I'm currently appearing as Tyler in Starting
Gate Theater's production of Moss Hart's Light Up the Sky.
Set in the suite of the leading actress in a new play, Light Up the Sky is
a light comedic romp through the travails of an opening night.
January
15 through February 7, 2010
Fridays
- Saturdays at 7:30pm
Sunday Matinees at 2:00pm
Pay what you can night Monday, January 25, 2010 at 7:30pm.
Audio Description Performance February 7, 2010 at 2:00pm.
More startling even than that diabolic
chuckle was the scream that rose
at my very elbow from the salt-compounded sand - the scream of a woman
possessed by some atrocious agony, or helpless in the grip of devils.
Turning, I beheld a veritable Venus, naked in a white perfection that
could fear no scrutiny, but immersed to her navel in the sand. Her
terror-widened eyes implored me and her lotus hands reached out with
beseeching gesture.
The honeytrap is a roper-like creature which
relies on deceit and
camouflage to trap its prey. The upper half of its body bears the
appearance of a beautiful young maiden, but this beauty is wrapped
around a mass of tentacular horror. The honeytrap's favored tactic is
to secrete a corrosive chemical capable of rendering even solid rock
into a quicksand-like liquiesence. When its prey draws near,
the
honeytrap will cry in terror and plead for their aid. It will wait
until they are at their most vulnerable before striking: Its sternum
will part into a ravenous maw, exuding a half dozen coiled tentacles
which will burst forth and wrap themselves lethally around the
honeytrap's would-be saviors.
The honeytrap prefers to lure its
victims into a danerous mixture of complacency and chivalry before
striking, but those seeking to flee a ravenous honeytrap may be shocked
as it wrenches itself free from its muck-ridden hunting grounds and
pursues them with great speed upon a second tumultuous mass of
tentacles extruding from its "maiden" waist.
HONEYTRAPCR
8
CE
Large Magical Beast
Senses:
darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision, Listen +13, Spot +13
Init: +5 (+1 Dex, +4 Improved
Initiative)
Languages: Common, Elven
AC: 24, touch 10, flat-footed 23
(-1 size, +1 Dex, +14 natural)
Hit Points: 85HD: 10d10+30
Fort +10, Ref +8,
Will
+8
Speed: 40 ft.
Melee: bite +13 (1d6+6)
Ranged: 6 strands +11 ranged touch
(drag and weakness)
Space: 5 ft.Reach: 5 ft. (30 ft.
with strand)
Base Atk: +10Grapple: +14
Special Actions:
quicksand liquiesence Metamagic Feats: (spontaneous
casters only)
Str 19, Dex 13,
Con 17,
Int 12, Wis11, Cha 17
Special Qualities: darkvision 60
ft., low-light vision
Feats: Alertness, Improved
Initiative, Iron Will, Weapon Focus (strand)
Skills: Climb +12, Hide +10*,
Listen +13, Spot +13
Treasure:
Standard Advancement: 11-15 HD (Medium);
16-30 (Large)
Level Adjustment: --
Drag (Ex):
If
a honeytrap hits with a strand attack, the strand latches onto the
opponent’s
body. This deals no damage, but drags the struck opponent 5 feet closer
each subsequent
round (provoking no attack of opportunity) unless that creature breaks
free,
which requires an Escape Artist check (DC 23) or a Strength check (DC
19). (The
DCs are Strength-based, and the Escape Artist check includes a +4
racial
bonus.) Drag
and Bite: A honeytrap can draw a creature within 5 feet of
itself and bite
with a +4 attack bonus in the same round. A strand has 10 hit points
and can be
attacked by making a successful sunder attempt. However, attacking a
honeytrap’s strand does not provoke an attack of opportunity. If the
strand is
currently attached to a target, the roper takes a -4 penalty on its
opposed
attack roll to resist the sunder attempt. Severing a strand deals no
damager to
the honeytrap. Drag
and Drown: A honeytrap who has drawn a victim into its
quicksand will often
try to drown them. A honeytrap can draw a creature 5 feet and attempt
to drown
them by making an opposed grapple check. If the check succeeds, the
victim is
pushed below the surface of the quicksand. Strands (Ex):
A honeytrap can extrude up to six strands at once, and they can strike
up to 30
feet away (no range increment). If a strand is severed, a honeytrap can
extrude
a new one on its next turn as a free action. Quicksand Liquiesence (Ex): A honeytrap can turn a 10 ft. radius of earth,
dirt, or stone into
quicksand in 1d4 minutes by excreting a powerful, acidic chemical. If a
honeytrap is slain, moves, or stops excreting the chemical, the ground
will
