1600/vandervecken.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0yIyAFSxI7BEEe9hBFWN-F3ipH2B2OM_7XtBIkTAn6r5zcs0dV17Wu7aGTch1RgXoRbi-fL5XgSY5m0l0fsObyUFL6HXfZ9FCCnaAEnEA7dF-uu9-_fgVmnFrek6eQl1OhWd3rYK-aG8/s400/vandervecken.jpg" title="that IS a big tape deck in the middle of the hull there though" width="282" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Aye, she looks a fat turd of a shippe, but she cuts through spaaaaaace like a razor!</i></td></tr>
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YOU, the Space Assassin, start your quest by canvassing "<i>the local star systems</i>" in search of your quarry, eventually catching up with this shambling bubo of a craft in "<i>a relatively isolated system</i>" (does nobody ever <i>name</i> anywhere in this damn galaxy?) That all happens in a sentence shorter than the preceding one. You notice that the <i>Vandervecken </i>is taking on supplies so you stow away on the supply shuttle, and, nearing the mother ship, sneak out the back and EVA your way over to a non-descript iris airlock in the <i>Vandervecken's</i> hull.<br />
<br />
You find yourself on the wrong side of an impassable security door with maintenance hatches to the right and left (T-junction alert!). Both are labelled "CAUTION". Better funded space assassins can try blowing up the door with a gravity bomb, but not I. You also have the option to sift through "<i>a small pile of what seems to be organic refuse</i>".<br />
<br />
<i>Inviting</i>, I thought to myself, <i>but I don't wanna go back to punching drunk space-bikies at the roadhouse - this is my big chance</i> <i>to make good as a Spaaaaaace Assassin. I</i> <i>gotta be 100% focused on the mission</i>. Reluctantly, I turned aside from the pile of shit on the floor, and popped open the right-hand maintenance hatch. <br />
<br />
Clambering down the maintenance shaft you stop and listen at the hatches you pass, which is an under-utilised idea in the series - adding a bit of flavour to the direction-choosing is always a good idea. I bypassed the first side-hatch which had a creepy gurgling noise audible from the other side, but took the second one which was quiet but "<i>rather warm</i>". <i>Hope this doesn't lead to some <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZcW43gjtMYc#t=2m28s">elaborate and needlessly dangerous apparatus for venting waste gases</a></i>, I thought. <i>They're <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n5x3J_cHqe8">kind of a big deal</a> in dystopian futures.</i> But I needn't have feared, the hatch just lead to moderately warm room, from where I could spy upon some space aliens - two Fossniks, disarmingly described as follows:<br />
<br />
<i>Seated, reading from electronic resource sheets, are two rodent-like Fossniks, their white lab coats and tiny pince-nez betray them as being technical types.</i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi30xzhDK1loUhtSaTYCSUzoQl7NnMJ_LFXkX8w0iA0MTUWvEXQ5g2PSl-JYeymjDhtmxt0fdwoghczMnWbf_8fTmNkDtc0m7dwVEqgWl_jPSDIj1QLdmUNGfyUAGquG8B7LOf0qizyoVc/s1600/murdered+fossnicks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="You wouldn't shoot a man in pince-nez, would you?"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi30xzhDK1loUhtSaTYCSUzoQl7NnMJ_LFXkX8w0iA0MTUWvEXQ5g2PSl-JYeymjDhtmxt0fdwoghczMnWbf_8fTmNkDtc0m7dwVEqgWl_jPSDIj1QLdmUNGfyUAGquG8B7LOf0qizyoVc/s400/murdered+fossnicks.jpg" width="287" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Here's what they look like after you kill them.</i></td></tr>
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The book also calls them "<i>hench-beings</i>" which is an adorable noun.<i> </i>You don't have to murder them though, you have the option also of buggering off or "<i>threatening</i>" them which is what I decided to do. I jumped out and waved my teensy electric lash around, they were like "what is that, keep your hand still" and then they were like "woah hang on it's a electric lash!" and then they dropped to their knees and begged for mercy.<br />
<br />
"Where's Cyrus!" I barked.<br />
"I dunno, man, sorry man!" pleaded one Fossnik, "we only work in this one lab, he could be anywhere on the ship though."<br />
"Yeah have you seen the size of this fukken place," said the second, "there's one room wit' a whole dang old forest in it and there's a lost tribe in it and giant scorpions flyin' around in it."<br />
"Oh yeah and they got that canyon with the lake with all the Loch Ness monsters and whatnot," Fossnik #1 chimed in enthusiastically. <br />
"What?! What?!" I bellowed, forgetting the need for stealth in my confusion.<br />
"It's a science experiment!", they said, nodding gleefully. "Dr. Cyrus has a very inquisitive mind".<br />
"He basically never comes to see us though," said the first, remorsefully, "I've been waiting three months to report that we completed our assigned tasks and scientifically determined that when you stab a dog in the liver, it dies."<br />
"Well, usually," said the second. "It's statistically significant anyway."<br />
"Shut up!" I howled, hoping very much that I sounded like someone who needs to be taken seriously. <br />
<br />
Then I forced them to strip and tied them up. HOLD ON A MINUTE WHAT DID I JUST DO. No, there it is in the book - "<i>You force them to strip and tie them up</i>." - the option said I could <u><i>threaten </i></u>the funny rat-men, now I got them stripping at (admittedly tiny) gunpoint? I am uncomfortable with treating the rat-men in this degrading way, it is not what I had in mind at all! Yet here my Space Assassin is, wishing there were more Fossnicks to "threaten" so he could stack them in a Abu Ghraib style pyramid of hench-beings.<br />
<br />
This moment serves to illustrate a basic issue of agency in Fighting Fantasy, YOU are not in fact the hero, YOU are just one tiny Eddie Murphy inside the hero's giant Eddie Murphy head, tipping his impulses one way or t'other at certain opportune moments, but otherwise just along for the ride, one tiny Eddie Murphy among so many others. It is a matter than I have given some philosophical consideration.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJz5UagbrIV0wt6zey2w_6L4exTVEsYtB39zetT_RussU7VMaUQqTv6nKMsGaX9U4c8Y-ChS6sSe1CURUGqEzmmVGhvm_XNneCuot0INcCcVEeqFvDxVumwQkzczgTWlESqtQve1OZpsM/s1600/eddie_murphy_meet_dave_head_highway_01.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJz5UagbrIV0wt6zey2w_6L4exTVEsYtB39zetT_RussU7VMaUQqTv6nKMsGaX9U4c8Y-ChS6sSe1CURUGqEzmmVGhvm_XNneCuot0INcCcVEeqFvDxVumwQkzczgTWlESqtQve1OZpsM/s320/eddie_murphy_meet_dave_head_highway_01.jpg" title="Meet Dave (2008) - 19% on rottentomatoes.com" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This giant Eddie Murphy head car is being driven by Eddie Murphy, whose own head is in turn full of tiny Eddie Murphies each representing one of his foibles, quirks and desires. </i></td></tr>
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And that's how you end up with two nude, terrified rat-men quivering on the floor before you.<br />
<br />
Anyway. "<i>While they are stripping</i>", you notice that they each have an electronic key-card around their neck so you pilfer one of those and swipe yourself through to the next corridor, leaving the disgraced and violated Fossnicks to recover from their trauma as best they may. I elected to duck into a cafeteria along the way - "<i>once again everything is decorated in an alien style designed to make human behaviour difficult</i>" - how lamentably chauvinist! I'm sure the decor is in fact designed to make alien behaviour extremely comfortable and easy - update your perspective, buddy, you are like a cat complaining that the car windscreen doesn't have a cat-flap. Anyway the protagonist follows up this unreconstructed blunder by mouthing off to himself about the stinky foreign muck that those aliens eat before happily stumbling upon some muesli bars. And of course they have those miraculous healing powers beloved of ill-fated heroes everywhere, result! Next time someone burns a hole through my torso with a high-powered laser I shall remember to gnaw on them bad boys.<br />
<br />
Exiting the break room, I continued down the corridor. <br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Failure, and Death</b></span><br />
<br />
So, the method by which I died.... is pretty crazy. Let me tell you about it. <br />
<br />
At the end of the corridor is a T-junction and standing there is a GUARD ROBOT "w<i>ith a pair of electric lashes protruding from its chest</i>" like murderous little zappy nipples. You have an option to "<i>bluff the robot</i>".<br />
<br />
"What's up," said the ROBOT.<br />
"Say, ah, I'm, ah, inspecting IDs," said I. "You a robot though, you don't need no ID. I'm a let you just cool out for now. Okay seeya."<br />
"Hold up my mans," that crafty ROBOT interrupted, "let me get at the base, they might coulda forgot and tell me about clearance for inbred-looking-ass hayseed mah'fukking denim-overalls-havin' ID inspectors creepin' up on my T-junction with they dick-fronts poking out they flyyyyyyyyyyyy... oversight like stands to be noted, you would agree."<br />
"Well sure if you wanna waste they time you go right on aheed," I said sounding super pissy and not really nervous, (cos' I was pretty much nailing this bluff).<br />
A long pause, punctuated only by the screech of a 14.4k modem negotiating a connection.<br />
"This ID thing is a problem though," I volunteered, "lotta the aliens gettin' sloppy with they IDs, got 'em all dog-eared and what-not. Even some of the proper folks, too. Dirty thumbprints on the face part of the ID and that. Photo peeling up at the corner and what have you. HQ is havin' a fit, man, they pissed. Sent me down to bust some heads, tell y'all to get right with your IDs, straighten out them shits, yew know." <br />
Another pause.<br />
<br />
"Acknowledged".<br />
The ROBOT opened fire and zapped one point of my armour off.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPpDGgIREZdeC_ad1Id_VhpAgwlPEOoCvbdG6FFcNEPqiCOIjDpeHCHuLK4OAlOD54FXDjk9RkyyDE4mH8n-bOtMCyZculrgP2CNGCtQMntijfgdE-ZSwLWDK7_54P4QhrUQ97eQb9kEE/s1600/sick+robot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="there are heaps of SICK 80s sci-fi drawings in this book though"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPpDGgIREZdeC_ad1Id_VhpAgwlPEOoCvbdG6FFcNEPqiCOIjDpeHCHuLK4OAlOD54FXDjk9RkyyDE4mH8n-bOtMCyZculrgP2CNGCtQMntijfgdE-ZSwLWDK7_54P4QhrUQ97eQb9kEE/s400/sick+robot.jpg" width="296" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>There's no illustration of the crappy shooty-nippled robot that I fought, so here's a sick drawing of a way cooler robot from some much cooler part of the starship. </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It is a kind of a main theme of this book actually, that ROBOTS are not easily bluffed. It's something Andrew Chapman wants his readers to "take home" from the experience, as they say. Reader beware! You cannot take these ROBOTS for the okey-doke. So this shrewd little guy got the drop on me and for what felt like hours we traded needle-thin rays of lukewarm electrical energy until, suffering an ultimate reverse in its moment of triumph, the GUARD ROBOT collapsed in a pachinko-like clatter.<br />
<br />
<i>So whut wuz thet somnbitch guardin' anyhoo</i>, my character thought. Set into the floor beneath its smouldering wreck was a safe with a three button combination lock - red button, blue button, green button. Now, I know a little bit about security because I used to live in a building where any attentive intruder could figure out the door code because microbes from a hundred greasy fingertips had grown into ring-shaped colonies around the only numbers on the keypad that ever got pressed. So I <i>know </i>that a safe with a three button lock is pretty fukken easy to crack. I felt pretty suspicious about this safe, and I kind of wanted to leave it alone - the protagonist however, is enraptured the moment he notices the shiny buttons, and he simple <i>must </i>press them, even as I, tiny Eddie Murphy (i.e. the reader), pound my fists ineffectually against the inside curve of his cranium. If you know about the safe there is no option but to <i>meddle </i>with it.<br />
<br />
Red button.<br />
<i>Beep!</i><br />
Oh, that was okay! Alright how about the blue butto--<br />
<br />
<b><i>337</i></b><br />
<i>As you depress the button, your world falls apart in a soundless explosion - you never see what the safe had hidden. You have failed. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTc5_3cq4QwstmVlZjEK56DMqnDBMnIgzxCkgnz8CkU1CAVAlQUxrLmhLmnXUAlaHGBe8v_r9NcHfzOQsTi3G32xeCvfxjwBN_NgeStfaJopOd3tWeaxpeCPyH2hKKq5Z4nCRwlwoIKQE/s1600/Fire_explosion_rock_7917.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTc5_3cq4QwstmVlZjEK56DMqnDBMnIgzxCkgnz8CkU1CAVAlQUxrLmhLmnXUAlaHGBe8v_r9NcHfzOQsTi3G32xeCvfxjwBN_NgeStfaJopOd3tWeaxpeCPyH2hKKq5Z4nCRwlwoIKQE/s320/Fire_explosion_rock_7917.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>If an idiot dies in an explosion, and his ears are the first things that blow up, did it really make a sound?<br />Apparently not.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h2>
Notable Encounters</h2>
Actually no, pardon me but I'm going to talk a bit more about how I died though.<br />
<br />
Alright, so:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>There is a safe set in the floor operated by three buttons.</li>
<li>Pressing them in the wrong order blows up the safe.</li>
<li>The safe <i>actually only contains the bomb that blows it up</i> (confirmed by cheating - if you guess the combo you can waltz off with the bomb and use it to blow up a door or a baddy or something)</li>
<li>The safe is <i>set into the floor </i>in the <i>middle of a goddamn corridor </i>where any little rat-scientist or whatever can step on the buttons while rushing towards the superbly ergonomic dining area.</li>
<li>This is in a spaceship that's in space, by the way. </li>
</ul>
So I think the GUARD ROBOT was mainly there to prevent people from stepping on the trap buttons on the floor and blowing themselves up and potentially breaching the ship's hull? WHAT KIND OF FUKKEN SPACESHIP ARE YOU RUNNING, CYRUS-THE-SCIENTUSS.<br />
<br />
Okay, then:<br />
<br />
<h2>
Notable Encounters</h2>
I didn't get very far but there is a great jumble of fun stuff in this book. The massive on-ship wilderness zone I referred to in the dialogue with the Fossnicks is really in the book and all of the stuff mentioned in said dialogue is also really in the book:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGNOWC-DlSdydlm-nZcaviO8m_UAo11tjoCSyarNAX3fEiVAqqYolSt58eFScjs-pr0nUD3E90mp5mH814YapsHvMXwru4RVEZ0J17NMtkiG7eNSW7Yr6pOAHg8mHX5NkXQLkx9rmuoqk/s1600/montage+of+wacky+shit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGNOWC-DlSdydlm-nZcaviO8m_UAo11tjoCSyarNAX3fEiVAqqYolSt58eFScjs-pr0nUD3E90mp5mH814YapsHvMXwru4RVEZ0J17NMtkiG7eNSW7Yr6pOAHg8mHX5NkXQLkx9rmuoqk/s640/montage+of+wacky+shit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>From left to right - towering cliffs (note also the lake full of Nessies), tribe of lozenge-shaped Stone Age aliens, flying scorpion soaring over plains that stretch to the horizon - all aboard ship. NOT. EVEN. JOKING. </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Maybe it's a holodeck or something, I dunno, I didn't get that far. This barely scratches the surface of weirdo encounters on the <i>Vandervecken </i>though. The author seems to have had a fun time dreaming them up, and there's a distinct tongue-in-cheek absurdity to many encounters that is so patently deliberate and knowing that it rather cocks up the usual blend of genuine fondness and mean-spirited literalism in which I normally discuss these things - because Andrew Chapman is very much <i><u>in on the joke</u>. </i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTH86BtoB303j0wRqkRCe_Fqh_rzaXMgVRFeeGm0gOCkKho1To67EJeLRHWgj7_bZ3AXBnW7oa86p_NCGWXOo4Y8G_a-jauL0xXx-3oXXcgGi1i9WqB0gVCbBUWtZQVItqvi8p_MRiI2Y/s1600/another+of+cyrus's+experiments.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTH86BtoB303j0wRqkRCe_Fqh_rzaXMgVRFeeGm0gOCkKho1To67EJeLRHWgj7_bZ3AXBnW7oa86p_NCGWXOo4Y8G_a-jauL0xXx-3oXXcgGi1i9WqB0gVCbBUWtZQVItqvi8p_MRiI2Y/s400/another+of+cyrus's+experiments.jpg" title="the white ones have actually been shaved" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Another of Dr. Cyrus' experiments (possibly the control condition for the planetary radiation/virus bombardment)</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My favourite moment of deliberate humour in <i>Space Assassin </i>- that I've noticed while skimming at least - comes during another attempt to bluff another GUARD ROBOT. You have the option of talking, attacking, or trying to sneak past - talking nets the following:<br />
<br />
<b><i>192</i></b><br />
<i>'I say...' you say, to attract its attention. Before you can finish however, the robot spins, aims and fires - the blast smashes into the tunnel behind you and showers the area with molten metal. You will have to fight it. Turn to <b>228</b></i><br />
<br />
Having our Space Assassin launch his bad idea for a conversation with the stereotypically upper crust "I say!" is a stroke of comedic genius, it cracked me up.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<b style="font-size: x-large;">The SKELETON Count</b><br />
<b style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></b>
And reprising his award-winning role from <i>Starship Traveller, </i>here we have the "No Skeletons, Dummy, It's Sci-Fi" SKELETON:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6qh8TpYFTv71o3aw4tDO_-EVjV6Jr6jjiQg_0IJ8PSSW2EIwj5jv6c0loL21CIQfnR30tU3wWsgmgrODJ-VCXdc8GIDF6wJUur2JpD8lfjCdYtimFr3mAKt6SGu8GNGB69-eUpYKdQK4/s1600/space_skeleton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6qh8TpYFTv71o3aw4tDO_-EVjV6Jr6jjiQg_0IJ8PSSW2EIwj5jv6c0loL21CIQfnR30tU3wWsgmgrODJ-VCXdc8GIDF6wJUur2JpD8lfjCdYtimFr3mAKt6SGu8GNGB69-eUpYKdQK4/s320/space_skeleton.jpg" title="No Skeletons SKELETON is 100% my guy" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I don't think there will ever be any SKELETONS in any of the science-fiction books. Maybe for the sci-fi books I should try counting laser swords instead or something instead, I dunno. Jury's out on that one.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Final Thoughts</b></span><br />
<br />
I think I like this book, from as much as I've read of it at least. Andrew Chapman brings a comedic and slightly lunatic tone to the book that is amusing without throwing things outside the narrative world, if that makes sense.<br />
<br />
The prose is pretty good and quite evocative... except when suddenly it isn't, occasionally lapsing into inexcusable briskness. I'm gonna go ahead and call it for the whole series right now - <i>Space Assassin </i>has to the flattest, most unrewarding, paragraph <b>400</b> in all of Fighting Fantasy, perhaps even in all of numbered-paragraph literature:<br />
<br />
<i>You drag the unconscious Cyrus from the Waldo. Your mission is a complete success. Congratulations.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
Andrew Chapman has gone on the record as apologising "now and forever" for this ending, which I feel is completely appropriate and should probably also be followed up with a small compensatory payment to all readers. It's odd to consider that it was also he who penned my favourite paragraph <b>400</b>, which is at the end of book 16, <i>Seas of Blood</i> - but we'll get to that in about eight months.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVhQnFRuumArfo0-4Zno-0i2NieHVsM-c-Iso5jiwi-yL7M8LSLeFO1v196JrA7eq5DAL6Dd8GTFaLLt4cZEKjNKUYGmNdROdty6NSdKiMmihw8TQcD-dvmdXEseLSb2ICnOpYWdKOE5g/s1600/IMG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVhQnFRuumArfo0-4Zno-0i2NieHVsM-c-Iso5jiwi-yL7M8LSLeFO1v196JrA7eq5DAL6Dd8GTFaLLt4cZEKjNKUYGmNdROdty6NSdKiMmihw8TQcD-dvmdXEseLSb2ICnOpYWdKOE5g/s400/IMG.jpg" title="he was at the centre of a labyrinth being worshipped by a legion of tumorous giant house-flies" width="293" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I actually reeled backwards in my chair when I opened this page as the memories of a cascade of recurring childhood nightmares starring this loathsome hench-being flooded back to me. </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17408095504472495097noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618556584663522444.post-60321794516810377122012-08-27T03:32:00.001-07:002012-08-27T03:32:29.629-07:00Oh shit!Ian Livingstone just hit me and his other 6,008 followers up on Twitter to mention that it is the exact 30th anniversary of Fighting Fantasy 4 minutes ago.<br />
<br />
Well it is just about the 30th anniversary of the most recent post on this blogg too and I suppose I ought to have got it together to do my next post for the anniversary but I am like a thoughtless husband to Ian Livingstone and Steve Jackson (UK) and I forgot all about it, I'm basically pulling a cuppla daisies out the lawn and pretending its a bouquet (i.e. in the metaphor this refers to the current stream-of-consciousness post whereas a completed write-up of <i>Space Assassin</i> would be a fine bouquet full of roses and avoiding lilies and other plants that speak ill in the "language of flowers")<br />
<br />
Chunks of prose are scattered about on Google's servers somewhere waiting for me stick 'em together - suppose I better put some time into that then! To tide over the most avid among you here's a scan of a bookmark that fell out of a well-thumbed copy of <i>Star Strider</i>, I think it's Zanbar Bone fan fiction.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtifYWlxkDMWhJTXwQ4Jzg4Ti7ts7eVWZbHp61wio4lTJWfY7hqxNYpYohhAzXx_n1mkGmSbn8S-NWIhU9-suVCec0dQy-vpdEOmaZoRcZOqYE4eWzHMTQBQdaJ4pA02JoqguW69ISiKQ/s1600/skeleton+getting+naughty+cuddles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" title="The Erotic Adventures of Zanbar" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtifYWlxkDMWhJTXwQ4Jzg4Ti7ts7eVWZbHp61wio4lTJWfY7hqxNYpYohhAzXx_n1mkGmSbn8S-NWIhU9-suVCec0dQy-vpdEOmaZoRcZOqYE4eWzHMTQBQdaJ4pA02JoqguW69ISiKQ/s320/skeleton+getting+naughty+cuddles.jpg" width="233" /></a></div>
<br />Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17408095504472495097noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618556584663522444.post-53699815548878827992012-06-20T02:19:00.000-07:002012-06-20T02:19:10.358-07:00#11 - "Talisman of Death", by Jamie Thomson and Mark Smith (1984)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh1rcOjZMTipdpS-5CGHGge-iCJnAMaENcyaH1IvOYkx-NCcHYkGHItOOCgDPMdYd48yUO2SYFsmKDagln-5hcqbHxf8Sx-jGzrKVKI6Mk3-vkd88Arxh0mq_xPLU7ebJH27LZ3baR0o8/s1600/cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh1rcOjZMTipdpS-5CGHGge-iCJnAMaENcyaH1IvOYkx-NCcHYkGHItOOCgDPMdYd48yUO2SYFsmKDagln-5hcqbHxf8Sx-jGzrKVKI6Mk3-vkd88Arxh0mq_xPLU7ebJH27LZ3baR0o8/s400/cover.jpg" width="247" /></a></div>
<i>Death popped a wheelie on his horse and then did a mean jump in the air. Fire was shooting out of the horse's back feet and then some lightning zapped down. It was pretty close to Death but he didn't even care. He had a magic crystal ball that if anyone looked into it they would see <b>their own skull</b>, and he held it out in case anyone was looking. Just then, smoke come out the horse's nose and Death lifted up his sword-stick and he yelled "U GUNNA DIE" at everyone. </i><i>That's when everyone knew that it was time, time for:</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<u><i><span style="font-size: large;">TALISMAN OF DEATH</span></i></u><br />
<i><u><br /></u></i><br />
Thank you, thank you. <i>Talisman </i>is the second book in the series to be written by someone other than Ian/Steve, and happily we've gotten past that thing where the author is allowed to be another guy but <a href="http://www.turnto400.blogspot.co.nz/2011/11/8-scorpion-swamp-1984-by-other-steve.html">only if he's still called Steve Jackson.</a> Behind the typewriter this time we have a couple of knuckleheads called Jamie and Mark and they do a splendid job, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u8qgehH3kEQ">shoulder-to-shoulder at the typewriter</a> there. As I understand it, these fellows were employees of Games Workshop, and one day Ian pulled them out of the meeting room where they were composing crossword clues for <i>White Dwarf </i>magazine and said, "you're writing a game-book now, this is more important". And so they got to it.<br />
<br />
You probably already picked up on this, but <i>Talisman of Death </i>is not a fish-out-of-water comedy in which Death is transported to modern-day New York City and is forced to make the best of it. There are no bemused interactions with wiley taxi drivers who have seen it all before, no hot-dog vendors hollering, "<i>Say pal, ain't you Death? Hey errybody, we got Death ovah heyah!</i>" - there are no misunderstandings that result in someone telling Death to "<i>get a room</i>". There is nothing of the sort! We are back in the genre of high fantasy, sword and actual sorcery. However, our new authors brought with them a new setting, the world of Orb rather than the now-familiar land of Allansia that Ian Livingstone has been stitching together over the course of half a dozen books. It's the same kind of place, but it has its own feel.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Background</span></b><br />
<b><br /></b><br />
For instance, Orb has gods. Maybe Allansia also has gods - if so, we have heard little from them. In <i>Talisman</i>, though, gods play a big role from the get-go. They are basically the assholes who get you into this mess. The protagonist wakes up lying on a green couch, which with suspicious rapidity he deduces is in the uppermost tower of a great white castle that hovers suspended in an "<i>ocean blue canopy of a sky in which there is no sun</i>", rather than e.g. some girl's apartment. (I liked the author's poetical description of the place but I'd have had the protagonist wander around a while looking for somewhere to piss before revealing all this stuff). Our hero gapes in bafflement at his surrounds and his Robin Hood type clothes, then realises to his amazement that he has a sword and can use it with skill and power (well, fairly limited skill and power if you happen to roll a 1 actually). Yes, it turns out I psyched everyone out one paragraph ago because this <b>is </b>a fish-out-of-water comedy after all, but the water is the normal world! And the fish? The fish is YOU! A talking song-bird succinctly explains that you have been transported from Earth to Orb to act as "<i>the Champion of Fate</i>", because "<i>you are more likely to succeed than any other on Earth</i>".<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf7sspSp4EI4tdKMS337f2zZTDw5md94-Ur3EILHt8K1svnjw4Wm_gNxuU4RzIQDqSh3Q6CkZ7xttRIrBcRMzReuPGeHqz4zoYKH5QoFdxy7Tuh49R6zWfzH7b3iyLg7Yt1eDXibZIA-o/s1600/Van+Damme+kills+it.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="'Jean-Claude applies his scent marker to the railing'. Thank you to Paul Restall for supplying that joke."><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf7sspSp4EI4tdKMS337f2zZTDw5md94-Ur3EILHt8K1svnjw4Wm_gNxuU4RzIQDqSh3Q6CkZ7xttRIrBcRMzReuPGeHqz4zoYKH5QoFdxy7Tuh49R6zWfzH7b3iyLg7Yt1eDXibZIA-o/s400/Van+Damme+kills+it.jpg" width="286" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><i>More likely than this guy, though?</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Let me say at this point, I usually <i>despise</i> this plot device in fantasy. Average guy gets plucked from our mundane sphere to save some fantasy land in the moment of its direst peril? Pah! I've been known to throw a book out the window in disgust. In this case, though, it proves tolerable, as our hero just thinks "<i>oh hey, i can sword-fight now</i>" and then gets on with it. There are none of the usual tiresome doubts, no staggering about clutching one's head hollering "OH, IS IT REAL", no Mary Sue nonsense whereby some banal real-world trait such as, say, mild proficiency in Excel '97, somehow transfers to a unique power or some incredible aptitude in magic. He doesn't teach anyone English slang, nor how to skateboard, nor what French kissing is. So: allowable. You can forget about the protagonist's earthly origins for most of the book, which is just as I like it.<br />
<br />
The bird leads you to a large circular room, the floor of which forms a great map of Orb. Waiting within are the two gods who have shanghaied you - they don't trouble to introduce themselves, but later it becomes apparent that they are Fate and Time (many of Orb's gods seem to be named quite prosaically). Time, who has the disconcerting habit of continually transforming from a baby into an old man and back, sells you some rubbish about cosmic balance and impending chaos and then begs off that it's not <i>his </i>job to fix it, <i>you </i>gotta do it. He doesn't tell you what you actually need to do though, and then he heavily implies that he already knows whether you'll succeed or not, but refuses to say any more. In short, you're given a bunch of "mysterious ways" clap-trap that ought to make any right-thinking mortal resentful. Fate - who is an eyeless woman in a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hypercolor">Hypercolor </a>robe - then chimes in to say that you'd better not fail in the task which they haven't bothered to specify, while stroking your cheek inappropriately. As managers and motivators, clearly these guys suck.<br />
<br />
Before you can voice any objections, you have a Wile E. Coyote moment as you realise the map on the floor beneath you is in fact a satellite's view of the actual land below, and you tumble down towards a great rift in the earth.<br />
<br />
<i>As the world of Orb rises up to engulf you, the awesomeness of what is happening overwhelms you and you lose consciousness.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Rolling Up My Dude</span></b><br />
<br />
SKILL - 7<br />
STAMINA - 20<br />
LUCK - 8<br />
<br />
I know envious minds out there have been <b>just waiting </b>for me to roll SKILL 7. After all, my average SKILL for the first 10 books has been a hefty 10.7 - or, if you exclude the crew of <i>Starship Traveller </i>- an astonishing 11.2222222222222 recurring. That is to say, I've been a tinny bastard, and I don't doubt many a reader has been awaiting my comeuppance. Today, it seems, is the day.<br />
<br />
<i>Talisman </i>sees the welcome return of 10 x PROVISIONS - I was dismayed in <i>House </i>when even a tasty meal of roast duck didn't restore so much as a single STAMINA.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwitEfJEuDqkUQQrYrXMxxgaa2ZytS8CDehpKS-xQ2HuOiOYyCcfojUMxsfi_j6MYXsttAjS1qxZNUNuPyqgOJ2d9pbqvoF44SXoDtJHREVU6OeRwPfMi_VPwTtITV0cQDvismNi5-zac/s1600/Beijing_Roast_Duck_chef_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwitEfJEuDqkUQQrYrXMxxgaa2ZytS8CDehpKS-xQ2HuOiOYyCcfojUMxsfi_j6MYXsttAjS1qxZNUNuPyqgOJ2d9pbqvoF44SXoDtJHREVU6OeRwPfMi_VPwTtITV0cQDvismNi5-zac/s320/Beijing_Roast_Duck_chef_2.JPG" title="this image was censored from the duck version of House of Hell" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>It's just empty calories.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
You also have some kind of light source, though it's not clear what exactly. On page 7 you are told that you have "<i>fire flares to combat the dark terrors of Orb</i>". Great! That sounds cool. Shame it's never mentioned again. And the writer of page 7 was apparently not in communication with page 15's author, who informs us that:<br />
<br />
<i>To explore the network of caves and tunnels and to combat the terrors of the night, you are also equipped with five torches. To light them you have flint and tinder - guard them with your life!</i><br />
<br />
Both these guys were in the doghouse with the team that wrote the rest of the book, since you don't ever explore a network of caves and tunnels and no opportunity to use torches, flint and tinder, nor the intriguing "fire flares", is ever given.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Adventure</b></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div>
You awaken from your awesomeness-induced coma in a great underground vault, the howls of some unseen throng echoing around you, and getting louder. You can attempt to scarper or stand there staring at your hands like a numptie, either way you will quickly and inevitably encounter this merry crew.</div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguByS1m9OlUFCJJpVZc7l8OekPxvs7YHIH6TJ-7Xhd46N37zY3wFxZMnlT-MV42GaBE6u-3tCETVS653mhyphenhyphenfIH_PMmUJv9bALYwDgGSGDelPeODMeGT8we22q4No7Qv1s22eSJ6A3REEM/s1600/adventurers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguByS1m9OlUFCJJpVZc7l8OekPxvs7YHIH6TJ-7Xhd46N37zY3wFxZMnlT-MV42GaBE6u-3tCETVS653mhyphenhyphenfIH_PMmUJv9bALYwDgGSGDelPeODMeGT8we22q4No7Qv1s22eSJ6A3REEM/s640/adventurers.jpg" title="i had a photo of the kind of mask i'm talking about but Flickr is holding it hostage" width="395" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>An honest-to-goodness party of adventurers!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This is a well balanced party, we got a tank, a shooty lady, a cleric for heals, and a gentleman who found a mumu and one of those racist rubber masks they sell in Japanese novelty stores - <i>ohwaitthat'saWIZARD</i>. (The cheap and shoddy joke that preceded this sentence was brought to you by my childhood vexation that the WIZARD was not wearing a pointy hat and lacked stars upon his robe. And for some reason, the Wizard somehow seems to be one of those drawings where the artist accidentally draws three arms, even though he really has just the two. Am I going to shut up about the funny-looking Wizard? Let's find out).<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
