Her Majesty's Irregulars

So it seems I've begun to post again. Shall I recount all the thoughts, feelings, and world views that resulted in my abandoning this blog over a year ago? And then shall I follow it up with an explanatory analysis of my motivations for this attempt at beginning again? Or shall I simply continue on as as though there was no interruption, like a coma patient who finishes a sentence he started five years ago right before he lost consciousness?

I agree. Reality is boring, mystery is fun.This is a boring mystery, so I should at least break even.

To business:

Some time ago I was going to try running a Dungeons and Dragons campaign where all the magic in the world had faded away, leaving only remnants of the spells and monsters that had once shaped the land. These had retreated to forgotten corners of the globe, only occasionally breaking out to threaten, raid, and kill. The PC's would be working for a secret agency of the government created to combat these creatures, at least at the start, and any demi-human PC's would be some of the last of their kind recruited into service to help defend the clueless populace from supernatural evil. Essentially, I wanted an Elizabethan Hellboy vibe.

The Oath of Her Majesty's Irregulars:

We are the secret invisible shield
That ne'er will buckle, splinter nor yield
We strike from the shadows 'gainst all that is feared
The Eldridge, Unholy, and Unspeakably Weird

My thoughts on how they would hide and disguise themselves (intended for 4th Edition, which may not have been the best choice for this sort of chicanery):

Disguises: Every member of the HMI is trained in the deceptive arts, so all PC’s get Bluff as a bonus skill. Thus, disguises will always hold up to a cursory glance; the PC’s need only make a bluff check if they’re interacting with someone or they’ve drawn attention to themselves in some way. Checks can be made against passive insight, or a DC of the DM’s discretion (+2 bonus to check for half humans). Also left up to the DM’s discretion is whether a particular disguise would work, eg. a hat covering the ears will work fine for an elf, but not so much for a dragonborn.  Circumstances will also grant bonuses and penalties, such as whether the lighting is good or bad, the PC is drunk, etc. Success means the target buys the disguise, and the PC may interact with them normally. Failure (or not being in disguise) against any random NPC’s that aren’t already involved means we roll on the table:

1.    Target is shocked, and is unsure of how to proceed. You may make an Intimidate attack vs. Will as a free action (-2 for half humans). Hit: If Non-com or bloodied, will retreat, screaming hysterically. If combatant, grants combat advantage (save ends). Miss, or no check made: Will stand up to you, and call for help. May attack, if not already fighting. 
2.    Shrugs it off, thinks he is seeing things. May swear off drink for a while.
3.    Thinks you’re deformed human, and is put off by it. -2 to Cha. Based checks.
4.    Thinks you’re a deformed human, and is moved to pity. Will try to do something nice for you.
5.    Fear leads to anger; immediately attacks you.
6.    Recognizes you for what you are, and is a fan of the old tales; very happy to discover they are true. Will keep the secret quiet, but will otherwise act “fan boy”, following you around, asking questions, and trying to be your friend.
7.    Recognizes you for what you are, and is a conspiracy theorist. 50% chance he thinks you work for the government, 50% chance he thinks you work against the government. Either way, will tell everyone he knows about you. Only 5% chance they believe him. May try to follow you.
8.    Assumes you’re in costume. May direct you to the nearest theatre, or advise you of the correct date of Corvusnox.
9.    Wasn’t really paying attention, just caught a glimpse; you may make another Bluff check, but at -2.
10.    Just plain scared. Non-com is mute and immobilized with fear, combatant grants combat advantage against only you for rest of encounter.
11.    Is familiar with all things supernatural, and will take you in stride. May have non-human friends. If shop keep, may secretly trade in magic items.
12.    Turns out is also non-human, and will reveal it to you. Roll on “non-human” table. If a shop keep, may trade in magic items.
13.    Was on edge of madness, and has been pushed over by you. Roll on insanities.
14.    Terrified. Turns into a wailing, gibbering mess. Surrenders immediately.
15.    Enemy spy. Know exactly who you are, and who you work for. Will pretend he doesn’t notice or will feign fear (makes a bluff check against your insight) but will report you activities to his superiors at earliest convenience.
16.    Doesn’t know what you are, but is strangely attracted to it. Will hit on you. +2 to Cha. based checks.
17.    Not sure what’s happening but knows he doesn’t like it. Will keep quiet now, but will try to attack you when you’re back is turned. May try to get reinforcements.
18.    Sees what you are, claims also to be of that race, but isn’t.
19.    Immediately bolts.
20.    Devoutly religious, and assumes you are some sort of devil. Will attempt to banish you with chants, prayers, holy water, etc.


When I finally ran my first session, it ended up being a variation of the Fool's Grove Delve, heavily amended to suit my own tastes. Feedback to that one was mixed, but I still wouldn't mind trying out Her Majesty's Irregulars one day.

I think it would likely work better as an AD and D campaign, though.

