It went exactly as you would guess, if you've been paying attention to my track record. And for those who haven't;
Hey there, welcome to Musings of a Nerd! I went 2-and-2.
Jokes aside, it was a good day. Surprisingly full too; 26 players in total, which is quite a lot more than I've grown used to. Bit cramped, but all the better for it. The extra players, not the lack of room, that is...
... anyway, yeah -Kaladesh PreRelease. And before you ask - no, I didn't pull a Masterwork. Planeswalker and a Legendary though, so that cool. Dovin Baan is pretty ridiculous in a control shell, and Kambal is just mean. Which oughta give you an inclination of where I went - Esper represent! Now if I can just go Grixis in the Aether Revolt, I'll have the bad part of Alara sorted. Where was I? Esper, right.
I was tempted by Jeskai actually. I drew a couple Izzet and Boros cards, along with the fast-lands for those colours. Which was almost too good to be true; almost perfect mana fixing for a splash of red. Unfortunately, my red was... Well, pretty disappointing on the whole. One or two alright cards, and then the quality dropped sharply, and I didn't have anywhere near enough blue or white cards to make up for it. Plus, my black was strong; Not amazing, but strong.
I'm not gonna tell you my deck yet for reasons that will become apparent soon enough, so for the moment;
ROUND ONE: Rakdos Rush.
Yeah, this was pretty ham. First game was over pretty quick, since he popped down Smugglers Copter turn 2 and there's not much that I can do about that. Almost stabilised somewhere around turn 5, but his deck was full of removal, and with the Copter looting each turn he always had the best cards for the job.
Second game went a little better; I kept a bad hand, but he was a little mana-screwed, so I made it a couple turns in before he got the copter down, and...
ROUND TWO: Sultai Slams.
This went better? On the downside, I still lost, but having a mid-range opponent meant that it wasn't an uphill battle from the off. I actually got in a couple hits on him early with cheap weanies, but as the games wore on he'd stabilise, and then I lacked any real bombs. Both matches ended with us both in single-digit life totals, so at least there's that.
... And now between rounds, a moment of true beauty. My opponent offered to help me 're-tool my deck. We took out some meh cards, refocused the themes, and added an absolute bomb. And I ended up with the following:
Dovin Baan; Kambal, Consul of Allocation; Cloudblazer; Glint-Sleeve Artisan; Aerial Responder; 3 Skyswirl Harrier; Fairgrounds Warden; Captured by the Consulate (promo); Wind Drake; 2 Malfunction; Thriving Turtle; Marionette Master; 2 Die Young; Tidy Conclusion; Lawless Broker; Bastion Mastadon; Glassblower's Puzzleknot; 2 Self-Assembler; Aether Hub; 6 Plains; 5 Island; 5 Swamp.
ROUND THREE: Mirror Mayhem
This was straight ham. Game one lasted less than five minutes; hand full of blue gas and no Islands in sight. Didn't really get to see each other's decks, so we were basically going in blind for second match.
Which was kinda the reverse; he flooded out, and I killed him without looking more than 5 life. Did get to meet his Dovin Baan though, which was kinda interesting...
And then the most intense game of the day. Seriously, it was ridiculous; bounce and destruction, pacifisms and punishers all over. By the end, I had 3 life, he had 2 and I had a Wind Drake. That is how close it was.
ROUND FOUR: Izzet Instabilities
So, this was probably the second quickest round. He had a pretty decent deck, but... nothing too amazing. Well, no - he had that 11 drop construct, but never got it out. Saheeli came to play, but I finally resolved Dovin and by that point it was pretty apparent that we were all better served spending counters than building up for an Ultimate. In the end I eked out a win due to flyers a turn before he could kill me.
Game two... Well, I played Kambal and Dovin on curve, and he pyro-helixed himself in the face just to end it quicker.
So, all in all, a good experience. I placed 12/11th in the end, best of my group, and won two packs. Plus, I made a sweet Bant deck out of that and some SOI&EMN cards, so really I can't complain.
Kaladesh certainly gets my approval anyway, and I hope this post gets yours. Cheers for taking the time to read it.
Volodanti out.
