I probably play more games than I should. It’s my dominant hobby, and I’ve had more than my fair share of good and bad experiences with it. There are times when I recall days when I was much worse than I am now, unable to think things through properly and, worse, ungracious with fellow players. I don’t shy away from competition and I feel an experience is better when shared, but it took some time to learn how to be humble in victory and gracious in defeat.
Quite a few gamers need to learn those lessons.
A team experience is a good one to have when it comes to games. Even if it’s a free-for-all environment, the shared nature of the game hightens the enjoyment for everyone involved. It’s why I enjoy Thursday nights up at Cyborg One so much: nobody’s there to prove they have the best deck, just that they have a cool one, and there’s so much more snarking, politicking and good-natured ribbing than around a draft or standard tournament table. Monobattles in StarCraft 2 are similar. Each player produces one type of unit, just one, and try to work their choices together into some form of strategy. Whether it works or not, it’s all in good fun and everybody has a fun time with it.
I feel more team experiences online should be like that.
However, some players take their games very seriously. More often than not I log into a Team Fortress 2 server and choose a class the team needs or where I feel I can help the most, only to be told how badly I suck and how I shouldn’t bother playing. Now, I understand that trash talk on the Internet has about as much bite to it as a septuagenarian with a bowl of oatmeal, but this usually comes from the team I happen to be on. It’s disheartening to say the least.
Maybe I’m being overly sensitive about it, but in my opinion it’s better to offer a tip than to condescend. “Try not to lose your healing target” is a more helpful comment than “You suck so hard at being a Medic you made your mom cry when I banged her last night.” It could be I’m simply logging into the wrong servers, and should be more discriminatory. It could also be that I shouldn’t pay attention to the ramblings of youngsters who do nothing but play these games.
However, I’ve had experiences like last night where I will leave a bad experience in one game behind to find a much better one in a different co-op game. After taking some stick in TF2 for not being an absolute baller at every class when outnumbered, I logged into Killing Floor and found a server where I could practice being a Field Medic on a vanilla map. It was night and day. You know you’re doing something right when not only does a player say what a great time they’re having and how well the team is working together, they specifically call out that the biggest baddies should be kept away from you because you’re keeping everybody alive.
I open every StarCraft 2 ladder match with “gl hf” – Good luck, have fun. Most of the time I’m echoed or get some form of positive response. But occasionally, I’ll get a reply that would be classified as “bm” – bad manners – in the form of derision, dismissal or homophobic epithets. I find myself wondering why such antics are deemed necessary. It’s probably funny to some, and my aversion to it can probably be construed as being overly sensitive, taking the game too seriously or something along those lines.
But that’s the way I feel about it. Good manners are not that difficult. And when you put them into practice, you make the gaming experience better for everybody involved. Unless the other player is utterly committed to calling every opponent they meet a talentless fag.
Dire situations can lead to self-discovery. And sometimes soiled drawers.
Very few of us are born experts. The process of going from novice to expert can be long and arduous. At times, it can be difficult to determine where to begin. In video games, once you get past the basic questions of which button does what, the various ways to distance oneself from being a newbie can seem overwhelming. Just as writing sometimes needs to be taken one word at a time, and programming to one line of code after another, so to can gaming be broken down into more manageable aspects.
It’s a form of what’s called ‘deliberate practice’. We choose an aspect of our skill set and work it hard until it’s forged into something that will contribute to greater success. This is probably most prominent in any RPG you care to mention. If you want to find more loot, you need to practice picking locks. When I was playing World of Warcraft I found myself needing to improve on laying traps for crowd control or cooperating with a group without becoming flustered. You can be I will continue to work on those skills in Guild Wars 2, along with mastering the nuances of the classes one weapon at a time.
It’s not just limited to role-playing games, though. Even bare-bones shooters like Killing Floor lend themselves to this form of practice.
