There’s just something about a game, or story, that doesn’t pull its punches.
I get a feeling for that something when I play FTL or the new XCOM. A ship exploding under my intrepid crew or a favorite soldier getting their face melted off by plasma fire carries a bit of an emotional wallop. I’m tempted to keep the autosave feature of XCOM turned off to heighten that feeling and maintain the game’s edge. And that edge comes from choices having consequences, and those consequences sticking.
When games present their players with choice, the experience is improved when those choices mean something later on. One of the strengths of the Mass Effect series was that who you spared and who you left to rot does come back in one way or another, even if it doesn’t play too much into the overall story. While the consequences of those choices only really mattered in a minor sense, it felt like they mattered, at least to me.
In the aforementioned games, the choices really do matter, and a wrong choice means death. It’s not telegraphed or presented in story terms, either; they’re the little incidental gaming choices we make, like having a soldier cover a civilian’s retreat, or picking one class of weapon over another, or choosing the destination for your vessel. It is nearly impossible to predict which choices will lead to total victory and which will lead to bloody doom. That is what makes these games challenging and fun to play.
Similarly, some of the best stories out there have characters who make choices that lead to either their deaths or the deaths of others. It happens to men and women in command all the time, sure, but others are simply doing what they feel is right or trying to protect someone or something they love. George RR Martin, Jim Butcher, and Chuck Wendig have all done this – a character we like makes a decision, does all they can to back that decision up, and it explodes in their face. Someone close to them gets hurt or killed, and their own life may come close to ending before the story’s done. It’s tragic, it’s harrowing, and it’s great storytelling.
Make your character’s choices matter. Make those deaths mean something.
The wait is over. The rotation has occurred. We have returned to Ravnica, and the plane-spanning cityscape has not disappointed. As much as things change, however, some thing do remain the same.
A challenge whenever a set rotates out of Magic is adapting old decks to the new Standard. Some designs are more resilient than others. Some cards in and of themselves take the wind right out of certain decks, vis a vis [mtg_card]Birthing Pod[/mtg_card], while others like [mtg_card]Delver of Secrets[/mtg_card] lose the suppor they need to really shine ([mtg_card]Ponder[/mtg_card], etc). To be frank, I’m pretty happy to see both of those decks fall by the wayside or perhaps slip in to Modern, a format to which I must sadly send my trusty [mtg_card]Hero of Bladehold[/mtg_card] – more on that tomorrow.
However, the token generation of my Scars/Innistrad Standard deck remains mostly intact. With the addition of the Populate mechanic used by the Selesnya Conclave, the possibility exists to generate even more creatures without warning. Examination of existing resources also indicated some potential that, until now, went unrealized. To that end, I built the following deck.
[mtg_deck title=”Spirit Squadron”]
// Creatures
4 Doomed Traveler
4 Drogskol Captain
2 Geist of Saint Traft
The centerpiece of the deck is, of course, [mtg_card]Geist of Saint Traft[/mtg_card]. With every attack, his guardian angel appears. She has a tendency to disappear after combat, but Instant-speed Populate cards and [mtg_card]Cackling Counterpart[/mtg_card] can copy her, and the copy sticks around. Enhanced by [mtg_card]Intangible Virtue[/mtg_card] and [mtg_card]Favorable Winds[/mtg_card], she’ll be a force to be reckoned with. The multiple Captains protect each other and any Spirit tokens I generate, as well as making them even more powerful. It’s a heavily aggro-flavored deck, but preventative spells like [mtg_card]Rootborn Defenses[/mtg_card] and [mtg_card]Detention Sphere[/mtg_card] should help stave off sweeping responses or large defenders.
As eager as I am to test this deck in a true FNM situation, my heart remains leaning towards Izzet. In the wake of the various pre-release and release events, I know I have a variety of mad science choices. As good as the cloning technology in the Spirit Squadron deck might be, I feel a strong Izzet deck will be a touch flashier in its climax. I’ve been playing around with a few designs, facilitating between control and aggressive burn, and I think what follows is the best one yet.