The Magician

The Magician cleared his throat gently.

 "And now," he announced," for my final…"

He trailed off as he squinted through the spotlight and tried to see into the nighted gallery. The auditorium had been sparsely populated when he had begun his act, but now he could see only a single shabbily dressed man snoring softly in the second row, and a shadow near the back that was either a very fat man rolling about on the floor or a couple making love.

"My…my final…"   

He stepped backward as he straightened himself, and his foot nudged a small pile of scrap metal that had once been three steel hoops that had twisted, bent, and tangled, but stubbornly refused to separate. He felt a tap on his right shoulder, and glanced over at a paramedic trying to get his attention.

"We're taking her to get stitches," he said, jerking his thumb back towards the Magician's Assistant. She was being helped off the stage by the other paramedic, having suffered a nasty saw-cut to her ribs earlier in the evening. "You might want to put those out," he added, waving his hand at the half-dozen smoldering dove corpses scattered about the stage that were currently filling the air with the stench of burnt feathers and cooked fowl. The Magician turned back to the spotlight.

"Um. And now…"

He was interrupted by the sound of what was undoubtedly someone's phone going off, a tinny rendition of a decade old pop tune. "Hit me baby…" it was singing. No one was turning it off, and the person on the other end wasn't giving up. "Hit me baby…"

The show must go on. He had been told it his whole life. His whole performance career anyway, and wasn't it really the same thing? The show must go on. He said it to himself every night. Except this time, at that moment, he made the supremely dangerous mistake of asking himself why.

He felt his scalp grow warm as the rabbit in his hat relieved itself.

"Fuck this." He palmed a miniature smoke bomb and threw it to the ground. A thin tendril of smoke struggled out of it and quickly dissipated. The trap door opened under the Magician's feet, and he dropped away out of the spotlight into the darkness beneath the floor boards. 

He banged his chin pretty badly on the edge of the hole on the way down.

Land of the Gamma Goths

Day's getting darker
Night's closing in
I'm getting older
Too old to sin
Too old for loving
Too old for fun
Try not to talk
Or upset anyone

Day's getting darker
Sky's turning black
Fears in the front seat
Regrets in the back
Can't take the time and
I can't take the chance
I'll go out to drink
But I ain't gonna dance

Day's getting darker
Can't see ahead
Sick of the road and
I'm aching for bed
One by one I watched
My loves all leave
They never gave a damn
So I ain't gonna grieve

Day's getting darker
Night's closing in
I'm getting older
Too old to sin
Too old for loving
Too old for fun
Try not to talk
Or upset anyone

All the voices in my head

So I have these voices in my head. I know I'm not alone; just about every artist I know has 'em. Hell, most people have them, I but I notice them most with the art thing. Sometimes I even listen to them, and much of the time it turns out to be a good thing I did. Some of the voices are former instructors, some are former employers, and some are former co-workers. Some of them are people I've never met. For example, when I'm animating I hear the voices of people like Preston Blair, Richard Williams, Frank Thomas and Ollie Johnston. All these people clamor in my head and tell me where I'm going wrong. (They are always strangely silent about me ever being right.) They're doing their best to help, I know, even when they don't agree with one another. They usually ARE a help, when I can understand them and have the ability to do what they're telling me.

Lately, however, I've found myself not listening as much. Found myself telling them to sit down and shut the hell up, in fact. Ignoring them when they say I'm making things overly complex, that the composition is off balance, that a pose is goofy, stiff, or makes for a bad silhouette. Lately I've been deciding what I want to draw, and to hell with 'em if it's cliche or pastiche or fichu or any one of a dozen other foreign words.

Maybe this means my drawings are getting worse, that my skills are retrograding. I'm certainly not breaking any new ground or anything. Tell you what though: I'm having more fun. I remember a time when I would draw for hours at a time for the sheer hell of it, not as an assignment or as an exercise or practice, but for the joy of scratching a mark onto the surface of something. I kept a lot of my old drawings, and when I look back at them now they're pretty terrible. Derivative 90's comic book stuff  for the most part, cringe-worthy things that the voices in my head snort at and will certainly never be posted here.

Man, did I have a good time drawing them though. And I won't find the fun again listening to the cranky buggers in my skull.

Redheads and Role Playing Games. It's probably not what you're thinking.

Hey, remember that Dungeons and Dragons cartoon that aired during the previous century? It looked kinda like this:



Well, it seemed cool when I was eight. That's a helluva DM, making Tiamat their first encounter. I watched this show a lot, and I couldn't now tell you the plot of a single episode. Be that as it may, I decided to draw Sheila the Thief...



...and ended up with something that looked almost ,but not entirely, unlike Sheila the Thief. One's drawings do get away from one, from time to time.