Killing Floor features a set of perks for each player. You can choose which perk you want when joining a server and between waves of specimens (‘zeds’). You can grind away at a particular perk until its maxed out, or you can get to a particular level and use that perk to earn some cash before switching to a problem area or something relatively untouched. For example, if you like being up close and personal, you can either get every tier of Berzerker or open up a long game by spending a few waves on that perk, then use the cash you earn to buy weapons for an underdeveloped perk such as Commando or Sharpshooter. The best part about Killing Floor is that some perks can be worked on even if they’re not your primary choice – healing teammates contributes to your Medic perk even if you’re running around as the Firebug.
I didn’t realize this particular form of practice had a formal name until I rekindled my interest in StarCraft 2 with the return of Day[9]’s Newbie Tuesday. He’d talked about a mental checklist before, but he also showed how focusing on a particular item on that list not only strengthens that item but also highlights other areas of weakness to be worked upon. I took this advice to heart and started playing again. I actually tried not to win and instead focus on one aspect of my play.
I won a few games anyway.
It’s as true for video games as it is for most of our endeavours: sometimes, in order to build ourselves up, we need to break ourselves down first.
I’ve been getting my Magic fix lately with both trips home to see the family and weekly jaunts up to Cyborg One in Doylestown on Thursday nights. The Commander games are free, but gas is not and so I must pass this week. However, it hasn’t stopped me from trading online and assembling a few decks. My goal has been to move away somewhat from the pre-constructed decks provided by Wizards of the Coast while still using some of the conveniences they provide. After all, a big part of the fun for me is to come up with Magic decks that don’t follow established patterns exactly (if at all) and still manage to win. Gamers up at Cyborg will refer to this deck or that deck and how close they are to completing one of their own.
Me? I like to surprise people.
Karrthus, Tyrant of Dragons
Quite a few of the Commanders out there are dragons. And many players have dragons in their decks. What better way to undermine what could be game-winning creatures in the decks of my opponents than to summon a Commander who takes control of every single dragon on the table?
The downside to playing a deck rooted in these flame-breathing flying lizards is that some of them are a bit pricey to summon. But there are ways around that, be they lurking in my hand or in the graveyard. And while Sarkhan Vol may not get as much love as some other planeswalkers, in this deck he really shines. Even when he goes nuts.
Sharuum, Queen of All Cosmos
Lots of people use Sharuum as a Commander. Artifacts are pretty neat, in my opinion, and have a variety of uses. The right combination of cards can produce an indestructible, gleaming wall of metal opponents will be hard-pressed to overcome. I’ve been a fan of artifacts for a long time and after seeing my brother-in-law use Sharuum, I pondered how to make her style of deck my own. By the time I got one in a trade, along with a few other essential artifact-related cards, I had a pretty solid idea.
“Yes, we were naughty. Completely naughty. So, so very sorry. “But just between you and us, it felt quite good.”
That’s right. The Katamyri deck is back. With Innistrad coming I was afraid this fun little tribal deck would no longer be viable. Not so! Some of the cards I’d like to acquire for the deck may be a bit hard to come by, but with adorable little myr coming out of every corner of it and folks like Venser and this fine young woman it should really turn some heads. Into goo.
Arcanis the Omnipotent Cage Fighter
“Do not concern yourself with my origin, my race, or my ancestry. Seek my record in the pits, and then make your wager.”
My sister told me that she, her husband and some friends had been putting together mono-colored Commander decks to play against one another. In the same conversation, she reminded me of how much she loathes control decks. I remembered that in my old (and reviled) Chronomancy deck, one of the wizards I played was a legend named Arcanis the Omnipotent.
Arcanis and I had the same reaction. “Challenge accepted.”
As it turns out, this deck is also effective against my father’s modified Heavenly Inferno deck. There’s been at least one occasion where he’s needed to off his own creature after I’ve taken control of it, and it won’t be the last. The crux of the Arcanis deck is to be insidious. It has win conditions of poison counters & proliferation, as well as titanic leviathans that lock down creatures who aren’t flying or islandwalkers. The bulk of the deck is all about counterspells, tapping and untapping creatures, bouncing permanents and assumingdirectcontrol. A few more wizards in addition to those present would help beef it up, as well as ways to avoid decking myself, some of which are in keeping with the leviathan theme.
