Return to Ravnica is right around the corner. And when it comes, I will be wearing the blue and red of Izzet with pride. I have at least one Standard deck planned, and the guild is looking strong in Limited formats as well. On top of that, I’m planning on dipping my toe into Legacy soon, and the deck I’m considering is entirely red. But that’s a post for another time. Today we’re talking about Friday Night Magic.
I love FNM as a concept. Having a steady night for competition at a low cost provided you can assemble a deck is very appealing. And the Internet has made deck assembly even easier. Any deck being played by the pros can be found with a quick Google search or two, and if you have the disposable income, even the rarest of cards can be found for sale somewhere.
Now, I will admit to a bit of emotional and cultural bias when it comes to this. It’s one of those moments where I shake my walking stick at the young whipper-snappers taking up table space in my hobby. You see, I first played Magic back before there was an Internet, and all you really had to go on was sheer deckbuilding instinct, hard-won experience, and the occasional article in Scrye magazine. Does anybody else remember Scrye? Anyway, there really isn’t anything wrong with copying a deck from an online pro-winning deck list, I just get a little peeved when I keep losing to the same online pro-winning deck list because everybody and their kid seems to be playing it.
Like I said, nothing wrong with this. Play what works for you. I just prefer building my own decks.
Of course, there’s no way to test my deck ideas other than playing them. While I recently got back into Magic Online for the first time since some point during the Renaissance, I don’t have anywhere near enough cards from the Innistrad block to replicate my deck. Speaking of which…
It will still be a couple weeks before my full Izzet plan comes to fruition. I do have a somewhat viable deck I’ve been monkeying around with, and I think I need to revisit its most successful iteration. At the same time, there are some concepts from the latest version of it that I really like, but the way it was set up was simply too reactionary. Still, having responses planned is good, and going fully aggro didn’t really work for me, either. The result is what the pros like to call “midrange.”
[mtg_deck title=”WB Token Midrange”]
// Creatures
4 Doomed Traveler
3 Hero of Bladehold
3 Stonehorn Dignitary
3 Blade Splicer
2 Bloodline Keeper
2 Captain of the Watch
// Spells
4 Lingering Souls
3 Honor of the Pure
3 Go for the Throat
3 Oblivion Ring
1 Intangible Virtue
// Planeswalkers
2 Sorin, Lord of Innistrad
2 Elspeth Tirel
// Lands
11 Plains
7 Swamp
4 Isolated Chapel
2 Vault of the Archangel
// Sideboard
3 Revoke Existence
3 Celestial Purge
3 War Priest of Thune
2 Day of Judgment
2 Grafdigger’s Cage
2 Doom Blade
[/mtg_deck]
Cutting [mtg_card]Venser, the Sojourner[/mtg_card] hurts, but vigilant soldiers that slow down aggressive enemies while quick token generation holds off opposing creatures and makes it difficult for control decks to keep up may be a more viable path to victory.
I really can’t wait for Return to Ravnica. This deck need some time off, probably until Gatecrash shows up. Or I pull enough good cards to make a Junk Tokens deck…
Ravnica is one of my favorite blocks in Magic: the Gathering‘s history. It provided a flavorful plane with lots of versatile deck ideas and all sorts of interesting guilds based on pairings of colors. So when Return to Ravnica was announced at PAX East, I pretty much lost my face. With the spoilers we’ve been seeing of the expansion, which hits next month, my glee is pretty justified. But while the Azorius guild is in my primary colors of white and blue, and a good deal of my cards from the previous block set in that plane appear to be from the sadistic playground of Rakdos, I’ve always considered myself Izzet at heart. Why?
Izzet is the red and blue guild. Blue is a color of mind games and control, featuring counterspells, illusionary creatures, and using an opponent’s cards against them, while red’s fast-paced flavor leans towards direct damage, fast creatures, and big flashy finishes like dragons and laying an unstoppable smackdown with a single card. When combined in the Izzet guild, the result is the magical equivalent of super-science. Izzet mages experiment with electricity, flight, spell manipulation, and time shenanigans. Why? Because they can!
Ravnica features a great deal of inter-guild politics and scheming, from Dimir spies lurking in the shadows to Golgari agents stealing undesirables for use in their experiments. Izzet certainly has its share of secrets, and if any of the guilds were to be working on some sort of doomsday device, it’d probably be them. However, it’s hard to imagine them working from a truly malicious angle. Again, for Izzet, it’s all about pushing the boundaries of Magic, trying new things no matter how dangerous, and letting the mind dictate one’s limits.