It’s still a work in progress, and I’m torn between [mtg_card]Dissipate[/mtg_card] and [mtg_card]Syncopate[/mtg_card] as the main deck counterspell. The Electromancers reduce the cost of each, both include the Exile clause, and while Dissipate may be a touch costlier, it does not allow my opponent the chance to ‘buy’ their way out of the counter. I’ll run with it for now and see how it works. If it looks promising, I may alternate between using this deck and Spirit Squadron in upcoming FNM events.
Standard isn’t the only format out there, though, and I’ll address the formats I’ve been neglecting since my days in high school… next time.
Spliced together the title from these options to bring you the following:
The Ringmaster grinned and bowed to the applauding audience. The Cherubs of the Trapeze were helped from the tent as the next act, Darius the Dragon-Tamer, made his way into the center ring. Balthazar watched from the side of the right-most ring, the top hat feeling more and more uncomfortable as the show went on.
“You look like you’re fit to burst.”
He smiled carefully, not showing the teeth behind his black lips. The leader of the burlesque act that happened in the largest side tent stood at his elbow, regarding him coolly with her bright orange eyes.
“As much as I relish the anticipation, it does kill me some nights.” He adjusted his cravat. “I also wonder if tonight’s the night Darius gets his face bitten off for his trouble. You know how much Inferna hates to act like an animal.”
Camilla rolled her eyes. “If she tries to drag me into another one of her existential discussions on the philosophies of the superhuman, I’ll rip my own throat out.”
“And ruin such a lovely neck? That seems excessive.”
Blood-red lips curled into a seductive smirk. “Balthazar, you do know how to make a lady feel appreciated.”
“Were a lady actually here, I’m sure she’d share your sentiment.”
He got a slight slap on the cheek, but her expression didn’t change. “Cad. I have half a mind to show you one of your organs for such churlishness.”
He did smile, this time, with his back to the mortals in the stands. “You know how that will end.”
Her grin showed her fangs, and her tongue slid against one of them. “And you do have a show to do.”
“But what a show that would be.”
She slapped him again. “You are perverse. I shall leave you to your audience. Do try not to be too distracted, darling.” With that, she turned and sauntered away, hips swaying beneath her elaborate skirts, the corset turning the silhouette of her torso to an hourglass Balthazar wanted to turn over and over again.
He turned back to the center ring, forcing his bestial instinct back into its cage. Darius was cracking his whip at Inferna, who roared and snorted flame from her nostrils and, as the Ringmaster had requested, did her best to seem ‘somewhat mechanical’. After all, what mortal would truly believe a dragon whose age outstripped empires was prancing around the ring for their amusement?
Already he could feel it. The connection the audience had to the world outside the tent was growing more and more tenuous. The crashing of the band and the roars of the dragon drowned out their little electronic distractions. The sight of Darius’ performance, scimitar in his left hand, whip of shining barbs in his right, coupled with Inferna’s glorious crimson scales and burning golden eyes, kept them from looking even at one another. Soon the time would be ripe, and it would be Balthazar’s turn to shine.
The Ringmaster looked across the tent towards him. He kept largely to himself, never seeming to take one of Camilla’s girls into his tent or indulging in Inferna’s evening-long debates around the fire. Yet it was he who chose their destinations, oversaw the tents being put up and broken down, and ensured that every night they stayed in the shadow of a city, the seats were filled. Balthazar had never dared to ask from where he’d come or how he’d found all of them, for The Ringmaster would not hesitate to throw him out. It had happened to Imhotep, and the gap in the center ring left by his prestidigitation show remained vacant until Inferna and Darius arrived.
For his part, Darius was delighting the crowd by getting Inferna on her hind legs, dancing a merry jig. She glanced to Balthazar, her chagrin plain in her eye. He touched his hat and bowed low. She knew it would all be worth it very soon. Darius shooed her from the ring moments later, and Darius took his bows before he was replaced by the Ringmaster.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, it is my deep delight to introduce you to the most understated but most vital of acts, that Spinner of Stories, the Delver of Dreams, Forger of Idle Fancies and Prince of Phantasms, our very own… Balthazar!”
