Kingdom Death

Legacy games are all the rage in the board game world at the moment. My Tuesday group has already completed Seafall and Gloomhave and are 7/12 through Charterstone. I even have my own that I worked on over Christmas that I hope to devote more time to if work wasn't trying to kill me (believe those articles about how the 40-hour week is dead). I've had the wonderful opportunity to sit in on a friend's campaign of Kingdom Death a couple times, and I have to say it surpasses all the other legacy games I've played in story and atmosphere. Seafall and Gloomhaven had their strong points, but both suffered from weak endings ("Wait, what?" and "That's it?" respectively). And granted, perhaps I will be disappointed by Kingdom Death's ending, if I should ever experience it, but for now, I'm reveling in the creative doors it's opened in my mind. So, despite being sick for the bajillionth time this year, I sat down for a quick wind sprint to excise the opening that has been playing in my head since Friday when my character was killed during the end-of-game reward phase. That's right, I was killed by post-game box text, and it was glorious.

So, with the self-conscious caveat that I've been writing academic papers for the past three years, here is a small wind sprint on Kingdom Death.

CHAPTER 1

The first thing you notice isn’t the light, the cold white glow in the distance that illuminates a black lamppost that would otherwise be lost in the absolute darkness that surrounds you. The first thing you notice is the quiet. There is no breeze, no air, no sound of birds or bugs; the world holds its breath endlessly. The silence lasts for so long that the world around you feels dead, and you wonder if you’re dead, too.

Turning about brings no comfort. Away from the lamppost stretches an endless night without stars to twinkle or moons to glow. In every direction there is absence, in every direction but one. You head to the lamppost, the single white beacon calling to you like a fishing lure. You take comfort in the crunch of your footsteps. Dry grass, brittle like hay, pokes your bare feet. You accelerate your step, relishing the painful stab of each sheath. It says you are alive, and you beat that message to the world around you for all to hear.

If you were not alone.

The (Very) Basics of Roller Derby

As I've been mentioning for the last year or so, I'm an official with New Hampshire Roller Derby. Despite it being the fastest growing sport in the country (and possibly the world), it's still an amateur sport that most people don't know has made a resurgence (or if they do, they presume it's much like the derby of the '70s). Cue iconic picture:

Modern roller derby started as an alternative sport (think elbows and punk rock, a la Whip It) but has evolved to genuine, amateur status (amateur meaning professional without getting paid). The game has dedicated officials, a lengthy set of rules, and is a sport no matter how many sexist newspaper writers fixate on the fact that it's predominantly played by women. (And Jesus do they fixate on that. Look, they have boobs, it can't be a sport! Fuck off, skeezer.)

So here's the short of it. Each team is comprised of 14 skaters. The game (or more lovingly, the bout) is played in two halves of thirty minutes. Each half is segmented into "jams". Each team fields four blockers and one jammer per jam. The jammer wears a star on her helmet to signify that she is the point scorer. (In effect, she is the ball or the puck, but she's human and she's only wearing pads on her knees, elbows, and wrists.) The blockers comprise "the pack". At the jam starting whistle, the jammers must work their way through the pack to be eligible to score. Once they've finished this initial pass, each successive time they pass blockers, they score points (but no more than one point per blocker per lap). They can even score a point by lapping the opposing jammer if she is slow or stuck in the pack.

Where it can get difficult for spectators is that the pack is this nebulous assortment of players from both teams. They're simultaneously playing offense and defense. Sometimes this means stopping and forming odd-shaped walls. Sometimes it means sprinting like crazy. There are lots of hits (blocks) with shoulders, hips, and asses, but no clotheslines or elbows like you see on TV or in the movies (those will earn you a penalty or even get you expelled). There are still fishnets and the occasional tutu, but not as much as you saw five years ago. Now it's mostly jerseys and compression shorts. Yeah you get pink hair, piercings, and tattoos, but just because they're a little rough and tumble doesn't make them less athletic.

People like to fixate on the names (mine is Charles Dickins, in case you were curious). It's a constant conversation within the community. A lot of people are starting to give up derby names in an effort to gain respect and to be taken seriously. Others don't want to give up their names and there are myriad reasons for it. Some use it as a shield, something to allow them to have the confidence they're not allowed to have in their real lives (because they have boobs and we don't want boobs to be confident); others use it to hide from work because no one wants their kindergarten teacher showing up with a black eye after taking a stray elbow to the face); and still others keep theirs because it was part of the fun and whimsy that drew them to the sport to begin with. Again, if you think that real sports don't use pseudonyms, I direct you to Pistol Pete Maravich, Magic Johnson, his Airness, and King James and politely ask you to shut the fuck up.