I like this very much because I’ve never been one to straight up copy deck lists from other players. I may get ideas from other lists, and I of course am curious about things like Maverick or The Rock, but I won’t be throwing down cash to simply run a deck someone else is running, regardless of how much that deck wins. For me, a good portion of the fun in Magic is the theorycrafting. Rather than being confident that I’m going to win every match I play, I’ve gone into events wondering how well or how badly the deck will run in competition. As much as it sucks to lose, especially when most “top” players tend to run the same deck, i.e. whatever the best pro players are playing, the experimentation does have rewards in and of itself. You learn about your own playstyle, you figure out what works for you, and you decide what you don’t want to do.
I think that’s where Izzet’s appeal lies, for me. While no two-color combination necessarily locks a player into a particular style of deck, red and blue together can go heavily for control, lean entirely towards aggression, or rest anywhere in between. It lends itself towards the very experimentation that keeps me going back to my favorite local comic & gaming store every week.
And it’s run by a genius dragon. That’s pretty much the cherry on it.
If you play Magic, are you excited for Return to Ravnica? Have you chosen your guild? I’d love to hear about it!
I’ve had vampires on my mind lately. Between writing the draft of Cold Streets, seeing the season finale of True Blood (that’s another post entirely…) and chatting via Twitter with Justin Achilli, I’ve been wondering how Vampire: the Masquerade might be improved. I don’t see Vampire: the Requiem as an improvement, merely a sequel or perhaps another permutation of the game. It’s not strictly better, in my opinion, nor is it discernibly ‘worse’, it’s just different. Masquerade has been my jam for many a year, and I still remember games played within that world fondly. I do think some things could be done to make the setting more interesting, however, and allow for more character exploration and nuance without sacrificing atmosphere.
Get Rid of the Sabbat
As much as I appreciate a good villain, the Sabbat really aren’t good villains. Whenever the idea of blatant rule of humans by vampires comes up, it’s always a bad one. In a game where the notion is to explore mature subject matter such as temptation, the degradation of humanity in the face of power, and what it means to be a monster wearing human skin, an establishment of monolithic evil undercuts the purpose. You can still have dramatic tension and meaningful moments of powerful self-discovery, along with power-mongering, scheming, seduction, and betrayal, without needing to conjure a boogeyman that likes skinning babies for fun. The Sabbat are completely unnecessary, superfluous to the crux of the gameplay, and actually kind of silly when you think about it.
That said, while the antitribu can easily bite the dust I still appreciate the two major clans involved with the Sabbat. So what becomes of them?
Refine the Tzimisce
The fact that the vampires of the Tzimisce bloodline exhibit a mentality and behavioral code far different from any other creature is a lot more interesting to me than their role in the aforementioned Sabbat. When I think Tzimisce, I think classic figures such as Dracula or Elizabeth Bathory. They’re the kind of creature to hide in plain sight, to prey upon those who least suspect them, and cloak their predatory nature with designer clothing or Stepford smiles.
In short, I think the Tzimisce should live in the suburbs.
Think about it. In classic tales the vampire always has a secluded, sprawling manor house. You really don’t know there’s something weird going on until you step inside. A cunning Tzimisce, in my mind, would wear a human skin the way you or I wear slacks to a day job – as soon as you get home, you change into something more comfortable. Sure, it’s fun to dress in fetish clothing and march around to Rammstein, but it’s not very subtle or nuanced. And since subtle and nuanced is what I prefer to go for, that old viewpoint of the Tzimisce needs to go the way of the Sabbat. Instead of shaking a mailed fist at the Camarilla for foiling their plans once again, I much prefer the image of a Tzimisce living a quiet, genteel life of grabbing meals and experimentation subjects out of golf clubhouses, high-end cocktail parties, and corporate gatherings, available to impart some ancient secrets on the curious and the daring… for a price. Some may still maintain chambers of horrors under their gated communities, and others may simply prefer to read a good book by the fire after an evening meal. Don’t limit the clan to a single stereotype; establish some parameters and let the player fill in the blanks as they see fit.
They would tend to stay out of the cities because of the Tremere, which I’ll get to in a moment.
Isolate the Lasombra
Without the Sabbat, what becomes of the Lasombra? One of my absolute favorite clans, their powers over shadows and penchant for manipulation behind the scenes makes them excellent schemers and hidden threats. As much as a member of the Lasombra might crave power, it often takes the form of having influence over the supposedly powerful, rather than being in charge themselves. An ideal Lasombra, in my mind, is not the kind to bark orders at neonates like a drill sergeant. They’re more (you guessed it) subtle than that.
