hammtrain-blog

[hammtrain-blog]

Another morbid yet oddly fascinating glimpse behind the scenes of the Cold-War. Given the popular post-apocalypse genre, it'd be cool to see this idea be visited a la Fallout.

In The Event Of Attack, Here’s How The Government Plans ‘To Save Itself’

In Raven Rock, Garrett Graff describes the bunkers designed to protect U.S. leaders in the event of a catastrophe. One Cold War-era plan put the post office in charge of cataloging the dead. 

From Graff’s interview with Terry Gross:

“The post office was the agency that would’ve been in charge of registering the dead and figuring out who was still alive. In part, because the post office knows where people live, they understand who was left. So you would arrive in the refugee camps, after your cities had been destroyed, and you would’ve been handed Form 801 from the post office, which were pre-printed in millions and millions of quantities and located in post offices around the country through the Cold War in the event of an emergency. And you would’ve filled it out with your name and family members that survived with you at the camp, and then the post office would’ve sorted through these cards and figured out who was still alive and where everyone was to begin the process of reuniting families.

The Parks Service, for instance, would’ve been the agency that would’ve actually been running, in many cases, the refugee camps, because the thinking was that park service land would be largely untouched by nuclear war.

[The Dept. of Agriculture] worked for years with Nabisco to come up with this special survival biscuit. … They pre-made about 160 million tons of this Nabisco survival wafer that were manufactured and boxed up in tins and then hidden away in government fallout shelters around the country. This was a whole strange, shadow post-apocalypse government that existed just out of sight through the Cold War.”

#fallout 4 #fallout new vegas #fallout 3 #Raven Rock #game idea

[hammtrain-blog]

The bard is far and away one of my favorite classes. Not only can you kill people with a sarcastic comment, but you you can become a flippin' Lich! Any standard bard can meet the Wizard spell requirement for becoming one in 5e! You can play literal Death Metal!!! Grunge Lich is best Lich!

The “useless bard” meme is so weird to me. In purely game-mechanical terms, the Dungeons & Dragons bard class has ranged from “a solid B tier” to “grotesquely overpowered” throughout the game’s history, but the one thing it’s never been is useless. It’s like its reputation is based on a purely hypothetical version of the class - one that does nothing but stand around singing - that’s never actually existed in any published iteration of the game.

#dnd 5e #bards #spoony #tabletop #rpg #them bones

[hammtrain-blog]

DnD Souls: Prepare to Roll

The following is a write-up I made for some friends centered around a Dark Souls themed DnD campaign. There’s probably better ones out there, I can’t say it’s been play-tested, but the concept seemed fun and I wanted to share it. It was pretty much inspired by the Dark Souls Monster Manual entries I’ve seen floating around. If anyone gives it a try, I’d be happy to hear how they turn out. I’ll probably give my own updates if I ever get a chance to try it myself!

-Hammtrain

“Well, what do we have here? You must be a new arrival. Let me guess. Fate of the Undead, right? Well, you’re not the first.”

-        Unknown Warrior

It would seem fate has not been kind to you.

Branded by the Darksign, you’ve been stripped of you family, your past, and your purpose. How long has it been since you’ve seen the outside? Months? Years? Decades? None of it seems real now. Only the cold stone of the Asylum and the scent of decay choking the air reminds you that your imprisonment is far from a dream.

Your memories are fractured, scattered and greyed by time and captivity, even your face, gaunt from starvation, ­seems unfamiliar to your sunken eyes. You were ready to slip into the forgetful oblivion of madness, to submit yourself to the curse’s cruel design and await the end of the world…

That is… until he came.

You exchanged not a word, catching only a brief glimpse of his sun-haloed helm as he rolled the corpse of a dispatched Hollow into your cell and fled from view. The corpse bore the tattered blue clothes of a jailor no more sane that his wards, and a single, rusted iron key.

You are unsure of what awaits beyond your cell door but a desire for answers burns in your chest with a passion not felt in ages. Who was this mysterious knight? Where did he come from?

Does he know the way out?

As your sinuous hand wraps around the course iron of the key, you realize it’d be best to get your wits about you before venturing forth. With a deep breath you still the raging grey sea of your memories, and remember who you are…

Creating Your Character:

The land of Lordran is a far cry from the familiar world of the Forgotten Realms. While sword and sorcery still has its place, the races and classes of normal character creation are limited to match the new setting. For simplicity’s sake, 5E character creation rules are used with the following additions:

1.     Human is the only playable race (ability score increase can be exchanged for a feat if desired).

2.     Playable classes are Fighter, Barbarian, Rogue, Ranger (No Beastmaster), Wizard, Druid (Land Circle Only), Cleric, & Paladin.

3.     Clerics and Paladins must be aligned to a specific covenant in order to use their abilities. Aligned with Way of White (LG) at the start.

