25. A Brief Interlude - Dinosaurs and Wizards!

We'll return to our semi-regularly-scheduled cannibalistic pygmies in a moment.  First, I'd like to report on some great games at a great convention.

The weekend of May 21-23, 2010 saw the inaugural days of Texicon in Ft. Worth, Texas.  This was a full-fledged game convention, featuring miniatures, RPGs and board gaming.  It's good for the Dallas/Ft. Worth area to finally have its own con again; it's been far too many years otherwise.

For a first event, I thought things went pretty well.  True, it was a small set of rooms, with a limited number of attendees allowed due to the hotel regulations, but it was constantly and consistently as full as possible all day long the entire time I was there.

So first, congratulations to Texicon!

Second, I had a blast attending.  I played a CR3/Swordplay game that was a hoot, with most excellent terrain, run by Ron H.  (I hesitate to use anyone's last name without permission; this is, after all, the big bad world wide Internet.  However, if any of you want to contact me and say it's o.k., I'll happily give you the credit you deserve!)  We had to get inside the wizard's tower, go down to his dungeon to retrieve dungeon-y type stuff.

Here's some pics of it:

Above:  The approaches to the Wizard's tower.  The portals at the corners provided access for our two parties.

Above:  The dungeon below the tower.  Each room was painted with magnetic paint, so doors would stick to them.

Above:  My group of fearless adventurers.  A Dwarf, an Elf, a Cleric, and a Paladin.

Above:  We're besieged by Merry Men look-a-likes.  That's the other party in the game rounding the Kraken's pool in the background.  Sure looks like Robin Hood to me.  Are we sure these aren't his men after all?

Above:   So we finally make it to the stairs...

Above:   ...and after beating off the Kraken, the bandits and a whole lot of wolves, we get inside.  The game went a lot faster after I realized you don't have to kill everything:  you can run away!

Above:   The rooms/corridors were revealed as we went:  open a door, and Ron placed the "terrain."

Above:   We actually weren't competing with the other party of adventurers, but we got to play the bad guys whenever they attacked, and vice versa.  Here it looked pretty bad for old Robin, until I rolled very poorly on the dice roll for the not-Skaven.

Above:   With our backs to the wall, Legolas ended up Out of the Fight after this.  Unfortunately we had to end before actually completing the game.  To be continued?

Next day I played a terrific Pathfinder RPG game, DMed by Peter Y.  Let's not get started on the relative merits or lack thereof regarding D&D4.  I will simply say I won't play D&D4 anymore.  Pathfinder, though, is the cat's meow!

RPGs are much harder to take good photos of:

Above:  Believe it or not, that knight with the red shield, I painted over 20 years ago for my friend, who was also playing in the game.

After that it was off to an Old West skirmish game using "The Rules With No Name" ... er, rules, GMed by Adam V.  He's a teen who built everything on the table, and is strongly supported by his family.  He also runs a fun game; really kept things moving.  Alas for me, only the legendary leader of the banditos escaped with the gold (meaning, not my characters).  My two ne'er-do-wells met an untimely end in the dusty streets, although I did make sure one lawman won't ever be able to get a date with Miss Kitty again!  He's got a yellow stripe a foot wide now.

Pics:

Above:  Paper buildings from Whitewash City, a paper train, but good looking stuff.  One of my characters is watching the horses while the gold approaches from the upper right.

Above:  Here comes the Law!

Above:   Yep, that's me, watchin' those horses.  Then I get on one and try to ride off.  Eventually I am gunned down.

Above:  This was another outlaw about to make his getaway, when Miss Kitty (a citizen, not in the picture) took a max range shot through intervening terrain...and got a kill!  The lawman picked up the gold and headed back to town.  My second bandito, who was about to survive by leaving the table, decided to see if he could take out the deputy with a quick kill and steal the gold for himself.  It was not to be.  Then I ran around the corner to give chase...right into the arms of Miss Kitty and another lawman!  I wounded him, making him run away, but another lawman filled me full of lead.  A painful death it was, but spectacular.

Last but not least, I played a dinosaur hunt game, using Two Hour Wargames' "Adventures in the Lost Lands," GMed by Ed T. himself.  It was a blast!  Our three hunters, plus attendants, only wanted to salvage a simple kill to prove dinosaurs exist.  The trouble was, the meat-eaters kept trying to prove we don't exist, by eating us.

Pictures:

Above:  There's the Scotsman on the left, myself in the middle, and my friend Tom (a former Foreign Legionnaire, don'cha'know) on the right.  We're here to bring back evidence of dinosaurs, and must explore each section of the table.  We decide to cross the river.