They’ve always been good rivals for the more traditional political leaders of the Camarilla, the Ventrue and the Toreador. My inclination is to underscore that by, in essence, putting a single Lasombra at the opposite end of a chessboard from a given city’s Prince. The Lasombra test those in power, evaluating their worthiness through challenges, manipulations and even threats. Not direct ones, of course, but threats manufactured to see what the Prince and their city are made of. If the Prince proves themselves worthy, reward them by manipulating others in the city to their benefit (and the Lasombra’s); if they don’t, engineer their replacement. This change could make the Lasombra out to be some kind of dastardly arch-villain, and some of them may lean that way, but again, the notion is to establish unique parameters and let people fill in the blanks themselves. Sure, some may go for the Moriarty or Hannibal Lecter angle, playing up the superficially antagonistic role, but others may approach the city as an experiment, a giant living Petri dish in which the behaviors, reactions, and merits of those in control are to be tested. Still others may see themselves as performing a vital service for the Prince, ensuring they remain in power. Hell, why not conspire with the Prince directly if the Lasombra in the city considers them worthy? There are possibilities here, more than might be afforded by the Sabbat.
Galvanize the Tremere
Justin posed this question: why aren’t the Tremere the good guys? If order is good for society and vampires, and chaos is bad, why is an ordered clan like the Tremere seen as a bad thing? “When you hear about the Tremere ‘searching for an artifact,’ you immediately conclude, ‘someone has to stop them!'” The Tremere are usually seen as gaming for political positioning, trying to get one up on the Ventrue or the Prince or somebody else who’s in power, and while this is traditionally vampiric behavior, with its structure and clear hierarchy, I think the Tremere are more suited for another role entirely.
Basically, I’ve always though the Tremere would make great cops.
There’s a lot of ways this could go. The Tremere in one city could operate like detectives from L.A. Confidential or Law & Order, while in another they are essentially the Gestapo. But the overarching mentality of the clan would be to protect the Kindred of the city, safeguard the innocent, and enforce the Traditions. They have powerful tools to investigate crime, pursue offenders, and bring them to justice. Instead of using these powers to get an edge on other Kindred, they could be used for a greater good, which in and of itself becomes an edge. And the dynamic within the city remains fluid. Some may respect the Tremere and what they do, while others harbor a deep hatred for authority figures and especially cops. And there are a slew of stories in which cops go bad; a corrupt Tremere would be an anomaly, but would also be a dangerous quantity. If a Lasombra gets some dirty on a Tremere, or the Giovanni name the right price, how will the Tremere’s clan mates find out and deal with them? And what about a member of the Tremere going undercover to investigate whispers of conspiracy among the other clans?
Some things to think about when it comes to vampire storytelling.
I’d like to think that most of the audience of this article is familiar with the television program Whose Line Is It Anyway? be it in its original BBC format or the American version. What makes the show so memorable, funny, and watchable are not necessarily the host, the games themselves, or even the “contestant” comedians. It’s the people we don’t see much of. In this case, that isn’t the production crew or the camera operators. It’s the audience. The audience, through participation and excitement and laughter, make the show much, much more than the sum of its apparent parts. It has all the trappings of your standard television program, but once it begins, the differences become glaringly apparent.
If you were to show a theorhetical time-traveler from the 30s a game like Uncharted, Assassin’s Creed, or Mass Effect, they may mistake them at first for films. Then, they’re handed a controller, and the protagonist they just saw cracking wise, stabbing Templars, or shooting (or snogging) aliens is suddenly obeying their commands. We don’t just watch these stories unfold; we become a part of them. The difference is in the controller we hold, the keys we press, the gestures we make. Flailing at a movie screen or television set used to have no influence on a story’s outcome. Now, however, the player is invited to join in the storytelling experience.
I am, of course, speaking of games that go into the design process with this level of interactivity in mind. Not every game is going to set out to create an immersive environment for storytelling. To be honest, not all gamers want that, either. Some just want to blow things up, like some TV viewers just wanting to watch rich people slap the spray-on tans off of one another. There’s also the fact that things like Heavy Rain exist, which many people consider a film you occasionally interact with through your controller. As in all things, there are extremes on both sides.
The fact remains that video games present creative minds with new ways to tell stories, just as films and radio and books have done for years. Even when video games were somewhat nascent and confined mostly to standing cabinets in arcades, among the flashing lights and rudimentary sounds were games like Missile Command, trying to do more than simply bilk kids for quarters. Much like the pioneers of literature, visual art, and motion pictures, early gamesmiths realized the potential of the medium and started pushing boundaries. Naturally, there have always been those who have pushed back, and video games have no shortage of those voices.
Apart from the general alarmists decrying violence and sex in video games, there are other alarmists who would have you believe that the medium would be ruined if the audience for a given game has too much influence over it. Once a game is on shelves or available for download, they say, it’s a work of art like a Monet or a Kubrick, and should be treated with the same respect. Opponents of the Retake Mass Effect movement in particular are fond of this argument. They are on recoard as saying the movement is not only a cabal of craven crybabies craving a creamy cake conclusion to their beloved franchise, but also that its success means nothing short of the degradation of the medium as a whole.