The crowd applauded. Balthazar stepped into the center ring and bowed, once, to each of the four cardinal directions. Already the power was surging through him. Anticipation bubbled in his mind like a fine broth. He glanced to the performer’s entrance to see Camilla in the shadows, a bright fresh splash of red on her pale chin, smiling at him.
“It is my honor to be before you tonight, to show you the highlight of our show!” He tugged on his white gloves, immaculate as the rest of his dark suit and brocaded waistcoat. “Surely these delights you are about to witness will visit your dreams and haunt your waking days for years to come.”
He snapped his fingers, and vapors filled the air of the tent. Phantasms, illusions, ghosts of delightful pasts and imagined futures all began to flit hither and yon within the tent. The humans sat transfixed. Balthazar smiled, showing his pointed and polished teeth, removing his top hat to reveal his inch-long dark horns. His tail uncoiled from around his waist, its wedge-like tip waving lazily in the sand of the ring.
“It is almost a pity none of you will remember them.”
Another snap of his fingers, and from every nostril and mouth and eye socket and ear in the crowd, the essence of life itself drifted forth. It collected above Balthazar’s head, then slid silently to the waiting performers. Each inhaled deeply, and each was filled with invigoration.
One year of life from each human in the tent meant all of them would live on, ageless and energized, until at least their next stop.
“The Black Dreams Pageant thanks you, ladies and gentlemen.”
Burning midnight oil. Working on the weekends. Generally busting my ass. And none of it while working on Cold Streets. It’s been all about the dayjob.
On one level, I don’t mind so much. I’ve been there a year, and it remains a vital and worthwhile place to work. I have fantastic co-workers, a good and supportive boss, great pay and benefits, and work that’s up my alley as a developer. I’m problem-solving every bit as much as I’m tweaking and doing back-and-forth with a project manager or a client. It’s a pretty solid gig.
On the other hand, I know I’m behind in meeting my writing goals. I wanted to finish Cold Streets by the end of this year, and to do that I now have to really kick into a higher gear. I think part of the reason I’ve been held up is a touch of reluctance towards approaching it, knowing that as the world within the story expands, the more supernatural elements will come into play, and I don’t want them to overwhelm the tight pacing and balanced character dynamics I strove to maintain in Cold Iron.
I just need to write through it, I think. Time is running out, and there’s still a story to tell. The increase in supernatural aspects comes with a raising of the stakes. Our heroes need to meet and interact with the new villain, and peripheral players from the first story need to be fleshed out. None of it is going to write itself, and the only way to write is to write.
So tonight & Sunday, writing is most assuredly happening. Saturday is a day off for Magic. Because Return to Ravnica is stupid amounts of fun.
For the Terribleminds Epic Games of Aspects Redux, the d20 of Destiny instructed me to write Fanfiction about a Heist Gone Wrong featuring a Sea Monster.
The small, customized keyrune did its job, unlocking the door to the facility. It was an excellent forgery, one of Grigori’s finest. Natalya pocketed the keyrune and looked over her shoulder. Bringing Grigori along still seemed like a bad idea, yet there he was, right behind her, his face eager. She considered knocking him out and wiping his memory, but that was always tricky business, and House Dimir needed his forgery skills.
“Just stay close,” she hissed, and pushed the door open. The interior corridor was dark, luminescent fluids flowing through transparent tubes under floor grating the only light. Natalya was fine with this; her domain was the night itself. Grigori, for his part, obeyed and remained quiet, close at her heels.
They had only taken a few steps inside when the door slammed shut behind them. Overhead lights crackled and snapped to life. At the far end of the corridor, a small mechanical dragon perched above the doorway. Ruby eyes peered at the trespassers, and when its mouth opened, it was not fire that issued forth, but a tinny voice.