This lot are presently fleeing from the terrors of the underworld but they're so bemused to find you wandering around like someone lost in an airport that they stop in their tracks. "<i>Who are you and what are you doing here in the Rift, the spawning place of all evil?</i>", asks the Shieldmaiden. Oh, the spawning place of all evil, is it? Yeah, nice one, "Fate". Nice one, "Time". Cheers. Thanks for the ride, <i>fuckers</i>.<br />
<br />
In a nod to their boss, Jamie and Mark give you the option to attack the Shieldmaiden upon the instant, however I decided to just 'fess up that I was from another world. "I guess that might sound exotic," I said, "but it's just Earth".<br />
"<i>It is the truth, and spoken from a true heart</i>", says the Cleric after zapping me with Detect Bullshit.<br />
"Word up", quoth I.<br />
<br />
The intrepid party finds themselves in a bind as they have no means to escape the dungeon - yes let's call it a dungeon - except for the Wizard's last Teleport spell, which can only transport a single person.<br />
"Have you considered barricading yourself in a room and lying down for 8 hours?" I ask.<br />
"Why ever would we do that?" says the Paladin.<br />
I only shrug. The Cleric then launches into all the exposition which the gods Fate and Time neglected (which is very much the purpose of priests I suppose). He explains that the party of four are the last survivors of an expedition into the Rift to snatch up the <b>Talisman of Death</b>, a ruby skull medallion made by followers of the god Death, which, "<i>when the time is right</i>", allows Death to physically enter the world of Orb and terminate all life, forever (I believe that is the exact moment depicted on the cover).<br />
<br />
With a remarkable lack of consultation the party all agree that their best bet is to hand the Talisman over to me and teleport me out of the dungeon before they all die nobly in a doomed last stand. "[The Talisman] <i>cannot be destroyed , but if you take it to your world, it will be beyond the reach of the claw of the Fleshless King</i>." I note the assumption that I have any idea at all how to get back to Earth and keep my mouth shut. He hands me ten bucks and suggests heading west to the city of learning, Greyguilds-on-the-Moor. Finally, a hundred DARK ELVES and CAVE TROLLS enter stage left and the guy in the mask zaps me out of there.<br />
<br />
So suddenly I'm outside the dungeon standing in the sunlight. "Huh, I guess he really <i>was</i> a Wizard", I think to myself. At this point I make the mistake of assuming that I have been teleported up from like Level 50 of the dungeon or something like that. I'm thinking that the Rift was the kind of dungeon where Level 1 is just mushrooms and kestrels and you spend days walking down stairs before seeing such as a CAVE TROLL.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxP3hAULsyhUAgH7j7N0O-J_zIk5lsdHkKnrtmGMET_Um8gECezq8H9C1bLcIPKoagR3TPMSZek-JG20tUXxrkbk1hBo8m1meOy1ulbBC-bqyP8R8n_xo97BdUIf5Rwq0hQ1cDd0gNyCc/s1600/kestrel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="K"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxP3hAULsyhUAgH7j7N0O-J_zIk5lsdHkKnrtmGMET_Um8gECezq8H9C1bLcIPKoagR3TPMSZek-JG20tUXxrkbk1hBo8m1meOy1ulbBC-bqyP8R8n_xo97BdUIf5Rwq0hQ1cDd0gNyCc/s320/kestrel.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The KESTREL is a ferocious bird that inhabits Level 1 of many dungeons.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So as I said, I'm assuming that I'm now about a vertical mile distant from the evil horde and decide to just walk westwards across open ground rather than moving under cover of the woods' edge. Unfortunately it seems I was only teleported a few hundred meters, because soon afterwards I notice two groups in pursuit, a rabble of about twenty ORCS and a similar number of DARK ELVES. The book gives options to approach either group, but no enticement to do anything so silly - both predictably result in death (in the case of the ORCS, you are bull-rushed into a chasm that the text only mentions at the very moment you bail into it <i>- </i>both you and the orcish captain unwittingly take a dive so I suppose it was an unprepossessing sort of chasm).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIdn3sntBvHwShduZZ7gy8LlkOF_vVtcg9zb74wpDi1uqshemuoBbgjXgiJGhbk9qWEofZKwz_1I3Re9sAcluehW4yFFFrD9CnV9u7CUHVmmTvH8snry5t510Khu_oZOc0fwdntl4UmlA/s1600/TheChasm-xsmall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIdn3sntBvHwShduZZ7gy8LlkOF_vVtcg9zb74wpDi1uqshemuoBbgjXgiJGhbk9qWEofZKwz_1I3Re9sAcluehW4yFFFrD9CnV9u7CUHVmmTvH8snry5t510Khu_oZOc0fwdntl4UmlA/s400/TheChasm-xsmall.jpg" title="there's a tiny blip between Visionaries and Pragmatists marked Ill-Fated Adventurers and Overzealous Orc Captains" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>It ain't like the Grand Canyon or nothing.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But of course I know that I'm SKILL 7 and therefore <u style="font-style: italic;">I suck</u>, so I just run and then keep running. Eventually the DARK ELVES and the ORCS converge and they have a brawl. "Trouble in paradise, dickheads?" I yell back at them as the the Elves zap up the Orcs with purple lightning and whatnot. Then I caper into "<i>a verdant valley, deep in ferns</i>".<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Failure, and Death</span></b><br />
<br />
What, already? Yes, already.<br />
<br />
That verdant valley is deep in ferns and also semi-deep in water - I find a bubbling spring and decide to take a drink. I also resolve not to drink too fast in case I get stitch! I just did heaps of running. There isn't an option for this but I did think about it because I'm an amazing role-player.<br />
<br />
I kneel at the waterside next to a willow tree and suddenly start feeling sleepy. I shake off the drowsiness with a successful <i>Test Your Luck</i> and look up to notice that the willow tree is glaring at me from its trunk with cartoony green eyes. It is in fact a WILLOW WEIRD, an angry tree that casts Sleep spells on people and then thrashes them to death with its branches. Even if you're still awake it will nevertheless have a go and thus I was cast into combat.<br />
<br />
WILLOW WEIRD<br />
SKILL 8 STAMINA 20<br />
<br />
Regardless of the impressive STAMINA score you only have to hit the thing four times before it gives up - but I only managed two hits before spilling my innards across its roots like an amateur gardener.<br />
<br />
<i>Talisman</i> has an unusual feature in that if you die at certain points, Time will wind himself backwards and resurrect you at an earlier point in the storyline. More specifically, as your ghost approaches the Valley of Death "<i>an ethereal wind gets up and your soul is wafted away</i>". Those two divine scoundrels give you 15 STAMINA points back and drop you off at a save-game checkpoint, such as the moment you leave Greyguilds-on-the-Moor (you need to make it through a couple of pretty tough combats to reach that point so having the option to skip them is rather nice). Plainly Jamie and Mark understood the frustration of replaying from scratch - of course there's a pre-existing, popular and highly successful solution to this problem: <b>cheating</b>. But it's nice to have the author's blessing for a change.<br />
<br />
However! No such service is rendered if you get beaten to death by the first tree you meet - presumably Fate and Time just get on the phone to Van Damme's agent like they should've in the first place.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0hqP4XnkBNoDMuX_fr0J10GY1p_9yqHCuxKEnYwzMzN2iF-k7nWnyF9vtfBkiPDhxImaSKypmY77uxKCi-_CUYIIlREZe3VKDeECab2MF7xTTeb6VdbRzQSpNO2xrjE_YA4-PwQx8WVw/s1600/behind+closed+doors.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0hqP4XnkBNoDMuX_fr0J10GY1p_9yqHCuxKEnYwzMzN2iF-k7nWnyF9vtfBkiPDhxImaSKypmY77uxKCi-_CUYIIlREZe3VKDeECab2MF7xTTeb6VdbRzQSpNO2xrjE_YA4-PwQx8WVw/s1600/behind+closed+doors.jpg" title="he's like a snake. if you look him in the eyes... he'll get you in the back" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Fate. Time. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bvsGjB4ORi0#t=53s">I have a method for dealing with trees.</a></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Notable Encounters</span></b><br />
<br />
So, that's a shame eh? Particularly since this book has a lot of fun stuff in it. If you can get to Greyguilds-on-the-Moor, the Talisman of Death is nicked by a bunch of tough dames and you get to wander folornly around the city reflecting on how you screwed up and wondering why the adventure is still going. This passage of play has a heap of fun encounters, for instance, the VIVISECT:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_NAmQ9taotGYNTHEW8Ge8fxR8b2n0MgwVV5uBN_frr_acNX2lOk4-ogoQ6_VNmQGBvxbxFCF4WP3FxWvAhYycF7EnoA2RPxmzK6vgiiIc087pDN9eX5mKamJ7bjxtaukd-uIrvo4gaTw/s1600/VIVISECT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="SKILL 8 STAMINA 12"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_NAmQ9taotGYNTHEW8Ge8fxR8b2n0MgwVV5uBN_frr_acNX2lOk4-ogoQ6_VNmQGBvxbxFCF4WP3FxWvAhYycF7EnoA2RPxmzK6vgiiIc087pDN9eX5mKamJ7bjxtaukd-uIrvo4gaTw/s400/VIVISECT.jpg" width="252" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>She's a lady!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A scholar in Greyguilds called "Moreau" (that went over my head as a kid) offers you gold to have a play-fight with the VIVISECT, of course should the fateful moment come that you cry uncle, Moreau's tranquilizer fails to work and it turns into a death match. "Sorry!" says Moreau - it's just a silly fuckaround encounter that accompanies this splendid illustration.<br />
<br />
Another superb beast is the GRENDEL - unfortunately not depicted - but expertly described in the searing prose which follows:<br />
<br />
<i>You wade carefully into the scum-covered pond </i>(context - it's in a scum-covered pond) <i>and hold your hand out to the old woman. There is a sudden churning in the water and slimy tentacles slither around your thighs. The old woman's head rears up at you, revealing a huge horny beak where her chest should have been, above a bloated body, sprouting six tentacles. You must fight the GRENDEL.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
So the GRENDEL is a giant carnivorous pond squid that has somehow evolved an old lady's head to lure prey like an <a href="http://media.comicvine.com/uploads/7/71707/1359056-_41120744_nemo_oil.jpg">anglerfish </a>- plainly it subsists on a diet of Boy Scouts and other do-gooders. Such improbable bio-mimicry is <a href="http://www.headinjurytheater.com/images/d&D%20beasts%20wolf%20in%20sheeps%20clothing.jpg">not unusual in fantasy roleplaying</a> - nevertheless it never fails to galvanise my interest. GRENDEL fan-art is now being eagerly accepted!<br />
<br />
But look though, there's just a bunch of good stuff. But what about this:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdTfosJBN6CznBMoHES1WnJm1Yi3QBTv7TS3TciiRd4ctu7-TzFZqgqONMJjeo84GPFQPBM03z94Q2NiGfgTuVA4vCT9RU3Vnyl0qZUKOkdaMtFUUJm4Ik1AsooUNNGWTrNpu_oJJBjlw/s1600/TRICERATOPS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdTfosJBN6CznBMoHES1WnJm1Yi3QBTv7TS3TciiRd4ctu7-TzFZqgqONMJjeo84GPFQPBM03z94Q2NiGfgTuVA4vCT9RU3Vnyl0qZUKOkdaMtFUUJm4Ik1AsooUNNGWTrNpu_oJJBjlw/s400/TRICERATOPS.jpg" title="i like how dumb it looks. dinos were dumb as shit" width="260" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bam!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="text-align: left;">Okay so this is such a great encounter. You meet a TRICERATOPS, and you have to fight it for three rounds, and then a TYRANNOSAURUS shows up and attacks the TRICERATOPS. And so the two greatest "name" dinosaurs in all pre-history, Yin and Yang of the Cretaceous, the iconic herbivore and carnivore, clash like wild freight-trains together in the ultimate in </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-wHQQakCy4A#t=30s" style="background-color: white;">mortal kombat</a><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">! This is </span><i style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><u>the image</u> </i><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">that all children have in mind when you say or repeatedly whisper the word: <i>dinosaur</i>. Plus usually there's a volcano in the background.</span><i style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"> </i><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">Anyway you </span><i style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">Test Your Luck </i><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">and if you're unlucky the TYRANNOSAURUS beats the TRICERATOPS and you have to fight it as well. On the other hand if the TRICERATOPS wins it staggers off for a lie-down and you can proceed without further saurian harassment.</span><br />
<br />
I should mention also that the lead-in to this fight is that you're flying around on the back of a GRIFFIN and a goddman PTERANODON knocks you off. I mean this is just wonderful stuff. And it all happens about twenty minutes walk outside of Greyguilds-on-the-Moor, a major fucking city by the way. These are the times that I look to the sky and yell: "<i>I! Love! Fantaseeeeeeeeeeee!"</i><br />
<br />
Digression - co-author Jamie Thomson is listed on <a href="http://fightingfantasy.wikia.com/wiki/Jamie_Thomson">Titannica </a>as also having worked on an unpublished Fighting Fantasy called "DINOSAURS OF DEATH", for which on strength of the title alone I would trade all the tomes of Alexandria's lost Library.<br />
<br />
Yes, so I am inspired to launch an official count of the number of times a TYRANNOSAURUS fights a TRICERATOPS in the Fighting Fantasy series. We now stand at:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>"ONE"</b></span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm2bME3Fs2VZYBkD2d5kdUOeyyy3FAUw1olj8DVegsrlej0RdFTLBkvGMJS9_7qSbykg5JvXHzs_Ddc_Cg_goUTlGK6jPL9f6fGjayamKFQ5D_bl0-Hd80Roul5cp0Rqqm9-4OrZ_7uzE/s1600/triceratops+vs+trex+from+my+collection.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm2bME3Fs2VZYBkD2d5kdUOeyyy3FAUw1olj8DVegsrlej0RdFTLBkvGMJS9_7qSbykg5JvXHzs_Ddc_Cg_goUTlGK6jPL9f6fGjayamKFQ5D_bl0-Hd80Roul5cp0Rqqm9-4OrZ_7uzE/s400/triceratops+vs+trex+from+my+collection.jpg" title="ha ha believe it or not this is a photo of an actual print that i physically POSSESS" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>If we make it to TWO, I'll be ecstatic.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The SKELETON Count</span></b><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_zVCgBioml9yyUAdDttbE225ST4mTlsfUArZNvsMTo_zTDpT2GdPmelCAaESR9nX2oTF2ndlkUjOe788J-cdSdpqyN0xXx02D1wtfuv_TNA4e81yxNNJb2cpNRn-4ZNGfXRx9ai_1wUg/s1600/skeleton+count.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_zVCgBioml9yyUAdDttbE225ST4mTlsfUArZNvsMTo_zTDpT2GdPmelCAaESR9nX2oTF2ndlkUjOe788J-cdSdpqyN0xXx02D1wtfuv_TNA4e81yxNNJb2cpNRn-4ZNGfXRx9ai_1wUg/s320/skeleton+count.jpg" width="275" /></a></div>
<br />
First of all, there's Death, who might be trying to fake us out with his slippers and alligator tooth necklace, but don't trip, he's a SKELETON. He's only on the cover but that still counts. Then <span style="background-color: white;">there's the ENVOY OF DEATH. Even after the Talisman is taken from you by worshippers of yet another god (I think she's called "Flowers" or something like that), minions of Death keep homing in and pestering you. The Envoy is one such, he has an glamour upon him that makes him seem to be a fine gentleman but when he wants to talk turkey he suddenly is a SKELETON.</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZcwGjeUpo6JYTtghsSCp4Zma3X9BnmeQot6hv_r4lTbwEiB4PiIwRIOYboBCX7tYap-xeZo8CJ6fw4RvZKcsikrWACuzKhBGCKQ5HP4_swShc-0YZ5rGRus-Cb739enjwWN8J7wCxPiE/s1600/ENVOY+OF+DEATH.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZcwGjeUpo6JYTtghsSCp4Zma3X9BnmeQot6hv_r4lTbwEiB4PiIwRIOYboBCX7tYap-xeZo8CJ6fw4RvZKcsikrWACuzKhBGCKQ5HP4_swShc-0YZ5rGRus-Cb739enjwWN8J7wCxPiE/s400/ENVOY+OF+DEATH.jpg" title="he's a spry old fellow" width="247" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"<i>I am the envoy of Death; I have come for the Talisman" he says in a voice of doom</i>.<br />
Doom, though!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
He does SKILL damage as well as STAMINA when he hits by the way. He's a tough hombre!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeWa0wHZpNSGCZuCdfDtLDoJFKw3bx0NnpSDAL527TcMCZa9BFaB8zRiPKDaj4oNEUP9C307IvkLOFdd4k-Lq-R6ZleI7Yr_6Pf3UYpmTskej9V8zp0aF1ScsxCYxpwmWvrHhhHLHxb0E/s1600/skellywags.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeWa0wHZpNSGCZuCdfDtLDoJFKw3bx0NnpSDAL527TcMCZa9BFaB8zRiPKDaj4oNEUP9C307IvkLOFdd4k-Lq-R6ZleI7Yr_6Pf3UYpmTskej9V8zp0aF1ScsxCYxpwmWvrHhhHLHxb0E/s400/skellywags.jpg" title="did iiiiiii do thaaaaaat" width="247" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I like how the artist has used technique to draw the viewer's focus towards the SKELETONS.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: white;">Then there's these lads! I counted them as 4 since it was unclear if the fifth is merely a pile of inert bones or in fact a <i>bona fide</i> undead SKELETON who has fallen, Urkel-like, and cannot get up. In fact there are "4 + <i>x</i>" SKELETONS, where <i>x</i> is undetermined but is probably a lot - I left <i>x</i> out 'cos it screws up my stats. Let me explain - there's actually a Temple of Death in Greyguilds-on-the-Moor and like many urban churches you can wander in and take a look around, it's surprisingly mainstream. You may find yourself in a necromancer's parlour with "<i>walls of pale bamboo</i>" and after you annoy the fellow by destroying his WINGED SKULL (<i>not counted</i>), he starts animating SKELETONS out of the walls, which are in fact fashioned from "<i>the bones of </i>[his] <i>victims</i>", which makes more sense than the Thai restaurant vibe you were picking up earlier. You are given no option but to scarper before his grim work is done, hence the final number of SKELETONS remains unknown to us, the reading public. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Final Thoughts</span></b></span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Well I didn't get to play through much, but <i>Talisman </i>was one of the few FF books I owned as a kid and I played it a hundred times back then. Reviewing it today I feel it holds up well. The world of <span style="background-color: white;">Orb feels much richer than Allansia - more authentic, if it makes sense to use that term in a high fantasy context? - and as it turns out, long before </span><i style="background-color: white;">Talisman </i><span style="background-color: white;">came along the authors had fleshed it out over the course of a long running Dungeons and Dragons campaign. So the setting feels lived in, and the characters and institutions of the world have a sense of depth behind them that surpasses their fleeting function in the game-book itself. Some of the characters were originally developed by players in the tabletop campaign that Mark Smith ran, others were no doubt well-worn NPCs. Some of them, notably the superbly annoying TYUTCHEV and CASSANDRA, were carried over another game-book project by the authors, the <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Way_of_the_Tiger">Way of the Tiger</a></i> series (the protagonist is a ninja - so is there is NINJA vs. DINOSAUR action in these books??? I've never read them).</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfUvlpKDTVK0O3O8szS-3GxakBFyyDqFn6maj3aybBSHFrfJwX0Q6eufWWlacx3NW7tuAZosfpQtEVJ8c2ifIa3guCdU_lIjwJqj5ueiPb-oeUE_lHr0MCilrc2MRK6vPRiN-_IncgMdU/s1600/T+and+C.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="i just want to be friends with these guys, they're so cool, why are they so mean to me"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfUvlpKDTVK0O3O8szS-3GxakBFyyDqFn6maj3aybBSHFrfJwX0Q6eufWWlacx3NW7tuAZosfpQtEVJ8c2ifIa3guCdU_lIjwJqj5ueiPb-oeUE_lHr0MCilrc2MRK6vPRiN-_IncgMdU/s400/T+and+C.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>On the real tip, though: fuck these guys.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: white;">Glancing at the book for fairness, I see a couple of unavoidable SKILL 12 fights - somewhat mitigated by the availability of multiple SKILL boosting items. Of course it still says that your SKILL can never exceed your Initial score in the starting rules, but it also said that crap about fire flares, so probably just nobody bothered to edit it (though I play these books without cheating, I ignore that particular rule as a mistake). </span><br />
<br />
In conclusion, <i>Talisman of Death </i>is pretty good, and it sits at the top of my list so far, <i>lounging </i>there even, on a comfortably fat, mattress-like margin.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-G8OueUqdIZU8vNlTBC_pXIBlSrAPKdPcHJv_fBk_wpuKhyphenhyphenA-exHb6htMyXQ6QuyhHQ8srtxJqeXBa1vay-q_r0vIZZUCaB7tDEbGvMwI_Qb2zaqop32QFBmR5qMPe8BpwWCfrq-qw2c/s1600/review.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-G8OueUqdIZU8vNlTBC_pXIBlSrAPKdPcHJv_fBk_wpuKhyphenhyphenA-exHb6htMyXQ6QuyhHQ8srtxJqeXBa1vay-q_r0vIZZUCaB7tDEbGvMwI_Qb2zaqop32QFBmR5qMPe8BpwWCfrq-qw2c/s640/review.jpg" title="scoping out the competition" width="640" /></a></div>
<i><br /></i><br />
<br />
<br /></div>Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17408095504472495097noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618556584663522444.post-58998480329449934712012-06-10T22:44:00.005-07:002012-06-10T22:44:57.810-07:00Still breathing!What's up scallywags!<br />
<br />
I thought I'd drop a note to say that I am back working on the blog again and maybe <i>Talisman </i>isn't too far off.<br />
<br />
In the meantime I suggest having a gander here:<br />
<a href="http://torallion.blogspot.co.uk/">http://torallion.blogspot.co.uk/</a>
<br />
...which is somewhat like this blog, but with greater moral courage.<br />
<br />
Thanks.Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17408095504472495097noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618556584663522444.post-91630695610496570962012-04-20T00:27:00.000-07:002012-04-20T00:27:13.551-07:00Interview!Hello friends,<br />
<br />
I probably would've wrapped up Talisman of Death by now already because, spoiler alert: <span style="background-color: blue;"><span style="color: blue;">I ro</span></span><span style="background-color: blue; color: blue;">lled SKILL 7 and got my arse killed by a TREE (!) so I have piss all to write about.</span><br />
<br />
However about three weeks ago I started work on a story and I'm not really allowing myself to write anything else until I complete it. I won't call it a hiatus since, well, there's more or less always a hiatus after every post. So actually this is just normal. I shouldn't comment on it - I'm going to come back and delete this later.<br />
<br />Anyway, the man Stuart Lloyd over at <a href="http://virtualfantasies.blogspot.co.nz/">Lloyd of Gamebooks</a> is doing a month of interviews that encompasses almost everybody who's ever poked three fingers into a copy of <i>Warlock </i>and metaphorically got one stuck - which includes Yours Truly. <a href="http://virtualfantasies.blogspot.co.nz/2012/04/april-to-z-r-is-for-readers-part-1.html">I have done my best to answer his questions with an honest heart. </a><br />
<br />
Thank you, as ever, for your attention and your patience.<br />
<br />Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17408095504472495097noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618556584663522444.post-2786075118138267882012-03-27T03:03:00.002-07:002012-03-27T12:04:26.846-07:00#10 - "House of Hell", by Steve Jackson (1984)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA7R183JYEgiMCsjQBKiHjRqMk1fTlmI9o55EXucMtEGXY6xKTta4XGi-2lFr5-z3dBwVRLUayQHPFlbaMrJ_Xh1uGZqIlynr8Cm9p0KufD2tvSgY9BwjvAujrX3jglIM-pYa3-UHmQDg/s1600/house+of+hell+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA7R183JYEgiMCsjQBKiHjRqMk1fTlmI9o55EXucMtEGXY6xKTta4XGi-2lFr5-z3dBwVRLUayQHPFlbaMrJ_Xh1uGZqIlynr8Cm9p0KufD2tvSgY9BwjvAujrX3jglIM-pYa3-UHmQDg/s400/house+of+hell+cover.jpg" title="WELCOME TO THE OPEN HOME OF HELL PLEASE WRITE DOWN YOUR DETAILS IN THE BOOK OF HELL SO I CAN CONTACT YOU ABOUT OTHER EXCITING REAL ESTATE OF HELL OPPORTUNITIES" width="247" /></a></div>
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>House of Hell</i>, like <i>Caverns</i>, was first published as a shortened version in <i>Warlock </i>magazine - I have never in my life seen a copy of <i>Warlock </i>magazine, and I find myself greatly intrigued as to the content. Plainly it featured mini-adventures, and I also know of the bloodless bestiary entries that were later compiled into <i>Out of the Pit</i> - but that's not yet enough for a whole magazine. What else was in there? No doubt I'm wide of the mark, but I like to imagine it something like an activity book, with Fighting Fantasy themed word searches, colouring pages, letters to the editor requesting <i>more barbarians</i> with <i>smaller loincloths</i>, and so on.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicjnWFxVRrnA4XNIR6vna5J3fo8l6OI1AB0biQQ7zHp2niuDfvNr9hS_EVmwvMKhFmXp4QpFbdRuqoS9PyluRzEqSMn0K89qlx-azKGuYv8Aq5u9a5X6mFlrWCU2l3TwYQj2OEuRQNDW0/s1600/apedogdogape+-+spot+the+difference+-+final.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicjnWFxVRrnA4XNIR6vna5J3fo8l6OI1AB0biQQ7zHp2niuDfvNr9hS_EVmwvMKhFmXp4QpFbdRuqoS9PyluRzEqSMn0K89qlx-azKGuYv8Aq5u9a5X6mFlrWCU2l3TwYQj2OEuRQNDW0/s640/apedogdogape+-+spot+the+difference+-+final.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Can you spot six differences in these two pictures?</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So yeah, <i>Warlock </i>magazine - I have a slight notion to work up a fake issue, if I ever run out of books to write about - but given that these posts are being published at a rate slightly slower than the books themselves, I won't spend too much time dreaming up crossword clues today. <i>House </i>then. It's notable for being the only FF book set in today's Earth (well, 1984's Earth to be more precise). It's also notable in that I'd never played it before - it was never available at my local library, merely because, I suppose, it's a story about Satanism and human sacrifice intended for children (well, more young adults and hatchling nerds with <i>tremendously advanced</i> <i>reading ages</i> I suppose). I vividly remember reading a letter to the TV Guide in the late 1980s in which the correspondent complained that <i>He-Man and the Masters of the Universe </i>was teaching children that Hell's host could be defeated by swords and laser guns instead of the one and only infallible method - the direct intercession of Christ Jesus, LORD.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/gtLMiO3FMMs" width="420"></iframe>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Has it really taken me two years to drop a reference to He-Man in this blog?</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">What kind of thirty-something man-baby am I?</span></i></div>
<br />
What our correspondent would have made of <i>House of Hell </i>I can only speculate. Assuming they survived the initial paroxysms of outrage, they would've had to go out and find a magazine that was about books instead of TV so they could write a letter to it. <i>Books Guide</i>, I guess? <i>The Book of Books</i>? <i>Books' Book</i>? What a crazy idea! Let's forget it. <i> </i><br />
<br />
Meanwhile it seems that the publishers of the U.S. release of <i>House </i>didn't want an fundamentalist book-burning backlash to generate huge free publicity and drive their sales up to record levels, so they re-titled the book as <i>House of Hades, </i>"Hades" of course being a ersatz underworld that the Ancient Greeks imagined contained the souls of those who, in life, had been poor conversationalists. Still a watered-down version of Hell, but it was a safe bet that the average book-burner wouldn't have heard of it.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqVPKIwQqu6VLH4Ie68cPreX3085A0W-VX-bVHLianDiiU8wOVEvSbq-LF5oxSbfXEL9VE0NnoIcyz3Frccd69OfC0YxT4rmXt4nXcbS8zdX5eqACIcm1HxJCj8GQM4e0dlSwib6FLJ_M/s1600/figfan10a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqVPKIwQqu6VLH4Ie68cPreX3085A0W-VX-bVHLianDiiU8wOVEvSbq-LF5oxSbfXEL9VE0NnoIcyz3Frccd69OfC0YxT4rmXt4nXcbS8zdX5eqACIcm1HxJCj8GQM4e0dlSwib6FLJ_M/s400/figfan10a.jpg" title="everybody in this picture is just saying: 'sup?" width="250" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Then, to make them seem even less threatening, they put all the Satanic cultists <br />in a </i>Citadel of Chaos <i>style conga line on the staircase.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Background</b></span><br />
<br />
The set-up is pretty concise. You're driving your car down a back-woods lane through torrential rain at night, desperate to make "an appointment" somewhere the next day (this appointment is mentioned several times throughout the book but never specified - so let us say that you're getting your thighs lipo-suctioned by a disgraced, toothless old surgeon who lives in a shack). You end up lost on a side road after taking directions from a leering, white-haired old man - then suddenly you hit a pedestrian and swerve off the road! But where's the body?!?!? And then OMG you realise it was the same guy who gave you directions!?!?!?! You get really scared/confused. And later on he shows up <i>again</i>, this time hanging from a tree branch (but only if you happen to glance out of a particular window of the house).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRE7qMloR8DaPMPYV-lGaMMX8tCyFqsBWUN7gPUxnGP3EQ__Zzd1SNCt1Vxdfji9PmSBzDYMQ8MNnCNkKrYZXNQDIl5GSgMtwwP9oxSszbn26X4RRT_eat1cJT_Ne0A_Q0W71_neAem84/s1600/hanged+man.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRE7qMloR8DaPMPYV-lGaMMX8tCyFqsBWUN7gPUxnGP3EQ__Zzd1SNCt1Vxdfji9PmSBzDYMQ8MNnCNkKrYZXNQDIl5GSgMtwwP9oxSszbn26X4RRT_eat1cJT_Ne0A_Q0W71_neAem84/s400/hanged+man.jpg" title="they're actually triplets and it's all frightfully clever" width="247" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>What a day!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The only way this could be more thoroughly embedded in the well-worn ruts of horror cinema is if the old man had given you some kind of cryptic warning as well. Then your car won't start, naturally enough - you spy a light in the window of a creepy old house and decide to head up there to try to telephone a mechanic. Somewhat awkwardly, the book points out that you<i> don't</i> notice that there <i>isn't</i> a telephone wire running to the house - a fact that <i>does not </i>trouble you - because you didn't notice it - <i>but probably would have if you did</i>. You don't really get the impression that the place is of Hell/Hades straight away though.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0YUR3wrCKQ1xEAcu-2s8Tc8dJcc4xGDZjqgjI3rydrNuE_dhX3SZPP66dBpz8eUS7mduLDW3QPLlF7z9BgowKoSnxMJ-DpEX3i3I7LHuTOQ1Vw5mac64JmZGYYoA2m0vW4RKSmR55qzs/s1600/house+of+hell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0YUR3wrCKQ1xEAcu-2s8Tc8dJcc4xGDZjqgjI3rydrNuE_dhX3SZPP66dBpz8eUS7mduLDW3QPLlF7z9BgowKoSnxMJ-DpEX3i3I7LHuTOQ1Vw5mac64JmZGYYoA2m0vW4RKSmR55qzs/s400/house+of+hell.jpg" width="257" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Kind of a fixer-upper I suppose. The area looks better than it did on the cover mind you.</i><br />
<i>Not trying to be racist, but that green guy, with the horns? In MY neighborhood? </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So that's the Background <i>in </i>the book. But what about the background <i>to </i>the book? For the first time, and probably the last time, it is worth discussing the social context in which the book was written. Around 1984, the Western world was freshly launched into a long phase of mass hysteria surrounding Satanism and "Satanic ritual abuse" which, like the mullet, blasted all the way through into the early '90s. The <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/McMartin_preschool_trial">McMartin investigation and trial</a> was getting publicity and was no doubt observed with bemusement from across the Atlantic by Messrs Jackson and Livingstone in their own capacity as <a href="http://www.chick.com/reading/tracts/0046/0046_01.ASP">occultist role-playing warlocks</a>.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7jfbIobA_Uk4lkvNGPmrC64LL3xiLhNGOQ5afr4_EwspMRHaFV_moOoNCcxMImmmIwbOrC9OCrkXL5b6LCMeb7J8P1o4GBODNrLGEvSF-lM2gMdopbyz16wMUm7kW5aOnCj_BK36MdxM/s1600/the+intense+occult+training+of+dnd.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="'Elfstar', though?"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7jfbIobA_Uk4lkvNGPmrC64LL3xiLhNGOQ5afr4_EwspMRHaFV_moOoNCcxMImmmIwbOrC9OCrkXL5b6LCMeb7J8P1o4GBODNrLGEvSF-lM2gMdopbyz16wMUm7kW5aOnCj_BK36MdxM/s1600/the+intense+occult+training+of+dnd.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Elfstar takes a prestige class.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The McMartin trial including allegations of flying molesters, hot air balloon rides and a subterranean dungeon beneath the pre-school (quite DnD, really). One of the children being interviewed implicated Chuck Norris, but somehow that didn't make it into the case for the prosecution. It was all based on now-discredited psychoanalytic techniques, dodgy interview practices, and old-fashioned sensationalist hysteria. In short, it was a disgraceful perversion of justice (with a coda here in NZ in the form of the Christchurch Civic Creche case, for which a man was sent down 7 years).<br />
