Really pleased with the current project, a continuation and expansion of A Seed on the Wind:
He took a landing towards Neryon neighborhood, a narrow outjut of stone augmented with board and rope buildings dragging at the stone, which was carved with a sinewy overlay of snakes and bees. In midday, it seemed to be drowsing. In a few hours it would begin to stretch and yawn itself awake. The caffeine vendors, selling chai and kaf and a dozen teas would range about filling cups and mugs or doling out thick cups that could later be chewed to mushy fiber for a quick thirdmeal as the evening began in earnest.
He made his way to a sleepy tavern, and slouched in a rear table, nursing leedink, mind thumbing through the possibilities as he fingered the wicker and wood puzzle centered on the table.
He could always go back to Poit. Or Ellsfall. Either of those choices itched him wrong, though.
A being sliding onto the bench across him in the wall niche. The stone shelf under its elbow as it leaned forward. “Pleasance, chum.”
Expensive clothes. Rasp-skinned, narrow-headed, not-human. Flat dark eyes, cold as shadowed caverns. Smile tied on with insincerity.
“Fuck off,” Bill said.
The smile widened, deepened, showed pointed teeth, filed sharper. Gold inlay in the closest one, a design of fish and flowers, a spray of rubies in a line down the front. “An asking for you, Mr. Bill.”
Panicked question stabbed through his stomach. Why did this stranger know his name? He sat back. “What’s that?”
“You know a guy, cook at Fleur, name’s John.”
Chef John. One of the possibilities that had been flickering through his minds. He shrugged. “Don’t ring no chime.”
“All I want is you to takespeak a word or two.”
Bill waited. In the room, the clackclask of pool balls, two youths playing, dressed in leather and thorns. The electric light flickflickered on arcs of white and jasper plastic, stacattoing light.
“Tell him the big companies don’t mind freelancers trading bittybit on the side. But he’s getting bittybig. Needs to step back.”
He hunched his shoulders in a shrug. “Happen to run into him, may say. What’s the what if I do?”
The stranger’s fingerscales were pointed, each tipped with a flower of gold, a stinger of steel, as it spread them as though to smooth the shrug away from the air.
“Bittybit money for you, friend. Just come here an asking.”
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Clans in a Roleplaying World
by Cat Rambo (Sanvean of Armageddon and Krrx
This article originally appeared in the March 2000 issue of Imaginary Realities.
Lately, I have been contemplating how clans fit into role playing muds–particularly in getting players acclimated to the mud and helping them survive in that environment. The following conversation takes place between myself and a staff member of Armageddon mud who revamped a defunct clan, the T’zai Byn, and transformed it into an active and well-loved clan. The Byn is perhaps one of the best clans for new players, as well as an experience praised by the vast majority of its participants. (This is the first of three musings on the nature of clans, and what being in/running one means to a player/immortal, with the second discussing a cultural clan, where players begin the game having been born into the clan, and the third outlining some conclusions and problems with clans on role playing muds.)
Sanvean: First off, why were you interested in reviving the Byn, and what sort of clan did you want it to be?
Krrx: Probably the key thing is that I have a passion for the concept. It started when I played in the T’zai Byn a few years ago. I enjoyed playing in a fighting unit where you and your comrades faced death regularly, and had to work together to survive. While I have had very enjoyable times in other clans, I would still rate the Byn as the highlight.
Sanvean: What was the first step in getting them restarted?
Krrx: I outlined what the clan would be–what role and ‘flavor’ it would have. Of course, this was all documented. As the concept developed, the documentation changed. The documents today are quite different from how they were at first. I had ideas about what I wanted the clan to be like, but they didn’t ‘fit in’ as well as they could have with the game world. Nessalin had a big influence on how the clan turned out. The Byn are a lot more low class than I first planned, and the documents reflect that.
Sanvean: How did Nessalin change your intentions?
Krrx: My original vision was of an elite mercenary unit, with a lot of ‘high class’ things. Nessalin encouraged me towards a low class, gritty, down-and-dirty vision of the clan, which fit in better with Armageddon’s overall flavor.