4.     Characters are allowed to start at lvl 3 in the beginning (Second Character = -1 average party level).

5.     Aside from basic equipment, allowed one item in inventory from either starting class or background. (The total gold a character would start with counts as a single item, ie. coin purse)

6.     Starting gp can be converted into a Sovereignless Soul of equal value at creation (counts as a single item).

7.     At creation, basic equipment can be exchanged for a Sovereignless Soul equal to their total gold value.

Additional Rules:

Despair

A value that measures the emotional/mental trauma of a character. Ranges from a min of 0 to a max of 100.

Determination

Awarded by the DM to players in instances of hope or triumph. Reverses Despair equal to the value awarded. Given and valued at the DM’s discretion.

Death

Death is not the end for bearers of the curse. Death brings Despair, which in turn leads to the madness of Hollowing. Death Saves are not made in this ruleset, instead, players roll for Hollowing. The roll is made when the character regains consciousness.

A character that dies suffers 10 points of Despair and each party member in view must succeed a DC10 Wisdom save or each suffer 5 points of Despair. Instances of Overkill will increase the costs to 20 and 10 respectively due to the brutality of the blow.

Hollowing

When rolling for Hollowing, players take into account their current Despair level and roll a d100. The result must exceed the character’s current despair level or the character will suffer from Madness. When Despair reaches the Hollowing Threshold of 100, the next death will automatically trigger a state of Madness. If the added Despair of a death would cause it to reach the Threshold before rolling, the roll is ignored and Madness is applied.

Madness

Two major events occur when a character suffers from Madness. First, a point is deducted from their Sanity counter. Second, the character performs an action at the DM’s discretion as a result of their mania.

Sanity

The starting value of a character’s Sanity is equal to [1 + the sum of WIS / INT/ CHA mods]. When the Sanity counter reaches zero, the character becomes a Mad Hollow and the player hands their character over to the DM. Any drops in Sanity are permanent.

Estus

Hit Dice in this ruleset take the form of Estus Flasks. Your total dice pool equals the number of times the Flask can be used before refilling. It takes a full action to drink Estus in combat, and it can be refilled by resting at a Bonfire.

Bonfire

Bonfires serve to refill Estus, provide a place to level up, and brief sanctuary for long rests. If a long rest is made at a Bonfire, certain enemies in the area will revive, bound to the same curse as you.

Sovereignless Souls

EXP and gp are replaced by Souls for purposes of leveling and currency. Souls gained from kills are added to your Souls Counter (SC), but at times a Sovereignless Soul can be found. These items can be consumed to add value to a character’s Soul counter. A character’s soul counter drops to zero upon death.

Now go forth! And engage in some Jolly Co-Operation!

#dnd 5e #dark souls #fantasy #tabletop #rpg #gaming

[hammtrain-blog]

Steamed

At first glance, you’d think the street was a warzone. Battered attaché cases lay strewn across the sidewalk, gutted and broken as work memos and draft copies flutter away in the breeze. Windshields and store fronts were plastered with smeared chickpeas and pita bread, the sad remnants of a falafel cart that exploded during the commotion. At the center of it all, a sleep-deprived salaryman, dressed in nothing but the blue silk tie upon his head, dazzled onlookers with his working-man manifesto as the cops pleaded for him climb down from the bus and put on some pants. You might be wondering how a typical morning could descended into such madness, but the answer is closer to home than we realize.

Don’t talk to me until I’ve had my coffee. It’s a phrase often grumbled by those needing an excuse to be overly insufferable, but what does it truly mean? We live in a fast paced world of deadlines and late nights, and a morning jolt of caffeine is the only way to keep up. The irritable zombies of the morning rush walk a tight line between functioning like a normal person and breaking down under the stress of modern life. And so, to stave off the crumbling madness that gnaws at them, they herd themselves towards the nearest coffee shop for a hit of the bitter brown-stuff that keeps them going.

This particular morning, however, the ever so delicate dance skipped a beat. Ol’ Steve, the rugged espresso machine that cured the morning ails of an entire neighborhood, had steamed his last right in the middle of the morning rush.

The backlog of customers accepted the delay at first, but soon ten minutes passed, then thirty, an hour, the line growing all the while. They believed Steve would be fixed any minute now, it had to be, but the repairs continued to drag on, their deluded optimism bled into frustration. Voices were raised and curses we’re hurled as the staff desperately fiddled with their fallen comrade.

It wasn’t until the streaking salaryman, then fully clothed in his beige suit, bullied his way up to the counter. His desperation, as it turns out, was not from his own dependence, but fear. He pushed his way through the grumbling line, pleading with the staff to repair the machine as soon as possible. From his pleas, it was clear the panicked salaryman was charged with fetching coffee for some corporate bigwig. They demanded a double foam macchiato from this very shop, no substitutes. To say they did not like to be kept waiting would’ve been an understatement. With his job on the line, the salaryman stood helpless as the baristas tied on their mechanic aprons and attempted to resuscitate Steve. His entire livelihood was in their steam-seared hands.

The rapid drumming of the salaryman’s fingers on the counter marked the passing seconds as he watched the staff dig into Steve’s guts. He froze as one of the baristas removed the cause of Steve’s demise. A single pipe, warped by the heat of a thousand mornings, had finally snapped.