<br />
That's easy to say now, but at the time there were large sections of the population who genuinely believed that hidden cults were among us, their members would sneak out in the woods to sacrifice babies and such, telling their wives that it was poker night or whatever, and discreetly run their blood-stained cassocks through the washing machine in some private moment afterwards. If I recall correctly, I kind of believed this myself, or at least <i>feared it</i>. (Like many thoughtful children, I reached the conclusion that the Satanists were all in America and tentatively allowed myself to relax - after all, I had UFO abductions to worry about, and I had to stay focused).<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Rolling Up My Dude</span></b><br />
<br />
SKILL -12 (yay!)<br />
STAMINA - 17<br />
LUCK - 7 (yah boo sucks)<br />
FEAR - 8<br />
<br />
FEAR is a new mechanic introduced to this game in order to measure how A-FEARED you are. It represents the maximum amount of spooky surprises your poor watering eyes can behold before you declare "<i>ooh-er</i>" and collapse to the floor with your plucky little blood-pump burst asunder. (Apparently this can really happen by the way - I <a href="http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2001/12/011225094518.htm">checked</a>).<br />
<br />
Let's talk about that SKILL 12 though. That is perfection in combat. Being a law-abiding citizen of 1980s society I am probably unaware that I have natural fighting abilities equivalent to a PIT FRIEND (i.e. a Tyrannosaurus with gladiator training) - I have no idea that I am a festering boil of fluid violence merely waiting for the right crisis to erupt into action. For this reason, I have neglected to bring a broadsword with me, and must start with a -3 penalty to SKILL until I am able to arm myself.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEislVT40xTih68yR91qa1phCRYMHJIS61DSKY1B6pST3hoNv_YpF9JnuL-90LueyHRRlkKTdhWGT1HSlmqJX0RRXsRG07lr7QxIar3wEaXNA17CLMRV_GbJVtJe17AF3P7Zu9te_sLMzn4/s1600/pit+friend.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEislVT40xTih68yR91qa1phCRYMHJIS61DSKY1B6pST3hoNv_YpF9JnuL-90LueyHRRlkKTdhWGT1HSlmqJX0RRXsRG07lr7QxIar3wEaXNA17CLMRV_GbJVtJe17AF3P7Zu9te_sLMzn4/s400/pit+friend.jpg" title="FRIENDZ 4EVA" width="255" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Gimme a letter-opener and I'm a put this clown in the ground.</i></td></tr>
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No PROVISIONS either, by the way - not so much as a stale muesli bar in the glove-box of my car.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The Adventure</span></b><br />
<br />
You begin on the doorstep of the house, with separate options for knocking on the door vs. ringing the door-bell, or alternatively you can creep around the side of the house and peep through the window like a goddamn pervert. I used my incredible role-playing abilities to rule that last one out, since it only really makes sense if you already know you're going into a House of Hell and not just a normal house. Choosing between knocking on the door or ringing the bell makes no difference whatsoever (much as in life), you just get an extra paragraph to read. This is the first of many "non-choices" that crop up in the book, where you are given options that have no material impact on play. I have mixed feelings about them, they sometimes feel like craftily devised red herrings, and sometimes they add character, but looking at it cynically, they might well be there to bulk out the book-length version. As I recall, non-choices are found much more commonly in the inferior <i>Choose Your Own Adventure </i>series.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4lX0U0Mazw3rh984HxUalCs-OaB3CvdMO3811c24NNkr61nRjtkQfT_pyoZMf3XsCehEQndfEaTr-75g1YlG8hrHA68nOEKI8MP3zTLh_953kLq2epN9T2FeiSTPdSnbYZKLT-3oci1w/s1600/house+of+danger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4lX0U0Mazw3rh984HxUalCs-OaB3CvdMO3811c24NNkr61nRjtkQfT_pyoZMf3XsCehEQndfEaTr-75g1YlG8hrHA68nOEKI8MP3zTLh_953kLq2epN9T2FeiSTPdSnbYZKLT-3oci1w/s400/house+of+danger.jpg" title="YOU SUPPOSE THIS FALLACY TO BE AMUSING, PSHAW" width="242" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>House of "Danger"? Oh really? How </i><b>utterly timid.</b><br />
<i>And what is that, an exploding building with money flying out of it, even as alarmed </i><i>MAN-APES</i><br />
<i>spill, in disarray, to the street? And all this great jumble being devoured by a giant Venus fly-trap? </i><br />
<i>What am I </i><i>supposed to just </i>"<u>suspend disbelief</u>"?</td></tr>
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So, regardless of your method of hailing those within, the butler will show up and lead you to a sitting room while he heads off to fetch the late Peter Cushing. There are three paintings in this room you can look at and of course they are all haunted. These haunted paintings are actually have pretty chilled out personalities though and will whisper useful advice to you even as their images gyrate uncannily before your tear-filled, disbelieving eyes. You still gotta add a FEAR point if you examine one though, what with the blasphemous warping of natural law and so on.<br />
<br />
You are also given the option of searching for a telephone, despite the fact that the book already told you that you didn't notice that there was no wire running to the house. While it's true that I'm an amazingly skilled role-player, I couldn't just <i>un-know </i>that I hadn't noticed the lack of a wire, so how could I ever bring myself to search for a phone that I wasn't yet aware could never be there? Instead I dashed over the to exit in a sudden panic and got joy-buzzed by the door handle for 2 STAMINA damage. At last Peter Cushing showed up to interrupt my whimpering.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio9fEYAmqh6adOfKh196082dMsGmxXq-QkOKnl350FNkS2fdrsE3k4phxvZHYwomDK3yDGT9lL8hWaebiKgH4jHQZyF_LQ9m1fsvJHtM-N7wYr3Ikam6pY9spc5S0od5eBJrWqfvrLONA/s1600/lord+drumer+and+franklins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;" title="the homie definitely has a joy buzzer tho"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio9fEYAmqh6adOfKh196082dMsGmxXq-QkOKnl350FNkS2fdrsE3k4phxvZHYwomDK3yDGT9lL8hWaebiKgH4jHQZyF_LQ9m1fsvJHtM-N7wYr3Ikam6pY9spc5S0od5eBJrWqfvrLONA/s400/lord+drumer+and+franklins.jpg" width="252" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>You CANNOT shake a man's hand while keeping your left hand in your pocket, Peter Cushing.</i><br />
<i>That's officially a Dudes' Mutiny right there.</i></td></tr>
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The lord of the manor's dramatic entry is described thus: "<i>The tall man you met earlier walks in, opening the door for another tall man dressed in a purple-smoking jacket.</i>" - okay not one of Steve's finest moments behind the typewriter there. He sits you down by the fire and drinks brandy with you while the butler goes off to cook up a mean feed. With only one tall man remaining in the room, you feel less confused. But somehow you blow your opportunity to ask about his electrified trap doorknobs and ghost paintings. He explains that their phone line is down (LIAR) and you are welcome to stay the night and get a lift into town in the morning. If a ghost painting hadn't already told me he was a baddie I would've probably said he's alright. <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
So, this first part of the book then becomes an elaborate battle of wits in which you are offered food and drink and must carefully select only those items which have not been poisoned. Your hosts are nefarious but also absurdly circumspect in that they have only poisoned a few particular foodstuffs. For example the white wine has been spiked with aspirin (?) that makes you pass out (???) whereas the red wine is just some real tasty wine. (The nice ghost lady in one of the paintings tipped me off regarding this). If you make it through the whole meal without being drugged you are given a bed for the night and actually just fall asleep anyway. Unbelievably, a HUNCHBACK will then sneak into your room and optimistically leave yet another poisoned drink on your night-stand as you slumber. Shit, team - next time just get Jeeves to poison whatever I choose before he brings it into the room. Sorry, I mean "Franklins" (against all good judgment, the butler has not been named "Jeeves").<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv6fS1bGb3cwYKisHE-QQzXGVRVDp2U785nrLQJ_KaEMEAN4hLj4is8qc0Sejr5l5S7m9jvEhzEZOYSDzZ8U70R4IGzAVAapmK3u3bVJRjtakHPw8SEaKXbiDoqjsvi3MqOyyj9FYmwW0/s1600/the+boyz+in+a+fighting+stance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv6fS1bGb3cwYKisHE-QQzXGVRVDp2U785nrLQJ_KaEMEAN4hLj4is8qc0Sejr5l5S7m9jvEhzEZOYSDzZ8U70R4IGzAVAapmK3u3bVJRjtakHPw8SEaKXbiDoqjsvi3MqOyyj9FYmwW0/s400/the+boyz+in+a+fighting+stance.jpg" title="what's the story with those buttons on the Earl's crotch though?" width="247" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Even better, skip all the bullshit and just start wrestling me</i></td></tr>
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The "boss battle" of the dinner scene is the dessert, where you are given the following options:</div>
<ul>
<li>Fruit, coffee, and brandy?</li>
<li>Cheese, coffee, and brandy?</li>
<li>Just cheese and coffee?</li>
</ul>
I guess these are the exact choices that Franklins the Butler gives you? He gets mad if you say "just brandy". Anyway, clearly the choice is whether to avoid the brandy or avoid the cheese. I had some vague idea that cheese would be difficult to drug or poison - I mean, would you paint it on with a brush or what? - but clearly Steve Jackson did not share this intuition since I woke up in a bedroom with a headache and my wrists and ankles bound together.<br />
<br />
On the other hand, if you somehow manage to consume <b>both </b>the white wine and the cheese you end will end up at the book's strangest ending, paragraph <b>172</b> (actually this is only possible if you raid a larder later in the book). I will quote it verbatim here, but I have altered the punctuation to give a sense as to how I would have an actor read this in my stage adaptation of <i>House of Hell</i>:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Caution... should have over-ruled, your appetite. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>FOR IN THE <span style="font-size: xx-small;">House of Drumer</span>... cheese, and white wine... are-not-recommended...? </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>...for the simple reason...? </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>...that anyone who eats: <span style="font-size: large;"><u>CHEESE</u> </span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>- or drinks...</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-large;"><u>WHITE</u> W</span><span style="font-size: large;">I</span>N<span style="font-size: x-small;">E</span><span style="font-size: large;">...</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>...SHALL <u>PAY</u>, (<span style="font-size: x-small;">the penalty)</span>.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>???...they are poisoned...??? </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">this-is-the-end-of-your-adventure................!</span></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqC0xxp6p_Yj-3dXD7GgsdaZZOYMOAI-ivUo2HEs5QU5azYy5WF0FePe1zTuyUqMAt1OoyO-eW6S7LO_Mghqs5O6UqVWwbB8QW5UQ_by6QfMNyDIePKSyIzNuoDyS_l1CyaCBOjDkMztA/s1600/actor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqC0xxp6p_Yj-3dXD7GgsdaZZOYMOAI-ivUo2HEs5QU5azYy5WF0FePe1zTuyUqMAt1OoyO-eW6S7LO_Mghqs5O6UqVWwbB8QW5UQ_by6QfMNyDIePKSyIzNuoDyS_l1CyaCBOjDkMztA/s1600/actor.jpg" title="no no no, you need to rolls your Rs more!" /></a></div>
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(This is right next to paragraph <b>171</b>, another ending in which you are <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BMkxVmLHIMk">killed by a haunted bed</a>. The competition was fairly stiff.)<br />
<br />
Busting out of the bedroom was a simple matter of smashing the glass window to cut the ropes that bound me and then waltzing out the unlocked door. I found myself alone on the second storey landing - but what next?<br />
<br />
Context was soon delivered by the apparition of a young woman in a ragged wedding dress. She appeared before me on the landing and, although kind of a hottie, her uncanny materialisation was sufficient to garner a FEAR point nevertheless.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_EkGAcPs1EnB9qiTN9bqxnbor57rZ5oWdWREf9XuS6z7AF_NTNBkIr-XszZIoHxFNggzPS3eQ2pXEXKgp_mqND98EomOpG3U4uDFDyqsQDyxz-2i9_paRhP_ofodCrdNLzyuOIfd4M58/s1600/ghost+lady.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="The most unsettling thing was her spooky interpretive dance."><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_EkGAcPs1EnB9qiTN9bqxnbor57rZ5oWdWREf9XuS6z7AF_NTNBkIr-XszZIoHxFNggzPS3eQ2pXEXKgp_mqND98EomOpG3U4uDFDyqsQDyxz-2i9_paRhP_ofodCrdNLzyuOIfd4M58/s400/ghost+lady.jpg" width="270" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A g-g-g-ghost!</i></td></tr>
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Fortunately for my FEAR score, she didn't follow up by saying "woooooo" or "u gunna die" or anything like that, in fact her manner was more consistent with a stressed out supermarket worker who's finally managed to find her supervisor and report that somebody laid a turd in the cosmetics aisle and she can't find the emergency procedures manual (I've seen this happen).<br />
<br />
<i>'Oh thank God I have found you in time!' she says. 'I must talk to you immediately! Come, let us go into this room.'</i><br />
<br />
She leads you into a well-appointed bedroom and demonstrates that when it comes to plot exposition, the dead can give the dying a run for their money. She explains that Peter Cushing is in fact a "<i>Black Priest of the Night</i>" and that she "<i>would guess that you are to be sacrificed to the Demons of Hellfire</i>". Without any pause to allow this to sink in, she continues. She tells you that the district nurse has been captured by the Master's cult and is due to be sacrificed tonight, and yesterday it was a guy who knocked on the door to see if Franklins wanted to switch power company.<br />
<br />
"<i>I cannot allow this devilry to continue!</i>" she exclaims (yeah she actually says this, italics and all) "except for when it happens to real estate agents like on last Thursday".<br />
"But you're just a GHOST," I point out. She ignores me and continues ranting. Incorporeal flecks of spittle fly from her lip and pass harmlessly through my skin.<br />
<br />
She explains further that I need to find the Kris knife - a souvenir that the infernal Lord of the Manor bought while holidaying in Bali, but which ironically is also his only weakness. Like the Lizard King, he keeps the one weapon capable of harming him lying around at home somewhere.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYUAi6rDz7XyzVBrq12U1-WMY_jz14jULKRuNySn7eKRNMZU8RZOrEqhMiuBeX1_jkUwjVXrxChng-X1psKWkpvsMpTN2ciP3TD1yqat9RkIUQHE-f9rIzppH_DaJw0EMunTFJO_wImW0/s1600/kris.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="a totally sweet kris knife"><img border="0" height="105" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYUAi6rDz7XyzVBrq12U1-WMY_jz14jULKRuNySn7eKRNMZU8RZOrEqhMiuBeX1_jkUwjVXrxChng-X1psKWkpvsMpTN2ciP3TD1yqat9RkIUQHE-f9rIzppH_DaJw0EMunTFJO_wImW0/s320/kris.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Franklins: "Woah, sweet Kris knife! How the shit did you get this back through Customs bro?"<br />Peter Cushing: "I USED MY EVIL HELL MAGIC YOU DUMMY"</i></td></tr>
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As is traditional she is fatally interrupted before she can impart the final, key information - the location of the Kris knife. Less traditionally, this is because she is devoured by spectral Great Danes.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDi3zGqoOzSJQBCiAUjXiI8xBAblrfpmygl-eg5goRhmK5aEE8wouDSzukDwiA1DnU42cM6VSCh5L2-T1Fgd0j_BI_NGJkIHZf_Xyf6Cmht4mAW1TLHObPvlZ0zLm5dCkEw0_ePPx3lR4/s1600/scooby+and+scrappy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDi3zGqoOzSJQBCiAUjXiI8xBAblrfpmygl-eg5goRhmK5aEE8wouDSzukDwiA1DnU42cM6VSCh5L2-T1Fgd0j_BI_NGJkIHZf_Xyf6Cmht4mAW1TLHObPvlZ0zLm5dCkEw0_ePPx3lR4/s320/scooby+and+scrappy.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ree hee hee hee hee!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After that the ghost dogs vanish and nothing else of interest happens. You shrug, but at least you know now what the macguffin is and can commit to some Bizarre Search Behaviour. Wandering about the house, it quickly becomes apparent that all the rooms have ominous, diabolical-sounding names such as <i>Asmodeus</i>, <i>Azazel </i>and <i>Shaitan</i>. Early on though I did also find the <i>Erasmus </i>room, no doubt named for the renowned Dutch scholar and early proponent of religious toleration, Desiderius Erasmus Roterodamus.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheWEbAEDTudXdSKRItjxSMylfYphkpLK03JCnWMlCv9twJFAaGEiMS4FfYeWWWdwg1wOMU5bUQyOaROY7UbEmA67Brp-LlM-vJBHEHv3GBPkbb22JyWxOdHBOiGkaoa8uSM8Aw5XKZVwI/s1600/Holbein-erasmus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="a kinder, gentler Willem Dafoe"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheWEbAEDTudXdSKRItjxSMylfYphkpLK03JCnWMlCv9twJFAaGEiMS4FfYeWWWdwg1wOMU5bUQyOaROY7UbEmA67Brp-LlM-vJBHEHv3GBPkbb22JyWxOdHBOiGkaoa8uSM8Aw5XKZVwI/s400/Holbein-erasmus.jpg" width="282" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>AKA "The Prince of the Humanists"</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This tricked me into briefly adopting a rule of thumb whereby I would only enter rooms named for humanist royalty, rather than, say, <i>Mammon</i>, the demonic personification of the Third Deadly Sin, Greed. Unfortunately, <i>Erasmus</i> was locked, and the only other room I could find that remotely met the criteria was <i>Balthus</i>, named for Balthus Dire, the end-boss of <i>Citadel of Chaos </i>(an evil sorcerer sure, but not actually a demon as far as I know).<br />
<br />
The Balthus room contains little save a small box on a mantlepiece, and a window with drawn curtains and a suspicious humanoid bulge behind them - I gave it a poke and oh nooooooooooooooooooooo...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGVm56uSwqkc-u-lvhcbxvLZY0vg_hBLJKRK9JOhvMBMw190xsIe7r84TnapdwQHJqtKtyFMgDGJqv20bRVt7H5J_3nXYp1uQB6VapynMK3m5rwJRqof7IJ9ERwIq_mFzeCRaBDIbrf_Y/s1600/ZOMBIE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGVm56uSwqkc-u-lvhcbxvLZY0vg_hBLJKRK9JOhvMBMw190xsIe7r84TnapdwQHJqtKtyFMgDGJqv20bRVt7H5J_3nXYp1uQB6VapynMK3m5rwJRqof7IJ9ERwIq_mFzeCRaBDIbrf_Y/s400/ZOMBIE.jpg" title="ZOMBIE SKILL 7 STAMINA 6" width="260" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"Shock lines" are used throughout </i>House of Hell's <i>illustrations</i> <i>to represent HOLY SHIT ARGH FUCK.<br />In this case I gained 2 FEAR points.</i></td></tr>
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A ZOMBIE was just hanging out there. I think this is another, more oblique reference to <i>Citadel </i>since, believe it or not, in the boss fight with Balthus Dire you have the option to hide behind the curtains, whereupon you will be killed. Anyway, despite being super-scared I used my karate to disassemble the ZOMBIE (still at SKILL 9 on account of not having found a knitting needle yet). Amusingly, if you leave the curtains alone the ZOMBIE will remain motionless behind them until you leave the room, it makes for a lonesome image. The box on the mantlepiece, if you're wondering, contains a key! Which unlocks the door that you just went through.<br />
<br />
On the basis of this experience, I concluded that plainly the room names were not going to be helpful and besides, all the rooms would most likely be full of penalties and doom. I was in Steve Jackson's world, and his is a world of pain. It's a world where the casual player is punished - as usual, I wasn't troubling to make a map - I mean it's just a HOUSE, right, who needs a map? - and between maplessness and the vanilla descriptions of landings and corridors, rather rapidly I lost my bearings and found myself outside a room called <i>Shaitan </i>when I expected to be back at <i>Azazel</i>.<br />
<br />
<i>Shaitan </i>turned out to be pretty fancy room that at first appeared deserted, however upon entering, it transpired there was a dude sitting in a high-backed chair facing away from the door. The door clicked shut behind me and he announced himself in an <i>eerie</i> voice:<br />
<br />
"<i>So! Our visitor is inquisitive, eh? Or are you trying to leave the house? Perhaps our hospitality is not to your liking. Maybe you would like to see some more - shall we say - </i>amusements?"<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiwIrvKYFZ4-nntcTD1c8Kr6Q1uf2YNq3Tuj4-1sKR7aoAilzXmeINg5bWlyM8ejvz9HTcyU5I2AS7VcE3OmAhAmDkdt4KQuL-tl3ASquEX9IVLfgcswDVay0s1xa0eT7QpLSNgtb9Tew/s1600/actor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiwIrvKYFZ4-nntcTD1c8Kr6Q1uf2YNq3Tuj4-1sKR7aoAilzXmeINg5bWlyM8ejvz9HTcyU5I2AS7VcE3OmAhAmDkdt4KQuL-tl3ASquEX9IVLfgcswDVay0s1xa0eT7QpLSNgtb9Tew/s1600/actor.jpg" title="ah-MEWS-mints!" /></a></div>
Pathetically, this tepid threat was enough to gain me a FEAR point. The gentleman stirs himself from his armchair and, smirking, invites you to present yourself for his inspection.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiojakvEoHA7DGMPXKmFljxoNkezaK89NhOrdRjzIbEHrH32pTqbciEzpxuAe7-0hnGU-iQJHkmfKhLdEM2k6VpEvgTT5iMTPZtu-Iz45eZ8jaGTZRMQKRvienoKJGClxpF9zcwZYQiiP4/s1600/vamphyr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="And now I wanna call THIS guy Peter Cushing as well. Artist needs to widen his repertoire."><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiojakvEoHA7DGMPXKmFljxoNkezaK89NhOrdRjzIbEHrH32pTqbciEzpxuAe7-0hnGU-iQJHkmfKhLdEM2k6VpEvgTT5iMTPZtu-Iz45eZ8jaGTZRMQKRvienoKJGClxpF9zcwZYQiiP4/s400/vamphyr.jpg" width="241" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"Good evening, dear boy! Or perhaps I should say BAD evening... for YOU! </i><br />
<i>Oh tee hee hee hee hee!"</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
From his fruity manner, black cape and widow's peak it seemed transparent that this fellow was in fact a VAMPIRE. The other thing that tipped me off was that I had recently found some garlic in a kind of upstairs pantry, along with a carving knife (+3 SKILL points, thank you!) and an "<i>unlabelled bottle of white liquid</i>" that I resisted the inevitable impulse to quaff. (The white liquid turns out to be more poisoned white wine - and this the 1981 kill-you-dead vintage rather than the 1977 just-knock-you-out tipple. Here Steve Jackson has also revealed his own vintage as a beer-swilling macho man, happily unaware that white wine - as opposed to, say, Twink - is not physically white in colour).<br />
<br />
But yes anyway, finding garlic in a Fighting Fantasy gamebook is sort of like finding a Chekhov's Gun in a Chekhov play - you know that before the end of the story, someone will be waving it hysterically at a VAMPIRE. That someone was me, and just as well, since your only other option is to be psychically dominated and have your blood munched. I edged around the room to one of the other exits while the VAMPIRE went through the motions of thrashing about and hissing and peeping at me from under the crook of his arm. Born unlucky, I first opened a door that had two ZOMBIES eagerly listening at the keyhole, they tumbled into the room like unruly schoolboys and I was forced to contend with them, even as I continued to waggle my string of garlic towards Mr. VAMPIRE any time he appeared to be gaining some self-respect. Thanks to my recently found carving knife, my SKILL was pumped to its Tyrannosaurus apogee of <b><u>12</u></b>, thus disassembling the ZOMBIES was not a matter of any great complexity. At last I flung the garlic at my foe and dove through the other door, a matronly "<i>oooooh!</i>" of dismay resounding behind me.<br />
<br />
That second door led into a cupboard, but happily there was a secret exit at the back, already standing wide open. I paused to consider that perhaps I had previous been through other cupboards with wide open secret doors at the back, and merely mistaken them for normal corridors? I couldn't know. No time for further hesitation though, I had found my way into a hidden section of the mansion, and its foul secrets would no doubt soon roll over and expose their bellies to me like an affectionate but loathsomely diseased house-cat. Unfortunately I almost immediately blundered through a false mirror and back into the main section of the house. Soon afterwards I found myself before a locked door, which needed a numbered key to open. I had no such key, and I know an end-game door when I see one. I had no doubt that, having failed to open this door, my fate would soon follow.<br />
<br />
<b style="font-size: x-large;">Failure, and Death</b><br />
<br />
Across the hall from that locked door is the kitchen. If you get to the kitchen, you are doomed. Here I list all the possible outcomes once you enter that accursed yet surprisingly tidy place.<br />
<br />
<b>1)</b> You grab a ring of keys lying on the cooktop, realise belatedly that the cooktop was switched on, drop the red-hot keys with a shriek and a clatter, four cultists wearing goat heads rush into the room and take you to the dungeon. Presumably you are later sacrificed in <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-1GadTfGFvU">some awful rite</a>. <i>Which dickhead was cooking their keys though</i>.<br />
<b><br /></b><br />
<b>2)</b> You go into the crockery cupboard and see a GHOUL, it's so scary that you just immediately die. (<i>FEAR maximum exceeded</i>)<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO7iz7J3dkYW-hgbUOQFuJfp8NEcj0vJmWhpVhg4nqEGFeouiLryeyFBLAilBW9BBRzAQtZPlf7nINod6oAiU4XhIKKYAOKs6qfav6Z0EVmfc3K7d8VGH6cz8rh9SlLbVu-GTRAY_6U7c/s1600/ghoul.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="oh this old thing? a mere one hundred and fifty thousand carats, dahling"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO7iz7J3dkYW-hgbUOQFuJfp8NEcj0vJmWhpVhg4nqEGFeouiLryeyFBLAilBW9BBRzAQtZPlf7nINod6oAiU4XhIKKYAOKs6qfav6Z0EVmfc3K7d8VGH6cz8rh9SlLbVu-GTRAY_6U7c/s400/ghoul.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The GHOUL ostentatiously displays her diamond engagement ring.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>3)</b> You enter the cupboard and see a GHOUL, you put a dot in your pants but otherwise survive the big spooky surprise. The GHOUL then punches you so hard that you die. (<i>GHOUL defeats you in a straight fight</i>).<br />
<b><br /></b><br />
<b>4)</b> You and the GHOUL tussle, you take a few slaps but you're tougher than that, you can take some knocks. But next thing, your arms and legs start to feel so heavy, and: <i>oops, I got paralysed</i>. The GHOUL devours you at her leisure as you hiss your last few breaths through clenched teeth, eyeballs rolling frantically, a prisoner in your own delicious body. (<i>Get hit by the GHOUL four times</i>.)<br />
<b><br /></b><br />
<b>5) </b>You effortlessly defeat the GHOUL because <b>you </b>have <b>SKILL <u>12</u>,</b> and the world of martial arts knows no equal with a rolling pin, chair leg or ornamental letter-opener. The deactivated GHOUL collapses into a stack of pots and pans, creating an almighty crash of metal on metal. Four burly cultists, wearing goat-heads, burst in to investigate. Despite the fact that you are a veritable god of combat, you stay your deadly arm and allow them to take you to hell-jail. For some reason. Later on they kill you I guess.<br />
<b><br /></b><br />
And that last one - the most drawn out and frustrating of the smorgasbord of failures - is what happened to me. The unwinnable kitchen is almost intolerable to my sensibilities, so I'll add one more option, this one is more of a philosophical possibility:<br />
<b><br /></b><br />
<b>The Sixth Option</b><br />
<b><br /></b><br />
<b>6) </b>You refuse to make a decision, and so remain in the kitchen indefinitely. You wait until morning, watching good, clean, daylight pour through the windows. At length, a man wearing a goat-head arrives, bearing a stack of dirty breakfast dishes. He looks to you. You cannot interpret the slack, idiot expression of a decapitated goat. Tentatively, you reach for the tap, and run some water in the kitchen sink. The man places his stack of dishes on the counter beside you and steps back. You squeeze some detergent into the sink, then pause. You meet his gaze, and begin, slowly, to wash the dishes, brush scraping against the dregs of porridge which some fuckin' genius has allowed to dry solid against the bowl. That shit is like cement now. You look down at your work, but the touch of the man's goaty dead regard still pimples your skin. He waits, and watches as you dry each bowl and lay them in a neat stack on the floor next to the cupboard that has a GHOUL in it. At last, the man nods his goat-head once, and leaves.<br />
<br />
This arrangement continues as it has begun; three meals a day, plus Devonshire tea on Sunday afternoons. You survive on the food-scraps - for Lord Peter Cushing does not eat his crusts - and the mistaken idea that you're supposed to be there. Between meals, you lean against the table and try to remember the lyrics to Nik Kershaw songs. They are maddeningly cryptic. Sometimes you watch the keys glowing dull red on the stove. Will someone come and fetch their ring of keys? No-one does. Weeks pass this way, and after a short and awkward courtship, you find yourself in an abusive relationship with Franklins. It drags on, jagged with passion and hurt - for months, years. Decades. You keep going back to him, even though he treats you wrong. Also because you are unable to leave the kitchen.<br />
<br />
One day - and it seems no special day - the goat-headed man comes in carrying dirty dishes, just as he always does. He is stooped with age, and moves gingerly, his feet now scuff the ground when he walks. He lays the dishes on the counter, looks down. A human form is crumpled on the kitchen floor, hair grey, skin tinged to blue. The goat-headed man will be doing his own dishes this day. Your adventure ends here.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAbtPwckNU3Jsw6KFlOjP89hHJCz9rzB56OtrRbsufkCmeny2n8ciBEw3CR0MxpMOAJImFBchYh3FPrKlhqiUdg5mEPfveLMfLO41cOSNNbrFT_fk3Y_MdD4CsWAsGFGlx92fWehKKt4Q/s1600/goathead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAbtPwckNU3Jsw6KFlOjP89hHJCz9rzB56OtrRbsufkCmeny2n8ciBEw3CR0MxpMOAJImFBchYh3FPrKlhqiUdg5mEPfveLMfLO41cOSNNbrFT_fk3Y_MdD4CsWAsGFGlx92fWehKKt4Q/s400/goathead.jpg" title="this is actually what you see if you try to leave via the front door" width="275" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>401 </b><i>You cannot interpret the slack, idiot expression of a decapitated goat.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><br /></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The SKELETON Report</span></b><br />
<b><br /></b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidOJI7Ul9r83m53SvXHze6Wdrp72rHhhCnCLu_AzH_NbZC6nJtsp96TAMWquL-mBgqR_SdIim6gsgdqEWIlyUrPOoiEdwbOddJ60nWj-JF22iskrjcLYsccp7Cw3EcgT-hGh8mCjLAPbg/s1600/SKELETON+count+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="FIESTA!!!! a yi yi yi yi yiiiiiii!"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidOJI7Ul9r83m53SvXHze6Wdrp72rHhhCnCLu_AzH_NbZC6nJtsp96TAMWquL-mBgqR_SdIim6gsgdqEWIlyUrPOoiEdwbOddJ60nWj-JF22iskrjcLYsccp7Cw3EcgT-hGh8mCjLAPbg/s320/SKELETON+count+2.jpg" width="293" /></a></div>
<b><br /></b><br />
These two fun-lovers are playing dress-ups inside a cupboard, in one of the House of Hell's interminable sequence of "well-appointed bedrooms". Sure enough, should you open the cupboard door they will spring out and excitedly demand your autograph. Both have STAMINA 6, but while one has SKILL 7, the guy with the hat has just SKILL 6. I suggest that he is subject to a -1 penalty because his pants will be looped around his bony ankles in approximately one second. If a SKELETON simply must wear pants, suspenders are indeed the way to go. <br />
<b><br /></b><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBv1bQfnhipO2viychDQqy-3l6Q-5HAbv6QFA_IoNnOQzOQwFFtm3qDMqu5_mxr1i4Law6WpySWjcTRAThv_FfiIgM2eNGcQ0cjFVcgiYXZfERPbP1qhMBGLWo3paO4C6IVzFxX64jbJM/s1600/skellies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBv1bQfnhipO2viychDQqy-3l6Q-5HAbv6QFA_IoNnOQzOQwFFtm3qDMqu5_mxr1i4Law6WpySWjcTRAThv_FfiIgM2eNGcQ0cjFVcgiYXZfERPbP1qhMBGLWo3paO4C6IVzFxX64jbJM/s400/skellies.jpg" title="'Whut say yew, Cletus? Shall we gittim?'
