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\title{Bits \& Pieces}
\author{}
\date{}
\maketitle

{\it
{\Large I}n the course of reading numerous articles over {\sf rec.games.frp} it
becomes apparent that the strength of Internet communication is not so much
in the quick and reliable distribution of massive essays as in the cooperative
sharing of bits and pieces thereof. Such miscellaneous threads can be the
work of no single person, yet when brought together in a single forum, they
form a chaotic tapestry of alternate perspectives and ideas betraying both
the character and company of the assemblage they represent. Herein follows
the bits \& pieces.\\}

\begin{quote}
``Beware the beast man, for he is the devil's pawn.  Alone among God's primates,
he kills for sport... or lust... or greed. Yea, he will murder his brother to 
possess his brother's land.  Let him not breed in great numbers, for he will 
make a desert of his home... and yours.  Shun him... for he is the harbinger
of death."

\begin{tabbing}
\hspace{.5in}--- \=Beneath the Planet of the Apes\\
\>\copyright 1970\\
\end{tabbing}
\end{quote}

{\em Two bits on the topics of orcs \& evil:\\}

In our game, orcs are EVIL, and short of a helm of opposite alignment, there
is no way to make them good.   Therefore releasing orcish prisoners makes the
releaser morally responsible for any and all actions of the former prisoners.
``The only good orc is a dead orc!''  If an orc surrenders, he should be 
questioned (not tortured), and then executed as quickly, and painlessly, as
possible.

\begin{tabbing}
\hspace{.5in}--- \=Eric Hunter\\
\>hunter@oswego.oswego.edu
\end{tabbing}

The UW gaming club [WATSFIC] ran a nifty tourney that depended on 
that very mind-set. The party is hired to clean out a temple infested by
Orcs. It's only *after* the PCs slaughter the Orc warriors and put the women
and children to the sword that the cleric who *runs* the temple shows up
and is greatly upset at the brutal murder of his converted Lawful Good Orcs.
The cleric who hired the party is a tad conservative in his social views, you
see, and didn't believe that Orcs *could* be converted. Funny how few PCs
will turn down the opportunity to commit genocide.

\begin{tabbing}
\hspace{.5in}--- \=jdnicoll@watyew.uwaterloo.ca\\
\>University of Waterloo\\
\end{tabbing}


\begin{quote}
{\em More about orcs and evil:}

\begin{description}
\item[Psychotherapist:] So, vaht ist de problem? 
\item[Orc:] It's those darn humans.  They call me evil, and I can't handle it....
\end{description}
\hspace{.5in}--- orion@desire.wright.edu \\
\end{quote}

\begin{quote}
``If you can look into the seeds of time, and say which grain will grow, and
 which will not, then speak to me, who neither beg nor fear your favors nor
 your hate."

\begin{tabbing}
\hspace{.5in}--- \={\bf Macbeth}, Banquo to the\\
\>Witches, I, iii, 58-61.\\
\end{tabbing}
\end{quote}

\begin{quote}
{\em On the topic of Good \& Evil:\\}

If you are playing in a campaign where there is absolute evil or good (D\&D
being the classic example), and assuming that the terms ``evil" and ``good"
are used the way heroic fiction usually defines them, then killing helpless
prisoners is {\bf always} an evil idea, period. {\bf Mercy} is a good trait; it is
given to any and all, regardless of the situation, regardless of their
identity or potential as a future threat, and regardless of whether or not
it is convenient.\\

Remember, good characters should treat deadly enemies with courtesy and
respect, should give any unknown person the benefit of a reasonable doubt,
and should never put what is convenient ahead of what it right.

\begin{tabbing}
\hspace{.5in}--- \=Richard L. Bulter\\
\>rlb@apple-gunkies.ai.mit.edu\\
\end{tabbing}
\end{quote}


``You see me now a veteran,

\ \ \     Of a thousand psychic wars,

\ \ \ \ \ \         I've been living on the edge so long,

\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \             Where the winds of Limbo roar,

\  And I'm young enough to look at,

\ \ \     And far too old to see,

\ \ \ \ \ \         All the scars are on the inside,

\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \             I don't know if there's anything left of me."