Above:  We've crossed the river, and detect something ahead of us.  Quiet!

Above:  It's a feeder dinosaur.  Kinda big, so we decide to explore some more before gunning him down.

Above:  In fact, it's a whole herd of dinosaurs.  Herd of dinosaurs?  Of course I've heard of dinosaurs, everyone's heard of dinosaurs!

Above:  We are set upon by cute little vicious, toothy bastards...

Above:  ...who we take out with one shot.  Other feeders arrive.  This is gonna be eeaassyy.

Above:  We decide these guys will make good evidence.  We shoot, one runs away, but we get one kill.

Above:  The Hunters are very sensibly on the far side of the river from the next approaching dinosaur, while the hired help tries to carve up the dino as fast as possible!  (Ed, I don't know what you mean, calling us chicken.)

Above:  Being on the far side didn't help, in the long run.  Here, Tom tells us, "I got this one."  He did, too, although just barely.  Two different times, even.

Above:  Later Billabong and Bouillabaisse decide to high-tail it out of there, only to be cut off by more of those toothy little meat-eaters.

Above:  They opt to join us on the other side of the river, where we've been successful in carving up a sabre-tooth tiger.  Bouillabaisse is wounded, but Tom is a good man and carries him along.  Either that, or he's saving him in order to make a quick get-a-away if need be!

Above:  More bearers go down.  It's so hard to find good help these days.

Above:  Now we're in trouble.  We've got multiple meat-eaters approaching.  The big one ends up getting shot by, you guessed it, Tom, but the medium ones...well, we decided to hoof it.  See ya!

Above:  After a chase in which Tom advantageously drops Bouillabaisse to save his own sorry self, and by extension, us too, we make it to the river.  Only Billabong is still with us.  It's a good thing, as he's carrying all the proof we need to show that dinosaurs exist!  We'll be rich!  All we have to do is get across the river and we're home free.

Above:  That's when greed reared it's ugly head.  The Scotsman decided to explore just one more area.  He got a nasty surprise.  Is he up to the challenge?

Above:  Nope.

Above:  But Tom and I are.  The dino goes down!

Above:  Then greed reared it's ugly head, yet again.  I, yes even I, decided to check out that (certainly unguarded) nest of eggs.  I got a bit of a surprise too.  Was I up to the challenge?  Er, no.

No worries, though, right?  Since Tom was dependent on me for a ride home that night, surely he would drive off the critter, before saving himself.  Riiight?  Nope.  Two close calls earlier, plus the lure of claiming ALL the fame and fortune, proved too much for such a selfless act.  He skedaddled faster than a long-tail cat in a rocking chair factory.  Ah well, I gave him a ride home anyway.

So there you have my fast and furious Texicon report.  Can't wait for next year!

Later this summer is Skirmish, but since it's all miniatures, mostly all historical, it's almost a completely different animal.  Last year's was fun, though, so I'm looking forward to it, too.

24. Death in the Jungle: Part 10

[Turn Ten Begins]

Caporal Chien, though wary, lead his Tirailleurs Sénégalais in an advance towards the newest Natives ahead.  Taking up their firing positions, they blasted the quiet of the jungle with rifle fire.  These strange new Natives were almost completely fearless, standing as they were, practically avoiding the jungle's cover.

Their bravery was well earned, too, as all of the tirailleurs' shots missed.  To Chien's surprise, the Pygmies -- who already seemed desperate to shoot back with their blowguns, but were out of range -- now came at him at a steady trot.  Chien's men raised their guns to shoot, but Chien called out to them to hold their fire, not to waste their ammunition on a rushed shot.  The Cannibals, seeing the raised guns, halted.  Chien decided not to waste the chance overall, and gave the order to fire.  Yet again, even though they were not rushed, the tirailleurs missed.  L'indigènes moved not a muscle; their stillness made them all the more terrifying to the squad.

Sergent Cur, leading the nearby squad 'A' of la légion étrangère, decided to add his weight of fire to the mix.  Hoping to drive the Natives away, instead Cur's men inflicted a definite three casualties!  Cur laughingly suggested to his squad that would be enough for them today.  However, the words died in his throat as these fantômes not only did not run away, but made no reply whatsoever.  They merely stood perfectly still, cool as cucumbers.