re-solidify within 1d4 hours. Quicksand requires a Survival check
(DC 8) to spot. The momentum of a running or charging character will
carry them
1d2x5 feet into the quicksand. Characters in quicksand must make a Swim
check
(DC 10) every round to simply tread water in place, or a DC 15 check to
move 5
feet in whatever direction desired. If a trapped character fails this
check by
5 or more, he sinks below the surface and begins to drown whenever he
can no
longer hold his breath (see Swim skill). Characters below the surface
of a bog
may swim back to the surface with a successful Swim check (DC 15, +1
per
consecutive round of being under the surface). Pulling a trapped character out of
quicksand often requires a branch, spear haft, rope, or similar tool to
reach
the victim with one end of it. The character performing the rescue must
make a
Strength check (DC 15) to pull the victim out, while the victim must
succeed at
a Strength check (DC 10) to hold onto the branch, pole, or rope. If the
victim
fails to hold on, he must immediately make a Swim check (DC 15) to
remain above
the surface. If both checks succeed, the victim is pulled 5 feet closer
to
safety. Weakness (Ex):
A honeytrap’s strands sap an opponent’s strength. Anyone grabbed by a
strand
must succeed on a Fortitude save (DC 18) or take 1d8 points of Strength
damage.
The DC is Constitution-based. Skills:
*Honeytraps have a +8 racial bonus to Hide checks if they are submerged
in
quicksand or similarly concealed.
The
Gateway Tripis purportedly a collection of
short stories subtitled Tales
and Vignettes of the Heechee.
But that's pretty much bullshit.
This book would be more accurately titled A Child's History of Gateway.
Only the last eight pages deal directly with the Heechee to any
meaningful degree, while most of the rest of the book is largely a
recapitulation of the Future History which is already thoroughly
explained in the other Gateway books. This blatant regurgitation of
exposition is occasionally studded with short segues describing the
missions of various Gateway prospectors, but these are passionless,
short (averaging perhaps 5 paragraphs), and read like the informational
placards at a rather bland museum.
(I would have dearly loved to
have either: (a) A true collection of stories focusing entirely on the
Heechee; or (b) a collection of short stories focusing on various
Gateway-based prospectors. Sadly this book is neither. It's a
completely wasted opportunity.)
The only exception to this
pointless pablum is "The Merchants of Venus", a novella originally
published in 1972 which serves as a prequel of sorts for Gateway.
I found "The Merchants of Venus" to be a very entertaining yarn of
Campbellian science fiction. The occasional tinge of sexism by
way
of golden age SF is cringe-worthy, but beyond that the three main
characters are well-drawn; the milieu is evocative; and the hard
science
fiction is used dramatically (rather than self-indulgently).
In short, if you can find a copy for a couple of
bucks, The Gateway Trip
is worth it just to have a copy of "The
Merchants of Venus" (particularly if you enjoyed Gateway
and want to find the only other taste of the universe that's worth
paying any attention to). But it's probably best if you just skip the
rest of it.
One of the things I look for in a
roleplaying system is the "You Can't Do That Here" failure point.
Obviously,
there are things that a character logically shouldn't be able to do.
(Barring magical or technological aid, for example, a normal human
being shouldn't be able to flap their wings and fly like an eagle.) But
that's not what the You Can't Do That Here glitch is about. You Can't
Do That Here happens when the structural or statistical quirks of a
particular system make it impossible for a likely, probable, or
desirable outcome to happen.
Imagine your favorite scene from a
movie, book, or television sceries. Could that scene happen in your
favorite roleplaying system? If not, why not? And can it be fixed?
These thoughts recently percolated to the
surface for me during my read-thru and analysis of The Esoterrorists
(which I also discussed here).
Scene
1: The detectives have a hit a dead-end in their investigation. Or
perhaps their investigation has raised new questions. In any case, they
return to the scene of the crime to look for new clues. Is there
anything they might have overlooked? Is the evidence their later
investigations suggest should exist to be found?