Other Decks
While I’ve made some modifications to Counterpunch since that first fateful skirmish the deck still feels a bit helter-skelter to me. I’ve benched it for the time being, and am considering narrowing its focus to elves and saprolings. I gave Arcanis control of its proliferation artifacts to help with poison and level counters, among others. I’ve also toyed with the idea of transitioning my old Chronomancy deck to EDH much as I did the Katamyri, but unfortunately Jhoira would be a vulnerable commander and I wouldn’t be able to do my favorite trick of having bothAkromas in the deck. Numot, perhaps?
I also think I could make an interesting EDH deck out of my old Sliver deck.
Please note: All characters, locations and events are copyright George RR Martin and the events that take place during this game can and will deviate from series canon.
The Story So Far:Having delivered the last of the swords charged to him and Victor Luxon, Cadmon Hightower remained in Sunspear when Victor and Maester Chrysander sailed for White Harbor. While Jon Snow, Brandon Stark and others went to Moat Cailin at the behest of their lord, Eddard Stark, Cadmon returned to King’s Landing. Much like his reasons for staying at Sunspear as a guest of House Martell, his true purpose in the court of King Robert Baratheon is unknown.
“There. Would you be so kind as to deliver these to their intended recipients, young man?”
Cadmon bowed slightly as he took the messages from Grand Maester Pycelle. The sage had spent some time in the rookerie retrieving them from their ravens. The former bastard had fought down an impulse to volunteer for that duty, as well, but he didn’t know the first thing about handling birds. He was lucky that Zephyr had never bucked him off, given his track record with animals in general.
“I certainly shall, Grand Maester.”
Pycelle nodded, then murmured to himself as he hobbled back to the chair behind his desk. Cadmon bowed again as a way of excusing himself, and began winding his way through the corridors of the Red Keep. He’d taken care to avoid many of the goings-on. He was curious, to be certain, but he didn’t want to make any of his intentions or even interests obvious. Prince Doran had cautioned him, using the words of Victor Luxon of all people: “The court at King’s Landing all hide daggers in their smiles.”
It would make the first of his three deliveries very interesting indeed.
He found the recipient walking towards the main hall speaking with Janos Slynt, commander of the City Watch. When the tall, slim man saw Cadmon approaching with messages in his hand, he waved the gold cloak away. His smile was quite disarming and he inclined his head respectfully.
“Young master Hightower. I see you’re still at Pycelle’s beck and call.”
“Even a Grand Maester cannot be everywhere at once, Lord Baelish, and I understand he has much to do before visiting the Hand this morning.” Cadmon handed Littlefinger his message, keeping the other two in a belt pouch opposite his Braavosi blade. He wasn’t wearing his finest clothes, but rather the sort of thing that would have passed him off as a bravo across the Narrow Sea. It was slightly more comfortable and somewhat anonymous, even if his aunt had insisted on the white tower of his house being added to the half-cloak he wore over his left arm. He toyed with the signet ring on his left pointer finger with his right hand as Baelish read his message.
“You’re not carrying your family’s blade.”
The comment from Littlefinger was made without him looking up. So he did not see Cadmon’s smile at first.
“I thought I would leave such flagrant displays of House loyalty and intent for high court and other functions. Valyrian steel, in my opinion, is not something you unsheathe for every occasion.”
Littlefinger did look up at that. “So you are exercising discretion.”
“In a way. I’m of the opinion that the best swords remain in their scabbards. No need to draw steel on someone who’s of no actual threat to you.”
“The perception of a threat, or lack thereof, does not always depict the true nature of the threat itself, does it?”
“Of course not. But if we boldly wear our most potent means of defense at all times, wouldn’t we become predictable and, by extension, vulnerable?”
“Perhaps.”
Cadmon nodded slightly. “Do you have a reply you wish to prepare? If so, shall I collect it to be sent?”
Littlefinger rolled up his message. “No, thank you. This missive contained all I needed to know for now.”
The messenger bowed and backed away a few paces before beginning to turn.
“Thank you for your service, young Hightower.”
“And you for your time, Lord Baelish.”
Cadmon waited until he was around the corner to take a deep breath as he walked. Littlefinger struck him as a singularly dangerous man. Certainly not the most physically imposing or deadly in close quarters, but what he knew, gathered and inferred gave him an arsenal unlike that of any noble in Westeros, save perhaps one man.