With some aggravation, Cur felt he had no choice but to shoot again.  He had to either kill them all or drive them away.  This time one Pygmy fell, and to Cur's relief it was the Brown-shield leader.  Not bothering to watch, Cur turned away, expecting the rabble to disappear into the jungle.  Yet again he was surprised, when one of his troopers gestured for him to look.  The Natives fell back in good order, even firing a blowgun salvo at la legionnaires, although it caused no damage.

Out of the corner of his eye, Cur also caught sight of the only other remaining squad of Pygmies threatening him.  To his right -- and to the front of Lieutenant Frye -- l'indigènes advanced from their hiding place at their detestable shrine, having apparently taken courage from it, to a place of comparative safety behind the ruined walls surrounding the shrine.  Cur cursed in several languages; now they would have to evict them from thick cover, which would probably require his men to make physical contact.  This mission just kept getting worse and worse.

Frye had seen the Natives advance, too, and his anger at the loss of his "easy" mission was phenomenal.  He quickly rapped out orders to the senior trooper of 'B' legionnaires, Cane, determined to regain the initiative and prevent those Pygmies from feeling any sense of security there.  'B' changed formation to an open one to better navigate the jungle scenery, advanced as far as practical, and then reformed their firing line.  From this forward position, Cane brought his weapons to bear and fired, causing at least one Native to drop to the dirt.

While l'indigènes seemed shaken yet they did not flee.  They merely huddled closer to the stone walls.

Lt Frye then brought his Marines up, without wasting time changing formation.  They advanced as far as possible in support of the legionnaires.

As the Lieutenant looked around, surveying his position, he was satisfied once more.  No more gunfire had occurred from his left for nearly a minute, and no Natives threatened his control of the immediate jungle.  It appeared the dead Native at the shrine wall was dead after all, a fact which finally convinced these l'indigènes to flee farther away than before, quite scared.

Sgt Cur, on the other hand, was feeling distinctly uncomfortable about this newest squad of Natives.  He had seen the Brown-shield leader shot with his own eyes, yet now he watched him rise up from the thick carpet of long grass, seemingly unharmed, as well as three of the four other casualties he thought his men had caused.

"Aucun bien ne peut venir de ceci," -- "No good can come of this," he muttered.

[Turn Ten Ends]

23. Death in the Jungle: Part 9

[Turn Nine Begins]

Caporal Chien, leading his Tirailleurs Sénégalais, did not like what he saw.  Even after the pounding his men had given this new Pygmy squad, they had faced him with determination and even a little fatalism.  Now these fantômes, these ghosts, forestalled his own reaction by lifting their blow pipes and shooting a hail of poisoned darts at his men.

Fortunately there were no hits.  In reply, almost as if by unanimous assent and without any need for orders, Chien's tirailleurs returned fire with their rifles.  Contemptuously they watched as they caused three cannibals to fall.

The tirailleurs were congratulating themselves on their good shooting, fully expecting the beleaguered Natives to run away, when they were rudely shot at again by blow guns!  This time their aim was better and two of Chien's men -- Samsung and Sanyo -- clutched convulsively at the feathers protruding from their faces.

Chien saw the fear well up in the other mens' eyes, and knew he would be unable to stop their retreat, just as he had been unable a few hours prior.  The tall Blacks were inherently frightened of their shorted, more vicious, cousins.  They fell back, carrying their wounded, totally unready for further fighting.

Meanwhile Sergent Cur, leading squad 'A' of la légion étrangère next to the original position of the tirailleurs, was now aware of the new threat.  Having dealt with the Natives near the shrine to his satisfaction, he pivoted his men to face les fantômes.

Peering carefully through the thick underbrush, he gave the order to shoot.  The brightly plumed jungle birds flapped away in terror at the smoke and the noise, but Cur thought he saw one man drop.

The Natives' reaction surprised the veteran soldier.  It appeared as if the Pygmies wanted to fire their blow guns at Cur and his men before they realized they were out of range.  Grudgingly they fell back, in good order, but only a short distance.

Cur decided l'indigènes were still in his range, and had his men fire accordingly.  The intervening jungle foliage did not prevent him from seeing another body fall.

If the grizzled soldier was surprised before, he was doubly so this time.  Apparently having taken fire twice and been unable to reply was too much for these strange warriors.  It was obvious they wished desperately to shoot their blow pipes yet were too far away...so they advanced directly at Cur's squad!

Cur's troopers were so shocked and unsettled at this brazen turn of events that their own shooing was ineffectual.  The Pygmies simply hunkered down in the thicker parts of the jungle, completely unaffected by the White Man's boom sticks.