\hspace{.5in}--- BOC\\

\begin{quote}
``More than any time in history mankind faces a crossroads. One path leads to
despair and utter hopelessness, the other to total extinction. Let us pray
that we have the wisdom to choose correctly.''

\hspace{.5in}--- Woody Allen\\
\end{quote}

\begin{quote}
{\em About the risky business:}\\

A risk without risk is not a risk. Ahem! :-)\\

That is, a player should not take the attitude of, ``Well, I'm about to do
something really cool, so the GM better not kill me off.''  What makes the
situation ``cool" is the element of danger, which requires planning, a certain
amount of toughness on the part of the characters (read hit points), and, of
course *LUCK* (read die rolls) to overcome.  What makes the deed ``cool'' for
the characters is their ability to pull it off with their collective hides 
intact.  If the GM does not challenge (read attempt to kill :-) the characters
then the intactness of their hides is virtually guaranteed, and the situation
becomes ``uncool.''

\begin{tabbing}
\hspace{.5in}--- \=Michael Cornelius \\
\>231d3107@fergvax.unl.edu \\
\end{tabbing}
\end{quote}

\begin{quote}

{\em On the topics of game-richness \& roll-fudging:\\}

What is really important in creating a campaign or adventure is the richness
of the environment the players wander around in, and this is not only not
synonymous with detail; detail can kill the richness of a campaign.  I can get
more out of making the King of Slobovia blind than I can out of working out
his ancestors to the nth generation.  The first detail makes the gaming world
rich and interesting, the second bogs it down with trivial and unnecessary
detail.  Will the characters even make any use out of the fact that the king's
fifth cousin's great grandfather's aunt's ninth cousin was Bill?  I doubt it,
so why waste my time working something like that out.  Might they use the fact
that he is blind?  Probably.\\

I have had to play under GM's who had extensive game worlds which were 
extensively detailed, and yet they had not the magic to create a story in
that world --- to weave events and histories and love and hate around the
cold details of their world, to make them subtlety rich with hidden meaning.
It is more like a geography lesson (or prison sentence) to play in such a 
world.\\

I have gotten more passion out of a player with a single roll of a saving die
than I could have hoped for out of five hours of narrative.  One monk was hit
by a poison arrow down in a water dungeon, and failed the saving throw.  The
narrative element of the game had made the player care more about what happened
to that monk than any hack'n'slash power-grubbing game ever could (the player
told me later that the monk was his favorite character, even though it was 
only sixth level and he had played characters up higher in other games), but
the saving throw really brought all the thrill, danger and risk that is vital
to gaming to bear at one single instant.  I didn't fudge the roll (and I'd
bet \$1000 that the player wanted me too --- in fact if I remember right he
offered me \$10 to restore the character).  But the death of the monk gave a
sense of tragedy, senseless and futility to the narrative that I could never
have made up on my own (it required the participation of the players and the
mechanism of the game be there) --- this is what GM's who try to control the
game too tightly miss out on, the sense of awe at something that occurs that
is beyond them.  So in a sense there are times when a fudge could save the game
but the GM should be loathe beyond words (a narrative GM, that is) to let this
spoil the magic and wonder he has created with his story.\\

And yet, when the house would not be built but would come crashing down by 
not adjusting a die roll, it should be made.  Even something as vulgar sounding
as fudging may be elevated to an art of style that can make or destroy the
GM's game.  When it really comes down to it, no hard and fast rule can decide
for you what to do --- the GM is in the driver's seat and accepts total responsibility
for the progress and style of the game.

\begin{tabbing}
\hspace{.5in}--- \=D. Brad Shapcott\\
\>dbshapcott@dahlia.uwaterloo.ca\\ 
\>University of Waterloo\\
\end{tabbing}
\end{quote}

\begin{quote}
``God not only plays dice, He
 also sometimes throws the dice
 where they cannot be seen."