'Less git th' varmint, Terry!'" width="250" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>One of the finest and most accurate depictions of SKELETONS in the wild. </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As clearly encoded in the shock lines above, you will gain 2 FEAR points if you encounter them: 1 for the surprise, 2 for the gangster hat. <b><br /></b><br />
<b><br /></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Final Thoughts</span></b><br />
<b><br /></b><br />
A few things struck me as notable about <i>House</i>. The horror theme is fresh for the series, though not particular fresh for, you know, "horror" - it's mainly well-worn and semi-fruity Hammer Horror tropes, a grab-bag of chain-clanking revenants, Elizabethan gentlemen with they heads tucked under they arms and whatnot - but scary enough if you're a kid I guess (<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gu-t1Ghm4OU">perhaps even traumatic?</a>) The prose could do a better job of selling the shocks, it's kind of like "you see a ZOMBIE coming to get you, he got a SKILL 6" most of the time.<br />
<br />
The FEAR system is a fun innovation, though it has its anomalies. For instance, finding unexpected corpses seems to consistently give you 3 FEAR points, whereas blasphemously re-animated corpses that shamble towards you with murderous intent will net you just 2 (and sometimes not even that).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOvYYb2geewYswEqm5J_9w7DW4-eLtnme3Qc1tVIx2iQSRRRtFQ8mdjtf604CxkkxFLpQoIp_gpDrBEhe3UnzO6_E2ZwNcfyGTFLuBNMlwgfix6eAkUwMTgU1kMzpSQVYw5qMixaHqig4/s1600/goofy+corpse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOvYYb2geewYswEqm5J_9w7DW4-eLtnme3Qc1tVIx2iQSRRRtFQ8mdjtf604CxkkxFLpQoIp_gpDrBEhe3UnzO6_E2ZwNcfyGTFLuBNMlwgfix6eAkUwMTgU1kMzpSQVYw5qMixaHqig4/s400/goofy+corpse.jpg" title="i wish i knew how to do animated GIFs, i would make one of just this corpse, waggling" width="253" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Discovering the remains of this unfortunate goof will elicit a</i><i><br /> whopping 3 FEAR points, as opposed to e.g. gales of laughter.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Similarly, failure to relax and drink a brandy when you meet Peter Cushing will get you a FEAR point, whereas witnessing a GHOST lady being devoured by the spectral emanations of DEAD GREAT DANES provokes no more than a lazy shrug from your amygdala.<br />
<br />
<i>House</i> also contains a surprising amount of dialogue and character interaction - far, far more than any other book thus far - though I didn't experience that much of it in my play-through. But apart from meeting the lord and his butler, there are many denizens of the house you can converse with - cultists, ghosts, prisoners, torturers, a HUNCHBACK, some old lady in a bed. There seem to be many cases where you have to decide whether you can bluff your way through an encounter, or conversely whether you can trust a stranger. I usually enjoy these angles in game-books (this is Steve, so, you now how it runs - plenty of false-faced betrayals). Another point, compared to the other books it seems to have very few items, I only picked up the garlic, a knife and a "joke" key in my play through.<br />
<br />
It is super hard - but for good reasons, it seems to be a well-crafted challenge, rather than being peppered with arbitrarily tough combats. I could imagine myself trying another couple of play-throughs to puzzle it out some more - but then again... I still have <b>fifty more books to go.</b><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgpTeWedSfPO4jjhumD8QM3yERTcWSew5fjw5YrKOY-Lfq6fMZrqcOJZgvlo8qwFQ0XQpL0dBwvxS3zjYQ8oQ_Ab5t5dlkwhCXz8WyF28iMLqfHj4MRamahm6Fy0yFP6D-lQz9gAdpVkw/s1600/tip+toe+trew+de+tulips.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgpTeWedSfPO4jjhumD8QM3yERTcWSew5fjw5YrKOY-Lfq6fMZrqcOJZgvlo8qwFQ0XQpL0dBwvxS3zjYQ8oQ_Ab5t5dlkwhCXz8WyF28iMLqfHj4MRamahm6Fy0yFP6D-lQz9gAdpVkw/s640/tip+toe+trew+de+tulips.jpg" title="i have a theory that this guy is actually THE REAL FRANKLINS" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17408095504472495097noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618556584663522444.post-46989862456282127102012-02-08T19:30:00.000-08:002012-03-27T12:03:52.675-07:00#9 - "Caverns of the Snow Witch", by Ian Livingstone (1984)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7dVgbM44loIZeM94eUGk01qFGMnO6tXyZsuX6tYj-449XNB4Zlj9SVxDqMqSzEGNSLFqf6rXYVhSET556YUjJenR4srqaq25KYG_1ZuMRZEyk59LoTRaA9ugwojpMULdEjL_sKtb_oss/s1600/caverns+of+dat+snow+switch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-size: x-small;"><i><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7dVgbM44loIZeM94eUGk01qFGMnO6tXyZsuX6tYj-449XNB4Zlj9SVxDqMqSzEGNSLFqf6rXYVhSET556YUjJenR4srqaq25KYG_1ZuMRZEyk59LoTRaA9ugwojpMULdEjL_sKtb_oss/s320/caverns+of+dat+snow+switch.jpg" title="vespertine... was... a great... album... GAK" width="205" /></i></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Thaggnar's video-conference with Björk</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>spirals into opprobrium. </i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Well, here we are knocking about in the imagination of Ian Livingstone again. Get used to it - the man was prolific. On the cover, both "caverns" and "a snow witch" are clearly depicted, but the star of the show appears to be a bumbling ORC whose boss has hit him up via crystal ball to chew his ass out for leaving the fridge door open. You can tell that he is bumbling because he has a flail stuffed into his belt such that the spiky bit is dangling in front of his crotch - if the homie makes any sudden movements then he is going to get a rude awakening, <i>in the nuts</i>. This might also explain why he's been standing still long enough for icicles to form on his pants.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tS1JMyjufzE/TwVJbn6RMrI/AAAAAAAAAao/5GEcfcnsyUM/s1600/an+accident+waiting+to+happen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tS1JMyjufzE/TwVJbn6RMrI/AAAAAAAAAao/5GEcfcnsyUM/s1600/an+accident+waiting+to+happen.jpg" title="your ornamental dick-shield is improperly placed to avert injury" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>You are an accident waiting to happen my friend.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It's a dramatic scene. Basically everyone seems to be just howling and freaking out - even the icy skulls that got stuck in the wall somehow - which led me to the alternative interpretation that they've just been told that a wandering swordsman is headed their way.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TG6oVRS_cdA/TwVMIVZtA-I/AAAAAAAAAa0/eHMRwDwF9dg/s1600/oh+shiiiiiiiiiiiiit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="532" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TG6oVRS_cdA/TwVMIVZtA-I/AAAAAAAAAa0/eHMRwDwF9dg/s640/oh+shiiiiiiiiiiiiit.jpg" title="oh shucks oh hell oh dear" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>OH NO I HEARD IT IS THE SAME GUY WHO MADE A MAP OF THE SCORPIONS SWAMPS</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So, you could be forgiven for thinking that the book is about a debutante ORC's struggle to make it in the high-pressure world of a modern henchman. You could <i>also </i>be forgiven for thinking that this book is about his boss THE SNOW WITCH, but she actually gets killed off halfway through. The book has an unusual structure, all the stuff about Caverns and a Snow Witch is just the first half, with the boss fight in the middle of the story rather than at the end. The adventure was first published in short form - just the Snow Witch bits - in the second issue of <i>Warlock </i>magazine, which believe it or not was an actual magazine about Fighting Fantasy that you could buy.<br />
<br />
The Snow Witch - whom my research tells me has the lovely name of Shareella - made her debut on the cover in the contemporary <i>haute couture</i> of 1984, a snow-white leotard, bead belt and an early "<i>rampant</i>" prototype of her characteristic birdy hat.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_ybVWP94ccE/TwVbGVT9IjI/AAAAAAAAAbA/4Dx2Q5p5G-A/s1600/267px-SnowWitchWarlock02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_ybVWP94ccE/TwVbGVT9IjI/AAAAAAAAAbA/4Dx2Q5p5G-A/s1600/267px-SnowWitchWarlock02.jpg" title="i can't pretend that this isn't astonishingly sexy though" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>What a feeling, bein's believin' / I can't have it all, now I'm dancing for my life</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So the shorter adventure from <i>Wizard </i>magazine comprises the first half of the book, and it's fairly self-contained - the second half is kind of a medical drama.
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Background</span></b><br />
<br />
Our protagonist starts out this adventure travelling with a caravan as a hired caravan guard - as far as fantasy role-playing set-ups go, this is pretty conventional. Then again, it's a damn sight better than some of his predecessors, those guys who you'll remember spent their days wandering the countryside alone, killing indiscriminately and composing erotic fan fiction about their own swords in the quiet intervals while they walk to their next massacre. In terms of characterisation, it's a big step up. <br />
<br />
You work for Big Jim Sun, "<i>a man to be reckoned with</i>", who runs caravans up into the Icefinger mountains for the fur trade. At the moment the narrative picks up, our hero is walking ahead of the six carts over a frozen lake, poking the ice with a sword - from which we can see that Fighting Fantasy protagonists can apparently find ways to satisfy their death wish even when they're not in the midst of an official adventure. Suddenly the sound of a hunting horn blasts out across the ice, which is the mediaeval equivalent of yelling "OH SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT" - Big Jim thinks it might've come from the trading outpost that the caravan was heading for, and he sends you ahead to check. What you find is a "<i>scene of ugly carnage</i>", the bodies of six men massacred by some enormous creature. You report back to Big Jim and he asks you to hunt and kill the beast - by yourself, natch - which you agree to attempt for the sum of 50 GP.<br />
<br />
It's actually a succinct and nicely atmospheric intro, which left me with little to make fun of. So, moving on...<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Rolling Up My Dude</span></b><br />
<b><br /></b><br />
SKILL - 10<br />
STAMINA - 20<br />
LUCK - 11<br />
<br />
Still avoiding single-digit SKILL scores, lucky me. I have my 10 PROVISIONS, hooray! I wish that they would bring back the rules from <i>Warlock</i> where the book would tell you that you could eat, at sensible times. I am running out of jokes about the instantaneous feeding/healing mechanic.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The Adventure</span></b><br />
<b><br /></b><br />
You wake up in the morning to find that the weather is shitty and fresh snow has covered the beast's tracks. You are, of course, undeterred and just start walking in a direction. Your first challenge is how to pass a crevasse in the ice. You can walk around it, or cross an "ice bridge" that has naturally formed across it, which if you think about it, <i>would be fucking crazy</i>. I was reminded of the first choice in <i>Scorpion Swamp</i>, where you could walk around the puddle or jump it. This isn't the sensible, predictable world of <i>Scorpion Swamp </i>though - when I decided to play it safe and walk around the crevasse, Ian hit me with a goddamn WOOLLY MAMMOTH (SKILL 10, STAMINA 11).<br />
<br />
For fuck's sake.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/4sjMg4Cni4I" width="560"></iframe>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>A MAMMOTH, featured in the popular television game, "</i>Skyrim<i>".</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Despite being evenly matched on paper, the MAMMOTH only got one good shot in before I chopped all of its legs off and rolled it down the hill. After that the weather worsened so I "<i>hurriedly cut blocks of ice out of the mountain-side and </i>[built]<i> a makeshift igloo</i>" and sat inside scarfing PROVISIONS to keep warm - all authentic survival lore I think - only to clamber out a while later to find that I'd been a few metres away from a trapper's log cabin. Naturally I busted in and ran a Goldilocks up on that joint, eating the trapper's stew and nicking a couple of weapons that were lying under the bed, i.e. a spear and, believe it or not, a war-hammer that I guess the trapper kept handy in case he needed to fight someone in plate armour. I left, following the fresh footprints that led out from the front door (yes, it was clear that the hut was actively inhabited - I was mentally prepared to feign anger and inform the trapper that <i>I don't see your name on it </i>and <i>it's a free country</i> and he <i>should've locked the fucking door</i> if he should happen to recognize his war-hammer poking out of my pants later on).<br />
<br />
Now, some readers of the blog might be intrigued as to the identity about the killer beast that I was tracking - let me inform you now that if you're actually reading the book, this mystery is almost immediately ruined in Paragraph <b>1</b> when Ian informs you that "<i>you set off towards the mountains where you hope to find the abominable killer beast</i>" - any six-year old with a passing interest in cryptozoology now knows it must <b>this guy:</b><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIWDbK2sSVRjPYTH8zgm8jofJzBCaPaYDwpVnnO1zMdWE2tRWqaQZFsyfDHB-waNiopr9dUWuRpz8hsPSyOaRRxmt3Fr-1FMRyGUxnYeQ4ZFQ2ARD1CufE8rzSU53UrKWVahGQWnjZthg/s1600/yeti.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIWDbK2sSVRjPYTH8zgm8jofJzBCaPaYDwpVnnO1zMdWE2tRWqaQZFsyfDHB-waNiopr9dUWuRpz8hsPSyOaRRxmt3Fr-1FMRyGUxnYeQ4ZFQ2ARD1CufE8rzSU53UrKWVahGQWnjZthg/s640/yeti.jpg" title="OH LAWD OH MERCY" width="432" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Eeeeeeek!</i><br />
<i><br /></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Yes, that hairy snowman who has been single-handedly keeping the word "abominable" alive for the last five decades or more - the YETI. This picture kinds of bugs me out by the way. It's well <i>drawn</i>, but very<i> </i>awkwardly <i>composed</i>. The YETI is standing at the bottom of a cliff or something? It's also clear that the artist's sympathies lie with the YETI, with its innocent labrador eyes, and its posture that of a 1950s TV housewife encountering a mouse, combined with the poise and gravitas of a surprised kitten.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWfsTT7I_-nIB_-I1AUsVaKlD2h-iXhKsqWLoa4Ifunr9w4ea9EmumoWFQGKJIlznjQeIvq_0nE57XFfFi8fiHbR-zrjeIRNV1Da7964QYHwlsxfxwm2DKNT48lAHKR7bEyKF7ZKDO9xA/s1600/yeti+kitten+comparison.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWfsTT7I_-nIB_-I1AUsVaKlD2h-iXhKsqWLoa4Ifunr9w4ea9EmumoWFQGKJIlznjQeIvq_0nE57XFfFi8fiHbR-zrjeIRNV1Da7964QYHwlsxfxwm2DKNT48lAHKR7bEyKF7ZKDO9xA/s320/yeti+kitten+comparison.jpg" title="HEAVENTH TA MURGATROID!!!" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>See what I mean. </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The YETI inadvertently eviscerates the trapper while flapping its wrists, squealing and looking away with its eyes screwed shut - "<i>incensed by the vicious attack, you scream at the Yeti and run through the snow to attack it</i>". Before engaging, you get to chuck the spear, if it you have it - perhaps the trapper has a moment of baffled recognition as it flickers past his dying gaze - and if you manage to skewer the YETI it turns an unavoidable SKILL 11 STAMINA 12 fight into an unavoidable SKILL 10 STAMINA 9 fight (yeah, cheers Ian). I won the fight but the YETI got a few solid hits in, amidst all the effeminate shrieking and hopping about, so I'll confess that I was already chewing on a chicken drumstick from my PROVISIONS as I knelt at the side of the dying trapper.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ouNvnZDCb0TeRdPeaD9Z0Drcul_0GRlQKdj-wI6CufW1Wqsy0dMEZvl220NPatJ0s_Su7RxL1_5HmwDi3db6QNREV8162SLS2ySc5AxaAHsB-bFjjo1BrMr8upCQmMiLwRfQF6qoR0A/s1600/turkey-final-fight-396x280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ouNvnZDCb0TeRdPeaD9Z0Drcul_0GRlQKdj-wI6CufW1Wqsy0dMEZvl220NPatJ0s_Su7RxL1_5HmwDi3db6QNREV8162SLS2ySc5AxaAHsB-bFjjo1BrMr8upCQmMiLwRfQF6qoR0A/s320/turkey-final-fight-396x280.jpg" title="and you know the homie just punched a trash can and there it was" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Guy from </i>"Final Fight" <i>demonstrates best practice in the healing arts.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
"<i>With great effort he reaches up and grabs you by the neck, pulling you down so that you can hear his dying words</i>." As I did for Mungo in <i>Lizard King</i>, I have taken the liberty of imagining what these might have been. "<i>In terrible pain he struggles to whisper his story</i>..."<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>Trapper's Last Words</b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>"Ahem. Stranger, as you know, the Icefinger Mountains are a cold and inhospitable land, but for most of my life I've made them my home. I've earned my living hunting and trapping beasts. I eat the meat that I kill and scrape the furs for trade. But all that's behind me now, since, as must now be quite obvious to you, I am dying in agony. Perhaps five years ago, I first heard tell of the Crystal Caves, a great warren carved into the face of glacier, so-named for its abundance of valuable water crystals. It is home to the wicked Snow Witch, Shareella, and her cult of followers. Now, the Snow Witch, as you may have heard, is a beautiful yet evil sorceress, who is trying to </i><i style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">use her dark powers to bring on an ice age so that she can rule supreme over the whole world - can you imagine that? Well, it's more than a right-thinking trapper like myself can stand. So, since that day five years ago--</i><i>"</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
Hold up, hold up, hold up - actually, no. You know what? I can't be bothered. There is honestly <i>so much exposition </i>in this trapper's dying words. He's worse than Bigleg in <i>Forest of Doom</i>. Somebody needs to let these guys know that when it comes to last words, pithiness is what gets you over. You shouldn't be glancing at your wrist-watch during a guy's dying words. You shouldn't start wondering what might be for dinner. You shouldn't have to interrupt to clarify whether the man is, in fact, actually dying at all, or whether there might still be enough time to drag him down off the mountain or e.g. invent all of modern medicine.</div>
<br />
Anyway, he does eventually die. One of the many things he tells you before doing so is that he found the entrance to the Crystal Caves and marked it with a scrap of fur (the entrance has an illusion cast on it so it looks just like a wall of ice), and he begs you to go and kill the Snow Witch, and just in case you aren't civic-minded, "<i>legends say</i>" that there are treasures frozen into the walls (SPOILER - this is a <b>dirty fuckin' lie</b>). The book then tells you that you consider going back to Big Jim Sun to collect your 50 Gold, but "<i>the thought of an quest through the Crystal Caves beneath Icefinger Mountains excites you, and you decide to set off to find them</i>". I would've preferred to be given a choice here actually - could've been a nice "bad ending" for the narrative, you go get your 50 GP and invest it in starting up a one-stop apothecary in Port Blacksand that sells hag's hair, black pearls and lotus flowers, then a couple of years later Shareella's Ice Age hits and you're left starving out in the tundra with nothing for breakfast but old acorns and cursed Turkish Delight. Big Jim Sun, as a fur trader, gets to retire a millionaire, but everybody else is having a rubbish time, I bet you wish you tried to stop the Snow Witch when you had the chance: Your Adventure Ends Here.<br />
<br />
I <i>wish </i>it was written that way, but instead you just get herded to the Crystal Caves by your overwhelming <i>excitement</i>. <i> </i>When we arrive, we get the to books first T-junction! I thought it would never come - I went left. I bumped into a MOUNTAIN ELF in the corridor but I was just like "<i>oh hey, what's up</i>" and he was like "<i>you know, maintainin', tryin' to get over</i>" and that was that. Then I fell into a pit trap, which does 1d6 damage - in my case, a full 6 STAMINA damage. I reached into my PROVISIONS for a can of corned beef even as I ruefully rubbed my bruised tail-bone. Here I was stuck in a pit, surrounded by a fortune in precious water crystals! Yet I would trade it all for a step ladder, or even a good, solid, rope.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
Then looking up I saw these two goofballs:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUhv4ueAdnsx5KwamjHFN0TYyFRpL6Xj1T9rpBhlZM9niMD8UT9Z7PPIMKEaQH83NJef8buFO6iF5l5Q_kUYkXsngxMuQqTHYPwciIe6d892r_GSn3Npl-ZQQEYrD3xWKFGfz2O7Gcoac/s1600/gobbies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUhv4ueAdnsx5KwamjHFN0TYyFRpL6Xj1T9rpBhlZM9niMD8UT9Z7PPIMKEaQH83NJef8buFO6iF5l5Q_kUYkXsngxMuQqTHYPwciIe6d892r_GSn3Npl-ZQQEYrD3xWKFGfz2O7Gcoac/s400/gobbies.jpg" title="GIRL YOU KNOW IT'S TRUE / UH UH - I'MGONNATHROWAROPEATYOU" width="257" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>It's the guys who really did the singing for Milli Vanilli!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
These GOBLINS threw down a rope and ordered me to throw my sword up to them, which I did. They wanted to take a prisoner, which in their shoes, would not have been my strategy. If I was the GOBLIN here, I would've run and hid in a box. I may lose a lot of Fighting Fantasy books, but the day I die because something a GOBLIN did? <i>There ain't a calendar for that. </i>What happened next is basically my favourite option in the whole book: <i>If you wish to pull hard on the rope in an attempt to pull them down into the pit, turn to <b>314</b>. </i><br />
<br />
You have to <i>Test Your Luck </i>to make it happen - really you'd think the GOBBIES should be testing <i>their</i> luck though - but if you make the roll, one of them lands on his head and doesn't get up, the other is a SKILL 5 STAMINA 4 fight which is pretty dang easy even when you're penalised for having thrown your sword away like a ding-dong. You're still at the bottom of the pit afterwards, which is kind of a minus, but we already established the heroes miraculous powers of ice-working when he assembled an igloo in five minutes during a blizzard, so it's no real surprise that you're able to hack a staircase out of the wall with one of the dead GOBLIN's daggers.<br />
<br />
So, back on track then. Next up? A PUZZLE ROOM. The situation is that there's a sword and a spear poking out of these cute little circular pools in the ground. Someone carved a poem in the ice in front of them:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Sword or spear</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Strength or fear</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>How to choose</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Win or lose</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
I had to look up "doggerel" in the dictionary just now because I thought it meant "<i>poetry that a dog would write</i>" - not really, as it turns out, but near enough.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM7pOSVqRGyNDqYrd57RUMEUwBOoOSIzkuqnC8siRQCqJNn8mTs6czZCt5qCwzXGr40-kAv7jtuiSDCDoyuLuFgrEHM5QFDewO7v6NvbMWb-dvlNI0kEYp7opzxsxUeWmcsxL-0OfqyvQ/s1600/sword+or+spear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM7pOSVqRGyNDqYrd57RUMEUwBOoOSIzkuqnC8siRQCqJNn8mTs6czZCt5qCwzXGr40-kAv7jtuiSDCDoyuLuFgrEHM5QFDewO7v6NvbMWb-dvlNI0kEYp7opzxsxUeWmcsxL-0OfqyvQ/s400/sword+or+spear.jpg" title="he appears to have died from Wanting The Sword So Hard" width="258" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i style="background-color: white;">Plus there's the frosty corpse of an ORC pointing at the sword. <br />He has an honest face, don't you think?</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
You can choose to take one of them with you or just write the whole thing off as a bad joke if you like - after all, it's hard to imagine someone setting something like this up outside of the context of a birthday party or a game show. It's not a very good trap, since there's an even chance of getting a really good weapon with zero consequence. So my working theory is that someone who lives in the Crystal Caves set this up as a fun surprise for their best friend to find, the whole set-up including the dead ORC has some kind of special in-joke meaning between these two good buddies, balloons were gonna come down from the ceiling, et cetera, but like an asshole you have just blundered in and ruined it.<br />
<br />
I chose to pick up the sword, because they rhymed <i>spear</i> with <i>fear</i> in the poem, plus the ORC was pointing to it. I had to make some assumptions about what the ORC was thinking when he died, I mean if it had been a SKELETON instead then the pointing would definitely mean "<i>I'm going come back to life and get you if you even touch that sword</i>" but since it was an ORC I thought he probably just meant "<i>oh wow, look at that brilliant sword</i>". This proved to be a sound line of reasoning as it was a Sword of Speed, giving +1 SKILL. I then had the option to rifle through the ORC's belongings - and since no Livingstone adventure would be complete without the opportunity to eat something nasty, you find a moldy loaf of bread - eat, Y/N? "<i>What the hell, I could use the penicillin</i>", I thought and tucked in - when you break it open you find a key inside, "<i>oh great a key</i>", and then you just throw the bread away like you were never seriously going to eat it in the first place. (This bothered me and I also never found out what the key was for).<br />
<br />
Further up the tunnel you come across an incongruous sight<i> </i>at a side-entrance:<br />
<br />
<i>Your view into the cave is partially blocked by an old tattered animal skin hanging down over the entrance, but you can see the lower torso of a man wearing </i><b style="font-style: italic;">green and purple hose, and pointed red slippers. </b>[emphases mine]<br />
<br />
"<i>Oh shit</i>" I thought, "<i>we got us a HARLEQUIN</i>".<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS-XSPpNFZ1BOEnIMR6nDSqbAFHw3lUtkHCZTw1Kgcu9DH9XGpGVlxAe31eAGOpCD9LPKS8SZ5rYrOXO8RLSRcbH4P5vUBMUtyfkHmk3wroOqpwngDFK6kXPz3KhO0oqWbDcIiyD6_uMk/s1600/Mother_and_child_with_Harlequin_18th_century.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS-XSPpNFZ1BOEnIMR6nDSqbAFHw3lUtkHCZTw1Kgcu9DH9XGpGVlxAe31eAGOpCD9LPKS8SZ5rYrOXO8RLSRcbH4P5vUBMUtyfkHmk3wroOqpwngDFK6kXPz3KhO0oqWbDcIiyD6_uMk/s1600/Mother_and_child_with_Harlequin_18th_century.jpg" title="what, you gonna move the spoon like two metres over to the baby's mouth? come closer with the pot, dumbass" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"Mother and Child with HARLEQUIN", 18th Century (artist unknown)</i><br />
<i>There is so much to make fun of in this painting that I actually better not even start.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Despite their garish clothes and fabulous manner, HARLEQUINS cannot be trusted as is clear from the evident cuckoldry in the historically accurate painting above.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh69DMrU04Zc6uAfp8YSlo-yH6uwHa4l2A73Mt9BV9Hbaook3JTNM23EblPhBiZ6Z48lZ1yZ9P7WhyCzm4J43dYjkQqbtsSyzm6EL4Hl17gphRmPD1EwSksgsof8yS94ZTSyFdK1PmSScI/s1600/cuckoldry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh69DMrU04Zc6uAfp8YSlo-yH6uwHa4l2A73Mt9BV9Hbaook3JTNM23EblPhBiZ6Z48lZ1yZ9P7WhyCzm4J43dYjkQqbtsSyzm6EL4Hl17gphRmPD1EwSksgsof8yS94ZTSyFdK1PmSScI/s1600/cuckoldry.jpg" title="it might be that he never realised until a pretentious aunt gifted them a baby-size neck ruff" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>That HARLEQUIN's been doing more than just helping out in the kitchen!<br />(Though it also explains why hubby was acting like he'd never seen a tit before)</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
A HARLEQUIN can also get you by doing some unexpected flamboyant shit that you can't even decipher but then a long time afterwards you realise he was dissing you and it was so deadly.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHC-g7d3Us718vmd-Pn-9blBTqK_WZVK3J9oxBUyrUsYyXQq8bFFtNxmmWP-_zgHxdCqxjoG4rKdR-w6T4VC6Ldv6Wj7wDcqupsujvlrtKRjqG0OuIroNf4QfPCUS_j13X9NOM6Nle7rk/s1600/harlequin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHC-g7d3Us718vmd-Pn-9blBTqK_WZVK3J9oxBUyrUsYyXQq8bFFtNxmmWP-_zgHxdCqxjoG4rKdR-w6T4VC6Ldv6Wj7wDcqupsujvlrtKRjqG0OuIroNf4QfPCUS_j13X9NOM6Nle7rk/s320/harlequin.jpg" title="seriously though, what the fuck is this numbskull playing at" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Days later, I knew I had been dissed so hard.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Finally, one can never underestimate the sexy allure of an accomplished HARLEQUIN and their expertise in deploying those wicked wiles to sow confusion and discord among their foes.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF-t7tGgomSNAErmTqANkOc_5CNNUsdF5SuRQKS1SRCfmsgs48-gQqTwm7qUFerFcuA7vIM_MWHM_N1IwDAr4Sg1Awnw3o8taCJKrjujXzT__qqpovZcc5KIu5sa1E2_jcCZWEWmcGJxE/s1600/even+more+hilarious+harlequin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF-t7tGgomSNAErmTqANkOc_5CNNUsdF5SuRQKS1SRCfmsgs48-gQqTwm7qUFerFcuA7vIM_MWHM_N1IwDAr4Sg1Awnw3o8taCJKrjujXzT__qqpovZcc5KIu5sa1E2_jcCZWEWmcGJxE/s400/even+more+hilarious+harlequin.jpg" title="He's right though: glamour is a seriously rare fuckin' bird up in this bitch." width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I should mention that doing a Google Image Search for the word</i><br />
HARLEQUIN <i>will net you 50% fan-art of the Harley Quinn character<br />from Batman, and 50% medical photos of <b>harlequin ichthyosis</b>.<br /><br />I don't recommend it. </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
With all this very much in mind I steeled myself for the deadliest encounter yet as I flung aside the gross ratty old animal skin curtain, ready to confront my chequy fate. But fortunately I was spared - before me stood nothing more fearsome than a MINSTREL (yes "MINSTREL" <b>is </b>capitalized in the book). You have the option of attacking him - but you can also "<i>ask him about his music</i>". If you've spent much time hanging out with musicians then like me you'll know that's it's not always clear which is the more dangerous course of action. I asked him about his music and steeled myself.<br />
<br />
The MINSTREL is pathetically grateful for your acknowledgement and has a quick gripe about how under-appreciated he is before playing a magic song which gives you 4 STAMINA points (putting it on par with a bowl of cornflakes in the Fighting Fantasy system). Then he sends you on your way, though I would've liked an extra paragraph where the reader could give him carefully worded feedback.<br />
<br />
<i>The MINSTREL strums the last chord and looks at you expectantly in the ensuing silence. What do you say?</i><br />
<i><b> </b>"I liked the loud parts." - turn to <b>83</b></i><br />
<i><b> </b>"You looked like you were having fun." - turn to <b>177</b></i><br />
<i> "Wow, you are fully, like, the male Jewel!" - turn to <b>204</b></i>
<br />
<i><b><br /></b></i><br />
I daresay any of those answers would net you an encore of his <i>other </i>song - it's the one he plays if you attack him, it paralyses you and then he slaps a slave collar around your neck. I haven't mentioned it previously but basically everyone you meet in the Crystal Caves is wearing these iron collars (like the ORC on the cover) which will give the wearer a gentle throttling if they disparage the management, try to escape or worse yet, unionize. It says little for the Snow Witch's leadership qualities that she is unable to inspire a genuine cult of personality among the various GOBLINS and TROGLODYTES in her employ. It's also worth noting that the MINSTREL is the only guy we've seen so far who isn't wearing a slave collar, roped in instead by the merest sniff of patronage from the Snow Witch (or "<i>beloved Snow Queen</i>" as he enthuses) - because, hey, forgetting the megalomania, and the eternal Ice Age thing<i> - a gig's a gig, right</i>? It kind of reminds me of the New Zealand marching band that was commissioned to play at Colonel Qadaffi's birthday party some years back, but that's another story (it was in Wikileaks).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUTsB6TsNDdOXvEvxZlq07m85PcIRvCy4wQGz809j7DvDkPG8jDq7gVR6x0jLklq1FCRBpkjABEdtc8gcp_s8KBEfla0s1bs1Ka6JHJnm6pZhEi6ROZZeLFMsPhZJzZ5pHO71AEZZpIkQ/s1600/libya-hat-gaddafi_1979306b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUTsB6TsNDdOXvEvxZlq07m85PcIRvCy4wQGz809j7DvDkPG8jDq7gVR6x0jLklq1FCRBpkjABEdtc8gcp_s8KBEfla0s1bs1Ka6JHJnm6pZhEi6ROZZeLFMsPhZJzZ5pHO71AEZZpIkQ/s400/libya-hat-gaddafi_1979306b.jpg" title="this joke was topical, when i wrote it" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>You'll never make General now, Colonel Qadaffi. </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So anyway, next stop down the hallway was a room with ten guys it (an assortment of GOBLINS, ORCS, and NEANDERTHALS, if you must know). Since I've never seen a Fighting Fantasy paragraph that bothers to give you rules for fighting ten guys, I decided to sprint past them. One of them hiffed a dart at me and another tried to smack me with a whip, but once I got to the other side of the room they didn't bother to give chase. That's what you get if you put slave collars on your staff - they were just doing enough to be able to say they'd tried.<br />
<br />
They could've got the better of me too, since I ran straight down a dead-end. There was a pit at the end with a dwarf trapped in it, having large water crystals dropped down on him from a shaft in the ceiling by giggling school-goblins. I helped him out despite the fact that he pretty much dared me to walk away ("<i>Curse you, stranger, if you do not aid me!</i>") In his gratitude he gifted me a sling with three bullets and yelled "<i>Beware the White Rat!</i>" as he ran away. There's a white rat later in the book that turns into a SKILL 12 WHITE DRAGON - which this dwarf must've known, but apparently couldn't spare the breath to add "...c<i>os it turns into a Dragon!</i>" as he took to his heels. It's one of those useless hints, <a href="http://www.smbc-comics.com/index.php?db=comics&id=2372">like the Delphic prophecies</a>, where you get to think "<i>oh so </i><b>that's</b><i> what he was talking about</i>" later on - i.e. when you're relaxing in the DRAGON's belly. I just saved this miserable dwarf's life, <b>I don't want the spoiler-free version of the goddamn hints</b>. So we can agree that this guy was a bit of a tool.<br />
<br />
Then while I was on my way to the next T-junction I came to a spot where the tunnel split into three instead, which almost never happens. And out from one of the tunnels comes my high school physics teacher in his dressing gown.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirVPTjsRhV3Nf-3m26zFgpeTFc87BiB_u6M2C-Ocj0xO22DyYrqzXqwPs4tKAqcaSbIBQ8iArPGFMJ7jZDsoezS1TxN1R3-VWJF7ReiluuG-rbzYo12g99cxlYZwVFC4btdVlrhZYt_iE/s1600/illusionist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirVPTjsRhV3Nf-3m26zFgpeTFc87BiB_u6M2C-Ocj0xO22DyYrqzXqwPs4tKAqcaSbIBQ8iArPGFMJ7jZDsoezS1TxN1R3-VWJF7ReiluuG-rbzYo12g99cxlYZwVFC4btdVlrhZYt_iE/s640/illusionist.jpg" title="cut your gross nails you clown" width="403" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>When did you get your ears pierced, sir?<br />It's a hot look for you. </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Turns out this maroon is an evil ILLUSIONIST - the prism is not actually a prop for an optics lesson, it's <i>magic.</i> He pulled out that old classic of creating illusionary copies of himself. "<i>Oh no, which one is real, and which is but an illusion</i>" I said in a bored voice as I expertly skewered the real ILLUSIONIST (it was just a lucky guess but you have to back yourself in these situations). I smashed his prism and a genie came out, the ILLUSIONIST went running back up the tunnel shrieking, and the genie said '<i>Boy do I owe you a favour! Get at me later and I'll do you a solid! Invisibility, baby! Ciao 4 now!</i>'<br />
<br />
Then he vanished. I shrugged and went right.<br />
<br />
<i>As soon as you enter the tunnel, an iron grille drops behind you, barring your retreat. It is impossible to lift and there is nothing you can do but find out what lies at the end of the tunnel. You soon arrive at another iron grille which blocks your way forward.</i><br />
<br />
There's a lever on the other side of the grill (grille?) which you can't reach but could maybe throw something at, like, I dunno, <b>a dagger</b>. So the book asks you if you have any daggers. If you don't, you lose.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkzwwS-ksuWN_9rGSZEo1Yut81Y03x0849LVQG1s3zdZKEj06Jg-wxeUZkEqgt5eExTUtnRkUG2JzziMVKpKXWzXbrvbO9v5V3EgBbD8d39BOFXHDW7vR5O5PkarpadoCn9hYcB3nPEl4/s1600/u+got+deathrappd+2nd+edition.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="i dunno what the forehead ridge is about though - probably a star trek thing i guess"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkzwwS-ksuWN_9rGSZEo1Yut81Y03x0849LVQG1s3zdZKEj06Jg-wxeUZkEqgt5eExTUtnRkUG2JzziMVKpKXWzXbrvbO9v5V3EgBbD8d39BOFXHDW7vR5O5PkarpadoCn9hYcB3nPEl4/s400/u+got+deathrappd+2nd+edition.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i style="background-color: white; color: #6a6a6a; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">This "U GOT DEATHTRAPP'd" message is brought to you by Ian Livingstone, <br />and Ian Livingstone's cameo as a novelty rubber mask.</i>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
At this point I pretty near flew into a rage, since I'd just been given a sling and three bullets, which would be an equivalent, <i>if not better</i>, method of hitting the lever from the wrong side of the grill.<br />
<br />
Uh-uh, no.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Failure, and Death</span></b><br />
<br />
About a day and a half later I suddenly remembered that I had used one of the GOBLIN's dagger to climb out of that pit trap earlier. I checked, and the book doesn't say that you throw it away, so presumably I still had it. Though I was still pretty pissed at Ian for not letting me use my sling bullets, I decided that my duty to this blog must come first, so I picked the book up again and <i>Tested My Luck </i>to see if I could hit the lever with my one dagger.<br />
<br />
I made the shot and immediately after escaping ran into this hombre:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPXVtjdZGrxMiX8h_P1goR8qitgFJ3-l2ZotBLDeJvHBHo-Z7mEDMdDgzzSBh_bGmbSdjvmUozpgYtNYihHejMnFXqYxCwGch_dY7_BCz9OzJHL5_zVFi3JkgTNei_7sjQH3ZBTok1akU/s1600/crystal+warrior.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="I think that prism I smashed earlier might've been his little brother"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPXVtjdZGrxMiX8h_P1goR8qitgFJ3-l2ZotBLDeJvHBHo-Z7mEDMdDgzzSBh_bGmbSdjvmUozpgYtNYihHejMnFXqYxCwGch_dY7_BCz9OzJHL5_zVFi3JkgTNei_7sjQH3ZBTok1akU/s400/crystal+warrior.jpg" width="263" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>CRYSTAL WARRIOR - SKILL 11, STAMINA 13, GLEAMINESS 178 thousand million</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
He is "<i>made of quartz</i>" and is the first and only actually crystal thing in the Crystal Caves (putting aside my snarky references to <i>water crystals</i>) - perhaps there were once crystals lying all over the place but someone gathered them up and stuck them all together to make this guy. He's invulnerable to edged weapons so the book asks if you might've perhaps stolen a war-hammer from under someone's bed earlier, and if so you can fight him. I had the hammer on my side but not the dice - he killed me, the end.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Monsters, Combat, Noteworthy Encounters</span></b><br />
<br />
Somehow in the course of writing up this post I've ended up describing every encounter I experienced in my adventure, in the order they happened. Not usually my <i>modus operandi</i> - I feel bewildered, like a man waking up on the floor with gaps in his memory and blood on his hands. Most times I have more to talk about in this section, but I guess I can comment on a couple of the other encounters I noticed when glancing at paragraphs I wasn't supposed to.<br />
<br />
This book is once again full of tough combat which seems to give the lie to Fighting Fantasy adage that the "one true path" can be walked by even a useless old SKILL 7 knucklehead. The YETI is an unavoidable SKILL 10 fight at minimum - other fights are merely hard to avoid, such as the CRYSTAL WARRIOR who did for me.<br />
<br />
Probably the most outrageous of all though is this ludicrous-looking inbred who has, can you believe this, SKILL of 12:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA7bHTmd2PypC04Hg-8Vtm3QE8w5if97eKRhX006vg9DEUnpVCDsFNPEPiqh6evHP2hM9_as8lRi5dWUOetlps_esE-oVDCYWiwI53OfiOYkBlGicBYoXRQqRcMXazJgovvqKESMO-0EE/s1600/birdman+motherfucker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA7bHTmd2PypC04Hg-8Vtm3QE8w5if97eKRhX006vg9DEUnpVCDsFNPEPiqh6evHP2hM9_as8lRi5dWUOetlps_esE-oVDCYWiwI53OfiOYkBlGicBYoXRQqRcMXazJgovvqKESMO-0EE/s400/birdman+motherfucker.jpg" title="bat wings with a feathery neck-beard, overbite and three-foot long eyebrows? this dude is a MESS" width="260" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MX6rC1krGp0#t=1m47s">BIRDMAN, motherfucker!</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And reminiscent of the IMITATOR in <i>Deathtrap Dungeon</i>, we meet another hastily re-branded refugee from the D-and-D Monster Manual, the "BRAIN SLAYER":<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrEhY18Jo1jBe3F1jcY4XkYf9dZsMTF93KX9-fqESfxMKEB74UdV36x7baq4AXyPTZX__R02-CePJyAQ4G2FDb8E-N7X2NsuSv6Js-cK68BlLM1L_h8M1eeV572qdh2sIS7CJaun1-O8g/s1600/BRAIN+SLAYER.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrEhY18Jo1jBe3F1jcY4XkYf9dZsMTF93KX9-fqESfxMKEB74UdV36x7baq4AXyPTZX__R02-CePJyAQ4G2FDb8E-N7X2NsuSv6Js-cK68BlLM1L_h8M1eeV572qdh2sIS7CJaun1-O8g/s400/BRAIN+SLAYER.jpg" title="cool it with the brain slaying already" width="273" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Unfortunately, "mind flaying" is a licensed process under patent held by TSR, Inc.<br />But if you'll bear with me a moment I believe I achieve comparable effects by <b>slaying your brain </b><br />without incurring additional delays or license fees.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The SKELETON Count</b></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKY4jG710p4OH082dnAYpCuTK4ULP7Yd0F276DtKc03NGM0_bdqLXBq-aOIEihVcR4wAxVsZn2AeyB74nzlnP-brNtnrcqp0C4gltv5MhTwTwWOPyT8023uKHycc_EoQNB2GDQPm7yRAY/s1600/oops+no+skeletons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKY4jG710p4OH082dnAYpCuTK4ULP7Yd0F276DtKc03NGM0_bdqLXBq-aOIEihVcR4wAxVsZn2AeyB74nzlnP-brNtnrcqp0C4gltv5MhTwTwWOPyT8023uKHycc_EoQNB2GDQPm7yRAY/s320/oops+no+skeletons.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Again! By this time I'm sure the pressure all the SKELETONS pent up in Ian's psyche must've been growing to astronomical levels. Certainly the artist was feeling the strain, the suppressed desires for <i>loads more skellies</i> worked its way onto the page in the form of dozens of skulls doodled into the detail of the artwork.<br />
<br />
For example if you scroll back up to the picture of the ILLUSIONIST you should be able to count nine skulls in his dressing gown plus the massive one in the background - at a total of 10 skulls, it's the most thoroughly skull-saturated drawing in the book, but it's not alone.<br />
<br />
More typical is this drawing of a barbarous MAN-ORC with just 3 skulls.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAK6IHS0tNSia9Iavasw3QjA1nRFpCZqvpFwRej8ILGtw1ZHsCMiUPhuX35UtuFb3YQ-E2mcl0o-NGIMawiC2KTh56LZYRBf-yKeBQJxveCB1yIVg3KsFujEj1LukiR_1wQA0-gCmZtWk/s1600/MAN-ORC+with+skulls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAK6IHS0tNSia9Iavasw3QjA1nRFpCZqvpFwRej8ILGtw1ZHsCMiUPhuX35UtuFb3YQ-E2mcl0o-NGIMawiC2KTh56LZYRBf-yKeBQJxveCB1yIVg3KsFujEj1LukiR_1wQA0-gCmZtWk/s640/MAN-ORC+with+skulls.jpg" title="i counted the skull with little horns but not the funny ibis skull on his axe handle. it was a marginal call but i took it" width="420" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"Get out of here! This tree-house is for MEN-ORCS only!"</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In total...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Xy4zS-8XRebMhsujjloYXPV3nIdn5Rv3orqwsBOr1lqQ9LDZiLJ-5rUmOtgphYZZF9FCIZqLlg9U5L9ShuK3YjzyVsXX1J9UQztAydQTC1QE-FYTkvjlFxP0gIqP_qrGiZr3j8aFyVw/s1600/flaming+skull.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Xy4zS-8XRebMhsujjloYXPV3nIdn5Rv3orqwsBOr1lqQ9LDZiLJ-5rUmOtgphYZZF9FCIZqLlg9U5L9ShuK3YjzyVsXX1J9UQztAydQTC1QE-FYTkvjlFxP0gIqP_qrGiZr3j8aFyVw/s400/flaming+skull.jpg" title="this SKULL got places to be" width="277" /></a></div>
<br />
...and that includes the <b>FIVE </b>on the cover - though I won't guarantee that I found all of them.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Final Thoughts</span></b><br />
<br />
Well, the good thing about this book is probably the story, though I only survived through the shitty parts of it. The boss fight with the SNOW WITCH takes place halfway through the book as I noted earlier, it involves playing a literal guessing game with her and looks like it would be a pretty horrible experience. But after that you are left suffering the effects of a curse, you have to escape the caves and then you go on a cross-country journey with two companions, trying to find someone to lift the curse as your life slowly drains away - along the way you get embroiled in events that reveal this book is actually a prequel to <i>Forest of Doom, </i>and paragraph <b>400</b> ends with you watching the sunrise from the summit of Firetop Mountain and reflecting on how good it is to be alive. It's all quite different from the run-of-the-mill and looked pretty fun as I skimmed it.<br />
<br />
I praised the plot of <i>Lizard King </i>too (inasmuch as I praise anything I guess) and it seems like the story aspects in Ian Livingstone's books seem to improve very quickly after the first couple. From a design point of view though, there's a lot of technical sloppiness here - I already expressed myself regarding the iron grill trap, but I'll point out that I do recognise that, very obviously, a gamebook author can't allow for every idea a reader would have about how to deal with a situation. However if you set up a situation where one essential item could very easily be substituted for another, but that isn't allowed? You <i>will</i> provoke frustration.<br />
<br />
Another gripe relates to that GENIE that suddenly burst out of the prism and said he could turn me invisible if I wanted - pretty handy, but the only way you can ever invoke this is if you encounter the CRYSTAL WARRIOR and you <b>don't </b>have the war-hammer - <b>only in this case</b> can you ask the Genie to turn you invisible and you can sneak past. Your third option is to sit on the floor and weep as the CRYSTAL WARRIOR laminates himself in your pulverised viscera.<br />
<br />
Again in this book we have the situation where each item has only one <i>correct </i>use and only one opportunity to use it. There are cases where an essential item crops up only one or two encounters before you have to use it (e.g. an item that lets you deal with the White Rat/Dragon is an example), which feels contrived. I get the sense that there wasn't much going on in the way of play-testing and review at this stage (in 1984 I still imagine Jackson and Livingstone as emaciated youths clad in flour-sacks, furiously typing away in a garage somewhere, that first cheque for one hundred million pounds still in the post).<br />
<br />
So, thanks for reading. Next time we will be back in the ever-sadistic clutches of Steve - the real Steve, not that American guy who makes his books too easy - with the first book in the series which I have <b>never previously played:</b> <i>House of Hell</i>.<br />
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<br /></div>Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17408095504472495097noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618556584663522444.post-21305426206142478622011-11-02T20:54:00.000-07:002011-11-02T21:24:38.703-07:00#8 - "Scorpion Swamp", by THE OTHER Steve Jackson (1984)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX0kk-lc4tLebXDByJI0FCwRjZH6WY6i0YKtWs0kgMjxyOjcM5Hg0Xcvo7pjrql0nks_Fal7yZB0hwJ1d8sbw25MuwC4Foo4Wxo8G81YMd_a8ZlJ5GDJjJ0cY9nVgmzk4Cq48gR1wKx98/s1600/cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="SCORPION SWAMP, featuring: some monster that i dunno what it is, but obviously it's not a scorpion"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX0kk-lc4tLebXDByJI0FCwRjZH6WY6i0YKtWs0kgMjxyOjcM5Hg0Xcvo7pjrql0nks_Fal7yZB0hwJ1d8sbw25MuwC4Foo4Wxo8G81YMd_a8ZlJ5GDJjJ0cY9nVgmzk4Cq48gR1wKx98/s400/cover.jpg" width="245" /></a></div>
<br />
So yeah, Fighting Fantasy was actually a massively successful series. My copy of <i>Scorpion Swamp </i>is a 1988 re-print and the inside cover reads like this:<br />
<br />
<i>First published 1984</i><br />
<i>Reprinted 1984 (three times), 1985 (twice), 1986 (twice), 1987, 1988 </i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
That's ten printings in four years - undeniable evidence of a public that was just <i>clamouring </i>for GOBLINS. In the face of this kind of success, an early challenge for Messrs. Jackson and Livingstone was that they simply couldn't write books fast enough. So, they brought in other authors to work on the series, slapping a big "<i>Steve </i><b>JACKSON </b>AND <i>Ian</i> <b>LIVINGSTONE </b>PRESENT" logo on the cover and relegating the actual author's name to page 3. When I was a kid I assumed that this was because they were egomaniacs, but to be fair I think it was because the names Steve Jackson and Ian Livingstone were as much a part of the brand as that dagger with the shrieking monster-face handle.<br />
<br />
This is the first book in the series to be farmed out, and it seems that the prototype solution was to just find authors who were already named "Steve Jackson" anyway - hence we have "Scorpion Swamp", written by another, completely different man who is also called <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steve_Jackson_%28US_game_designer%29">Steve Jackson</a>. He went on to do a couple of other books later in the series, notably the wonderful <i>Robot Commando </i>which from memory is set in a society of cowboys who use giant <i>Gundam</i>-style robots to wrangle herds of dinosaurs (something to look forward to).<br />
<br />
But this cover is not one of the classics I'm afraid. It depicts a creature which is called the POOL BEAST, because <i>plainly </i>the most distinctive thing about it is that it lives in a pool. In terms of creature design it is a poor man's BLOODBEAST, sitting in the bath all day, lashing out at passers-by. The one intriguing detail about this animal is that it has a precious gemstone embedded in its forehead, which some enterprising jeweller has already had the patience to cut and facet <i>in situ</i>. But besides that, the POOL BEAST basically looks like the artist added a few teeth and eyeballs to a Rorschach inkblot and then spent the rest of their time making sure the POOL looked right.<br />
<br />
The POOL BEAST is just a random encounter in the book and I didn't even see it in my play-through. In subsequent pressings the book was retitled as <i>The</i> <i>TRANS (heroic autobot) FORMERS: Swamp of the Scorpion </i>and POOL BEAST got bumped in favour of CYBER-CROC.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-rjVveWw-wvfdj6FYzQbvsym97ssjW84GF6HL2HDDKJHEG_9jpVtE3M1QwVgr3Nuzm5t_MY4kHT10Dy57qMTDf1B-6NdgRpMJhqru6FPpguRUX1OeDjqHF4ffqZPU2yisq887fhtjHxs/s1600/Corgi-5-Swamp_of_the_Scorpion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-rjVveWw-wvfdj6FYzQbvsym97ssjW84GF6HL2HDDKJHEG_9jpVtE3M1QwVgr3Nuzm5t_MY4kHT10Dy57qMTDf1B-6NdgRpMJhqru6FPpguRUX1OeDjqHF4ffqZPU2yisq887fhtjHxs/s400/Corgi-5-Swamp_of_the_Scorpion.jpg" title="pretty sure scorpions don't even live in swamps" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I didn't see that helicopter in my play-through either.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>Background</b></span><br />
<br />
<i>Swamp </i>has a pretty basic hook. You're a....... (wait for it)............ wandering swordsman (!!!), for whom "<i>defying evil wizards and slaying giant wolves are all in a day's work</i>". One day an evil wizard specifically asked you not to slay his giant wolf, which meant you could get your day's work done before lunch and you were able to knock off early. On your way to the pub that afternoon you discovered an old lady passed out on the road, so you gave her a drink of water and helped her get safely home. In classic folk-lore fashion, she turned out to be a decently powerful witch and she rewards you with a brass ring - pardon me - a Brass Ring. <br />
<br />
The Brass Ring has a couple of nifty features, notably its wearer can always tell which way is North, and also it warms up in the presence of evil people. I did wonder if it activates strictly in the presence of those who are inherently evil, or if it also heats up when society is to blame. But <i>Scorpion Swamp </i>doesn't really explore these issues.<br />
<br />
Having discovered the Brass Ring's eerie powers, our protagonist decides the best possible use of his new powers of orienteering would be to explore Scorpion Swamp, a territory feared and avoided by all right-thinking people because it's really easy to get lost in. The paths are all twisty, compasses don't work there, and there's too much "<i>evil fog</i>" to navigate by the sun and stars. Other factors: it's a swamp, scorpions.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy4uEfyzSq7FERXdZ6SitWjTWo8WHPFNp8Jm5rS7BaqXTYooF5eWcH0B1KXkgVj3l3BYoLAgB1scAXP9GBeBOwHMVTJr-kbCtKdc1O4KkBDvxMzAFRL4vxBzxp-Ybno4Zm3hYHSG4aqM4/s1600/orienteering_pair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="i had to do this shit at school, anybody else have to do this shit at school?"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy4uEfyzSq7FERXdZ6SitWjTWo8WHPFNp8Jm5rS7BaqXTYooF5eWcH0B1KXkgVj3l3BYoLAgB1scAXP9GBeBOwHMVTJr-kbCtKdc1O4KkBDvxMzAFRL4vxBzxp-Ybno4Zm3hYHSG4aqM4/s320/orienteering_pair.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Let the orienteering begin!</i></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Rolling Up My Dude</span><br />
<br />
SKILL - 11 (again!)<br />
STAMINA - 18<br />
LUCK - 10<br />
<br />
Rules are standard, with the addition of a number of Good, Neutral and Evil spells that you can cast (though you don't start with any). Also there's no Provisions, and I don't have a shield.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The Adventure</span><br />
<br />
It begins with your arrival in the town of Fenmarge, which lies on the fringe of Scorpion Swamp. Or on the margins of the fen, if you like. When you explain the locals at the pub that you're going into the swamp to dash all around the place while knowing where North is, they look at you like this:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil6EghqsBVICrInEW14MtjxtXSF6uosoOZloj0VZBeMBIQ5X_no9t5YK5z8CP50JxPYDmoALmFrGzYpN8Gky5Jk7tVhebBAC4Ch91ZLV9Ylub4yMKr7kY7v6EQKJ3f-ylfvSSiskOhzR4/s1600/locals.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil6EghqsBVICrInEW14MtjxtXSF6uosoOZloj0VZBeMBIQ5X_no9t5YK5z8CP50JxPYDmoALmFrGzYpN8Gky5Jk7tVhebBAC4Ch91ZLV9Ylub4yMKr7kY7v6EQKJ3f-ylfvSSiskOhzR4/s640/locals.jpg" title="what you got-dang inbreds ain't never seen a wandering swordsman before? y'all got too much mud-skipper in you genes, looking at me with them bug eyes. yeah, i'm saying it - your grand-daddy put his dick in a mud-skipper, and here y'all are today" width="440" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>That's an incredible photo-bomb from homie in the lower right corner.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
They are genuinely concerned for your safety, and warn you that a number of animal-themed magicians called "The Masters" have recently taken residence in the swamp, unaware that this actually sounds quite rad and will only encourage you. As you saunter towards the door, scoffing at their rustic ways, you are accosted by a fellow with the hilarious name of Gronar, who looks like a farmer, but "<i>seems more interested in you than any farmer should be!</i>" This suspiciously interested farmer-looking gent takes you aside, sits you down, and raises a pretty good point:<br />
<br />
<i>'If you really intend to brave the terrors of the swamp' he says, ' you ought to have some purpose, rather than random mapping and beast-slaying.'</i><br />
<br />
After gasping "WHAT" and "NOOOO" you reflect for a moment and find yourself agreeing<i>. </i>Gronar explains that there are three wizards living in Fenmarge who have need of someone to run errands in the swamp - the virtuous, Good wizard Selator - the shady old dirty old rotten old Evil wizard Grimslade - and some guy called "Poomchukker". So <b>naturally </b>I chose to go and work for Poomchukker.<br />
<br />
Poomchukker turns out to be a tubby man with bright red skin and a passing resemblance to George R. R. Martin.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqOvqqFimNMcgfNbPwbbJDsfGFgLVnCC7-oC8237qqbd57euETCI53-A7pzvu2N7ZZMMl6Go7E6FWn8E5y8K7kYJkoO-JAo2cHMtpd4g9jZbZUhCkwmAZ0IH6_6rz6CcKzyIc79MxLEdA/s1600/poomchukk+rr+martin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqOvqqFimNMcgfNbPwbbJDsfGFgLVnCC7-oC8237qqbd57euETCI53-A7pzvu2N7ZZMMl6Go7E6FWn8E5y8K7kYJkoO-JAo2cHMtpd4g9jZbZUhCkwmAZ0IH6_6rz6CcKzyIc79MxLEdA/s640/poomchukk+rr+martin.jpg" title="after the frustrating end to A Dance With Dragons I decided that jokes about George R. R. Martin are no longer off-limits" width="403" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Poomchukker, the greatest living author of fantasy fiction.<br />Inset: with hat and glasses.</i></td></tr>
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<br />
He explains that he is not actually a wizard, just a rich, bright red man in a robe who collect magic items and is happy to let people leap to their own conclusions. He has a business proposal for you - he wants his caravans to be able to take a short-cut across the swamp from Fenmarge to the town of Willowbend on the other side. If you can blaze the trail and return to him with a neatly labelled map on graph paper, he will "<i>pay you half the money that </i>[he saves] <i>during the first year</i>" - which is a pretty suspiciously phrased offer if you ask me. I mean, it might be a short-cut, but once again: SWAMP, SCORPIONS, you know the drill. Not a great environment through which to drag a wagon-load of frankincense and Taiwanese microwave ovens. But since the protagonist's initial impulse had been to just map the whole swamp for the fun of it, I thought this was the kind of offer he'd be into, and so I accepted.<br />
<br />
Like a true baller, Poomchukker then tips a whole big box of single-use Spell Gems out onto the table and lets you take any five that you want. I chose one each of Fire, Ice, Illusion, Luck, and Stamina. They more or less do what it says on the label.<br />
<br />
So, into the swamp then. Before getting any leeches on my dick I decided to take stock and drew up a strategy, which I then crow-barred into shitty rhyming aphorisms:<br />
<br />
1) <i>If you gonna go forth, make sure it's North! </i>- the book told me that Willowbend was to the north somewhere, which was helpful because I got a Brass Ring that tells me where North is. Can't lose really.<br />
<i><br /></i><br />
2) <i>Don't be a sap, you gotta draw a map! - </i>the book is geared around mapping, it even gives all the locations their own numbers. I couldn't really be arsed, but I sighed and fetched a pen nevertheless<i>.</i> I drew the line at going out to the shop for graph paper though - the back of a letter from my insurance company would do.<br />
<i><br /></i><br />
3) <i>If the ring gets hot, beat them into snot! </i>- The magic ring detects evil, so I resolved that if it ever warmed up I would lay a <i>Forest of Doom</i> style psycho smackdown on whatever or whoever I happened to be facing at the time. Seems reasonable. And yeah I know the idiom is "to beat the snot out of" someone not "to beat them into snot". But do you honestly expect me to run with: "<i>if the ring gets hot, out of them beat the snot</i>"?<i> </i> I'm already pretty embarrassed about these aphorisms as it is. I regret sharing them. I mean what the fuck else rhymes with "hot" anyway, seriously.<br />
<br />
4) <i>If the ring stay cool, discretion's the rule! - </i>i.e. avoid fights under all other circumstances. Negotiate, retreat, whatever. I recall from <i>Lizard King </i>that there's no guarantee of coasting through the book on 11 SKILL. This rule is kind of a corollary of the next one:<br />
<i><br /></i><br />
5) <i>Play it safe, stay out of the... graaaaay... fe. Stay out of the </i>(cough) <i>grafe. - </i>Well, okay. If you're wondering: yes, I do feel ashamed of myself. But I come from a country where we rhyme <i>star </i>with <i>war</i> in the damn national anthem, so what can you expect really. Anyway, I figured that since my mission was just to get from A to B and back, I wouldn't need to scour about for any improbable reagents and gadgets to off the boss or collect code-words and gemstones to get through a big locked door in the middle of the swamp, or any crap like that. So, no Bizarre Search Behaviour, no jumping down wells, no sticking my arm into badger holes, etc, etc. Just keep moving, follow the rules, and stay alive long enough to get to the other side.<br />
<br />
Oh, and most importantly: "<u>HAVE FUN</u>!"<br />
<i><br /></i><br />
Having set my mind for victory, I cracked my knuckles and got stuck in. First thing I noticed when I got to Scorpion Swamp was that there are pretty obvious trails to follow. Bear in mind that this is supposed to be the notoriously unnavigable, monster-haunted swamp that everybody stays the hell away from. Someone even took the time to paint "STOP! SCORPION SWAMP! TURN BACK!" on a boulder. But as we'll see for a shunned hell-hole it gets quite a bit of through traffic. I mean it's busier than Queen Street on a Sunday, I'll say that.<br />
<br />
The first challenge I faced was that there was a "soft part" on the trail. Do I want to jump over the soft bit or step carefully around it? Hmm, okay. This has happened to me a number of times when hiking - in real life! - so I think I can deal with it. "<i>♫ Play it safe, stay out of the grafe! ♫</i>" I hummed to myself and gingerly stepped over to an adjacent dry spot. Brutally, I then had to <i>Test My Luck</i> and lose 1 STAMINA if I was unlucky, which I guess correlates to the real-world experience when your foot skids into the mud and some of that nasty shit soaks into your sock and then you have a blister by then end of the hike.<br />
<br />
On the other hand, I took a peek later and if you jump over the soft part, you have to roll against STAMINA with the loss of 1 SKILL point at stake (from falling over and spraining your wrist), which is a much worse penalty. So it seemed my game plan was working so far - I had made it past the first clearing unscathed.<br />
<br />
Then I came to a junction. "<i>♫ </i><i>If you gonna go forth, make sure it's North!</i><i> ♫</i>" I sang to myself, adding "<i>doo-dah, doo-dah</i>" as a coda. (I should explain that as an <i>aide memoire </i>I had set my five aphorisms to the tune of '<i>De Camptown Races</i>'. There's a couple of bits where you gotta sing a line real quick, or conversely, stretch a vowel out to cover like three beats, but I'm not trying to win any awards over here)<br />