Sanvean: As I recall, you were worried at first that they would not take off.
Krrx: Yes. When restarting the clan, it struck me that to achieve its goals effectively, the clan would have to have strict rules, and that people might not be able to handle it. One example is the regulation where members are not allowed into the ‘rinth, and are not allowed to leave Allanak unless certain criteria are met. The ‘rinth and the wilderness are two areas where a lot of new player characters die, because they insist on wandering in dangerous places alone. It thus makes sense, both in character and out of character, to have rules that limit going to those places.
Sanvean: Speaking of rules, one of the things you have done very well is making the Byn self-regulating. Did you plan on that?
Krrx: To an extent, yes. There are two points here. The first is that I have recruited clan leaders very, very carefully. The second is that because they are trustworthy players, they will help enforce the rules anyway.
Sanvean: When you are looking for players who will make good player character leaders, what do you look for, then?
Krrx: The key things I look for are: (1) out of character trustworthiness, (2) a very high standard of role playing, and (3) regular playing. Of course, it must be appropriate in character that the player character move into leadership. I can elaborate on those points if you like.
Sanvean: Please do!
Krrx: First, out of character trustworthiness. I have put a lot of work into this clan, and I will not put in leadership anyone who does not respect the work I put in, and is not willing to do likewise themselves. Another reason for this criterion is because I am not on-line 24 hours a day. If something happens, I need an honest, trustworthy viewpoint to rely on.
Sanvean: How do you know you can trust them?
Krrx: Trust is not something that can be guaranteed, but I do my best to screen players. I look at past player characters that the player has played. I chat to other staff members about them, particularly if the player played a player character in their clan. If someone is trustworthy, they tend to show it in the way they play the game.
Onto the second point–a very high standard of role playing. Armageddon is a role play intensive mud, with a very high overall standard of role playing. While many players entering the clan do not have this standard, it is a requirement for leadership. If people see leaders role playing well, they will tend to do likewise.
Sanvean: Good role playing seems to mean different things to different people. What is your definition?
Krrx: Good role playing? Thinking and acting in character. Immersing yourself in the role of your player character, and not just playing it like a robot in some shoot-em-up.
Onto the third point–regular playing. This does not mean leaders have to play Armageddon for 6 hours every day. I do, however, expect them to appear in the game fairly regularly. You can not lead if you are not around to lead. Common sense, really.
To sum up, one theme is that I have set limitations on the clan, with the idea that playing within those limitations actually gives players more freedom. It is why we have the law in real life. The law prevents idiots from ruining life for the rest of us. At face value, the law seems restrictive–you are not allowed to drive if you have drunk too much alcohol, for instance. But it is restrictive because: (1) it is logical and sensible, and (2) it protects the greater good–people generally do not like to get killed by drunk drivers.
I’d been feeling queazy for miles “” too much fresh fruit last town, trying to pack in as much as I could “” so finally I tapped Roto on the shoulder and we left the bus during a stretch and pee break. Big Fredo was driving the tents truck and he had a sweet spot for Roto, so he let us climb up into the sheltered spot just behind the cab, where we were sheltered from the wind but still could feel the bite of the air and where, if I needed to, I could lean out and vomit into the sandy gravel of the road.
It made me feel better almost immediately and my mood, which had been gloomy and self pitying (or so Roto kept informing me), lifted, as though the high blue sky overhead were pulling it upwards.
Okay, maybe I had been being kind of a bitch. I shrugged at Roto in apology and he shrugged back. That was one of the nice things about Roto. Once a fight was over, it was done with. It was a quality I envied, and couldn’t begin to claim. I was capable of holding a grudge for years, and had all my life, even though that was only fifteen years so far.
He grinned sideways at me, whiskers twitching, and leaned back to let his upper torso, bare except for the stripes of dun for, smolder golden in the sun. I settled back myself, though I stayed in the shade.