Last thing in this brief lesson. There is a second helmet cover on the track. One of the blockers may be designated as a pivot. The pivot is a blocker with special privileges. The jammer may, if she chooses, remove her star helmet cover and pass it to the pivot. This causes the pivot to become the jammer. She may do this because of injury, equipment malfunction, or getting stuck in the pack. For first timers, it can add a level of "what the fuck is going on" to an already chaotic pack, but once you've seen a few bouts, the strategy starts to become more clear.

So, with that growth and maturity of the sport, the iconic picture of the '70s has now become more like this:

Getting Out There

I tend to talk myself out of activities that don't involve people I already know. It's a failing of my upbringing. There's a really cool organization around here called New Hampshire Sports and Social Club. I saw them out a few years ago during the "social" aspect and looked into it. Basically, you play a fun sport and then you go out to drinks with your teammates. It's a pretty cool idea and a great way to meet new people.

Except they're NEW people! New people are dangerous unless the internet is between you. So I talked myself out of it. I mentioned my interest to my friends, but we're busy adults and things never worked out. Until one day I saw a call on Twitter. We need refs for kickball.

Kickball?

Kickball!

I've reffed before (intramural basketball). I've played kickball before. I could ref kickball without the risk of being put on a team of weirdos and creeps. I wouldn't have to be rude by showing up to play and then leaving as soon as the game was over. I would be EXPECTED to leave after the game was over, A) to maintain a sense of impartiality; and B) because someone would most likely hate a call I made. I could do this!

And I did! And for the most part, it was great. I was a little caught off guard how competitive people can be. IT'S KICKBALL! But competitive they were. I did manage to go the entire season without ejecting anyone, but I came close a couple times.

Recently they started a Tuesday-night league closer to my home. They needed more players and said, hey, you've earned the right to play for free. Why don't you play. So I am. And none of my teammates are creeps or weirdos. One is a bit of a perv (meh), one is a bit awkward (meh), and one is scared of the ball (so you play kickball?), but otherwise they're all good peoples.

It's been an awesome experience. I get a little sun, a little fun, a little exercise. I kick a ball. I run around bases. I taunt the other team. I taunt my team. It's pretty refreshing.

It's good to do things other than writing.

Fuckis

When I was in college, everyone I knew had seen Mallrats. If I said "fuckis," I didn't have to explain what that meant. Unfortunately, the fortune teller scene from Mallrats isn't on YouTube so if you haven't seen the movie, I can't explain it to you.

Lately, I've needed to improve my fuckis. I'm querying a manuscript, and usually I'll take a little bit of time off before starting something new. (It used to be tow weeks, then one, then at least a couple days.) But, because I held off on the final draft before querying, I finished a first draft of another book. So I've been revising that one to get it in shape for sending to beta readers. There are some things getting in the way of that.

I got a new CPAP machine, and I don't think it's as effective as my old one. I'm tired more often, although it's not as bad as when I first got it.

I finished my December "busy schedule" months late (as content was turned over late, not because I'm not awesome) and unfortunately that rolled right into my summer busy season. So I'm kind of tired because there was no down time. There are also big changes going on at work, which means a lot of people making a lot of mistakes, and I have to run around with my hands in the air going, "No, no that's not right! Stop that! Stop that this instant!"

I downloaded "Towers n Trolls" to my phone. I've had bad luck with tower defense games before. None of them really held my interest. This one, despite it's pay-to-play structure after level 2, has been scratching that itch. Usually I play it until the conductor sees my pass and then I bust out the computer. But today, I played it all the way into Boston (and on the subway and during lunch). I've beaten the game already, but now I'm beating on BRUTAL! and for some reason, I'm making that effort. I don't usually need to make that effort, but this time around I am. *shrug*

It's also leading to a lot of introspection. I've mentioned that I prefer intrigue to standard adventure, but I keep writing adventure instead of intrigue. It feels like I used up all my intrigue juice writing D&D adventures, and I'm just waiting for it to rejuvenate. I gotta take a break from adventure, though. These stories are starting to feel too similar.

How's your work going? Are you writing? Because you said you were going to put more effort into writing, so you should be doing that. Chop chop, and stuff.