\hspace{.5in}--- S. Hawking\\

``Like any good GM."

\hspace{.5in}--- D. Heffernan\\
\end{quote}

\begin{quote}
{\em Fudging with Falling:\\}

A fall from a balcony, even at 100 stories, is not always fatal.
Perhaps you could fudge these rolls.

\begin{tabbing}
\hspace{.5in}--- \=Brian T. Schellenberger \\
\>bts@unx.sas.com \\
\end{tabbing}

Sure! How about...

\begin{itemize}

\item{You land on a passing flat-bed truck piled high with mattresses.  How
fortunate!}

\item{A passing blimp cushions your fall.}

\item{Your high-tech sneakers save you from destruction.}

\item{You crash to the sidewalk with terrific velocity, smashing the
concrete and breaking an underground water main.  You climb out of
the crater and dust yourself off.  One of your ankles is sprained.}

\end{itemize}

\begin{tabbing}
\hspace{.5in}--- \=Robert Plamondon \\
\>robert@weitek.com \\
\>Weitek, Sunnyvale CA \\
\end{tabbing}
\end{quote}

\begin{quote}
{\em Hamlet on roll-fudging: \\}

To fudge or not to fudge,

That is the question.

Whether it is nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

Or by taking arms against a sea of troubles, end them...

Let he who has not fudged cast the first die...

Fudging is as much a reality for GM's as cheating on taxes is for accountants.
Sure, we all know its not right, but when we can get that teeny-tiny little
advantage just by adjusting the numbers slightly . . .

\begin{tabbing}
\hspace{.5in}--- \=D Brad Shapcott \\
\>dbshapcott@dahlia.uwaterloo.ca \\
\>University of Waterloo \\
\end{tabbing}
\end{quote}

\begin{quote}
``Let's just say that if complete and utter chaos were lightning, then
he'd be the sort to stand on a hilltop in a thunderstorm wearing wet
copper armour and shouting `All gods are bastards.' ''

\hspace{.5in}--- Terry Pratchett\\
\end{quote}

\begin{quote}
I knew a GM who had an extremely powerful natural magician in his
party. Thing was, the fellow didn't believe in magic.  He believed
that everything had a logical, technical explanation.  The force of
his magic was so strong that whatever he believed was true.  Then one
day his party met up with a dragon...\\

He snuck around back, opened the hatch and evicted the two dwarves who
were operating the machine.  His fellow party members never succeeded
in making him believe that it really had been a dragon.

\begin{tabbing}
\hspace{0.5in} --- \=Gwen Johnson\\
\>sgj@slc1.brl.mil\\
\end{tabbing}
\end{quote}

\begin{quote}
``Hmm.  Enterprise.  So that's its name.  I always assumed it was the
U.S.S. `Whooosh!' or something."

\hspace{.3in}--- Paramount Legal Department Ogre\\
\end{quote}

\begin{quote}
``There's a whole new breed of scientist out there today:  They drink,
smoke, fool around with women, but they won't answer one simple
question:  How do you destroy Washington, D.C. ?''

\hspace{.5in}--- villian, Matt Helm flick\\
\end{quote}

\begin{quote}

{\em Fun times in the city:\\}

Yes, towns and cities can be lots of fun, for both player and DM.
And let's not forget one of the inevitable consequences of a large,
well-run city with an active City Council and Merchants' Guild ---
bureaucracy!  Let's illustrate from one of my recent adventures:\\

The party has arrived in town, laden with assorted loot to sell.
They've found an inn which won't rob them blind overnight (through
sheer good luck), and have got directions to the Street of the Armorers...

\begin{description}

\item[Player:]   ``I'd like to sell a suit of plate mail.  It's magic.''

\item[Armorer:]  ``Magic, eh?  No problem, magic plate's always in demand.
          Let's see the pink slip for it then.''

\item[Player:]   ``Pink slip???''