Scene 2: The
teenage heroine is spending her summer vacation in the spooky, haunted
house owned by her aunt and uncle. After spending seeral weeks in the
house (enduring events of escalating strangeness), she passes down the
hall and happens to notice for the first time a strange seam in the
plaster. Investigating it more closely, she discovers a secret door and
a staircase leading down to a hidden basement...
Scenes like these are a dime a dozen. They
are also completely impossible if you're playing The Esoterrorists:
The system mandates that any clues which are to be found at a given
location will
be found by the PCs. That means you will never gain anything new by
returning to a crime scene (unless new evidence has been deposited
there since the last time you looked for some reason). Nor can
you ever
notice something that you previously overlooked.
And since this
failure point in the system is a direct result of the system's core
design principle, there's really no easy way to fix it: There's an
entire category of scenario that The
Esoterrorists will never allow to be played out.
By
contrast, these same scenarios can be absolutely trivial in other RPGs.
For example, in the D20 system the former scene is modeled by either
returning to the crime scene and Taking 20 for a more exhaustive
search; or performing a new search with a circumstance bonus to model
the additional insight gleaned from later investigations. And the
second scene is nothing more than a series of failed Spot checks
followed by a successful Spot check.
IN
THE LENGTH OF A ROUND
On
the other hand, I often see You Can't Do That Here failure points being
misdiagnosed by people who become trapped within the paradigms of the
system. Perhaps the most notable example of this is the erroneous
believe that, if it can't be done in the length of a single round, then
it can't be done.
For example, in many discussions surrounding
my essay "D&D:
Calibrating Your Expectations"
people would attempt to demonstrate the "ridiculous" number of feats
which real world people require to be modeled "accurately" in the game
system. A prime example was the Ride-By Attack feat:
When
you are mounted and use the charge action, you may move and attack as
if with a standard charge and then move again (continuing the straight
line of the charge). Your total movement for the round can't exceed
double your mounted speed. You and your mount do not provoke an attack
of opportunity from the opponent that you attack.
People would readily point to the example
of any jousting tourney and say, "Anyone who jousts is capable of
making an attack and then continuing to ride in a straight line."
This is true. And, in fact, anyone
in D20 can (a) ride up to someone; (b) hit them; and (c) continue
riding past them. They just can't do all of that in a single round.
This
is about more than just defending the D20 system from an invalid
critique, however. It's about establishing a mindset in which you
maximize the power and flexibility of your system of choice. Because
the flip-side of You Can't Do That Here is You Can Do That here,
and that's a lot more interesting.
Thinking
back to the exercise we used to detect You Can't Do That Here failure
points, let's turn it around now to a more positive use: Imagine your
favorite scene from a movie, book, or television series. Can your
system do that out of the box? If it can't, what mechanics do you need
to design to make it happen? And how can you design a scenario in which
a scene like that becomes possible, plausible, or even probable? Can
you generalize the case and figure out how to encourage scenes like that during a
gaming session?
For
example, imagine a scene where a kung-fu hero throws the bad guy
through an aquarium full of piranhas. How can you enable and encourage
that kind of scenery-interaction in your fight scenes? What mechanical
structure can you use that will be (a) simple enough that the PCs won't
shy away from using it (as opposed to the default 3rd Edition grappling
rules, for example); and (b) make the option as attractive (or more
attractive) than simply hacking at the guy with their magic sword or
throwing a punch at his jaw?
As a real world example, a couple of
years ago I designed some simple counter-intelligence guidelines for
the Gather Information skill. This took about 5 minutes. But having
these guidelines made possible game content that would otherwise never
have arisen: Previously "knowing that someone is asking questions about
you" was a You Can't Do That Here problem with the D20 system.
Fortunately, it was a trivial one for me to solve -- and now my PCs
have to be cautious when asking questions about people; and
occasionally they'll be surprised to discover who has been asking
questions about them.
So... what other small touches of
garlic-planter proportions might you find in the urban planning of a
fantasy setting?
I've often held, for example, that it seems
as if cremation would be a natural solution for fantasy lands crawling
with the undead. (On the other hand, if you can provide a
reason why people believe their loved ones should be buried
with whole and undisturbed bodies you will probably simultaneously
explain why they find the creation of undead abhorrent.)
On a similar note, what does the
well-stocked arensal of a city guard look like? Silver bullets for
werewolves seem like a nobrainer. What else?