Several dozen yards away, through the sound-deadening jungle, Lieutenant Frye, leading squad 'B' of la légion étrangère was overwhelming confident the battle was almost over.  After his disastrous first outing a few weeks previously -- when he had received the nom de guerre of Frightened Frye -- and the way this mission had begun with the death of the beloved Capitaine Woolfe, Frye had begun to think that only death in battle would restore his honor.  But if he could win through in spite of all the setbacks it would surely do much in the eyes of the men.  Perhaps he would be known as Famous Frye instead!

The only enemy between the French and their objective was a single, worn-down squad of Natives, skulking in the cover around their ludicrous shrine, and another squad threatening his right flank.  True, there was gunfire to his left, but no doubt Cur and Chien -- leading two full squads of hardened soldiers -- could handle the situation.

To protect his right flank, Frye ordered his legionnaires to fire upon the Natives attempting to hide there.  Their shots missed, but had the desired effect of frightening them off; they vanished into the far jungle, unable to move any more.

Satisfied with that result, Frye formed his men into an open formation and advanced towards the religious totem.  After a suitable distance he re-formed them into a supported firing line.

Calling over his shoulder, he had the Infanterie des Marines perform the same actions, advancing and standing shoulder to shoulder with their tougher (and braver) cousins.

With another shout and a wave, he brought up the Native Bearers as fast as they could go.

Turning back to his front, Lt Frye was surprised to see l'indigènes who had been frightened and hiding at their shrine, come menacingly towards him!  Their sudden appearance unnerved him, and his lack of composure affected his troops:  the Marines' morale broke down completely, with caporal Cabot doing his best to keep them in control; the legionnaires of 'B' shifted their feet uneasily but were otherwise unfazed.

Slightly behind the firing line, Seejee and Sawjaw -- the two tirailleurs leading the Native Bearers -- used their own initiative to shoot at those menacing Natives to the front.  Taking careful aim, the tirailleurs earned their name as riflemen by both shooting down the Brown Shield leader!  The Native warriors hugged the cover more closely than ever.

For the moment, it seemed to Lt Frye, the battle was still and the jungle was quiet.  No indigènes moved anywhere that he could see or hear.  Knowing he would not be able to get good shooting from the shaken marines, and not wanting to waste valuable ammunition, and furthermore being very impressed by Seejee and Sawjaw's shooting, Frye called to them to fire again.

Twice more they took careful aim, but their targets had made themselves even smaller than normal and they scored no hits.  The Natives simply hid and shivered in fear.

Back on the left flank, Cpl Chien was tending to his wounded men.  After gently removing the barbed darts and cleaning the wounds, he was saddened when only Samsung recovered.  Glaring downrange at the enemy squad who had caused Sanyo's agonizing death, he thought he could make out three of the monstres fantomatiques rejoining their brothers!  What did it take to kill these bâtards?

His anger likewise affected his men, and their fear was replaced with a strong desire to squash their shorter cousins!  "La mort aux miniatures!"

The constant barrage of shots from Seejee and Sawjaw not only kept the heads of the Natives down, it also tremendously buoyed the spirits of the marines; they began to think that perhaps they would not all die here in the God forsaken jungle after all.

If the marines were lifted up, then the other Natives to the front and on the right flank were even further demoralized.  Both retreated away from the taunting Frenchmen:  the ones to the fore, leaderless, retreating back toward their shrine;

the ones to the right melting into the depths of the jungle, finally and completely routed!

While Sgt Cur and Cpl Chien warily eyed their foe, Lt Frye all but shouted for joy as his path ahead was cleared.  Famous Frye was not out of the question after all!

[Turn Nine Ends]

22. Death in the Jungle: Part 8

[Turn Eight Begins]

The Black Shields to Lieutenant Frye's left moved to face off against the Tirailleurs Sénégalais under the command of caporal Chien.  Before they could do more than turn, the tirailleurs had fired into them, causing at least one casualty.  In disarray the Black Shields retreated to the relative safety of the shrine area, obviously shaken.  They shook their shields and fists in anger at their taller Black cousins. 

Seeing their success, Lieutenant Frye ordered the 'B' legionnaire squad on his right to shoot at the White Shields hiding in the underbrush ahead of them.  The senior trooper, Cane, gave the command, and smoke poured out of the rifle barrels as the volley crashed into the Pygmies.  Through the hanging vines Frye thought he saw two Natives drop.  Like their Black Shield brothers, this squad retreated in disorder, shaken and unable to function as a unit any further.