<br />
Only problem is, there was no way to go north, so I went East. Next thing I saw was a tree with a hole in it.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYU1vwppe6u_g1GqwteUzbhwtIvHAj3-IGpC44MwuT6uFhdDgoerx1482S_Be7z4iDLXlcoUohlwb2B_hyphenhyphenTsdsAtddJyeb71NC3OcrUd4rdUDMXzoG-pwTpLTrBMQjJ4rzfM8uidYZ6uo/s1600/tree+hole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYU1vwppe6u_g1GqwteUzbhwtIvHAj3-IGpC44MwuT6uFhdDgoerx1482S_Be7z4iDLXlcoUohlwb2B_hyphenhyphenTsdsAtddJyeb71NC3OcrUd4rdUDMXzoG-pwTpLTrBMQjJ4rzfM8uidYZ6uo/s400/tree+hole.jpg" title="my instincts were good, turns out there's a BEAR in the tree. A SWAMP BEAR, I guess? I'm not a zoologist, I'll accept it" width="250" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i> Oh man I bet there's all kinds of great stuff inside that tree.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Nah, fuck that mess. From here, I could go north, so I did. Pretty soon I started noticing cobwebs all over the place. Generally a bad sign when you're in the fantasy genre. Turns out the next clearing is home to the MASTER OF SPIDERS, the first of those neat animal-themed Masters that the townsfolk mentioned. He's just cooling out on a cobweb-themed throne in a big pavilion made of spider-silk, letting spiders crawl all over him <i>like a boss</i>.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdZNUxq_ocRU42k6ybsU-qcfHGdXqkmV2VDSU0NX8pZrpI_FqM1JrlF37_jpR_r-e5_lYoDPTpXnW6y0Y3nDQy8Tjdr6fIHAVKiPSyLUjtF_suVwEaI22YAcEioJBNHSU8n3Sikgmvn7M/s1600/master+of+spiders.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdZNUxq_ocRU42k6ybsU-qcfHGdXqkmV2VDSU0NX8pZrpI_FqM1JrlF37_jpR_r-e5_lYoDPTpXnW6y0Y3nDQy8Tjdr6fIHAVKiPSyLUjtF_suVwEaI22YAcEioJBNHSU8n3Sikgmvn7M/s400/master+of+spiders.jpg" title="Uh-oh! This cat is EVIL!" width="248" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The homie even rocks the spider-theme medallion with the spider-theme belt-buckle.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
'Just an innocent spider enthusiast?', you may wonder. Nope, the ring got hot as soon as he looked at me, so I hit him with my Fire spell. (Readers can sing the relevant aphorism themselves if they like, I got tired of that joke already).<br />
<br />
It turns out cobwebs burn pretty well - not only does the MASTER OF SPIDERS go up in smoke, pretty soon that entire section of the swamp is ablaze. This caused me to "loose" 3 STAMINA from burns incurred in the course of my escape (yes that one made it past the editors somehow). Not a terrible trade-off though, I was on my way.<br />
<br />
I kept heading north wherever possible and veered east or west when blocked. Skipping a few encounters, the next interesting thing that I found was a guy having a picnic:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7zV6BDe-HYz5iMZurSUt_RJRKL0UuiSWxvhMPLPEUwtWRz0ubai3eHSeTPl7TvtfILwPLn_qb9PTN3Pn5ckkUJlJN2HeMwgPqDNPKbOxcdxkSVO1tLQiQIqyG5Ew1KSbp71eRm7h3TvY/s1600/thief.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7zV6BDe-HYz5iMZurSUt_RJRKL0UuiSWxvhMPLPEUwtWRz0ubai3eHSeTPl7TvtfILwPLn_qb9PTN3Pn5ckkUJlJN2HeMwgPqDNPKbOxcdxkSVO1tLQiQIqyG5Ew1KSbp71eRm7h3TvY/s400/thief.jpg" title="as soon as the ring goes off you conclude that this guy is a THIEF - but why wouldn't he be a WIFE-BEATER or a MOLESTOR? I guess it was the hat that gave him away" width="306" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A cheese picnic.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Consider once again that this is the notoriously unnavigable, monster-haunted Scorpion Swamp, where a foul fog obscures the sky, those who venture in are doomed to wander lost amidst the trackless marsh until they collapse or are devoured, a darksome place that right-thinking men fear as much to mention as to enter, et cetera, and so on. And this fruitcake's having a picnic. "<i>Good day, fighter, will you share my meal</i>?"<i> </i>he asks. Now bear in mind, that archetypal wedge of Swiss cheese looks just as tasty as it does in every single cartoon starring a mouse. But then the Brass Ring got hot. So <b>you know </b>the sword gotta come out. "Let me <i>cut </i>that cheese for you, <i>friend</i>", I said in a menacing rasp, drawing my blade. I hesitated momentarily as it occurred to me that he might think I was alluding to farts for some reason. Maybe I should say something equally tough-sounding that would also clear up any misunderstanding. Or on the other hand, I could just murder him. So I did - a fairly tough opponent at SKILL 10, but the dice didn't go his way. As Steve Jackson II puts it: "<i>The body of the Thief lies at your feet. He was not as clever as he thought he was!" </i>- damn straight he wasn't - this genius set a picnic trap for travellers in, you know, the middle of a swamp that all travellers avoid upon peril of their lives. And I dunno how he thought he was gonna find his way home again either.<br />
<br />
You can take his Red Cloak with you, and you also get to eat the cheese, though surprisingly it doesn't cause any of your wounds to start sucking in blood and sealing themselves up. After this encounter I came to point where, to keep going north, I would have to leap twenty metres off a cliff, into water of unknown depth, in plain sight of the GIANT CROCODILES lolling about on the far bank. At this point I decided that the rule about not doing stupid shit was probably more important than the one about always going north. From my vantage point I could also see a bridge somewhere off the east, so I doubled back to try to work my way over to it.<br />
<br />
And here we have one of the nice features of this book - it's designed so you can re-visit the same locations - the paragraph for each clearing instructs you to turn to another paragraph if you've been there before. So when I went back to the THIEF clearing, the book asked me if I had killed the THIEF already and since I had, it let me skip straight to the direction-choosing. Nicely handled there, Scorpion Swamp.<br />
<br />
Fast-forwarding again, I made it to the bridge and got across to the north side of the river. Round about this time I was starting to wonder why they called this place Scorpion Swamp. "You would expect there to be scorpions" I thought to myself. Well, good things come to those who wait. There's one clearing which is pretty much <i>all </i>scorpions.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOkaOtCSV3TLN_5QFo28BaxclkgzhaIRVWT-KJOdiNxgjeNhdZVag6wYNJ7GwhRJuOWDsaJ5KON9xJ5THkkP1zIk_M3rMMBGc3TFAoqOuzTWN1Zg7VhFOqtYvWr-5BfDGVaI_jCxUjYZY/s1600/lots+of+small+scorpions.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOkaOtCSV3TLN_5QFo28BaxclkgzhaIRVWT-KJOdiNxgjeNhdZVag6wYNJ7GwhRJuOWDsaJ5KON9xJ5THkkP1zIk_M3rMMBGc3TFAoqOuzTWN1Zg7VhFOqtYvWr-5BfDGVaI_jCxUjYZY/s400/lots+of+small+scorpions.jpg" title="what is this, a fucking convention?" width="236" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The boiling carpet of scorpions at the heart of Scorpion Swamp.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
An elite strike team of these little rascals swarmed up my pant leg and stung me for 6 STAMINA, which luckily I could spare. Interestingly, the Brass Ring also gave a 'prickling sensation' in their presence, which would indicate either that these SCORPIONS are <i>slightly </i>evil, or the ring has some undocumented features.<br />
<br />
"So <i>that's </i>why they call it Scorpion Swamp!" I thought to myself as I squirmed a horrified Cosby dance into the next clearing, slightly evil scorpions still tumbling from the cuff of my pant leg.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTehQWmEazuPx2Ad3cQgkfFlY-fnBK74BhYwfbExivRc9qVRFDY8zBMqlPicWG1JyzLirotIeP-EPvWB9sBu1M7i4EmPdUCCI4JVeiK7PVshq-kxbLuNJRmKHzWNpBSWT20p7hWTOUkIs/s1600/giant+scorpion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="assuming that's a normal size DWARF, what we have here is a smallish GIANT SCORPION"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTehQWmEazuPx2Ad3cQgkfFlY-fnBK74BhYwfbExivRc9qVRFDY8zBMqlPicWG1JyzLirotIeP-EPvWB9sBu1M7i4EmPdUCCI4JVeiK7PVshq-kxbLuNJRmKHzWNpBSWT20p7hWTOUkIs/s400/giant+scorpion.jpg" width="290" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>No, THIS is why they call it Scorpion Swamp.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>You step round a tree to see a GIANT SCORPION fighting a Dwarf who is wearing leather armour. The Dwarf is in trouble. As you rush towards the fight, the Scorpion catches the Dwarf's neck in one of its claws and throws him to the ground, where he lies still. You doubt that you have any magic spells which would be worth using on this enemy. If you leave the clearing while the monster feasts on the Dwarf, turn to </i><b>88</b>. <i>If you --</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
Yeah, yeah - that one, 88. Rule #4. Let's go.<br />
<i><br /></i><br />
After that amusing diversion, the next time I "stepped round a tree" I bumped into this playboy:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMunVZblw3k-wxAaWWbqWtSt9zvFpyfk72I2iVkH0_RP4bmKR2H5pSHvQtGrOm0dBf5HrSftSUFszD8kSCKKhK86JmPKuE6OWcYNep-g4hsWYDI0P0gxp3KyZ_2LuQbnwJGRQez3uIyg4/s1600/ranger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMunVZblw3k-wxAaWWbqWtSt9zvFpyfk72I2iVkH0_RP4bmKR2H5pSHvQtGrOm0dBf5HrSftSUFszD8kSCKKhK86JmPKuE6OWcYNep-g4hsWYDI0P0gxp3KyZ_2LuQbnwJGRQez3uIyg4/s640/ranger.jpg" title="this picture is extra funny if you imagine that the rocks are in the background and he's actually leaping into in the air" width="393" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Laying it on a bit thick aren't ya mate?</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I pause a moment, but the Brass Ring stays cool.<br />
'I serve the shareholders of the Poomchukker Trading Company' I say, after some consideration. <br />
'Huh. Neutral.' He turns his head and spits. 'What are you doing here. Don't you know this swamp is a pitiless wasteland, where all who enter perish, without hope of escape? Apart from me, obviously.'<br />
'Yeah you and about a dozen other folks I met, out and about on they Sunday strolls.' I mutter. 'One guy had a picnic basket!'<br />
'Well, look. Suit yourself. But it's not very safe here. What are your intentions?'<br />
'Oh right okay well I'm making a map to Willowbend.' I admit with a little <i>why not? </i>shrug.<br />
'Willowbend...' he hisses, and his eyes narrow. I suddenly notice his resemblance to Kevin Costner in 1991's <i>Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves.</i><br />
'I see', he continues, 'in that case, go south, then west at the crossing of the paths. Stay on the path!'<br />
'Sure. Thanks for the directions.' I hoist my pack to my shoulder and turn to leave.<br />
'Wait!' he calls 'Should you meet anyone Evil... send them this way.' He looks to the horizon. A breeze stirs his hair. 'I'm going to jump off this rock and hit them with my sword.'<br />
<br />
So anyway I decided that this guy was unlikely to be misleading me and I followed his directions. Along the way I was attacked by a SLIME, which I decided to cast a spell on. Then suddenly I won the game!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6qWEnjkJoNM9LO3O83GHxSJjaz_NXphhOXa4OmoCavg_Hx_bC8VPDAg_bOZ8nI4hklWuRhtQAWpk5CDi6eFAnpbnqy1KBzB1fij3nCKAR5Af8cXlSkWZYiThYoqjHknq-kih6evsNZEI/s1600/turnto4000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="119" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6qWEnjkJoNM9LO3O83GHxSJjaz_NXphhOXa4OmoCavg_Hx_bC8VPDAg_bOZ8nI4hklWuRhtQAWpk5CDi6eFAnpbnqy1KBzB1fij3nCKAR5Af8cXlSkWZYiThYoqjHknq-kih6evsNZEI/s320/turnto4000.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Paragraph 400... at last.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Okay, so that was a bit misleading. After my initial excitement I realised that since this book has three possible missions to choose from, there should be three "victory" endings, and they can't all be <b>400</b>. So I guess that convention went out the window for this book. <br />
<br />
But I suppose this is as good a time as any to let you know that I actually <b>did</b> win.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>Failure, and -- wait a minute, VICTORY!</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
Here's how it happened. If you're wondering, I cast Ice on the Slime and it turned into something a little reminiscent of lime ice-cream left in the deep-freeze for a year past its best-by date. I tip-toed around it and went on my way. I knew I was close to my destination. But there was one more group of guys incongruously hanging out in the death-swamp to contend with - five BRIGANDS.<br />
<br />
The Brass Ring stayed cool so I figured I'll just roll up to them and say what's up. Turns out these fellers are the most genteel BRIGANDS ever:<br />
<br />
<i>The Brigands are accustomed to asking for money from passers-by, but they are not murderers. Although they could attack you, the odds would be five-to-one, they do not feel that would be very sporting. Finally, the leader suggests a solution. </i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
He suggests that you duel to first blood. You get free passage if you win, if he wins, you give him "something of value".<br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzLPeUaPg-zCHYkKCsxu_fcYldOj1jywUH1cZuFopH8hC368VCGQDgyncBt-cwzoz9dJ0i997kFmpYIGibN-qjUviSzKGrhTNWuGquzyhU6QYJtKtqBYaoLhRcXUeEiIwHuW4-bHzX70g/s1600/errol+flynn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="moustache at resting state"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzLPeUaPg-zCHYkKCsxu_fcYldOj1jywUH1cZuFopH8hC368VCGQDgyncBt-cwzoz9dJ0i997kFmpYIGibN-qjUviSzKGrhTNWuGquzyhU6QYJtKtqBYaoLhRcXUeEiIwHuW4-bHzX70g/s400/errol+flynn.jpg" width="233" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I suddenly notice his resemblance to Errol Flynn in 1938's </i>"Adventures of Robin Hood".</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I gave him a little stab in the leg that drew blood and laddered his tights. He congratulated me on my win, and his mate gave me a swig of water. Then we "<i>all laugh and joke as though you are old friends</i>".<br />
<br />
'Hahahahahahaha... oh boy. You guys are cool.' I say, wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of my eye. 'Hey, how's business out here in the swamp? Get many scores? I mean, I had the impression that folks sort of avoid this place.'<br />
The leader frowns, he glances about quickly to check if his companions are listening. 'Yes, it hasn't been easy. More than once our dinner has been nothing more than an unidentified fungus that I noticed growing on a log.' he says in a low voice. 'But the fact is, if we set up on one of the main highways we'll be up against the <i>evil </i>brigands.' His voice now drops to almost a whisper. '<i>Those dudes are </i><b style="font-style: italic;"><u>killers</u></b><i>!</i>'<br />
He sighs and shakes his head.<br />
I feel sorry for the dejected Brigand Leader. 'Well, word to the wise, mate - I got a hunch there might be some rich caravans coming through this way in a couple of weeks. You just keep your head up and practice your duelling.' I say with a wink.<br />
<br />
He thanks me and tells me that Willowbend is near. He even recommends an inn. Once again my game plan has paid off - if you refuse to duel, or otherwise act hostile to the BRIGANDS, the Leader hulks out and you have to fight them all to the death.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfPgF_QKkshxtT8ivIx-C0rhtnC8O6HZR5-YtSFnZe5IGeIpMtvsRfi6SmmTdxEJGmtwkbl-DJpwiQA471LyS5q1maZFAG1UAow9oZBUaNOICKq2d-qIQ3XxMMjEEirICVj_yRyWeL42Y/s1600/angry+brigand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfPgF_QKkshxtT8ivIx-C0rhtnC8O6HZR5-YtSFnZe5IGeIpMtvsRfi6SmmTdxEJGmtwkbl-DJpwiQA471LyS5q1maZFAG1UAow9oZBUaNOICKq2d-qIQ3XxMMjEEirICVj_yRyWeL42Y/s320/angry+brigand.jpg" title="moustache is in attack configuration!" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"The sword is for gentlemen. DOGS GET THE AXE."</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Sure enough, I follow the trail to Willowbend, where I celebrate my success with a night at the Bent Spear and splurge on a Stamina Spell Gem from "Halicar Dealer in Potions & Spells" in case I need it for the trip back. My main worry is that I will have to fight the GIANT SCORPION on the way back through, but it turns out to have waddled off somewhere, leaving only a few scraps of leather armour to mark the spot. I do have to contend with all the baby scorpions again - they're still milling about furiously, but I'm able to hopskotch my way through them. Other than that I'm able to retrace my steps to Fenmarge with little incident. Poomchukker is thrilled with my crappy little map and awards me a great big emerald on the spot. I'm also invited to hang out in his house for the next year so I can collect my share of the caravan profits. Victory at last! Hooray.<br />
<br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Monsters, Combat, Noteworthy Encounters</span></b><br />
<br />
Okay, actually my journey back from Willowbend was a little more eventful than that. I had to take a detour, which also happened to contain some of the more interesting encounters that I haven't mentioned so far. You see, when I tried to go back through the MASTER OF SPIDERS' clearing, it was still on fire. Even though it was the next day. (It turns out that regardless of whether you use a Fire spell or not, there's no way to get through that clearing without setting it permanently on fire).<br />
<br />
I decided to loop back around and try to approach Fenmarge from the western side. I was pretty nervous that I'd meet something horrible and deadly on the way, but the first thing I encountered was a lovely UNICORN!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4iakMEnzsEke2iUYMninw__JQ8CXFJGU_HjfkaCY1BwVYMwPDkpjtgd3-7XnlHVSF5RgqX49jqmepATMdeSUIoTLPTwl1m7is9lomrkhxvL2p2zWZfPOV4_od65xOhH3SIVrFKoaRI1k/s1600/unicorn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4iakMEnzsEke2iUYMninw__JQ8CXFJGU_HjfkaCY1BwVYMwPDkpjtgd3-7XnlHVSF5RgqX49jqmepATMdeSUIoTLPTwl1m7is9lomrkhxvL2p2zWZfPOV4_od65xOhH3SIVrFKoaRI1k/s400/unicorn.jpg" title="UNICORN, SKILL 11 STAMINA 4" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Look at that little smile! Look at that gleam in his eye!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Unfortunately it was angry that I wasn't a virgin or something because it charged me - and it turned out to be the toughest opponent I faced with SKILL 11, but fortunately that little scratch you can see on its flank had already taken it down to STAMINA 4. Had I been working for the Good wizard, Selator, I might've had a Friendship spell I could've cast on it instead, but I wasn't. I was working for <i>money</i>. I did try to observe Rule #4 and run away at first but I could only go back the way I came, so really it was unavoidable that I slaughter this rare and noble beast. "Damn, that's a pretty Neutral thing to do" I thought to myself as I stepped over its corpse.<br />
<br />
So that was probably the book's most dangerous, and poignant, encounter. The next clearing to the south had what is easily the book's dumbest encounter: SWORD TREES.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt7UVgrAg_7ddhixNbY6DPCnCu365JRbTls8JvCGD-RUnNwyTOTz57pWc_4XDF8R6crH_PD2KmsjuTu2bZpM2g65WomZQF9OtWxNFB9o7lRXRRASsBEcI_q-OTdFnMAK9JhKYB6a7rvPg/s1600/sword+trees.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="gimme a break"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt7UVgrAg_7ddhixNbY6DPCnCu365JRbTls8JvCGD-RUnNwyTOTz57pWc_4XDF8R6crH_PD2KmsjuTu2bZpM2g65WomZQF9OtWxNFB9o7lRXRRASsBEcI_q-OTdFnMAK9JhKYB6a7rvPg/s400/sword+trees.jpg" width="248" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>SWORD TREES!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
How did these trees get those swords? The book implies that they've <i>grown</i> them. I think we can agree that's pretty dumb.<br />
<br />
So yeah, I chopped them up. Then, finally, as I drew near to my goal, I came upon a log cabin. I notice a WOLF growling as I approached - then the front door swings open and out pops the MASTER OF WOLVES.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8I2RrrpKH9cVieLlF892rX9fi3oy3RpdwGYVloQ2tDQGpSrHN3DEe0aiItyKKoOOx_J7esIdVprO1X7N-uLPsAqb4JXFo87OqjAV_a49ciqj7jYI3yQvi4-uw06PBw957eeqjTqu42r8/s1600/master+of+wolves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8I2RrrpKH9cVieLlF892rX9fi3oy3RpdwGYVloQ2tDQGpSrHN3DEe0aiItyKKoOOx_J7esIdVprO1X7N-uLPsAqb4JXFo87OqjAV_a49ciqj7jYI3yQvi4-uw06PBw957eeqjTqu42r8/s640/master+of+wolves.jpg" title="CHECK OUT THE FACIAL EXPRESSION ON THAT WOLF ON THE RIGHT lol" width="417" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This guy was a dick to me. </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Me: "Hi there!"<br />
Him: "You. Get the fuck outta here."<br />
Me: "Er..... okay."<br />
<br />
As I go on my way, glancing back over my shoulder, I get angry thinking about how the MASTER OF WOLVES was rude to me. I get a serious case of <i>espirit d'escalier </i>and start thinking about what come-backs I could've made. Like:<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">"Oh, Master of Wolves, is it? That right? You know I kind of thought you'd have more... wolves, yeah. I mean if one of these guys were to eat some bad meat then you'd be Master of <i>Wolf</i>, wouldn't you." </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Pause. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">"Look the average wolf pack is oh, about six or seven wolves, innit? And you've got... two? I bet there's wolves out there, you know, <i>actually wild </i>ones, that see you coming and say to their mates, they say <i>watch out boys, here comes the Master of Having No Mates! </i>I bet they have a proper laugh, eh?"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><br /></span><br />
And so on, in this vein. I just about resolve to go back and say these things - because this is Scorpion Swamp, and you <i>can </i>go back to places where you've already been - but then another thought occurs to me: Why does he have an axe hanging next to his door, on the <i>outside</i> of the cabin?<br />
<br />
Is it in case he loses his key? Or is it a message? Has he left an axe hanging by the door as an open invitation to visitors to cleave his skull? It hangs there, mutely stating: "JUST TRY IT"<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcFnjS2WSO1aR1xBILpwoXDgeHzXaNFUS-EZUjEg0RDeyj02hhcF01Wv1QlhjXrIRjAl5bqGvERyhxCtDi1w7I1rrdXJ8MOYNg66Q2ma9_HX8rmZ7LRy-E8Q9TCqtiJqe_CyCZihKb8fY/s1600/barry-gibb1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="he will put you in the grafe"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcFnjS2WSO1aR1xBILpwoXDgeHzXaNFUS-EZUjEg0RDeyj02hhcF01Wv1QlhjXrIRjAl5bqGvERyhxCtDi1w7I1rrdXJ8MOYNg66Q2ma9_HX8rmZ7LRy-E8Q9TCqtiJqe_CyCZihKb8fY/s320/barry-gibb1.jpg" width="260" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The MASTER OF WOLVES is a badass.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
As these troubling thoughts were rolling about in my mind, I arrived at the outskirts of Fenmarge and realised "I've won!", so my next thought was: <i>fuck that guy anyway.</i><br />
<br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The SKELETON Report</span></b><br />
<b><br /></b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM4iSPGi_zuHXp1fSmj-qwhd3KD2l-zQr8F80QFybbI1JrkuTSjQW9efDDu8581rQUUCVH7GMXHVn7FPfcp2X9jH8vkq2lJ2Yz-SD8M5TMkmMJsNbmNKxky-u_Y_GtMbv7XNa-jcd8F5Q/s1600/oops+no+skeletons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM4iSPGi_zuHXp1fSmj-qwhd3KD2l-zQr8F80QFybbI1JrkuTSjQW9efDDu8581rQUUCVH7GMXHVn7FPfcp2X9jH8vkq2lJ2Yz-SD8M5TMkmMJsNbmNKxky-u_Y_GtMbv7XNa-jcd8F5Q/s320/oops+no+skeletons.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<b><br /></b><br />
The SWAMP SKELETON is a pretty classic archetype - he has green lichen hanging off his bones and will rise up out of the water and such. But, regrettably, he's nowhere to be found in this swamp.<br />
<br />
But I thought you guys might be curious about how many MASTERS there are in the book. There's five. Here's a complete list, along with their ethical orientation:<br />
<br />
MASTER OF SPIDERS (evil)<br />
MASTER OF WOLVES (neutral)<br />
MASTER OF FROGS (neutral)<br />
MASTER OF GARDENS (good)<br />
MISTRESS OF BIRDS (good)<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU_dIH66KIQDdXp_ydbshrNkk8AX7gz7UaGQryd1_-Sf5IrLUw2CGIkgw57oSeBHcd0wrA4HwGJBzaZjbK8CDpBFXEIgZg5GyCop-5XJ2PijdKqbWddVWG0BcusUNmveaJXtQb_py5Yv4/s1600/master+of+frogs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU_dIH66KIQDdXp_ydbshrNkk8AX7gz7UaGQryd1_-Sf5IrLUw2CGIkgw57oSeBHcd0wrA4HwGJBzaZjbK8CDpBFXEIgZg5GyCop-5XJ2PijdKqbWddVWG0BcusUNmveaJXtQb_py5Yv4/s400/master+of+frogs.jpg" title="i'm not saying that this guy has sex with frogs, but he pretty clearly has sex with frogs" width="245" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The MASTER OF FROGS seems to have been basically born into the role. </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Final Thoughts</span></b><br />
<br />
Well, given that I won this book, I think we can probably say that it's too easy. This might be because I took Poomchukker's mission, which I suspect is the easiest of the three available - the hardest is probably Grimslade's, in which you have to find all the MASTERS and kill them for their disco medallions. But there's a few general features that make the book easy: <br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>the victory conditions are very clear, so you can play conservatively and just avoid anything that doesn't appear to directly contribute to winning</li>
<li>the Brass Ring's ability to detect evil eliminates ambiguity from most encounters and makes it obvious when you should be aggressive and when diplomatic</li>
<li>you can just opt out of many encounters (e.g. the GIANT SCORPION or the MASTER OF WOLVES)</li>
</ul>
<br />
By playing accordingly to my five corny aphorisms I pretty much breezed through (incidentally this risk-averse play style is probably closest to my real-life personality - except of course I wouldn't have gone near the dang swamp in the first place, would probably just have stuck around in Fenmarge and got a job composting garden waste for Selator or something).<br />
<br />
From a technical point of view, I rather admire this book. The exploration and mapping mechanism works well - it's almost as if Steve Jackson II had played through the terrible <i>deja vu </i>sequences in "Forest of Doom" and thought - "<i>now</i> <i>how would I fix this train wreck?</i>". The feature is mostly used just to remove encounters the second time you enter a clearing, but it's elegant.<br />
<br />
I also like that you have three missions to choose from, which gives the book replay value and a reason to go back in and expand your map (no, I'm not going to play it again, but I recognise that I <i>could </i>play it again and still get something out of it).<br />
<br />
On the other hand, it's not a particularly inspired book in imaginative terms - there's a few interesting ideas scattered through it, but in the main it's pretty generic. And if you haven't picked up on it yet, let me point out that I was bothered by the inconsistency between the Swamp's reputation and the fact that there's all these idiots hanging around in it, having a great time, without apparently getting lost/doomed.<br />
<br />
All up, an okay book I suppose. I feel relieved that I finally won one - if you get through all 60 books without winning any, it's a compulsory down-trou. I'll be back in a mere handful of weeks to churn through Ian Livingstone's <i>Caverns of the Snow Witch.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgERlw_siKNJnXj5lvI_EUutm2FrzbDYtJo1CB1hvH02VV3hRscVv172iOHc_npNq1fI8Qxxnlfiw8sHYaW2H55xaXXRGfaj8iz-ck8LoaWK1kaHh6GxUULmL4_Hv3XZRExUTFhcK1oYFc/s1600/my+map.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="my crappy old map, more precious than emeralds"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgERlw_siKNJnXj5lvI_EUutm2FrzbDYtJo1CB1hvH02VV3hRscVv172iOHc_npNq1fI8Qxxnlfiw8sHYaW2H55xaXXRGfaj8iz-ck8LoaWK1kaHh6GxUULmL4_Hv3XZRExUTFhcK1oYFc/s400/my+map.jpg" width="235" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17408095504472495097noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618556584663522444.post-29426344992679700002011-08-19T03:35:00.000-07:002011-08-19T03:48:22.416-07:00#7 - "Island of the Lizard King", by Ian Livingstone (1984)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7vd0L_UC5gpa_m-88i2IxucZX3aEAFPUbqTJ2x_Lk9iVSpiWgbT8eLga97bIXmLgXkOacwv8O0c2gh1VsG7sS7Ztp6hbfR38xm3WUs1Sh4BfQ87Bpgu6FKRQrwUvBXwuPylesDwuq1Z4/s1600/lizard+king+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="just cos your lizard peepee has a sheath don't mean you might gotta put on some pants, LK"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7vd0L_UC5gpa_m-88i2IxucZX3aEAFPUbqTJ2x_Lk9iVSpiWgbT8eLga97bIXmLgXkOacwv8O0c2gh1VsG7sS7Ztp6hbfR38xm3WUs1Sh4BfQ87Bpgu6FKRQrwUvBXwuPylesDwuq1Z4/s320/lizard+king+cover.jpg" title="just cos your lizard peepee has a sheath don't mean you might gotta put some pants on, LK" width="197" /></a></div>Okay so the cover of this book is another one of them Cistine chapel joints. It's deep. I'm pretty sure that the original portrait is in a vault in Switzerland, it probably belonged to Mubarak's cousin or something. I heard there is a task force in the British Museum set up only to find this picture and bring it back for HRH the Queen's boudoir. This thing is like a bargaining chip in international diplomacy. Folks is like "okay you can keep your plutonium refinery but first you gotta give us back the OG print from Island of the Lizard King". You might think I'm joking, but this is too important.<br />
<br />
The focus of this masterpiece is the boss of the book, the Lizard King, putting in a good run at the title of History's Most Menacing Nudist. His reptilian tackle is mercifully obscured by his snarling pet - you might take it for a panther or puma, but it is in fact a mighty BLACK LION. And, I hope, genuinely black and not just a normal lion that's been doused with a poisonous dye like that poor tiger from <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cGEigptwPOU">Beastmaster</a> (it died, you know).<br />
<br />
The only plausible criticism is one of accuracy. According to the book, the Lizard King is supposed to wield a "flaming" sword - he has a collection of them, which is a bit surprising since they're the only weapon in the world that can actually damage him, but I suppose he felt safer knowing where they all were. Anyway here on the cover he has a scimitar that is just kind of <i>gleaming, </i>I mean I'll grant that it is really <i>gleaming a lot</i>, but it's a far cry from honest-to-goodness flaming. Then again, as we saw back in Forest of Doom, flaming swords can be pretty hard to draw -<i> </i>perhaps it's better to just draw whatever kind of sword you're good at, rather than over-reaching and winding up with <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4myYBEpAjd6JIHCaOTqiydhbFY7uKu6UnoPFtS2uzk_wRV_leJTUnO4mWgtXDzfXSEQz_C7eiaEW2Nbt8gGFe075Gvnh_DjEI0xo2A-YWD6rMGWcGtNWhZCA6cNRvl2bMrelEy0EpW3M/s1600/fire+demon.jpg">basically a feather-duster</a>.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Background</span><br />
<br />
The set up of this book is that you're on your way to the small coastal village of Oyster Bay. Why? You want to take a break, visit your old friend Mungo, do some snorkelling, dig up some pipis and whatever.<br />
<br />
BUT WAIT A MINUTE - was that the sound of a needle skipping across a record, universally recognized signifier that "<i>the game done changed</i>"? I certainly hope so, because the game HAS done changed. This is the first time we have seen any indication that a Fighting Fantasy protagonist has a friend, or indeed any kind of normal human relationship. Ian Livingstone tells you how to feel about Mungo in typically straightforward prose:<br />
<br />