Monday, 26 September 2016
Monday, 12 September 2016
Deathwatch Commeth
So, for those of you who don't know... which may be a majority, I'm not great on keeping track of my readers (or, rather, Blogger won't let me access your personal information. Rude huh?)... Some friends and I have decided to start a Deathhulk Campaign, centered around a squad of Deathwatch marines and their investigation of a new and worrisome Xenos threat. Fire Team Crimson, as such units are wont to be named, have recently been assigned to Epsilon Station V; located near the southern border with Tau Space, it has a somewhat humble record, primarily due to the historic lack of Xenos threats in that region. Of course, with the emergence of the Tau, the arrival of the Tyranid Hive Fleets, and this new threat, that may soon change...
So, anyway, we each semi-randomly chose a chapter, made a character, built the model, and repeated. So, we have a team of eight Astartes, ready to prove themselves worthy of their heritage, and bring glory to their Chapters... or mess up completely, and get replaced by a squad of IG with more sense than pauldrons.
... getting back to the point, we needed some fluff to start off this campaign, so here's the opening I wrote. Hope you enjoy, and I'll see you again soon.
Volodanti out.
Seven figures stood arrayed about the desk, mostly silent bar the occasional passage of short conversation. To a man they were huge; even without the thick, onyx armour that covered them from throat to toe, they each stood a good foot above than the tallest of men, and were near twice as broad.
The first wore a loose tabard over his armour, the yellow cloth seeming to offend the grim stoicism of the room. Uniquely amongst those assembled, his left knee, was painted a deep blue, and metal collar rose above his head, almost becoming a hood, though it lacked the size to cast his face in shadow - indeed, his blonde beard seemed all the more vibrant. Upon his right cauldron was a personal icon; a raven's head upon a field of blue.
The next stood lazily, seemingly oblivious to the seriousness of the meeting. Like the others, he wore a suit of black-and-slicer plate, though the insignia upon his shoulder was an axe upon a field of white. Even now he wore a re-breather, connected by a hose to his armour's power plant, thin trails of vapour escaping from the vents. His eyes were a watery green, and a shock of ill-combed hair fell almost to his shoulders.
Beside him stood one of the few to wear a helm; though mask may have been more appropriate, given that it left a shock of black hair and a darkly tanned neck visible beneath. It resembled a man's face, but luridly decorated with colour to describe a painted skull bright colours and simple geometry a stark contrast to the macabre backdrop. The device upon his shoulder could be said to describe a stylised hour glass, a skull centred over it.
Next, a pace or two back, as if frightened to touch his fellows, stood a figure who did little to mask his contempt. He refused any attempt at introduction, preferring instead to cast weary glances about his companions, as if worried they might turn on him any moment. His ebony hair was close cropped, and his shoulder displayed a red talon upon blue.
Next stood a wreck of a man; skin charred, burnt, and blistered in equal measure. His teeth, filed to points, sparked whenever they met, casting light over his device; a clenched, burning fist.
Beside him was a brute of a man, even compared to his fellows. He stood in a suit of terminator warplate, the armour raising him taller even as it forced him into an uncomfortable hunch. His eyes, grey as slate beneath a heavily scarred brow, moved constantly, and every so often one tendon or another would tense involuntary. Upon his shoulder was the image of a chalice; twin swords crossed beneath it, a blood-red drop spilling from the rim.
Finally, stood to be as far from the first as possible, was the only armed figure in the room. His hands rested upon the head of a great maul; stylised as a winged skull, to match the leering deathmask upon his head. He spoke only to the terminator, his voice a clipped whispering, as though afraid another might hear his words. A third skull adorned his pauldron, crowned with a ring of thorns, the paint chipped and uncleaned.
After an interminable period of time; both due to the lack of natural light and the unknowable ebs and flows of time within the Warp, an eight figure entered. He was unhelmed, his crown bald, though a thick moustache linked one temple to the next. Upon his shoulder was the head of a wolf, crimson on black. As he entered, conversation stopped, and he regarded them with a wide grin.
"What ho!" He declared, striding to take his place at the head of the table. "A fine day to meet you. I am Peld, and it is my honour to lead Fire Team Crimson."
He waited a moment, as if to give the chance for a response. When it became clear that none had any such intention, he carried on, enthusiasm unabated.
"I believe it best that we get to know each other somewhat better before we depart this vessel. To that effect..." As he spoke, he tapped away at the screen upon his wrist. A moment after finishing the hololithic projector mounted beneath the desk flicked to life, casting a grainy image before each of them. Facign outwards, and therefore easily legible to their neighbours, was a record of their rank, origin, honours won, actions they had participated in, kill ratio, strengths and more. It was a record they all knew existed, and some might even have accessed, but one that was rarely accessed. Some showed mild interest at the display, but most gave only the most cursory of glances.