Why Sheila? Just one of the cartoon redheads I had a crush on when I was a lad, along with Daphne, Josie, Scarlett and the rest. I would add Pebbles to the list, but when I do that most people say "dude, gross", and the I have to say "No, man, Pebbles when she looked like THIS", and then they say "Well still, you're thirty-seven, why are you crushing on cartoons anyway? And what's with the whistle?", and then I have to say, "I wasn't thirty-seven THEN, you fool", and it all ends up a lot more trouble than it's worth.

********WARNING DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS TALK STARTS HERE********

Speaking of Dungeons and Dragons (here we go!), I've started playing with some people in an Old School, Basic, Dwarf-is-a-class version of the game, and I think I finally get why so many people flew off the handle when 4th Ed. came out. Now I like 4th, it's my preferred version, but after seeing what the game used to be like, I can see why aficionados would feel that it was an insult of all they had known and loved. To me it seems kind of like American Football: a fine game, enjoyable, exciting and strategic. But don't take it to Europe and try to replace their version of football (We call it "soccer". And corn is "maize") with it, because that would be a good way to get a broken beer bottle in your teeth.

I've also been playing a bit of World of Warcraft (settle down people, just a trial account) and I can sure see why some people feel that 4th was ripping off that game. At least, on the surface. When you get down to it, most of the similarities between the two are only skin deep, and the joy of a living breathing DM is what makes all the difference. Plus in the long run, WOW (and all video game RPG's) had it's genesis in just being a digital version of table top RPG's, so you you could say that by DND ripping off WOW which ripped off DND, that 4th Ed is simply an inbred bastard child. That nobody loves. Hmm, kinda went against my point there.

Still awake? If so, then dig this: Yes, I would agree that 4th is more like a video game than previous versions of DND, simply because video games tend to have a structure and a set of rules that can be followed logically. 4th Ed seems to strive to do this too, with varying degrees of success. Previous versions of DND are more like the games we played in the school yard, with crazy rules that make very little coherent sense and that change on the fly. Don't get me wrong, that's a fun game to play too; and if that's the major thing you found fun about DND, then yes, 4th was bound to disappoint.

That was a pretty long digression for a 5 year old argument that hardly anyone cared about even when it was fresh. I hear they're working on 5th now, and hopefully that means I'll be able to get some 4th stuff on the cheap pretty soon.

********WARNING DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS TALK ENDS HERE********

That Batgirl was a looker, too.

mbmmble...just gimme 5 more minutes...

Yeah yeah, alright I'm awake, I'm awake....


Look, I'm perfectly aware it's a girl in a tight outfit riding a rocket. I just don't get why the arched eyebrow.

You think the rocket represents what?

Sorry. Not following you.

It's 10 PM on the last day of the month anyway. It's this old sketch outta the junk file or nothing.

Yes, I think I will run it, thankyouverymuch.

Terror, Thy Name is Porcupine

Every so often, we're reminded that we're just borrowing this land from creatures that were here long before any of us. By which I meant the banks, of course. Seriously, I didn't invite this giant rodent into my yard. It's a rodent, right?




Aaawww, it looks like you found a friend, Dash you lovable scamp! I hope you enjoy the searing pain of dozens of barbed quills in your muzzle and forelimbs!




His next victim could be YOU!

Is There a Thing in Physics

Is there a thing in physics where the unidirectional nature of time is the consequence of specific forces acting on those objects and energies that exist in time? That is, gravity and inertia affect objects in three dimensions, so is our movement in the fourth defined by a similar temporal force? Is that why time gets all screwy at relativistic speeds, because our velocity is in someway interacting with those forces?

Do you ever ask yourself a question and consider looking up the answer, only to realize that you're not going to understand the answer anyway so you eat a cheese sandwich instead?

Plato's Crazy, I can't, I just....

So, yeah, I barely touch this thing anymore huh? Barely post, and when I do it's scraps torn from notebooks. Still, been keeping up one post a month, even if it's a nonsensical cheesecake of...Jane Jetson in an Emma Frost outfit, I guess. Hell, I was gonna just let it slide this month, or maybe give up the ghost entirely, but old habits.

Gawd, I don't even...look here's a thing, just don't tell anyone I was here, OK?



Oh and Plato's "Ideal Society"? It sucks. I couldn't live there. Yeah yeah, Father of Western philosophy, ancient Greece was a different time, I get it, but man it scares the crap outta me. I'm only halfway through, maybe he turns it around at the end, "J K, guys, eugenics isn't really that cool and stop leaving out babies to die of exposure and telling 'noble lies' about it," but I doubt it. I've read Orwell, it all turns out terribly for everyone.

How Do We Do It?

Volume.


















LARRY:
So I found this piece of paper that I'd forgotten about, and I'd written this limerick on it that's pretty much meaningless except that it's all rhyming homophones:

There was a girl with a plait of great weight
So she scarce could keep a straight gait
She ne'er could wait
But race through her gate
She'd a lot on her plate, in that strait

Kinda clever, huh?

MARY:
I don't like limericks.