\item[Armorer:]  ``Yeah, the pink slip. From the wizard who certified it.''

\item[Player:]   ``Certified it???''

\item[Armorer:]  ``Look, don't keep on repeating what I just said.  Do you have
          a pink slip or don't you?  Can't take any magic stuff without
          the pink slip, everyone knows that!''

\end{description}

And so begins a lovely chase up and down the Street of the Wizards
(whose fees are *much* too dear for our lowly party),  ending up at Benjamin
the Hedge-Wizard's for an under-the-table pink slip, leading to an
introduction to the Captain of the Guard (``So you expect me to believe
you didn't know this pink slip wasn't issued by an *accredited* wizard
when you gave it to the armorer who sold the mail to His Lordship?''),
and the beginning of their next adventure...

\begin{tabbing}
\hspace{.5in}--- \=Chris Robertson \\
\>chris@griffon.mcc.pyrsyd.oz \\
\>Griffon Consulting \\
\end{tabbing}
\end{quote}

\begin{description}
\item[Cyoeraith (Sigh-or-athe):] {\em n.} a blood drinking nasty.\\
\end{description}

\begin{quote}

{\em The secret to successful horror:\\}

I once played in a call of Cthulhu game that scared the wits out of us.
We were supposed to find out what happened to some person who had been
committed to an insane asylum some years ago; the asylum was closed
and the patients transferred.  By the time we got done being briefed
by the client, it was dark, but he told us not to worry, he'd made
arrangements to have the power turned back on at the asylum, so we
could go up tonight.  And we'd get a bonus for early success.  So we
went.\\

We encountered various weird details along the way, like no bird or
animal or insect noises.  And a gate that was shiny and new fastened
with a lock that was old and rusted.  And things grabbed our hair
(turned out to be branches, but little things mean a lot).  Once at
the asylum the lights flickered off and on, and occasionally went
out, so we scared each other by running into each other (we'd split up
to search the place). And we found details, like a doctor's hidden
notes, on fresh paper, in handwriting identical to notes in a thirty
year old medical record, and the doctor was supposed to be dead... and
other little things, like a severed hand in a drawer... which moved
when we weren't looking.  And cold nasty green slime oozing from under
a door, but when the door was opened nothing was there.  And desperate
graffiti left behind on the walls by lunatics, claiming they were
being experimented upon.  And an operating theater without anesthetic
equipment.  And a noose hanging in a stair well.  The noose was brand
new, but their were no marks of any kind in the heavy dust to show how
somebody might have put it there.  And one time when the lights were
out, we heard a scream and went charging up this stairwell, only to
smack into a very old, dead body hanging in the noose.  The body
turned out to belong to our client's handyman, whom he'd sent over
first to find the papers.  But what happened to him that he became
such a cadaver in only a few days?  And how did his body get into the
noose?\\

And on and on and on.  We were freaking all right, one of the best
adventures I've ever played in.  And I don't  really like Call of
Cthulhu.  (We never did meet any Cthulhu-oid nasties.  But the thought
that we might certainly flavored the adventure.  Especially when the
green slime started oozing under the door.)\\

The secret to successful horror is details.  A door locking behind
you, for example, trapping you in the mental ward.  So what if
nobody's there?  They {\bf might} be.

\begin{tabbing}
\hspace{.5in}--- \=S. Gwen Johnson \\
\>sgj@slc1.brl.mil \\
\end{tabbing}
\end{quote}

\begin{quote}
``I've seen the ocean break on the shore, comes together, no harm done.''

\begin{tabbing}
\hspace{.5in}--- \=Loren Miller \\
\>millerl@desci.wharton.upenn.edu \\
\end{tabbing}
\end{quote}

\begin{description}
\item[Justyn Tyme:] ``I'm here to save you!!  I'm Justyn Tyme!!!"
\item[Peasants:] ``Great.  Who are you?"
\end{description}

{\em Funny Fumbles:\\}

\begin{enumerate}

\item {Player fumbles sword, but with a great feat of agility manages to catch
it...  the wrong way...}

\item {Character swings and lets go of weapon, which sails way up into the clouds.
 Several days later (in another encounter) the players should hear a high
pitched whistling sound: the weapon comes down at mach 1, doing a whole lot of
damage to anybody it hits (otherwise digging a big crater)}

\item{(variation on \#2) Weapon just happens to land in such a manner as to kill a
local monarch.  The local constabulary seeks out the owner of the weapon.}

\item{Player accidentally cuts a rift in the fabric of the universe. Stepping
through (or being pushed through) has no ill effect, and players can climb
back out again. Fabric of the universe can be mended with normal needle and
thread.}

\item{Gets stuck in mid-air.  No amount of pushing, pulling, etc. will dislodge
it from its position. It has become lodged in the aether.}

\item{The weapon suddenly becomes a bowl of petunias.}

\item{Weapon hits the ground... and strikes oil!  The fumbling player is blinded
for a number of rounds, wiping off all of the oil, and everyone in the general
vicinity must save vs. DEX every round to stay on their feet.}

\item{The player makes a massively bad swing... Suddenly 10 imps appear, they
confer for a short while and then hold up scorecards: 9 of them give the
player a score $<$ 0.1, but one gives him/her a 0.5.  All the rest of the imps
shout at this imp, throwing their score cards at it.  The entire assemblage
then disappears.}

\item{Player is about to swing... but suddenly is struck by the thought that
he/she might not have turned the oven off before they left on this adventure.
They must spend the next several turns trying to remember if they did indeed
turn the oven off, or even if they have an oven to turn off.}

\end{enumerate}

\begin{tabbing}
\hspace{.5in}--- \=Gary P. Gray \\
\>ggray@wpi.wpi.edu \\
\>Worcester Polytechnic Institute,\\
\>Worcester, MA \\
\end{tabbing}

\newpage

Turingsblade!  Sword of Heroes, Blade of Kings!

\hspace{.5in} Sharper than serpent's tooth, swifter than dragon's wings,

Automata's Bane, and Chimera's Doom;

\hspace{.5in} The Blade of the Hierarch!  The Torment of Mushrooms!\\

\hspace{.5in}--- from the Cornevala\\


\begin{quote}
``A man may fight for many things; his country, his principles, his friends,
the glistening tear on the cheek of a golden child. But personally, I'd
mudwrestle my own mother for a ton of cash, an amusing clock and a stack of
French porn.''

\begin{tabbing}
\hspace{.5in}--- \=Edmund Blackadder\\
\>(ca. 1805)\\
\end{tabbing}
\end{quote}

\begin{quote}
{\em Funny magic:\\}

Consider altering spells.

\begin{description}
\item[    Create food:] only makes Popcorn, but it is hot and about to pop.
	(one cubic foot of popcorn at the moment of popping fills the
	room very soon after...)
\item[    Magic Missile:] produces prayer books (Missives), or a single Nuclear
	missile that decides it doesn't want to go over there, *it* wants
	to explode near *daddy*.
\item[    Cure Light Wounds:] the lamp gets brighter.
\item[    Permanent Light:] disco version!
\end{description}

And magical items.

\begin{description}
\item[    Ring of Turn Undead:] hey, you're a zombie now!
\item[    Helm of True Vision:] BBC2 only (or CBS, or your local TV station).
\item[    Ring of Three Wishes:] Ring of Three Washes.
\end{description}

All gold carried turns out to've been cursed --- it's chocolate inside!

\begin{tabbing}
\hspace{.5in}--- \=Liam R. E. Quin \\
\>lee@sq.sq.com \\
\>SoftQuad Inc. \\
\end{tabbing}
\end{quote}

\begin{description} 

\item[Q:] How many pixies does it take to
     screw in a lightbulb?

\item[A:] Two.  But I don't know how they got
     in there!\\

\begin{quote}
``STERN?  HE'S NOTHIN' BUT A LOW DOWN, BACKSTABBING, DOUBLE DEALING, LARCENOUS,
PERVERTED WORM!!!  HANGIN'S TO GOOD FOR `EM!  BURNIN'S TO GOOD FOR `EM!  HE
SHOULD BE TORN UP INTO ITSY BITSY PIECES, AND BURIED ALIVE!  I'LL KILL HIM!!!
KIIIIIIIIILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!''

\begin{tabbing}
\hspace{.5in}--- \=Hanover Fist,\\
\>Heavy Metal: The Movie\\
\end{tabbing}
\end{quote}
 
\end{description}

\begin{quote}
{\em Humor in RPG's (or at least a lethal substitute):\\}

Well, there was the time the PC's ran into Vorpal Bunnies in Guy's favorite
Monty Python movie...

\begin{description}
\item[Tim:]    "There it is."  
\item[Arthur:] "Wot?  Be ond de rebbit?"
\item[Tim:]    "No!  It IS de rebbit!"
\item[Sir Robbin:]  "You tit!  I soiled me armor I wooz so scairt."
\item[Arthur:]  "Borris, go chup it's 'ead off."
\item[Tim:]  "Oim warnin ye...."
\item[Borris:]  "Right!  Rebbit stew commin righttup."
\end{description}

(stomp) (stomp) (stomp) (heavy boots clompin along)
The rabbit leaps...
"AWWWWGGGGGGHHHHH... (sounds of death by vorpal bunny deleted)\\

Or there is the time a group of PC's in one old AD\&D game raided a lair
of a hill giant....

\begin{description}
\item[Monkey Face:]  "F***kin A, what is this?"
\item[Myke:]         "Far out, it's like wax or somethin."
\end{description}

They examine this large sphere, several feet in diameter near the kitchen
table of the 9' tall giant they had slain.

\begin{description}
\item[M.F.]  "It's kinda got a foul scent to it don't it?"
\item[Myke:]  "Yeah, and it smells too.  Hey, maybe it's taffy or something.  I
        mean, giant's gotta eat a lot right?"
\item[M.F.]  "I dunno, why don't you try it?  It sure looks familiar though."
\end{description}

Then it hits Myke.

\begin{description}
\item[Myke:]  "OH NO!  Don't eat it!"

\item[M.F.]  (Burp!)  Yum, this tastes familiar..."

\item[Myke:]  (RRRRaaallpppphh) (Other puking noises deleted) Ohhhh, you idiot!"
\end{description}

Pook! Myke pokes him in the face.

\begin{description}
\item[M.F.] "What's the matter?"

\item[Myke:]  (Gag) You just ate part of that Giants booger vault!"\\
\end{description}

Sorry it's kinda sick.  Here's a pun to cheer you up.\\

An assassin went into an ancient part of the wilderness to scout out the
plans of an invading army.  He knew the enemy's armies sorcerers would
know he was in their land and that the General would be searching for him
right away.  Well, he made it through their borders and ventured forth
through the heart of their capitol city.  He was great at stealth tactics
and clandestine operations.  Eventually the spy made it into the HQ, which
was situated inside the enemy's greatest ancient structure, an old ziggurat
(a wedding cake shaped temple structure).  Once there he knew he was 
running out of time, and that the general and his armies would find him
if he took too long.  He searched the whole building and could not find
the plans he was looking for.  Angry, he lit fire to the place, and the
whole structure lit up like a bonfire.  Being that it was broad daylight,
the smoke could be seen for many miles.  The general saw the smoke and
circled the whole area and captured the spy.  \\

Wanna know the moral of this story?\\

The Searching General has determined that smoking ziggarauts is dangerous
to your stealth.\\

Had enough? Awright, awright, let me get out a here before the tomatos fly.

\begin{tabbing}
\hspace{.5in}--- \=Joel Lovell \\
\>jlovell@xcalibur.intel.com \\
\>Santa Clara Microprocessor Division, \\
\>Intel Corp., Santa Clara, CA\\
\end{tabbing}
\end{quote}

\begin{quote}
``You're a notch, and I'm a legend.''

\hspace{.5in}--- Alice Cooper\\
\end{quote}

\begin{quote}
``Ride like the wind. Fight proud, my son. You're the Defender God has sent.''

\hspace{.5in}--- Manowar\\
\end{quote}

\begin{quote}

{\em The ``high-intensity'' approach to characterization:\\}

When I was involved in theatre, in high school, I always dreamed
about the play.  Every night.  This was true whether I was acting,
running the lights, or whatever.\\

As opening night approached, I would think and talk of little else.\\

I would also talk about the character I was playing in the first
person, and refer to other people by their characters' names, though
it's not as if I didn't know the difference.\\

At the time, all this was considered normal: the dreams, the
obsession, the random references to actors and their characters.  It
was part of theatre.\\

I suppose if we talked about it on the net, though, people
would start to worry that we had been ``too wrapped up,'' and that
something should have been done to ``bring us back to reality.''
Perhaps we should have been ``removed'' from the play ``w/o hope for
returning.''\\

Fortunately for us, they didn't, and we weren't denied the experience
of participating in high-intensity theatre.\\

The parallel to role-playing games is exact.  Some role-playing
campaigns, like some theatre, is deeply involving, and is not the
sort of thing you can shrug off in an instant.  Others are
beer-and-pretzel affairs that are good for a few thrills and a lot of
yucks.  Members of each camp look at the others with disdain and
suspicion.  No doubt people in the middle are confused.\\

But it's no kindness to take an actor/gamer who gets deeply involved
in a role aside and say, ``Hey, dude, it's only a game!  Have some
more beer and pretzels!''  You aren't dealing with a failure of the
actor/gamer's sanity; you're dealing with a difference in approach to
characterization.\\

\begin{tabbing}
\hspace{.5in}--- \= Robert Plamondon \\
\>robert@weitek.com \\
\>Weitek, Sunnyvale CA \\
\end{tabbing}
\end{quote}

\begin{quote}
{\em On the topic of Role Playing:\\}

	In a game I played about a year and a half ago, we were a motley
	collection of seven characters flying out of Russia. Our plane
	downed in a remote spot somewhere in the eastern bloc (can't
	remember where, sorry), and we were involved in a very peculiar
	chain of events. My character was a retired army chaplain, a
	six foot tall negro and a very christian man. He had been designed
	by the GM and assigned to me by him. I wasn't very happy about
	this, but I was determined to play the character to the best of
	my ability. As the game progressed, I managed to get more and
	more into character until I reached a point where I truly felt
	that I had merged, and for a while there I *was* Dr. Elias.
	It was an awesome experience, I am told it was quite scary for
	the others watching me. I lived that man. I was reduced to
	tears at one stage when God failed me when I called upon Him
	in my hour of need. I developed a major sense of responsibility
	for the rest of the party, and lost my cool (going into a kind
	of half shock state) for about half an hour when two of my party
	got killed. It was one of the most incredible experiences of my
	life, exhilirating, emotional and terribly tiring. I got further
	into that character than I have ever been in any game, and I
	*loved* every minute of it. It was a glorious experience and I
	wouldn't have missed it for the world. *HOWEVER*, at all times
	I was aware that what I was doing was simply a piece of
	incredibly intense acting. I was Dr. Elias because I *allowed*
	myself to be. *I* was in control, and I could have (and did at
	one stage --- to eat pizza) snapped out of him at any time. At
	the close of the scenario, I was drained and happy. I knew when
	things were over, took off my mask and went home.

\begin{tabbing}
\hspace{.5in}--- \=The Welsh Hobbit\\
\>pears@shiva.trl.oz\\
\>Telecom Research Labs,\\
\>Melbourne, Australia\\
\end{tabbing}
\end{quote}

\begin{quote}
``I can handle reality in small doses,
but as a lifestyle, it's much too confining.''

\hspace{.5in}--- Lilly Tomlin\\
\end{quote}

\end{document}