Fully expecting l'indigènes to reform and attack, Frye was amazed when...nothing happened.  Almost laughing at the ease with which the vicious Natives were finally being beaten, he ordered his Infanterie des Marines to shoot at the Black Shields.  He would decimate them in front of their own foul totem, before he destroyed the totem itself!  Their fire caused a cannibal to fall, despite their having been partially hidden in the thick jungle.  Yet the Pygmies' confusion was so great that they could do nothing in reply.

Cane of 'B' squad fired again at his target, felling two.  They hooted and hollered in fear and anger, but could do nothing other than hide or die.

With a dismissive gesture and a jaunty wave of his arm, Lt Frye sent the tirailleurs advancing to flank the Black Shields and the shrine area.

He smiled quietly to himself.  The battle was all but won, le Capitaine would be avenged, and he himself would no longer be the butt of every joke!

It was at that moment that Chien and his tirailleurs stepped into a figurative snake pit.

Somehow, directly ahead of them, a unit of highly disciplined Pygmies appeared, materializing out of the jungle like phantoms:  silent, almost unmoving.  Chien squinted through the sweat dripping from his brow.  These indigènes were not hooting like wild beasts, like the other Shields squads; no, it almost seemed like they had been waiting for le Français to arrive.

Chien called his men to a halt, while he cautiously watched this new arrival.  Slowly the Pygmies approached the tirailleurs.  They carried White Shields and their leader carried a Brown Shield like all the other Natives, but there the similarity ended.  The carriage of this leader, his bearing, struck Chien as one who was accustomed to command:  this was a Brown Shield to be reckoned with!

Finally Cpl Chien decided the Natives had come close enough.  Addressing his men with a calm voice, he ordered them to fire.

When the smoke cleared he thought he saw two fewer White Shields than before.  It was difficult to be certain since the Natives had retreated some distance away.  Perhaps he was wrong about this one, Chien thought; perhaps they were no different after all.  Then again, they did not appear very disorganized at all; the retreat was carried out almost purposefully, although it had to be admitted they did appear somewhat shaken.

Behind him he could hear 'A' legionnaire squad marching to match his position.

Sergent Cur was single-minded; not knowing of this new White Shield threat, he arranged his men to best dispatch the Black Shields near the shrine.  Forming into a supported firing line, 'A' squad fired to a great showing:  three Pygmies dropped!  Still disordered and confused, the Black Shields could do nothing in reply.

Chien's attention was dragged back to the new White Shields.  Their Brown Shield leader had reordered his men and they were advancing on Chien's tirailleurs once again.  No war cries, no wild shouting, just a deadly certainty in their actions.  Reaching the limit of Chien's comfort level, he had his men ready their weapons but hold their fire.  It seemed as if the new White Shields were studying them; what would they do next?  Chien decided to wait and see.

Blissfully unaware of the exact state of his left flank, Lt Frye ordered Seejee and Sawjaw -- leading the Native Bearers -- to catch up with he and his marines.

He had heard some sporadic shooting from the tirailleurs and the legionnaires, but so far there was nothing about which he needed to be concerned.  What he needed to do was get those Native Bearers to the repulsive religious shrine so they could begin dismantling it, but it was all he could do just to get the nervous natives to advance at all.

Over the jungle birds' calls and the insects' buzzing noises, Frye heard Chien bark out another order to fire.  He was expecting to see the results appear in the Black Shields ahead of him but nothing happened in that direction.

Frye didn't know it but the tirailleurs' fire had felled two more of the new White Shields.  In spite of their mounting casualties, they did not run away.  Instead they continued surveying the trespassers.

Feeling like he had a moment to spare, Lt Frye decided to transfer his command from les marines to 'B' legionnaires.  He reasoned that les marines had caporal Cabot to lead them, whereas the legionnaires only had a senior trooper, Cane.  Frye's authority would be better spent with the legionnaires.

Taking up his position he rapped out an order, which was instantly obeyed.  They fired a volley at the Black Shields to the right, unfortunately missing.

As he watched for the effects of their firing, Frye thought he saw two Black Shields stand up from their hiding places in the long grass, although he was sure more than two did not.  Nevertheless this seemed to be enough to restore their bravery.

And in spite of three of their number returning, the White Shields near the shrine area lost what remained of their nerve and fled back through the shrine to hide on the far side.

Of the new White Shields, Cpl Chien watched as two reappeared as if by magic (two, of course, did not).  They silently took their places in the ranks alongside their kin, and collectively shook off any debilitating effects of their losses.

Cpl Chien had a very bad feeling about this squad.

Lt Frye felt the battle was going very well.  What could go wrong now?

[Turn Eight Ends]