Putting the encounter behind him, Cadmon made his way to another wing of the Keep, where two men in golden armor stood outside an expansive chamber door. Cadmon bowed to the knights, handing one his message.
“From Harvest Hall, Lord Commander.”
“My thanks.” Barristan Selmy unrolled the message and a smile touched the corners of his mouth. “My nephew Arstan is to be a father again. Wonderful! It always warms my heart to know things are well there.”
“I had no idea he was a father already.” The other Kingsguard rested his mailed hand on the pommel of his sword. He seemed alert and aware of his surroundings despite his attention on his Lord Commander. “You don’t speak of Harvest Hall that often.”
“Mostly because it has little to do with my duties here.” Selmy nodded respectfully to Cadmon. “Come by White Sword Tower this evening, ser, so I may deliver a reply to my family. I may be dining, but feel free to interrupt me.”
“It shall be done, Lord Commander.”
“I’m curious.” The other man of the Kingsguard fixed Cadmon with his flashing green gaze. “Our brother Meryn Trant doesn’t seem to like you very much. But he won’t say why.”
Memories of a fat, spoiled boy spitting accusations tugged at Cadmon’s mind. He rubbed his nose, which the boy had broken after being disarmed. Shortened fingers had set it right, but as for the other boy’s mouth and family…
“I’m sure he has his reasons.”
“Maybe if you sparred with him he’d work out his frustrations.” Jaime Lannister smiled. “I’m sure I can arrange that.”
“We have better things to do than indulge Meryn’s cruelty. His reasons for disliking others are his own.”
“It was just a suggestion, Barristan. No need to be prickly.”
“While I appreciate the offer,” Cadmon said as he regained his composure, “I have duties and practice to attend to that prevent me from sparring as much as I’d like. For example, this last message I must deliver.”
He bowed to the sworn brothers and walked away. He would have liked to talk with Ser Barristan more, as the aging knight seemed both forthright and keen in mind as well as blade, but not with the Kingslayer there. He may have been acknowledged as Baelor Hightower’s son thanks to the words of Jaime’s father, but the Kingslayer’s desire to watch him fight unnerved him. Be it to catalogue weaknesses he could exploit or some sort of perverse pleasure, Cadmon didn’t know, nor was he willing to find out.
The final message was for the Hand of the King. Cadmon made he way towards that tower quickly, but slowed at the sight of who was emerging. The diminutive man dressed in gold and crimson broke into a grin at the sight of him.
“Ah! The former bastard, now Pycelle’s errand boy. What comes?”
Cadmon couldn’t help but smile in return. Tyrion’s japes never really bothered him. Better than than Victor’s usual terms of endearment, about as pleasant as a mailed fist up the side of the head.
“I have a message for the Hand from Winterfell.”
“Oh, do you now? You may want to delay its delivery. The Hand, you see, is currently conversing with my sweet sister. She tends to let her eyes wander. Over messages, of course. She’s very curious.”
“I’ve no doubt.” The Queen’s eyes had wandered over Cadmon the day they’d delivered the blades of House Baratheon to the king. Cadmon still wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. “I wouldn’t want to disturb them.”
“No, I think our beloved Hand is disturbed enough as it is. His health seems to be fading rapidly, I’m sorry to say.” Tyrion was carrying a goblet, and he took a long drink from it as he studied the tall young man in front of him. “Was that the only missive our resident wizened old sage had you carry around?”
“There were a few that required quick delivery.”
“Mm-hmm. And to whom were they addressed?”
“Your sister isn’t the only curious one, I see.”
Tyrion spread his arms. “You’ve caught me! Please, do bear me away to the Black Cells posthaste. Such treachery must be dealt with swiftly. Besides, Ser Ilyn hasn’t had a head to lop off in some time. He’s probably getting bored.”
“Well, I was going to entrust the message to you for delivery as I have somewhere else to be, but seeing as you’re a traitor and all, I suppose that’d be unwise.” Grinning, Cadmon gestured down the corridor behind him with a sweep of his half-cape. “Let’s go find Ser Ilyn, then!”