On my right, past Roto, was the steep downward slope of the cliff, covered with slides of shale and wiry brown bushes and past that, a blaze of sunlight on the ocean, dazzling and headache inducing. I looked away and up the mountainside. We were swinging out and around a curve before going inward and Sieg, who was the pace setter up front in his jeep, was, in my opinion, taking it a little fast.
That’s how I saw it. Flash flash. Two blinks of light from far up the mountain ahead of us. Then again. Flash flash.
I squinted up the mountain but didn’t see it again. But I crawled forward, clinging to the netting that held the ranks of tents in place, and tapped my knuckles hard on the cab’s back window. Kali was riding shotgun, her own window open and dreads flying back in the wind. She twisted around to slide the window open.
“I saw someone signaling up ahead,” I shouted.
“We’re on it,” she shouted back. Big Fredo tapped the bead in his ear. Someone else must’ve seen it as well, and gotten to our radio network faster than I had. That was always the story. I was never the hero. My spirits sagged again.
Kali slammed the window shut and turned back to watching the road ahead. I made my slow return to Roto. It seemed to me we had sped up a little but I couldn’t be sure. Maybe it was just my own anxiety.
Roto gave me a questioning look.
“They’re on it, she said.” I shrugged. Not like we could do much about anything. Better to move forward with our eyes open than let them know we had spotted them and they should open fire.
A faded blue sign flickered past. “Rest stop 1 mile Gas Services”
“You know that’s where they’re going to try to hit us,” Roto said. He stopped lounging and leaned forward.
“Yeah, but what else can they do? There’s no other place to turn around.”
We both wriggled back as far as we could, putting furled canvas between ourselves and possible missiles. The smart-canvas of the main tent might stop a bullet but the thick rolls of more ordinary heavy fabric would still foil arrows or darts.
My stomach wasn’t queasy anymore at all. Instead, hot bile chewed at the back of my throat and worry threaded all my bones. We hadn’t brought weapons with us from the bus; June doesn’t like us carrying them around, but when we’re traveling, we’re supposed to have something with us.
Roto had claws and teeth. I had nothing but my own blunt fists and wits.
Gravel hissed under the wheels as we swung left and slowed. I tried to peer out.
Roto put his palm on the top of my head and shoved downward. “Don’t be an asshole, Meg.”
We held still. I could hear the other cars and trucks pulling in, slowing. The turnaround must have been blocked, otherwise Sieg would have used it to lead the whole convoy to circle back as quickly as he could while Vera had our backs. But stopping there meant there was some sort of blockade.
A voice from up ahead. A man’s voice, and one that had meanness in it despite the pleasantness of the words. “And a good afternoon to you folks!”
Car door slamming and then the crunch crunch of footsteps, barely audible over the sound of the last few stragglers pulling in. I knew that if I looked back people would be fanning out as best they could. We all drilled aon what to do on occasions like this, but I’d only been in a few fights. And not since I had become, technically, an adult.
But surely an adult would have known enough to carry at least a knife with them. I glanced over at Roto and was relieved to see that he looked as anxious as I felt.
June’s deep voice, carefully modulated and empty of emotion. “Afternoon, gentlemen.”
I angled my line of sight upward, hoping to catch a glance of Vera. So much depended on what these bandits were carrying. Hopefully, just a few guns, but probably a bit more than that.
“We were just discussing how it looked as though your trucks were too heavily loaded,” the voice said. “We thought maybe we could help you out, maybe take some of the livestock. That way you’ve got less to feed, we’ve got more to feed ourselves with.” He laughed, the sort of laugh where you could easily imagine the sneer that came with it.
June’ voice, so polite. “I’m afraid that the livestock are members of the troupe as well.”
The man mimicked her. “I’m afraid that you don’t have a choice.”
“That’s a point of debate,” June said. “Vera, now.”
Not many people have seen any of the old war machines. Some were disabled, others disabled themselves. We don’t know what side Vera was on back then. Just that she was on ours now.
Really pleased with the current project, a continuation and expansion of A Seed on the Wind:
