If you’re the right age then you definitely remember Crocodracula, the terrifying soap opera for kids from the early nineties. If you’re too old, or too young, or your parents (wisely???) prevented you from watching, the show was a lot like Land of the Lost, but in a kind of modern gothic horror mode instead of cavemen and dinosaurs. I’ve also heard it described as “Dark Shadows for tweens” but I don’t know how accurate that assessment is.
HOWEVER, even nineties kids don’t necessarily remember that there was at least one Crocodracula computer game, released by Taleframe in 1991. I say “at least one” because the title, “Crocodracula: What Happened to Calvin,” makes it sound like they were at least planning to release other games, possibly based on other episodes/story arcs from the show. It’s hard to tell. Crocodracula information is really hard to come by for some reason.
The point is, I now have a copy of this game.
BEWARE: The new Halloween Zeen is out!
A lot of really cool people contributed a lot of really cool stuff to this year’s Zeen. Plus there is a board game that I didn’t do a very good job of designing. BUT THE OTHER STUFF IS RAD. CHECK IT OUT.
“It was those luddites,” Heldeb grumbled. “They’ve got themselves some new old-fashioned contraption. An impossibly loud one.”
These remarks were directed toward a nebrium-plated breakfast droid, which, detecting Heldeb’s frustration, extended two shiny pseudopods to rub his temples.
By degrees the sunlight reached through an unprismed habi-dome window, illuminating an analog selenometer: Piv, waxing crescent; Hed, third quarter; Fewkalek, waxing gibbous. Then the sun shone on the edge of an old-fashioned bed, with old-fashioned Cadëxial silk sheets over an old-fashioned eidetic foam mattress. Tangled in the sheets were two old-fashioned data enthusiasts.
Radix awoke first.
Vilt landed his ungraceful vessel with a veteran freighter’s careful hand, despite the relative worthlessness of his cargo. It was midnight on the planet Gich.
“Are we there yet?” squawked the cargo. It was a long-outmoded data entry robot, purchased on the interplanetary vintage robot exchange by a pair of Gichian luddite data enthusiasts. Its designation was ¶‡◊.
It is not usually possible for our D&D group to play in person, because we all live in different places and one of us lives in Australia. But this weekend, the stars aligned, so to speak, and almost all of us were in the same place at the same time. I took the opportunity to run an adventure that had the same epic stakes as our epic meetup.
That’s me in the WINONA RYDER IN EDWARD SCISSOR-HANDS shirt.
Unfortunately, to tell you that story, I have to give you some background information.
This post is not interesting. Do not read this. Continue reading
On the latest episode of Clash of the Type-Ins, we played my game The Island of Doctor Wooby. The game deals with an island populated by teensy felt dinosaurs, which are a passion of mine.
Here’s the Reddit thread where this started. The short version is: /u/Takfloyd pointed out that, when you first enter a Divine Beast (and up until you activate one of its terminals), for example Vah Medoh, the music includes Morse code, beeping an SOS.
Then /u/TonesBalones and /u/Dragonaichu point out that, while there’s definitely an SOS in the left channel, the right channel plays different Morse: . . – . – – . .
So what does that mean?
Four monks sat together at a stone table. One monk had a cake, which he was eating very slowly.
“Why do you eat so slowly?” asked the second monk.
“I want to enjoy my cake,” the first monk replied, “but when it is all eaten, I can enjoy it no longer. By eating it slowly, I enjoy it more.”
The third monk reached over and grabbed the cake. “Now this cake is mine to enjoy,” he laughed. “Your reasoning was actually short-sighted.”
The fourth monk, in turn, took the cake from the third. “We aren’t supposed to have cake,” he said. He tossed the cake over the fence.
The fifth monk, who was waiting on the other side of the fence, grabbed the cake out of the air.
“Finally!” he whispered.
The fifth monk popped the whole half-eaten cake into his mouth, causing his cheeks to bulge out.
Just then, a sparrow alighted at the fifth monk’s feet. The fifth monk was struck by the bird’s pitiable aspect and gaunt figure.
He spat out part of the cake onto the ground, and the sparrow started pecking it up with its tiny beak.
“I hope nobody sees this,” thought the fifth monk. But I saw all of it, and I wrote it all down.