“Greetings, trespassers! My master, Benedict of Nivix, bids you welcome. As you have entered through a locked and secured gate, it is my duty to inform you that neither my master nor the Izzet League will be held responsible for any harm that comes to you should you remain. If you do not heed this warning… well, good luck!”
“Do you think he was expecting us?” Grigori was even more nervous, now.
“Don’t be a fool. We’re here to retrieve this ‘blistercoil harness’ that Benedict is building, and to remove all memory of it from his mind. It’s a straightforward job, and I won’t have you making a mess of it. So stay close and do as I say.”
The younger man nodded twice. She turned back to the corridor, studying it.
“Well? Are we going on?”
Natalya glared at him. She reached into her satchel for one of her wooden rods. Choosing one of the shorter ones, she tossed it down the corridor. About two meters from her hand, it was caught in mid-air by a wild burst of static electricity, and fell to the grating a blackened length of collapsing ashes.
“How about you help me find the trigger switch, first.”
So it was that they proceeded through the laboratory, one step at a time, disabling all manner of pitfalls and traps. Static fields, jets of flame, spatial distortions, gravity plates, time traps: Natalya defeated them all, with a little help from the forger. Finally, after several roundabout corridors, they found a vast open area, on a catwalk far above an indoor reservoir.
“This must be run-off from one of the Izzet steam vents!” Grigori peered over the railing.
“Yes. And Benedict’s main laboratory is said to be close to one of them. It must be near.”
They made their way carefully along the catwalk, testing each step. They were about halfway across when it disengaged from the walls.
Grigori screamed the whole way down. Natalya, while shocked, focused on aiming her fall way from the catwalk. Thankfully, the water was not electrified or anything else sinister, merely quite warm. Grigori came up for air.
“Ugh! I’m so sick of this dungeon! Now what do we do?”
“Be quiet.” Natalya’s fangs were out. She didn’t bother to retract them. She had more important things on her mind. “I’m thinking.”
That was when something large and scaly slid past her ankle under the water.
Grigori’s eyes went wide. “Well, think faster! I think something down here wants to eat us!”
“Stay calm. Or, at least, try.”
Moments later, a great serpent burst out of the water, glaring at the intruders with large, yellow eyes. It opened its mouth, revealing a glittering array of razor-sharp teeth, and hissed at them. When it dove back under, Natalya invoked one of her favorite spells.
An illusion of Natalya appeared across from her, mirroring her movements, while she herself disappeared. The giant creature snapped at the illusion, which exploded in a puff of dark indigo smoke. As it tried to shake the fog away, Natalya lunged for its throat. The moment her dagger touched it, however, electricity shot through her system. It catapulted her back into the water. Grigori kept her afloat while she recovered her senses.
“Ah! I see you’ve met Richie.”
The Dimir agents looked up. Benedict himself floated high above the pool. Over the blue and red clothing of his guild, he wore a metallic vest, gauntlets, and greaves, all connected by cables of various colors, featuring luminescent cylinders that crackled with power.
The blistercoil harness, Natalya observed. He’s wearing the bloody thing.
Speaking aloud, she asked “How dangerous is ‘Richie’?”
“Oh, not terribly. Not usually, anyway. Do you like him? I’m surprised the Combine doesn’t need an electric eel three meters long with defensive scales. He’s a very good watchdog, though.” The magus tossed a fish towards the pool, and Richie burst up to snatch it from the air before disappearing again with a splash.
“We’re not intimidated by him, or by you.” Natalya felt Grigori grip her arm as she spoke. Untrained fool. “We will find a way out of this trap.”
“No need. Let me give you one.” Benedict pointed at the wall. A bolt of lightning snapped from his finger and hit a crystal not far from the surface of the water. A hatch opened. “You can leave now, with my blessing, and my thanks for showing me how better to conceal my earlier traps. Or, you can remain, find your own way out of the pool, and continue to try and reach my inner lab. Of course, it only gets more dangerous from here. Your choice.”
Grigori was already swimming for the hatch. Natalya made no move to stop him. Instead, she narrowed her eyes at the floating man and his blistercoil harness.