“Now, now, no need to be hasty.” Tyrion waved away the notion. “Let’s say I do deliver this message to the Hand, without my sweet sister indulging her curiosity for its sordid contents. Do you think that would save me from the block?”
“Maybe, provided you don’t read it yourself.”
Tyrion gave a little smile. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of reading another man’s message. That’d be unforgiveably rude.”
“We have an understanding, then.” Cadmon handed the Imp the message. “One bastard with a noble name to another.”
“Here I thought you would have forgotten our conversation! We did drink quite a bit of wine, after all.”
“‘All dwarfs are bastards in the eyes of their fathers’ is far too poignant a sentiment to forget, wine or no.” Cadmon paused, then winked. “Even if it sounded a bit rehearsed.”
“At least this time, I had an appreciative audience!” Tyrion took another drink of wine. “Was it you I heard playing the harp last night?”
“It was! I hadn’t played much since leaving the Free Cities, as Goddard Luxon rarely entertains minstrels, and Victor less so. I wouldn’t mind having a more portable instrument, but I’m already burdened with these ravishing good looks, and now the expectation of nobility and knighthood!”
“My heart breaks for you.” Tyrion’s smile belied his dry tone.
“Tell you what, my impish friend. I’ll play for you tonight after dinner. We can talk, maybe play cyvasse.”
“And drink!”
“I thought that went without saying.”
Tyrion extended his hand, and Cadmon took it. “We do indeed have an understanding. On your way, bastard.”
He left the Red Keep and wound his way through the crowded streets of King’s Landing. He took a circuitous route, doubling back on his tracks at times, stopping to look for shadows at others. Finally, he arrived at the smithy of Tobho Mott, checking on the progress of the project for which he’d employed the master of Valyrian steel. It had taken all of the wealth Cadmon had accumulated since returning to Westeros to ensure not only the quality of work, but also the smith’s discretion. Mott assured the young Hightower it would be another two days until the Hightower sword named Veracity was modified in the way Cadmon had requested. Cadmon told the Qohorik armorer to take his time.
In the meantime, I’ll make myself indispensable. Not necessarily to the king, but to the real power behind the Iron Throne. He shrugged as he wound back down from Street of Streel, passing the Great Sept of Baelor. That’ll pay my way out of this city and on to… well, wherever I go next.
In short order he made his way to the docks. The cog Pillowmaiden’s Sigh was in the process of being moored as he approached. Among the dour seamen and ware-bearing merchants that disembarked was a rotund man dressed in finery. Cadmon made his way to the end of the gangplank to meet him.
“Why, Cadmon Hightower! Don’t tell me the King is so concerned for my safety that he sent an escort!”
“Indeed not, Lord Varys. In fact, I doubt the King has marked your absence at all.”
Varys tittered. “Oh, he’s so raucous, our sovereign. One must be amazed that he can rule from within his cups as he does.”
“Even so, I do wish to return you to the Red Keep directly, as Grand Maester Pycelle is keenly interested in the state of affairs overseas.”
They began walking and Varys put on a thoughtful expression. “I wonder what specifically the Grand Maester wishes to know about the Free Cities and the inhabitants within them.”
Cadmon looked at the eunuch, not quite smiling. “I’m certain I have no idea, Lord Varys.”
The spymaster clasped his hands behind his back as they walked together. “And if you did, you would not say so to me in any sort of public forum, even a street such as this?”
“Certainly not.”
“I didn’t think so.” Varys was also not quite smiling. “Still, if you wished to remain my escort for a time, to ensure I don’t scurry off, you may find my report somewhat illuminating.”
Cadmon Hightower looked up at the Red Keep as they approached it once more. “Of that, I have no doubt.”
Practical armour and sweet hats are in this season throughout the Imperium.
I’ve gone through a few periods in my life where I’ve had more disposable income than I’ve known what to do with. Actually, I take that back, I knew EXACTLY what to do with it: buy more games! I used to play Warhammer 40,000 on actual tabletops and I was into Magic: the Gathering way back in high school. Since then I’ve lost most of my old cards and miniatures, the former because I was a blinking idiot who just gave away tons of valuable cards and the latter because minis can sell well. Nowadays my primary interest in Magic is the Commander casual variant, mostly because I no longer have those piles of cash, and as for 40k, I’ve discovered that I’ve enjoyed the lore and setting more than the painting and dice-rolling.