<i>You think about the good times you used to have with Mungo, his constant cheerful nature and willingness to help people in need. You find it difficult to believe that so much evil exists in the land when there live the likes of Mungo. </i><br />
<br />
You plainly have some pretty sappy feelings for Mungo. But while having the two of you lay around on the beach explaining why and how much you value each other could qualify as an <i>adventure in friendship</i>, the Fighting Fantasy seal always signifies adventures of the significantly more violent kind.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1FftFx50E82UIKUcb3B_sF4kifeXkcU1RzX2mmN_1N7ktejuh5CE_Is4D1WnomcBiXFPftOH0ikif_Mrbg43M9msze22RhLr2QWLYZRdzfXUFEor64fXpSHKH5YONB0CPwqVyBlP3juo/s1600/FF+logo.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Hi! I'm a dagger."><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1FftFx50E82UIKUcb3B_sF4kifeXkcU1RzX2mmN_1N7ktejuh5CE_Is4D1WnomcBiXFPftOH0ikif_Mrbg43M9msze22RhLr2QWLYZRdzfXUFEor64fXpSHKH5YONB0CPwqVyBlP3juo/s320/FF+logo.gif" width="285" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Your guarantee of stabby times since</i> <i>1982.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Therefore, you arrive at Oyster Bay, polystyrene surfboard tucked under your arm, only to discover that your holiday has already gone badly awry. LIZARD MEN from nearby Fire Island have twice raided the village, kidnapping several young men and kicking over some buckets. Your buddy Mungo bursts out of a hut and announces that he's going to sail to Fire Island to mount a rescue, and then "<i>stares at you in silence</i>". You reluctantly set aside your beach-ball and remove the knotted handkerchief from your head. Then you button up your aloha shirt and kick the jandals from your feet. And then you take the snorkel out your mouth and ineffectually try to scrape the bright orange zinc from off your nose. "Alright Mungo you old son-of-a-bitch... let's go save those villagers" you growl and you both grin wolfishly and laugh like men, and then, old brothers-in-arms that you are, you and Mungo do <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Qd4aE2TzOI">the Predator handshake</a>. <br />
<br />
Mungo lays on some ill hospitality by boiling up a lobster and then he explains the setting of the book as the two of you tuck into that bad boy. Your destination, Fire Island, is basically an aborted <i>gulag</i> that was set up by some jerk-off called Prince Olaf who doesn't get mentioned again. He built a prison on the island and shipped a bunch of "<i>undesirable characters</i>" (read: political dissidents) over from the mainland before suddenly losing interest in the whole venture. After he stopped paying the Lizard Men, they re-purposed Fire Island as a commercial concern and gave the former prisoners a chance to learn marketable skills by having them dig a bunch of gold mines. Unfortunately these mines don't have a great Health and Safety record and there's a bunch of administrative and governance issues all round. At the bottom of things, it seems like the whole situation is Prince Olaf's fault, but nevertheless it's the Lizard King that you're clambering into a boat to go and murder despite that fact that he has really just been carried along by circumstances and is pretty much just playing the hand he was dealt. But he did kidnap and enslave those villagers I suppose, so there's that.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Rolling Up My Dude</span><br />
<br />
SKILL- 11<br />
STAMINA - 20<br />
LUCK - 10<br />
<br />
These were good numbers. Standard rules again, I paid careful attention this time and remembered to mark 10 PROVISIONS on my Adventure Sheet. And just as well, because this book is just filthy with combat. I basically had to keep a sandwich in my free hand even as I was sword-fighting. I got beat up so many times I had to eat nine meals a day, four of them simultaneously. Just shoving a taco into one corner of my mouth and smashing a watermelon slice against the other. All sitting cross-legged on the bare ground post-fight to wolf down a big bowl of instant mashed potatoes, right next to the steaming guts of some barely-slain abomination. That's when you know you're on the ropes. That's when it's tough.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The Adventure</span><br />
<br />
Paragraph 1 kicks off with the boat trip to Fire Island, which the book uses as another opportunity to remind you of what good buddies you and Mungo are. In what may be the longest continuous speech by any Fighting Fantasy character (eight sentences), Mungo relates the story of how his father, a circus strongman, entered the Trial of Champions one year and predictably died. "<i>At least he tried</i>" Mungo notes with callous good cheer. Let the record show that I have retroactively decided that my protagonist in <i>Deathtrap Dungeon </i>was actually Mungo's dad.<br />
<br />
Strangely, when you come in sight of the island, Mungo leaps to his feet and "<i>shouts 'Land ahoy!' at the top of his voice, as though he were yelling the news to the crew of a galleon</i>".<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi171sWhdr8rr_sUUAqtq-GwNZw9gbtpiCCF_aUKuTVOtFdUWgRu_LV4ZoXtvibKgegJBoXhu3jHHOogOnLUDqGcTVUxd1hPf9MTlQsUN_IYHrJHXqF8Adj2RI-bJcIu7EqFMTooyKy6KM/s1600/LAND+AHOOY.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="What, do I LOOK like the crew of a galleon over here?"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi171sWhdr8rr_sUUAqtq-GwNZw9gbtpiCCF_aUKuTVOtFdUWgRu_LV4ZoXtvibKgegJBoXhu3jHHOogOnLUDqGcTVUxd1hPf9MTlQsUN_IYHrJHXqF8Adj2RI-bJcIu7EqFMTooyKy6KM/s400/LAND+AHOOY.jpg" width="261" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"Shit, Mungo, I'm right here. And Fire Island looks like it's all of five miles away, it must've been visible for hours. What the hell is wrong with you."</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Mungo beaches the boat and once again the book's first choice is to go either left or right. Given the option of "scrambling" over rocks to the left vs. "clambering" over rocks to the right I went with scrambling since it sounds easier, if marginally less dignified. So, after scrambling with vigor and pizzazz to the next cove over, you make it about halfway up the beach before Mungo is snatched up and mercilessly dandled by a GIANT CRAB that just pops up from under the sand. The intense <i>pathos </i>of this scene is slightly undermined by the fact that the illustrator didn't trouble to find any reference material for what a crab's face looks like.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJop80-ASIhzMVVkOpIKJg2KECEOblYCYBGLWwxrj-hFCQ7-IJO51Qf5buwzEe62x1_jrZOKpiwLBfYFAe6gwxNe0kI6uKDuLgEW-2SRxeesT3xoVyRVhaBLoeOleihDRYE3c-sySeqtY/s1600/mungo+nooooo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJop80-ASIhzMVVkOpIKJg2KECEOblYCYBGLWwxrj-hFCQ7-IJO51Qf5buwzEe62x1_jrZOKpiwLBfYFAe6gwxNe0kI6uKDuLgEW-2SRxeesT3xoVyRVhaBLoeOleihDRYE3c-sySeqtY/s400/mungo+nooooo.jpg" title="curiously, the illustrator did get the number of legs correct, despite the fact that the accompanying text short-changed Crabby a couple" width="255" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Crabs, crabs.... they got like googly cartoon eyes, a big old mouth like a catfish, and little Martian antennas, right? Or am I thinking of alligators?</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>You're given the option of abandoning Mungo and fleeing but such <strike>tactical good sense</strike> cowardice is immediately punished as you blunder into quicksand and are forced to see your friend devoured while you slowly drown. For added poignancy Mungo yells "Why!?", "No!!!" and "I<sob><sob><sob> forgive you!!!" as he is drawn inch-by-inch into the creature's anatomically anomalous muppet mouth. </sob></sob></sob><br />
<br />
Not that aiding your friend does him any good. It might <i>look </i>as though he's on a mildly thrilling fairground ride, perched daintily up there on the claw, but apparently he was getting 100% of his internal organs crushed. You murder the crab just quickly enough to hear him gasp his last. In the book his dying words evince the same "easy-come, easy-go" attitude he displayed to his father's proxy-suicide - "<i>Oh well! A lot of use I've been!</i>" - which didn't really ring true for me so I wrote my own version. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIZKLywHEpprpCE3e-_T1z41gPNL1AZA-QQH0yMFFqMic178hG0cObOexCp5j7IlLQtQ7B2CZV7mN6PoMJgyDcReUBVwF6HabJ7HlzUnz6E1zdOZnbQ7-0l0futTuRacyk6P8ZIf4blSI/s1600/mungo+head.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIZKLywHEpprpCE3e-_T1z41gPNL1AZA-QQH0yMFFqMic178hG0cObOexCp5j7IlLQtQ7B2CZV7mN6PoMJgyDcReUBVwF6HabJ7HlzUnz6E1zdOZnbQ7-0l0futTuRacyk6P8ZIf4blSI/s1600/mungo+head.jpg" /></a><b>Mungo's Last Words</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>(the remix)</b><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><i>"Ah... my friend... my friend... it got me... that... that fucked-up looking crab... I <cough, cough="">swear that thing had eyelids... it's killed me, it's killed me dammit... all up to you now... you get that lizard, that Lizard King... PROMISE ME YOU'LL GET HIM, YOU PROMISE ME DAMMIT <cough, cough,="" cough="">... ah... shoulda gone right... back when we landed... I told you... clambering... much.... easiaaaaaaaah........... <gak></gak></cough,></cough,></i>"</div></div><br />
Of course if you do decide to go right instead of left at the beginning, you run into some PIRATES who are partway through the hilariously stereotypical act of burying a treasure chest, and Mungo gets fatally stabbed by the captain. There is absolutely no way to keep him alive long enough to get further than the intertidal zone. I mean this guy can't even reach the dunes. Reading for the first time as a child I felt utterly gypped as I had been genuinely enthusiastic about the novelty of having a companion on the adventure. However, his only purpose is to set up the story and provide some under-developed motivation for the protagonist, after which he is ruthlessly dispatched before he can start demanding inconvenient new combat rules.<br />
<br />
Both PIRATE CAPTAIN and GIANT CRAB are SKILL 10 fights by the way - first fight in the book. Remember back in <a href="http://turnto400.blogspot.com/2010/06/warlock-of-firetop-mountain-steve.html"><i>Warlock</i> </a>when they were breaking us in with GOBLINS, SKILL 5? They saved SKILL 10 for the MINOTAUR, who was like a minor boss. Now we got our best friend dying and SKILL 10 fights straight off the bat. Sheesh.<br />
<br />
After burying Mungo in the sand - not in the fun way - I made my way up the beach and into the tropical vegetation.<i> </i>At the outset the protagonist's plan seems to be simply to walk inland until he gets his bearings which is an okay plan if you've got nothing else to work with I suppose. This first part of the adventure is much in the vein of earlier books, particularly <i>Forest of Doom, </i>just a wander through some more or less random encounters, this time in a vaguely Caribbean setting. An early encounter was with some HEADHUNTERS who appeared to have gotten lost on their way to an Allan Quatermain story from 1910 or something.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3V8sUvP_PuuqCRtXIUSJv39YWgnbJ_yIQayAVOY0eSSaa7i71Pf9pxW4o7ojPP4cy9V7Q4q6HlYcX3m_GCc2cjNnNZ3CCwotXN43iNt7XPL_P4dbrAGBc2M0dwFOA4PZZEU0LKXsYENw/s1600/HEADHUNTERS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3V8sUvP_PuuqCRtXIUSJv39YWgnbJ_yIQayAVOY0eSSaa7i71Pf9pxW4o7ojPP4cy9V7Q4q6HlYcX3m_GCc2cjNnNZ3CCwotXN43iNt7XPL_P4dbrAGBc2M0dwFOA4PZZEU0LKXsYENw/s640/HEADHUNTERS.jpg" title="I mean I coulda called up the artist and asked why he forgot to draw in a giant cookpot with some little white dude in a pith helmet in there bobbing around with some onions and carrots and shit, you know,but nah, I ain't here to talk about that." width="419" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Let's just take this at face value okay. </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">These guys are all about, and only about, hunting heads. The first time you encounter some of these dudes they have an actual argument about who is gonna be the one that gets to gets to hunt your head, no joke. The level of intense skull contemplation going on in the ceremony above rivals a hundred <i>Hamlets</i>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI_Log_J2nff_qEaEgggjxtrWtEBqSvOxwyWbAm7WgHlw5kw35RXdNTVsAVNnn2UF4IP1rcsb6WTLczMNuvGfYPY0Zfk82yC3kaKMokhBNrUpJpU8dQFU_cExkLW8FKGq83NwLApIepRo/s1600/shakespearean+headhunter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI_Log_J2nff_qEaEgggjxtrWtEBqSvOxwyWbAm7WgHlw5kw35RXdNTVsAVNnn2UF4IP1rcsb6WTLczMNuvGfYPY0Zfk82yC3kaKMokhBNrUpJpU8dQFU_cExkLW8FKGq83NwLApIepRo/s640/shakespearean+headhunter.jpg" style="cursor: move;" title="our tribe has come up with an exciting new interpretation of Shakespeare's Hamlet, set in the modern day" width="491" /></a></div></div>There's also a group of menacing PYGMIES, complete with blow-pipes and darts. You can appease them by handing over a plain old hand axe, which they... (sigh)... reverently accept as a religious artefact. It's all a bit suspect, really. They will give you some scroggin if you push your luck which is handy since like all food in Fighting Fantasy it is the regenerative equivalent of a dumpster full of stem cells.<br />
<br />
Many of the encounters are extremely generic and forgettable - "You are walking around. Watch out -- GIANT DRAGONFLY!" - to the extent that I suspect the adventure might've only been 300 paragraphs in draft and needed some padding. But there are a few encounters that tie into the overall narrative, e.g. you can encounter a couple of escaped slaves from the mines. I also found a helpful "if you are reading this I am already dead" note left by another escapee that led me to the mine entrance and my first encounter with two LIZARD GUARDS who were keeping an eye someone's haphazardly stored crockery collection.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFtLloCd9s_yG1cAdg2hdaReKvHaUL7ol6StMX1dZUEBDmIDbs3HK9NBXqohpGsIXkWRDMuMjaHrH8bfmeM7qZE9Ekam9c1AxCjsCoG1zidPb7GU2INyM9bvqBlQPUwD9Uga8EPsP1Ftg/s1600/2+lizard+men.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFtLloCd9s_yG1cAdg2hdaReKvHaUL7ol6StMX1dZUEBDmIDbs3HK9NBXqohpGsIXkWRDMuMjaHrH8bfmeM7qZE9Ekam9c1AxCjsCoG1zidPb7GU2INyM9bvqBlQPUwD9Uga8EPsP1Ftg/s640/2+lizard+men.jpg" title="These dudes ain't shit though." width="417" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"Boss said ta guard them pots and such and that's what we gon do."</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>When you enter the mines something resembling a script starts to kick in as you sneak around freeing slaves from their LIZARD MAN overseers (at one point I even disguised myself as a LIZARD MAN by putting one of their cloaks - god knows how that fooled anyone, even from behind, it's not like I have a big Dimetrodon sail poking out my back, but it worked somehow - maybe LIZARDMEN hunt by smell?) I managed to free 63 slaves in my sweep through the mines and we all tumbled outside and finished off the remaining guards. After that the boys were all hot to go and storm the Lizard King's fort but one Elf who never bothered to introduce himself took me aside for a few paragraphs of rapid exposition. Apparently the Lizard King had achieved his #1 standing in the society of LIZARDS by allowing a malevolent brain parasite called a GONCHONG to infest him, which somehow makes him invincible. Anyway the Elf insists that you need advice from the island's Shaman or the assault on the fort will be doomed, so you tell your team to just hang out for a couple of days while you go find the Shaman. "<i>It would be impossible to to track him down in a group</i>" the protagonist announces without any justification whatsoever, and the freedmen just say "okay, suit yourself" and then away you go. Incidentally, you also bum out a guy from Oyster Bay by telling him of Mungo's fate. He's like "Mungo? DAMN" and you're like "I know!"<br />
<br />
The narrative doesn't give you any indication as to where the Shaman might be but you just wander off and after another series of random encounters, unerringly walk right up to him at his home halfway up the slopes of the active volcano that gives Fire Island its name.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3XYeDjr0nhqDuak4QCFDozkzpiCPZE1ExKfPIWpZCSzcMFoPUBXulTS5eeHW2wcfKZYtPoT6IRGxFIUKwkQWAE2QRIKgacDnVnSwv-0wgIEmL9BLEW5-2biE4MtRxZkqxYIM3oy7_STk/s1600/witch+doctor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3XYeDjr0nhqDuak4QCFDozkzpiCPZE1ExKfPIWpZCSzcMFoPUBXulTS5eeHW2wcfKZYtPoT6IRGxFIUKwkQWAE2QRIKgacDnVnSwv-0wgIEmL9BLEW5-2biE4MtRxZkqxYIM3oy7_STk/s640/witch+doctor.jpg" title="Oh, nice baby-skull earrings there Shaman. I'm sure those corny HEADHUNTERS down the hill must be terribly envious." width="403" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I suppose a nice pair of dress pants and a tucked-in shirt was too much to hope for. </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>You explain that you want advice as to how to defeat the Lizard King and his GONCHONG and the<i> </i>shaman "<i>jumps in the air upon hearing the word Gonchong</i>", which is a cute detail. I'd like to know whether he does this every subsequent time it comes up in the conversation, but the book doesn't say. Anyway, being a shaman, he demands that you undertake some "<i>disturbing and painful</i>" trials to prove yourself worthy of his wisdom. You have to pass three trials of your choice, from a set of six: Luck, Fear, Pain, Revulsion, Strength, and Dexterity. Basically, passing each of these requires either an item or a successful dice roll against one of your stats. The exception is "Pain", where the book tells you that you're in extreme pain and gives you the option "put up with it, y/n", which makes it the easiest of the trials unless you're extremely serious about role-playing. The Trial of Luck is basically a coin toss and in the Trial of Dexterity you just have to throw a dagger at an orange, so it's not all as wonderfully traumatic and primal as advertised either.<br />
<br />
I was able to pass trials of Dexterity, Strength and Fear, whereupon the shaman rolled his eyes back and danced around for a while in a disgraceful display of charlatanism before looking me at me po-faced and just relaying a bunch of straightforward information. He says that you need a fire sword to kill the Lizard King/GONCHONG super-organism and, thanks to his woefully poor judgment, the Lizard King happens to have a small collection of them at his house (albeit magically disguised as rusty old knives). He also reveals one other incredible detail about the Lizard King, a moment of unalloyed genius for Ian Livingstone - I'm tempted to issue a spoiler warning but given that this entire blog is basically fat spoilinoma, I won't bother - the Lizard King is terrified of monkeys. "<i>Lizard Men suffer an innate fear of monkeys, even if controlled by a Gonchong</i>" the shaman states with a shrug, as if to say "<i>don't blame me, this bull crap is coming straight from the spirits</i>". All of it boils down to "keep an eye out for some crappy-looking old knives and a monkey", and with this advice fixed firmly in mind I headed back down the mountain to rendezvous with my troops. But unfortunately, I never made it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Failure, and Death</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></b><br />
I stated earlier that this book is lousy with combat, and despite my solid SKILL roll of 11, by the time I met the Shaman I had faced a steady barrage of tough opponents and was down to STAMINA of only 5. Worse yet, I had eaten all my Provisions and the handful of scroggin I got from the hardware-worshipping PYGMIES. So it was pretty bad luck for me that I ran into a LIZARD MAN riding on a fucking <i>dinosaur</i>.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip27RPqCKNPwAQ6pimMr9lErFqfcRwUPzFENfyh6ITLfRXJQ3W8DaD8KKBSHlHU42_XgNvDgxGli2X0ioFhG0eNRi4WJjSLdZORcn63pnhMb8kLeGooiY8m7HjUr3w6gwojwb7qI-GJKg/s1600/your+fate+not+your+playmate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip27RPqCKNPwAQ6pimMr9lErFqfcRwUPzFENfyh6ITLfRXJQ3W8DaD8KKBSHlHU42_XgNvDgxGli2X0ioFhG0eNRi4WJjSLdZORcn63pnhMb8kLeGooiY8m7HjUr3w6gwojwb7qI-GJKg/s400/your+fate+not+your+playmate.jpg" title="your fate not your playmate" width="248" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Nuts.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Educated readers will have immediately identified the mount as a STYRACOSAURUS, which is like a Lexus-driver's version of the TRICERATOPS. He has SKILL 11, STAMINA 10 - by applying LUCK rolls to Attack Rounds I was just able to scrape through this fight with a single STAMINA point to spare. The rider, who up until that point had been leaning back in the saddle buffing his nails, then stepped from atop the corpse of his steed to attack me:<br />
<br />
MUTANT LIZARD MAN - SKILL 9, STAMINA 9<br />
<br />
Not overwhelmingly powerful but he only had to hit me once. He did.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Monsters, Combat, Noteworthy Encounters</span></b><br />
<br />
There was probably an opportunity with this book to introduce some interesting tropical monsters but apart from a few carnivorous plants and those very broadly-drawn "tribal" stereotypes mentioned earlier, we mainly get the usual greenskins (GOBLINS, ORCS, OGRES, TROLLS etc), generic giant animals and of course some LIZARD MEN eventually. Even a tropical variety of GOBLIN that is e.g. wearing Bermuda shorts and a coconut bra, or something like that would have been welcome, but no dice. Nevertheless there are a few interesting beasts in the book, my favourite probably being the GONCHONG itself, delightfully creepy in both concept and appearance.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizCQnghcZgSv5vpcjU3p3eIWobaBNk5gyiJ3p6RPBkvht_XNwnieZG4IJ5gs4uQ2eKTL-3CLtzfUo59xEuMhxHvUJgsD8qHE9hBLvHLQ12kzh1OmR2zv-DOuMpjt9zjumxcBe3B81KCQc/s1600/estelle+gonchong.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizCQnghcZgSv5vpcjU3p3eIWobaBNk5gyiJ3p6RPBkvht_XNwnieZG4IJ5gs4uQ2eKTL-3CLtzfUo59xEuMhxHvUJgsD8qHE9hBLvHLQ12kzh1OmR2zv-DOuMpjt9zjumxcBe3B81KCQc/s320/estelle+gonchong.jpg" title="aw, made you jump" width="255" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>GONCHONG!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Also of note are these silly little GRANNITS, which look much like a horse-shoe crab would if it were drawn by someone who thinks crabs have people faces. I guess that isn't surprising.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKXVUlGECWykkRlQ9lnYcVtuJFx6Y-JvTHKaKG5Za56AA5rAIt57P4p6vCSiLl0vVa9C6HEUCMGy6ly5kTPGULbMrnaY4sHrvP5r-22H08o_t_XaPU8XhoY29loJGDMP39eyz4IUVIBv8/s1600/GRANNITS2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="GRANNIT - SKILL 4, STAMINA 3 - the softest fight in the book I think"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKXVUlGECWykkRlQ9lnYcVtuJFx6Y-JvTHKaKG5Za56AA5rAIt57P4p6vCSiLl0vVa9C6HEUCMGy6ly5kTPGULbMrnaY4sHrvP5r-22H08o_t_XaPU8XhoY29loJGDMP39eyz4IUVIBv8/s640/GRANNITS2.jpg" width="403" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Some GRANNITS in their natural habitat - a cave.<br />
Inset: A horse-shoe crab in its natural habitat - a naked man's photography studio.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
From skimming the book it looks like you can actually pick up a GRANNIT and keep it to throw at someone later on. There's also something called a RAZORJAW which, intriguingly, "<i>has evolved to kill all other species</i>".<br />
<br />
I'll tell you one kind of encounter this book ain't got though...<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The SKELETON Report</span></b><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCN2m7RBTsFNCaNX4ypHGrwUg4vVUaTy6ko8B6wqfVJLjtJnx8chZdgkxuGLWmiP6Mzklrto7TpP4rIm9NZzLkwI1iB4OUbbv_3hN_AAoLTnDIXg89qbZeprjUWtaAR3Lbg4psNf3isZE/s1600/no+skeletons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="here we have one bummed-out SKELETON"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCN2m7RBTsFNCaNX4ypHGrwUg4vVUaTy6ko8B6wqfVJLjtJnx8chZdgkxuGLWmiP6Mzklrto7TpP4rIm9NZzLkwI1iB4OUbbv_3hN_AAoLTnDIXg89qbZeprjUWtaAR3Lbg4psNf3isZE/s400/no+skeletons.jpg" width="265" /></a></div><br />
So there's every <i>other </i>generic monster like ORCS and OGRES and GIANT FUCKIN' WHATEVERS on this island, but no SKELETONS? That hardly seems proper. Given the lack of magically animated skeletons, I turn my attention instead to the <i>other</i> kind of skeletons - those that are found inside of <b>SEXY DAMES</b>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh66mkyY60K6e_3smcTRiU2Yhklp8FIyBeH9-DjcnICrH-Pu68j9-G4yrHT5WjxY1jhVu0ogfS-TU6ZOLRM02Y-ks7ak7TrX9N9PaDmZ6e_HqJMul7cVjpYU1rT_BowXJTpBs0kXpF4vls/s1600/sexy+dame+count.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh66mkyY60K6e_3smcTRiU2Yhklp8FIyBeH9-DjcnICrH-Pu68j9-G4yrHT5WjxY1jhVu0ogfS-TU6ZOLRM02Y-ks7ak7TrX9N9PaDmZ6e_HqJMul7cVjpYU1rT_BowXJTpBs0kXpF4vls/s400/sexy+dame+count.jpg" title="later I realized that the lady HEADHUNTER is also pretty hot but I couldn't be bothered going back into photoshop to change the 2 to a 3" width="400" /></a></div><br />
And the illustrator was evidently a fan of <i><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TvkwBmfZAeo">One Million Years B.C.</a> </i>because they're both cavegirls. The first is a "<i>blonde girl with wild feline eyes</i>" and a pet SABRETOOTH TIGER. You can either run away from her or fight and slay her TIGER, which makes her cry and then you just sidle quietly away, feeling like a bit of a dick.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFhvakan11aihWXySCKP-hYyO4SPnvqMUQ1-MC8BOmd6pyrf_FGVNtq5k9RTFORYAhHA4WHKY0SG1wSSr2NbMmvagFDs0j0hS7KmP2vhqtGvMX40JMoG3mF4NRXYISOiS-du5Gv-Raaho/s1600/girl+with+tiger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFhvakan11aihWXySCKP-hYyO4SPnvqMUQ1-MC8BOmd6pyrf_FGVNtq5k9RTFORYAhHA4WHKY0SG1wSSr2NbMmvagFDs0j0hS7KmP2vhqtGvMX40JMoG3mF4NRXYISOiS-du5Gv-Raaho/s400/girl+with+tiger.jpg" title="baby's on that foxy Bettie Rubble steeze" width="257" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Somewhere out in the world there's a dude who was eleven years old in 1984 and now can't explain why he has a fetish for poorly-drawn sabre-tooths.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table> The other cavelady leaps out from a cave (where else?) and just immediately hiffs a spear at you. With her it's a straight up case of kill-or-be-killed. Not such a big deal as she's only SKILL 5, STAMINA 5, which is pretty sexist now that I think about it.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiELbvTywY2IB56XQ2Rc98N0XiRXb9hcU9sU3vKM4KDtu7YeR7odyqYa6V-VAxe5RLxoR0xY-rn2jEl4gpCaJQfqxn52HYWJhX1SVsR-WuWpL3B7BPkf3uObfWILOC7HMT51xUP0xia93I/s1600/cavewoman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="only marginally tougher than a GRANNIT"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiELbvTywY2IB56XQ2Rc98N0XiRXb9hcU9sU3vKM4KDtu7YeR7odyqYa6V-VAxe5RLxoR0xY-rn2jEl4gpCaJQfqxn52HYWJhX1SVsR-WuWpL3B7BPkf3uObfWILOC7HMT51xUP0xia93I/s400/cavewoman.jpg" width="241" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I got a feeling this illustrator owns every book by Jean M. Auel and if you drop them they always fall open at the same pages. Just a hunch. </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>After you put her to death you can enter her cave which is full of rubbish and "<i>smells of rotten food and stale body odour</i>". There doesn't seem to be any shampoo bottles, leg wax or even so much as a safety razor, which suggests a bit of a disconnect between the author and the illustrator.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirM3uqMUh8r5inizrWk5UOlaxu5DMzXPx7v3XiPGOQDH_x3gKWUvU0MFRO0K5Quy3BUtB56kNVwAhspUisGeg-rh366mH3DbzwE9bmIxtjg2JRnTF2QwqNU3a75oKefeiMfbrx_hYqIN0/s1600/raquel-welch-one-million-years-de.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirM3uqMUh8r5inizrWk5UOlaxu5DMzXPx7v3XiPGOQDH_x3gKWUvU0MFRO0K5Quy3BUtB56kNVwAhspUisGeg-rh366mH3DbzwE9bmIxtjg2JRnTF2QwqNU3a75oKefeiMfbrx_hYqIN0/s320/raquel-welch-one-million-years-de.jpg" title="let's be real though - the most beautiful woman of the entire Stone Age would probably be turned away at the door of a supermarket in this day and age" width="250" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Racquel Welch, just reeking of rotting food and stale body odour. </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Moving on, I almost felt obliged to bump the sexy count up to 3 after the Lizard King made a late play for recognition with this weirdly sexual-looking pose from the book's final boss fight:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPTn3qpDxaev1AUnDv5BqQpqo-mSZQ5eMAFZZFC_KZ0kirixIFLoSev6lmbF5tTvyhHMOWqejPfTzfyxD-JOIiPLNP8qaBl7Xz6SibnRqF55gh0iC2GRvlvUGAWxlWL7fvxXqyKdpKPtU/s1600/lk+sexy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPTn3qpDxaev1AUnDv5BqQpqo-mSZQ5eMAFZZFC_KZ0kirixIFLoSev6lmbF5tTvyhHMOWqejPfTzfyxD-JOIiPLNP8qaBl7Xz6SibnRqF55gh0iC2GRvlvUGAWxlWL7fvxXqyKdpKPtU/s640/lk+sexy.jpg" title="the volcano represents explosive sexual energy" width="404" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I mean, if homie ever put on some damn clothes this would be okay. But as it stands it looks like one of them 9-ball themed porno shoots. </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Final Thoughts</span></b><br />
<br />
I feel like <i>Lizard King</i> probably has the best plot out of any of the books so far. Which isn't to say that it's really a great plot, but it does at least work as a story. You can imagine it playing out as a fantasy action movie, maybe one of the more coherent barbarian movies like e.g. <i>Conan the Destroyer </i>or <i>Beastmaster</i>. Whereas <i>Forest of Doom</i>, say, would be more equivalent to one of the really rubbish ones like <i><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wX8aEDjnmz8">Ator the Invincible</a> </i>and the projectionist plays the reels in the wrong order and also a fire alarm goes off before the end of the film and you have to evacuate the theatre.<br />
<br />
Actually though I mentioned <i>Beastmaster </i>earlier, I retract that. <i>Beastmaster </i>is a bunch of nonsense - this book has a much better plot than <i>Beastmaster</i>. If you manage to not die, after visiting the Shaman you re-unite with your freedmen for a final battle with the Lizard King's forces, climaxing in a duel between you and LK and his kitty-cat atop the fort. Provided you're not silly enough to give the GONCHONG a chance to jump on your head after the fight, you and your troops triumph over the ev mine mismanagement and paragraph 400 ends: "<i>Mungo would have been proud of you</i>". So you can see there's something like an arc there.<br />
<br />
I should note that although our hero has sprouted an unprecedented capacity for adult friendship and concern for others, he has no greater impulse control than any of his predecessors as I found myself turning down opportunities to e.g. stick my whole arm into a hole in the ground, or eat some unidentified fungus growing on a log (that one happened in <i>Forest</i> also, in much the same way: you win a battle and then you're like "oh hey check out this fuzzy stuff growing on that log next to the corpse of my slaughtered foe"). But I played fairly conservatively because for the first time since <i>Warlock </i>I really felt I had a good shot at winning - there aren't aren't a lot of ways to instantly die from making poor decisions, or because you missed an item earlier on - even if you fail to talk to the Shaman you can still blunder your way through to the finish. What difficulty there is comes mainly from the large number of high SKILL opponents strewn throughout the book. It is fairly linear, and I suspect that is a function of the tighter story. I'm not saying that it is impossible to have both a non-linear storyline and an okay plot, but I expect it's more of a challenge to write. We shall see in the weeks ahead if any of the later books really pull it off.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc9Rj6UU6vmDg-1dTNllRugq6lAAMdUmFvKEMsKcm7c7kdhiAlo5csCAosVj_LIwYYw4RDpFUdaIFZt1PfbSbvsOirEKx5Nu3Qt74vZGRNb0yPbvpCmvgWxFfZ2Z-B97bsqtWGUmv_Xek/s1600/mungo+condolences+-+date+fixed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc9Rj6UU6vmDg-1dTNllRugq6lAAMdUmFvKEMsKcm7c7kdhiAlo5csCAosVj_LIwYYw4RDpFUdaIFZt1PfbSbvsOirEKx5Nu3Qt74vZGRNb0yPbvpCmvgWxFfZ2Z-B97bsqtWGUmv_Xek/s400/mungo+condolences+-+date+fixed.jpg" width="340" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div>Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17408095504472495097noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618556584663522444.post-40276166485211993072011-04-30T22:56:00.000-07:002011-04-30T22:56:38.966-07:00Hiatus?It maybe seems absurd to posit a hiatus for this blog, which typically goes one or two months between posts anyway. However quite apart from the usual distractions that might keep me from <i>Island of the Lizard King</i>, I've just had a son. Turns out he's a baby and is monopolizing a fair bit of my time, despite being a poor conversationalist and a dreary partner at chess. So, there may be a longer-than-usual delay before the next post.<br />