That’s when the screaming started.

No one knows who started the brawl, only that that café erupted into a plume of papers. Briefcases became clubs, tables were overturned, and laptops were clutched and shielded like precious children as the shop descended into chaos. The line stretched all the way out to the sidewalk by this time, and it wasn’t long before the madness spilled out into the street.

Unaware of the carnage outside, an old man stepped out for a morning smoke only to have the freshly lit cigarette knocked away by a pair of brawling med students. The wayward cigarette, still glowing bright with fresh embers, hurtled through the air before landing into the fryer of a nearby falafel stand. The embers turned the bubbling oil into a roaring inferno within seconds. Those nearby fled as the flames crept toward the cart’s propane tank, taking cover just as the humble stand burst into a cloud of flame and burnt pita bread.

Panicked by the throng of rioters that now choked the street, a passing bus pulled to a screeching halt. It was at this time that the salaryman, gripped with passion and sleepless delusions, stripped and mounted his city-funded pulpit while crying out for a revolution!

__

The rest panned out as you’d expect. The fire department came to quash the flames that still engulfed the unfortunate falafel cart, rioters nursed their bruises and papercuts as they tried to collect themselves, and the police arrived to restore order to the disrupted neighborhood.

Steve is still out for repairs, a break which the staff believe is a well-deserved vacation, but the incident did finally convince the café’s tightfisted owner to invest in a new espresso machine. The regulars affectionately refer to it as “Carol”.

Even among the regulars, however, no one dares talk about the incident that morning. But who can blame them? It’s too embarrassing to think how close to the edge we really are, where a small cup of sanity is yours for $2.59.

#short story #fiction #writing

[hammtrain-blog]

Lead-finger Legion

Tick, Tick…

The clock on the wall counted the seconds as a drove of students scribbled their thoughts into wretched blue books. Most could care less what their hurried little hands put down, as long as it satisfied the faceless enigma that pestered them with hollow riddles. Why should they remember the themes present in the journal of a pretentious hermit? After all, if you were to discuss Walden with the common man he would think you were trying to find a bespectacled chap with a taste for ugly sweaters.

Tick, Tick…

But reason has no place here. Valiantly they struggled against the trial before them, parrying questions with context clues, and delivering killing strokes with the most critical of thinking. Although a few unfortunate souls were ensnared by the proper use of semicolons, the rest forged on, undaunted by such flashy punctuation.

Tick, Tick…

Page by page the queries fell, their numbers thinned by dulling lead. Many began to rush for the end, inspired by the thought of completing this senseless challenge. But as the final question lay broken and defeated, they turned the page, awakening the behemoth that slumbered in the depths of the examination. Raising its many sigil-laden heads, the beast was now all that stood between them and their freedom.

Tick, Tick…

Clenching fresh pencils, some attacked their foe head-on, but without specific examples, their blows bounced off its hide. Others tried to formulate a plan, searching for a weakness to exploit.

Tick, Tick…

Time was drawing to a close. Many a fatigued hand strained in agony, and more still, especially those who squandered precious minutes making an outline, could feel the constricting panic of the encroaching deadline cloud their judgement. Yet for all their suffering, they knew not that there was a champion in their midst. For seated in a humble corner at the back of the room was one bold enough to stand against this oppression!

Tick, Tick…

With his graphite lance, he put an end to the essay’s terror with a final thrust. Rising from his seat, he proudly held aloft the spoils of his triumph. His classmates gazed up to marvel at him as he marched victoriously to the front of the room. To think that one among them could accomplish something so great, so brilliant! Truly, this was not an ordinary man, but a genius for our time!

As he passed the front row, a soft clap came from behind him. Soon his fellows joined in, standing to deliver a thundering roar of applause, cheering their hero as he approached the table where he would seal his accomplishment. With each step the sound of the crowd grew faster, and oddly shrill, but it didn’t matter to him– all he had to do was place these precious pages on the table mere inches from him. Slowly the pages descended toward the inviting surface, but despite all logic, they drew no closer than they were moments before. In fact, it seemed as though the table was stretching further and further away!

How was this possible?

Growing frantic, their champion raced after the table, but it only continued to defy his grasp. The crowd’s cheers continued to increase it’s pace, driving him, goading him forward with matched desperation. In a final effort, he gathered his strength, and sprinted with all his might, gaining ground against the fleeing furniture. He was almost there now! Just a little further! Just a little–

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRING!

A student sleeping in the back corner of the classroom jolted awake from the period bell. Seething with discontent, he followed his classmates to the front of the room and tossed his drool-stained booklet onto the table before storming out, cursing under this breath. It wasn’t long until only the clock, their rhythmic proctor, remained. Oblivious to any change, the solemn keeper was only concerned with its purpose, to keep watch over time. Counting the seconds, it called out into the darkness, slowly, softly.

Tick, Tick…

#short story #fiction #writing