Being a storyteller, I’m more interested in the motivations and personalities of the figures that march across tabletops around the world than I am in their ballistic skill and toughness. It’s not just because character sheets, pencils and a bag of Doritos for a game of Dark Heresy is cheaper than a 1,000 point army. There are other reasons, grounded more in the setting itself.
The Far Future is Baroque
So many things about the galaxy 40,000 years in the future is so ostentatious I can’t help but smile. Just look at the cover art for any of the Space Marine army books. There’s ornate armor with ridiculous shoulder pads, guns the size of compact cars and gilded skulls everywhere. It’s the sort of baroque sense of style that would make the architects of the Vatican blush.
For some reason, the design mentality of the fashions and buildings of the 41st century is rooted deeply in the 17th or so. These structures, constructs and trappings have the feeling of a people desperately trying to impose some order and permanence to a galaxy in constant turmoil. “If we weigh these things down with heavy gold accents, seals of the Imperium and grim iconography, they won’t just get swallowed up by the Warp or a tide of Orks or some other xenos invasion!” Whatever the motivation behind these design choices, it makes the worlds of the Imperium stand out, at least in my mind.
Corruption Done Right
There’s a joke going around that every Blizzard plot is centered around corruption. Dragon X becomes corrupted and it’s down to Spastic Group of Players Y or Knaak Author Avatar Z to sort it out. Swap “dragon” with “Queen of Blades” and you have StarCraft. Swap “Queen of Blades” with “everybody ever” and presto, a Diablo plot. Like more than a few things, Blizzard has been cribbing notes from Games Workshop on this, except that Games Workshop does it right.
Instead of just “whoa, big bad voodoo whatsis over there is corrupt, let’s go destroy/try to redeem it!”, any 40k story worth its bolter ammunition steeps itself in paranoia and doubt. It’s not just that someone or something has become corrupted by Chaos or psyker-induced madness or a heretical idea like unity of races or freedom of thought or the Eldar being pretty. You, yes you, may become corrupted in the course of the narrative, especially if you’re in a tabletop game. Like proper Lovecraftian/psychological horror, the truly terrifying things aren’t just what you can smack with a chainsword, they’re what coil around inside of you, the fear and the doubt and the ambition and the rage. Things like this form the basis of good drama, character development and tension, and while a lot of Blizzard’s stories gloss over this sort of thing, fiction and tabletoping in 40k thrusts you right into it.
Yes, The Grimdark
You’ve probably heard the Warhammer 40k tagline: “In the grim darkness of the far future, there is only war.” In addition to baroque trappings and ever-present dangers of becoming something twisted and despicable, you have obscenely high death counts any time armed engagements happen, horrifyingly devastating weapons, a massive empire that suspects everybody and everything of treason or heresy or both, and cybernetic augmentations that are the exact opposite of Deus Ex’s “awesome and visually appealing” ones. In the new game, that is; everybody looks pretty bad in the original Deus Ex.
All of this adds up to an undeniably oppressive atmosphere, the sort of dour doom and gloom present in many post-apocalyptic works. However, in the case of 40k, the galaxy-sweeping catastrophe either hasn’t happened yet or is in fact in the process of happening. It gives the characters in the story something to struggle against other than the villain of the week or a pile of antagonist-shaped statistics. And 40k never goes the World of Darkness route by giving the inevitable end a face and a name. It could come out of the Eye of Terror or in the form of a titanic wave of Tyranids, sure; but it could also happen due to the actions of our protagonists, people with sympathize and root for. Some might decry the apparent absurdity of the ever-present ‘grimdark’ of the universe in question, but to me there’s a great amount of depth and nuance to be had if you’re willing to work for it.
I may never paint another miniature or buy another army book for Warhammer 40,000 again. But I still find its setting and themes oddly compelling. Also, I’m more than willing to start a Dark Heresy campaign in and around Philadelphia if I can find players.