<br />
I'm enjoying writing this blog a lot, so I will return, just as faithful as <i>Lizard King's </i>stalwart companion, Mungo. Wait and see. Thanks for the feedback and encouragement so far. <br />
<br />
For the time being, here is my son's head photo-shopped onto my favourite gamebook cover art - <i>Daggers of Darkness </i>(Fighting Fantasy #35)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK0G5Zg3kWROMh2kKX_8Oh7PWREN4kAtuGmUxAHsRaEynAqRMxp8axBG36LQUDO-gsT2zOLMvgxsR78d720xvN1SkcM-97xEkDC2qUt7Yy1-EwA__fN_gn6v4Vkonpxre1gByo3HNaxoI/s1600/kenji-daggers-of-darkness.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="you'd think i could've at least got the lighting right but NOOOOOO"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK0G5Zg3kWROMh2kKX_8Oh7PWREN4kAtuGmUxAHsRaEynAqRMxp8axBG36LQUDO-gsT2zOLMvgxsR78d720xvN1SkcM-97xEkDC2qUt7Yy1-EwA__fN_gn6v4Vkonpxre1gByo3HNaxoI/s320/kenji-daggers-of-darkness.jpg" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>When I started making this, it seemed like a fun idea. By the end, I was terrified.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17408095504472495097noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618556584663522444.post-47132251809795517312011-04-06T01:37:00.000-07:002011-04-06T01:39:06.918-07:00#6 - Deathtrap Dungeon, by Ian Livingstone (1984)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxv9lvFD7UQFoxxnPeLe0DAL8TSUFdM8yriGpttaRA2WqLmXCBDm8vmlrD5Qhk24LvPQvmZqcR_5_ID-avd1PrcwPEyk-utzunAYFsFtB2feVbgOv6gAe3NsOeahT3ldMFRarOQRGMFjM/s1600/deathtrap+dungeon+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxv9lvFD7UQFoxxnPeLe0DAL8TSUFdM8yriGpttaRA2WqLmXCBDm8vmlrD5Qhk24LvPQvmZqcR_5_ID-avd1PrcwPEyk-utzunAYFsFtB2feVbgOv6gAe3NsOeahT3ldMFRarOQRGMFjM/s320/deathtrap+dungeon+cover.jpg" width="201" /></a></div>Near as I can tell, <i>Deathtrap Dungeon </i>is far and away the most famous Fighting Fantasy book. Could its renown stem from a classy execution of that absolutely archetypal role-playing scenario, the dungeon crawl? That's quite likely. Or could it derive from the debut of that cherished character "the BLOODBEAST", since 1991 a mascot of<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"> <span class="Apple-style-span">Japanese baseball team the <i>Moritaka Petrochemicals Bloodbeasts</i>? Maybe so. Could it be because of the characterisation and dialogue? No, definitely not.</span></span> Whatever the reasons, more than any other FF book it has left a dent in the culture.<br />
<br />
In 1998, a video game version for Playstation and PC titled "<i>Ian Livingstone's Deathtrap Dungeon</i>" was released by Eidos Interactive (not coincidentally, also the company where Ian Livingstone enjoys the Mubarak-esque title of "Life President"). Unlike the source material, it was poorly received in the English-speaking world. For example, it was rated 6.2 out of 10 by <i>Gamespot</i>, an organization that would give a turd 8/10 if it had an advertising budget over $500 (YouTube commentor <b>masteriansun </b>gives the plain English equivalent of a 6.2 from Gamespot - <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VKJAc3px3j0">"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">i'd rather get a blowjob from a lion than play this game again</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">").</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"> </span>On the other hand it was lauded by gaming press in Holland, Denmark and Germany - perhaps due to some cultural resonance in Saxon lands where the likes of DWARVES and GOBLINS are celebrated in "high culture" (opera, public statuary, etc). Holland's "Power Unlimited" magazine gave it 91%, commenting "<i>Eidos heeft weer een vette hit in handen. Ik denk dat Deathtrap Dungeon best eens de populariteit van Tomb Raider zal kunnen gaan evenaren.</i>"<i> </i>("<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="hps" title="Click for alternate translations">Eidos</span> <span class="hps" title="Click for alternate translations">has</span> <span class="hps" title="Click for alternate translations">another</span> <span class="hps" title="Click for alternate translations">hit</span> <span class="hps" title="Click for alternate translations">in</span> <span class="hps" title="Click for alternate translations">oily</span> <span class="hps" title="Click for alternate translations">hands</span><span class="" title="Click for alternate translations">.</span> <span class="hps" title="Click for alternate translations">I</span> <span class="hps" title="Click for alternate translations">think</span> <span class="hps" title="Click for alternate translations">Deathtrap</span> <span class="hps" title="Click for alternate translations">Dungeon</span> <span class="hps" title="Click for alternate translations">for once</span> <span class="hps" title="Click for alternate translations">the</span> <span class="hps" title="Click for alternate translations">popularity</span> <span class="hps" title="Click for alternate translations">of </span><span class="hps" title="Click for alternate translations">Tomb</span> <span class="hps" title="Click for alternate translations">Raider</span> <span class="hps" title="Click for alternate translations">will</span> <span class="hps" title="Click for alternate translations">be able</span> <span class="hps" title="Click for alternate translations">to</span> <span class="hps" title="Click for alternate translations">match")</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_J_6qc-KZv-tZSxpiQSL_0LbrkUatcC01MhTzfvxqH-8aTRqn72YVKrCAZA9gSaD3iTzCD01fgaS_niQEILoegpL0GC1cX3twuyS82BuDgRQOZdTqyoTEZFTI-Cz7_YQqzDpzPoG22H0/s1600/deathtrap+dungeon+dominatrix+ad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_J_6qc-KZv-tZSxpiQSL_0LbrkUatcC01MhTzfvxqH-8aTRqn72YVKrCAZA9gSaD3iTzCD01fgaS_niQEILoegpL0GC1cX3twuyS82BuDgRQOZdTqyoTEZFTI-Cz7_YQqzDpzPoG22H0/s1600/deathtrap+dungeon+dominatrix+ad.jpg" style="text-align: center;" title="'Beat me. Whip me. Just don't hit that Quit button. Consider it your battle cry.' - seriously who wrote this shit?!?" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Speaking of Tomb Raider, </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Eidos had thoroughly learned the principal that "sex sells" from</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i> the enormous fame and revenue generated by those two chunky peppermint-coloured dodecahedra on Lara Croft's chest</i><i>. This, combined with some confusion around the word "dungeon", led to the misleading and inadvertently hilarious advertisement above, replete with bad taste artefacts of the late '90s such as; "X-treme/in-your-face" copy; the lady's latex; the gentleman's shredded capri pants, and; coloured lighting taken straight from the set of </i> "Batman and Robin" (1997)<i>.</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>While Deathtrap Dungeon has seen numerous fringe theatre adaptations, such as the bawdy cabaret <i>Baron Sukumvit's Daughter</i>, it has yet to be brought to the silver screen. However the cosmic mercy that has thus far masked it from Uwe Boll's attention cannot last indefinitely. Most recently, "Deathtrap" was the first Fighting Fantasy to be adapted into an iPhone/iPad application. I've heard that Ian Livingstone is on the record as saying it's his favourite of the FF books he wrote. Hopefully in this play through I can get a glimmer of understanding as to why the global influence of <i>Deathtrap Dungeon </i>is exceeded only by that of <b>the Holy Bible</b>, <b>the Koran</b>, and almost all of the other normal books where you just read the pages one at a time from left to right.<br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Background</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></b><br />
The book begins some brief explanation of the geography and recent history of the town of Fang, which is on the River Kok in the province of Chiang Mai. All of these are <a href="http://wikitravel.org/en/Fang">real places in Thailand</a>, by the way. Apparently Ian Livingstone spent some time backpacking around Northern Thailand in 1981 and just couldn't get over how well the place-names adapted to sword and sorcery. (Making up names is the hardest thing about writing fantasy - ask anyone. Or, more specifically, ask the guy that came up "Tybalt Spellcaster" for the latest re-print of <a href="http://turnto400.blogspot.com/2010/06/2-citadel-of-chaos-steve-jackson-1983.html">Citadel of Chaos</a>)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0dMJi2-CPhq3iLDhpKdmu1vAFqziR1AkBiOSc0flJZM0pAlzdRj1E6TFgpM63eUpwQGLPr7BKTClhaYUc8OT-53XagGcuh4SBwYJq-sFXXWve5sUbmiKmKGr2GFR5pCkBHIt-ilntcBQ/s1600/thai+people+celebrate+their+inclusion+in+deathtrap+dungeon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0dMJi2-CPhq3iLDhpKdmu1vAFqziR1AkBiOSc0flJZM0pAlzdRj1E6TFgpM63eUpwQGLPr7BKTClhaYUc8OT-53XagGcuh4SBwYJq-sFXXWve5sUbmiKmKGr2GFR5pCkBHIt-ilntcBQ/s400/thai+people+celebrate+their+inclusion+in+deathtrap+dungeon.jpg" title="there's one candle for every reader who was ever insta-killed" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Thai people celebrating their connection to </i>Deathtrap Dungeon<i>.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Basically Fang was a no-account town, most famous for the uniquely slow chewing action of its water bison, until one day the town's ruler Baron Sukumvit launched an annual contest called the "<i>Trial of Champions</i>" to be held in his private labyrinth, <b>or "dungeon" if you prefer</b>. (By the way, that's Sukumvit as in Sukumvhit Road, Bangkok). In the first year of the contest, seventeen challengers attempted to pass through the labyrinth, and they all died, falling prey either to monsters or deadly traps <b>AKA "deathtraps"</b>. The prize if you win - and no-one ever does - is 10,000 Gold Pieces, which for context is just enough to buy 3,333 lanterns at the <a href="http://turnto400.blogspot.com/2011/03/5-city-of-thieves-by-ian-livingstone.html">Port Blacksand</a> markets and still have a GP left over to bribe the city guard. According to the book, "<i>as the years passed, and the Trial of Champions continued, it attracted more and more challengers and spectators</i>" - not quite sure why this would be since the challengers always die and the spectators only get to watch them walk into a tunnel and not come out again... it doesn't sound like much of a spectacle to me, but then again, some people watch TV about cakes! And some people watch yachting. So what do I know.<br />
<br />
By this time, readers of Turn to 400 should be well aware that Fighting Fantasy protagonists are suicidally reckless, without exception. Therefore you will not be surprised to hear that the hero of "Deathtrap" immediately decides to enter the Trial of Champions, "<i>having seen one of Sukumvit's challenges nailed to a tree</i>". I do wonder exactly what the copy was...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNsfhmHyIux8qMGBD3dSL72cTI88vZx3s596GrxE7Epli-tL77zkS3oiKmhnlKUSM2Wk7S4ou9Nbb-f63XrvnNtLTFY_5Au7g7mDbHWxY093sisg2QKz2YygAMZYqKU1pR0dpV3WC32wY/s1600/baron+sukumvits+challenge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNsfhmHyIux8qMGBD3dSL72cTI88vZx3s596GrxE7Epli-tL77zkS3oiKmhnlKUSM2Wk7S4ou9Nbb-f63XrvnNtLTFY_5Au7g7mDbHWxY093sisg2QKz2YygAMZYqKU1pR0dpV3WC32wY/s400/baron+sukumvits+challenge.jpg" title="not trying to be racist about Thai people here, but in my head this is how Baron Sukumvit talks" width="400" /></a></div><br />
...regardless of the specifics, the challenge galvanises our crazy protagonist to throw his tiny, doomed hat into the deadly, deadly ring. The Background briefly glosses over your voyage to Fang, via Port Blacksand - <i>"wasting no time in that </i>[ahem] <i>city of thieves" </i> - an ostentatious name-drop that nicely indicates the world of Fighting Fantasy starting to stitch itself together (albeit after the manner of Frankenstein).<br />
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When you arrive in Fang there are three days to spare before the contest begins, everyone is partying like nuts and buying you drinks and such because, after all, you're about to die horribly. Come the big day itself you blink away your hangover and are escorted to the dungeon entrance by (cough) "<i>a small man with slanted eyes</i>". At the entrance there's a crowd of townsfolk, five fellow contestants and the Baron himself, dolled up in his dressing gown and a hat that would've been a better design for the <a href="http://turnto400.blogspot.com/2010/10/4-starship-traveller-by-steve-jackson.html">Starship Traveller</a> than the one they actually went with. The system is that each contestant enters one at a time, in random order, spaced half an hour apart (once again this is right up there with cricket on a rainy day as far spectator excitement goes).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho_NWAFUMg_srG-zH6YMbdcpIerTRYWQP1AhC8OKZleRRg_L6bEF567RecjLLaZUezHbVdqcKanfn_TPWWj0r3qKcaZvUl1qdMs_o1fNo4-VVNwfzCYStBK9t-dfZhTWHnJCb82RcBTVQ/s1600/dungeon+entrance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho_NWAFUMg_srG-zH6YMbdcpIerTRYWQP1AhC8OKZleRRg_L6bEF567RecjLLaZUezHbVdqcKanfn_TPWWj0r3qKcaZvUl1qdMs_o1fNo4-VVNwfzCYStBK9t-dfZhTWHnJCb82RcBTVQ/s640/dungeon+entrance.jpg" title="That little capering feller in the middle has the exact haircut of the main chick from Die Antwoord." width="409" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Not even in the dungeon yet and already I can plainly see some howling ghosts through the doorway. </i><br />
<i>"YOU IN THE BIG LEAGUES NOW SON"</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Your fellow contestants are a glorious mix of incongruities - three of them are protagonists from the greatest film genres of the 1980s - <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6cD--irgLiI">two</a> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wX8aEDjnmz8">barbarians</a>, and a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z4s6zFVm9qI">ninja</a>. There's also an elf lady but forget her, she gets killed by a boa constrictor anyway. Oh and a knight. That guy gets turned to stone, <i>forget him</i>.<br />
<br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Rolling Up My Dude</span></b></span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></b></span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span">SKILL - 10</span></span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span">STAMINA - 15</span></span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span">LUCK - 11</span></span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span"></span></span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Not bad stats. The rules in this book are as normal and you start with the usual 10 Provisions and a sword. Plus maybe a shield. A lot of these books seem to equivocate about whether you have a shield or not. I might've had a shield. </span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></b></span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The Adventure</span></b></span></i><br />
<br />
Okay things begin when your number comes up, you are fifth to enter, preceded by the knight, the elf, the ninja and one of those <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C4Ii_YfJNvw">lovable barbarians</a>. A few metres down the entrance corridor there's a table with six labelled wooden boxes on it, one for each contestant. So here we are launching straight into an atmosphere of high-stakes tension - "<i>is this just a plain old box or is this gonna be a deathtrap</i>", you have to think to yourself. I had faith that Ian wouldn't insta-kill me off the first paragraph so I opened it up - inside is 2 GP as a reward for your trusting nature and a patronising note from Da Baron in which he reveals "<i>you will need to find and use <b>several items </b>if you hope to pass triumphantly through my Deathtrap Dungeon</i>" - yes, that is his idea of a "hint" (dick), so let's keep our eyes peeled for some... items. Sadly you are not given the option to loot GP from the other contestants' boxes and must instead proceed to your next challenge: <b>a T-junction</b>.<br />
<br />
I grouse a lot about random direction-choosing in these books but I have to say that this T-junction was quite a lively conundrum - you can choose to go west, following three sets of footprints and a white arrow painted on the wall, or to follow a solitary set of footsteps to the east. I quickly decided that going west was "too mainstream" and headed east, where I soon had the awkward experience of having to clamber around a giant puffball that was blocking the corridor. I get the sense that this puffball wasn't really meant to be part of the dungeon and someone had painted the arrow back at the intersection to try to head off embarrassment. <br />
<br />
Further along the corridor you start to experience a sauna-like heat and are given the option of drinking a clear fluid that you find lying around. I assumed Da Baron had turned up the heat to trick me into drinking poison, but in fact it turned out the heat itself was the trap and they'd left a helpful potion lying around to give you a chance of surviving it - <i>nice fake-out</i>. Fortunately I passed a SKILL roll against the heat with the result that "<i>only </i>[my] <i>immense strength and grim determination prevents </i>[me] <i>falling unconscious to the floor</i>" - not mentioned: my astonishing stupidity, which prevented from me from heading back to the T-junction and going down the other route before the heat started to reach "verge-of-death" levels.<br />
<br />
Anyway a little further on and with my pores well and truly open and refreshed, I caught up with the mystery person whose footsteps I'd been following - and it looks like he fell for an extreme version of that old classic gag, "standing on a rake":<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG5WUI_nUPCjeDvuxTBrCUE3_ASJARBmv9ufHSX_QIykXbBkFVWB1wJLD8F3ifJB65eMK5LT7rqRHIwwbQh2JmCujxFxa2HDEQI0pMKIq4T07aGJqVZY-lvl7qiZTx6vjl1lLRPcah_0M/s1600/barbarian+dies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="his obituary describes him as an 'internationally renowned bad boy of body-building'"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG5WUI_nUPCjeDvuxTBrCUE3_ASJARBmv9ufHSX_QIykXbBkFVWB1wJLD8F3ifJB65eMK5LT7rqRHIwwbQh2JmCujxFxa2HDEQI0pMKIq4T07aGJqVZY-lvl7qiZTx6vjl1lLRPcah_0M/s400/barbarian+dies.jpg" width="257" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Barbarian #1: "U GOT DEATHTRAPP'd!" </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Notably, you are given the option to rifle through his loincloth and devour some "<i>strange-looking dried meat</i>" that you find there - yep, the protagonist's poor impulse control extends beyond his enthusiasm for contests that are known to reliably kill all of their players and into a kamikaze gourmand's urge to eat and drink whatever things are to hand while roaming about underground. I also filched the bait from the trap, a silver goblet, luckily avoiding a <i>second </i>deathtrap in the process. I don't know if the goblet serves any purpose later because I died shortly afterwards.<br />
<br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Failure, and Death</span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHac9uW16AtM3q0TmY-6sAQLeFMNQYLvSB538TvC0YhKQhwQPoMM-6e-Ww3WHAj_Zf9bksOa7cg6V6R7eyG-ezT_k4vmf5LndOJbbfYvzYapLY8Rx_EzGYuUwC_Ft17BhfJWQRuq5I4RM/s1600/buddha.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHac9uW16AtM3q0TmY-6sAQLeFMNQYLvSB538TvC0YhKQhwQPoMM-6e-Ww3WHAj_Zf9bksOa7cg6V6R7eyG-ezT_k4vmf5LndOJbbfYvzYapLY8Rx_EzGYuUwC_Ft17BhfJWQRuq5I4RM/s400/buddha.jpg" title="early concept drawing for the set of Ong Bak's final scene" width="253" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ian Livingstone's been to Thailand, apparently.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>A little further in I came across a statue of the local equivalent of Fat Buddha, given an Allansian twist in the form of those two sidekicks you can see flanking him in the picture (they're Dire Flamingos, stuffed by some especially ambitious taxidermist - but predictably enough they can come alive and attack you under the right conditions). His eyes are made of emeralds, and having played <i>Deathtrap</i> as a child I knew that, just as in the European aristocracy, you need to collect precious stones to win. Clambering up to the idol's shoulders, you are given the choice of chipping out the left or right eye (the third eye shown in the picture is due to artistic license and doesn't really exist apparently). Being right-handed I chose the right eye (much easier to brace against Buddha's nose with my left hand while standing on his protuberant lower lip, leaving my right free to work on the gem). And then...<br />
<br />
"<i>Much to your surprise, the emerald shatters on contact, releasing a jet of poisonous gas straight into your face. The gas knocks you out and you release the rope, bounce down the idol and crash on the stone floor. Your adventure ends here</i>."<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOwZrPmgpWWS9XNlde3mZXmd5CRJEWSlnRepH_SIYCMapcBsZp7b1MzLPuddr-2NCYj4AqHX2wwROrjWLnvpoprlp8cZKqDyOZbqjdUaVZ-vRWt7h4dpLGGhJU7tADCe5PB-8Fzd28rZw/s1600/u+got+deathtrapped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOwZrPmgpWWS9XNlde3mZXmd5CRJEWSlnRepH_SIYCMapcBsZp7b1MzLPuddr-2NCYj4AqHX2wwROrjWLnvpoprlp8cZKqDyOZbqjdUaVZ-vRWt7h4dpLGGhJU7tADCe5PB-8Fzd28rZw/s320/u+got+deathtrapped.jpg" title="U GOT DEATHTRAPP'd is a registered trademark of Eidos Interactive, Ltd." width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This "U GOT DEATHTRAPP'd" message is brought to you by Ian Livingstone, and Ian Livingstone's cameo as a mutilated prisoner chained to a wall.<br />
</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Monsters, Combat, Noteworthy Encounters</span></b><br />
<br />
So yes, my adventure was pretty short this time out. The only combat I actually had was with a couple of ORCS just after the sauna-corridor - they were about as much interest as ORCS ever are, i.e. not worth mentioning unless you're trying to write a thesis about Tolkein being racist.<br />
<br />
Flicking through the pages, there seems to be several tough fights some of which I suspect are unavoidable. Your fellow contestant the NINJA, should you fight him, is SKILL 11. There's numerous SKILL 10 opponents, including mainstays such as a GIANT SCORPION. And then there's the PIT FIEND, a SKILL 12 Tyrannosaurus.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEMPEtG74-hPOPsNe7Of1rlABPZx3N7V3Ftj73T7_yq4M5FI983HC440SCeqHwDw7mr_uGmi6rIKQ2VfHbXeN_FEQ_y0xw4G3PdKVblHk4gIdC8HSFEaJ1ezB-J7oExtz4j5jjmTJ3zIc/s1600/pit+friend.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="where's your feathers, PIT FRIEND"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEMPEtG74-hPOPsNe7Of1rlABPZx3N7V3Ftj73T7_yq4M5FI983HC440SCeqHwDw7mr_uGmi6rIKQ2VfHbXeN_FEQ_y0xw4G3PdKVblHk4gIdC8HSFEaJ1ezB-J7oExtz4j5jjmTJ3zIc/s400/pit+friend.jpg" width="255" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Known to children and the young-at-heart as the PIT FRIEND.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>My old pal and cover model the BLOODBEAST is SKILL 12 also, this guy is I think maybe the first genuinely original and interesting monster to appear in the series. He's about the size of a large hippo and hangs out in a hot tub full of acidic slime his whole life, slapping at passers-by with his big gross tongue. According to my copy of <i>Out of the Pit</i>, his "<i>one major weakness</i>" is getting poked in the eyes, "<i>so it has evolved hundreds of fake 'eyes' that rise in blisters before bursting open on its head</i>". It's baffling to me that no-one has yet marketed a BLOODBEAST plush toy - this guy has character.<br />
<br />
Less original but pretty amusing is the IMITATOR, an (ahem) homage to the classic D'n'D Mimic, i.e. a shape-changer that disguises itself as inanimate objects and then punches you.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz7S2NxamnZUZeweuPUkaYq_lozZD1_w5yXi4FpHJmXiH7SHoFxzyKGTvpKVyIxY1i-QaUxM0k1pIhuRWzeLpXtrAybOLsv_xBH1Sf9zIP7ynz1jlAsMxWY6dUoneqPSUFS0LJwKf8iQ4/s1600/punched+by+the+door.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="saved by the bell, only to be punched by the door"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz7S2NxamnZUZeweuPUkaYq_lozZD1_w5yXi4FpHJmXiH7SHoFxzyKGTvpKVyIxY1i-QaUxM0k1pIhuRWzeLpXtrAybOLsv_xBH1Sf9zIP7ynz1jlAsMxWY6dUoneqPSUFS0LJwKf8iQ4/s400/punched+by+the+door.jpg" width="243" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Saaaay, what kind of a dungeon is this?</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The SKELETON Report</span></b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNk8QmxL9sZ7AJ_Yya1SAkM2NBPLbsRkHUFLS5Ypgk5KE19NCzqoRXhIdPkDg9RSBw3FOy8I3Gfp4amgtiZqjW8H2W_nDwlZnAdNG2iDiF073py-mgpAY5Eu51u2zZBB8CiVwkhPKhjwU/s1600/eidos+skeleton+count.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNk8QmxL9sZ7AJ_Yya1SAkM2NBPLbsRkHUFLS5Ypgk5KE19NCzqoRXhIdPkDg9RSBw3FOy8I3Gfp4amgtiZqjW8H2W_nDwlZnAdNG2iDiF073py-mgpAY5Eu51u2zZBB8CiVwkhPKhjwU/s400/eidos+skeleton+count.jpg" title="That's how a SKELETON winks!" width="335" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The cover for 1998's</i> Ian Livingstone's Deathtrap Dungeon, <i>which Life President Ian Livingstone insisted depict a SKELETON head.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Yep, just the one. To the casual observer, this may appear innocent enough, merely the mortal remains of a man who suddenly died while taking his ease. But in fact it is a SKELETON, playing a trick! If you grab at his rolled-up parchment he will get up and attack you, "<i>rising from </i>[his] <i>chair in a series of jerky movements</i>".</div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO0OjBFkRxX_YapjMyGWVK0sM9BXRdG_DfW6CmldLoOMFD0cp1qY964-3SD-2mjeg_mnckre24vcugC8rDJxkRC7EiEbFLDXPoWntFSyhxplfe5ZHTjswM74IRkuh71_ktH27dziVQ-Ik/s1600/skellywag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="COLD CHILLIN"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO0OjBFkRxX_YapjMyGWVK0sM9BXRdG_DfW6CmldLoOMFD0cp1qY964-3SD-2mjeg_mnckre24vcugC8rDJxkRC7EiEbFLDXPoWntFSyhxplfe5ZHTjswM74IRkuh71_ktH27dziVQ-Ik/s400/skellywag.jpg" width="286" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>If you don't try to take the parchment, he is like "DAMN" and then waits for someone to walk past again in next year's contest.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>I should point out that this is almost the most obvious thing a SKELETON could ever do. This is such a classic scenario it's basically a natural law. If you should come home one day and find a dusty skeleton on the couch, clutching your remote control in a death grip, don't touch that mess. I don't care if your "life partner" thinks it's dead. I don't care how much cobwebs it's got on it. Don't be touching that SKELETON. Maybe call the cops. They are trained for these situations.<br />
<br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Final Thoughts</span></b><br />
<br />
Now you will note that I basically died on a 50/50 coin toss, which is normally the kind of thing I would have a whinge about. But I don't want to come across as a big baby who gets upset 'cos he can't win on the first play through. These books are supposed to have replay value. Also this book is very clear from the outset that it is not trying to be fair. The setting is specifically designed to kill people, it says it right there in the name - you cannot spell "Deathtrap Dungeon" without DEATH, a dungeon, and at least one trap. It is not supposed to be a functioning city like Port Blacksand, or a natural environment / nudist community like Darkwood Forest. The artificiality of the setting in <i>Deathtrap</i> actually saves it from some of the flaws of earlier game-books because the unconnected encounters and your Bizarre Search Behaviour do actually make sense within the "Running Man"-style game show context. Suspension of disbelief becomes a lot easier because the overt rules of the environment exactly align with the unstated rules of the form.<br />
<br />
The closest parallel in terms of setting to <i>Deathtrap </i>is probably the original <i>Warlock</i>, also a dungeon full of disjointed encounters. But it exceeds that book in every aspect, mainly through filling your decisions out a little with interesting details, like which set of footprints to follow at that first T-junction. I think the presence of the other contestants in the dungeon also enlivens the book to a great degree as you can stumble across evidence of their activities (including their corpses), fight them, or in one case even briefly team up (that's the ill-fated Barbarian #2, Throm). So by book 6, the series seems to have a good head of steam on - let's see what plays out next in book 7, THE ISLAND OF THE LIZARD KING.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNrrqr33FD_NpY88uCm9DbL4mElXHSYWjIMj7d8cT9x3fCGx-i_2pw84UyJCEzTtPc1wisOFKoBvs6i7lturK3pq3UXqdv8DIoCVp4ZPyDgVlrlaGDqKAKVFIFEzU84AExN4_1pncdcrU/s1600/dont+forget+to+accept+the+barbarians+offer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNrrqr33FD_NpY88uCm9DbL4mElXHSYWjIMj7d8cT9x3fCGx-i_2pw84UyJCEzTtPc1wisOFKoBvs6i7lturK3pq3UXqdv8DIoCVp4ZPyDgVlrlaGDqKAKVFIFEzU84AExN4_1pncdcrU/s320/dont+forget+to+accept+the+barbarians+offer.jpg" title="This one's for you, Mikey!" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</tbody></table>Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17408095504472495097noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618556584663522444.post-25709801819698522422011-03-29T00:36:00.000-07:002011-03-29T00:36:43.759-07:00Happy Birthday, Deathtrap Dungeon!In the course of researching my next post I learned that today, March 29, is the anniversary of the release of <i>Deathtrap Dungeon</i> in the year nineteen hundred and eighty four. This date leapt out at me as it is also my own birthday! This fact is eerie and significant, it shall haunt me forever.<br />
<br />
The post isn't quite complete yet but I couldn't miss the occasion so I quickly sketched this BLOODBEAST, a reproduction of doodle that I drew in the margins of my notebook during a parasitology lecture in 1998.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZC3_TVZnRlNd9p8jAeZV-NGmkAFPdNWH2NhceAKYXS7AWQJQuDAkuI1z3UUX7RHjvSNsfw-KHYcayQRnkClXK1TpDM8l4G1mREUCpDxl7C_uyKrYw6mA6U4whk2NyyU8W12kiKTzLaPk/s1600/bloodbeast+doodle.jpg" title="yep, it's drawn on a Post-It" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZC3_TVZnRlNd9p8jAeZV-NGmkAFPdNWH2NhceAKYXS7AWQJQuDAkuI1z3UUX7RHjvSNsfw-KHYcayQRnkClXK1TpDM8l4G1mREUCpDxl7C_uyKrYw6mA6U4whk2NyyU8W12kiKTzLaPk/s320/bloodbeast+doodle.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Regrettably, the original is now lost to history.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Murrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17408095504472495097noreply@blogger.com1