Whenever I hear this argument against changing a game’s story after publication, I think of the film Kingdom of Heaven. The film that was released to cinemas had a great deal of issues in its plot and pacing. Director Ridley Scott would later release a Director’s Cut of the film, smoothing out many of the rough patches and turning a mediocre entry in the realm of historical drama to a highly enjoyable and quite adept film on the nature of faith and religion set against the backdrop of the Crusades. There were still historical inaccuracies but they didn’t get in the way of the story. As satisfying as it is to see a work of this magnitude change for the better after its release, imagine how much more potent that satisfaction would be if there was a more direct emotional investment, say if we were assuming the role of main character Balian instead of just watching Orlando Bloom be that guy.
Part of the reason video games matter so much to their audiences is because the audience are active participants. Deus Ex: Human Revolution or Bastion would be excellent stories on their own, but the investment made by the player makes their plot points even more important, their twists even more shocking. The compulsion exists for the players to push onward, to find out what happens next, to see how the threads of character and setting weave together to underline the themes of the work. And if at the end, those threads begin to unravel, the player can become confused, or disappointed, or even angry. Unless this was intentional on the part of the designers to provide some sort of commentary on player expectations or some other greater meaning, the designers may be called upon to address the issues, to in essence fix something the players feel is broken.
This is where video games truly differentiate themselves from other media. Games have been patching for decades, as developers and players discover bugs that escaped the QA process. The advent of DLC has upped the stakes, allowing companies to monetize new material and also provide updates that there may not have been time to fully complete before launch. While monetized DLC is a subject for another discussion, in this instance the potential is for new content to be added not just to supplement the storyline, but to bring it to a more satisfactory conclusion if necessary. I will agree with some of the alarmists that if developers always caved to player demand, games would suffer for it. However, savvy developers will be able to look at their work after the fact, see the flaws being pointed out by players, and if the game overall would be improved by changing something, it will be changed. It works for game mechanics, it works for NPC behavior, it works for weapon balancing, and it can definitely work for storytelling.
Art is constantly changing. I’m sure there were those scoffed at the notion of a pointilist or a cubist painting because the artists did not subscribe to traditional ways of putting oil on canvas. When motion pictures started talking, supporters of vaudville and those seeking tight censorship over films were dealt a nasty blow over their protests. Video games, in this day and age, are also facing a time of change, as players and developers move closer together thanks to the Internet and the dissolving of barriers between the producers of this art and its audience. With players being active participants in the execution of the art, excluding them from the process and holding up the game divorced from player input as sacrosanct cripples any progress of the art form. The playing’s the thing that makes video games so singular and wonderful.
I will admit to a measure of envy when it comes to professional gamers. To make a living doing nothing but playing video games, jetting from event to event, knowing my exploits are being televised or streamed for the entertainment of others as I accumulate wins and prize money: these are all appealing thoughts, to me. However, there are several factors outside of time for practice that would take away from things like writing that keep me from pursuing this particular goal.
First of all, professional gamers have to maintain a particularly intense mind set to really achieve success. This intensity, due to the nature of the games, has to come in short, brilliant bursts, as a single session of a video game can completely change things. I’d liken it to pro gamers being like sprinters, while other professionals like writers are more marathon runners. I don’t think there’s anything necessarily wrong with this mindset, and I can’t fault someone for having passion in pursuit of a dream, but it ties into something I’ll get to in a moment, something that holds me back from making the attempt to go pro.
Secondly, you have to stop looking at the game as just a game. You have to examine it from all fronts, determine a strategy for yourself that is tough to beat, and practice it over and over again so that when the time is right, you can execute what you do best as expediently as possible. I like to theorycraft, strategize, and exercise a tactical mindset from time to time, sure – Friday Night Magic and what surrounds it are good examples – but as much as that line of thought may be up my alley, it does mean that the game will cease being something I can just pick up and play, and would instead become part of a daily routine much like commuting to work or carving out time to write.
The third, final, and most important reason I will not ever be a pro gamer is that I don’t want the game to stop being fun.
Competitiveness in the course of a match is great. Theorycrafting to try something new and different engages my mind. Doing both every single day as a means towards making money seems, to me, like it would suck all the fun out of playing the game. Gaming has always been a stress reliever for me, and it’s only become a source of stress when I’ve lost sight of the fact that a game should be fun. It’s designed to be fun. And if I’m not having fun with a game, I should be able to take a break from it, play a different game, relax. I couldn’t do that as a professional gamer.
I could be exaggerating things, and maybe it’s not as bad as it seems from the outside. Some of my favorite people on the Internet make their living commentating and streaming games and gameplay, which seems much more attainable and maintains games as fun for the most part. But I still can’t see myself “going pro” any time soon. As much as one might like the idea of playing games all day long, a job is a job, and a job isn’t always fun.
Gaming isn’t fun when you lose, either, but I’d rather not have my paycheck get tied into whether or not I’m on tilt in League of Legends.