"Of course, this is only part of the picture..." Peld's smile slipped just a git, the gaiety gone from his words. "The real reason you are all here is upon this." He held up a small chip for the congregation to see, before inserting it into his wrist-mounted logarithmic engine. He paused a moment, scrolling through the various contents, before tapping a rune. At once the displays before them vanished, instead replaced by a single display in the centre - the head of the Librarian, rotating slowly as a psyche evaluation hovered beside it:
CODICIER SKARLSON; RAVEN'S WATCH. SUFFERS FROM BERSERKER-LIKE INSTABILITY. LOSS OF IMPULSE CONTROL. UNCONTROLLED BLOODLUST.
Many eyes turned to the Librarian of the Raven's Watch, but he paid them no heed, instead glaring at Peld. The veteran spared him a quick glance before activating the next image; the next in line.
BROTHER SIGSUND; MASTERS OF PROTELUS. CHAPTER GENE-SEED UNSTABLE. REQUIRES FREQUENT DOSAGE OF SUPPRESSANTS TO STABILISE.
He paid the image little head, more interested in the slow rotation of his likeness than the words beside it. Peld shook his head and tapped, replacing the image with that of a stranger, though by the cast of his face he could only be the colourful mourner.
BROTHER EXUZIA; KNIGHTS OF ETERNITY. MARTYR COMPLEX. BORDERLINE SUCICIDAL TENDENCIES. SURVIVOR'S GUILT.
Exuzia regarded his image evenly, neither denying nor acknowledging the claims.
BROTHER DRACHUS; BRAZEN CLAWS. ANTI-SOCIAL TENDENCIES. FREQUENT BOUTS OF INSUBORDINATION. EXCESSIVE HUBRIS.
Drachus ignored the criticisms, not even glancing at the display.
BROTHER 'SMOKE'; FIRE LORDS. SOCIOPATHIC TENDENCIES. REPEATED ARSONIST. PYRO-MASOCHIST.
SERGEANT ARTUR; KNIGHTS OF BLOOD. MENTAL DISCOMFORT WHEN STATIONARY. POOR ATTENTION SPAN. MILD HALLUCINATIONS.
CHAPLAIN VYRN'N; ANGELS PENITENT. FOLLOWS EXTREMIST SECT OF IMPERIAL CREED. INTENSE DISLIKE OF OUTSIDERS. ACTIONS INVOLVE EXTREME PREJUDICE.
Peld paused a moment, meeting the eye of everyone in the room - or, at least all who would look over long enough to - before tapping one last rune.
BROTHER PELD; RED WOLVES. OBSESSIVE COMPULSION TO HUNT XENOS. FREQUENT TROPHY TAKING. RELUCTANCE TO IGNORE UNIQUE SPECIMENS.
"I show you this so you each understand your place in this squad. You, like I, are useful, but disposable - as disposable as any Astartes can be. Our missions will be difficult. Our praise minimal. Our success vital. Do not fail, or we shall not be given a second chance. Remember this." With that he turned and strode from the room, leaving a silence that deafened in his wake.
So, anyway, we each semi-randomly chose a chapter, made a character, built the model, and repeated. So, we have a team of eight Astartes, ready to prove themselves worthy of their heritage, and bring glory to their Chapters... or mess up completely, and get replaced by a squad of IG with more sense than pauldrons.
... getting back to the point, we needed some fluff to start off this campaign, so here's the opening I wrote. Hope you enjoy, and I'll see you again soon.
Volodanti out.
Seven figures stood arrayed about the desk, mostly silent bar the occasional passage of short conversation. To a man they were huge; even without the thick, onyx armour that covered them from throat to toe, they each stood a good foot above than the tallest of men, and were near twice as broad.
The first wore a loose tabard over his armour, the yellow cloth seeming to offend the grim stoicism of the room. Uniquely amongst those assembled, his left knee, was painted a deep blue, and metal collar rose above his head, almost becoming a hood, though it lacked the size to cast his face in shadow - indeed, his blonde beard seemed all the more vibrant. Upon his right cauldron was a personal icon; a raven's head upon a field of blue.
The next stood lazily, seemingly oblivious to the seriousness of the meeting. Like the others, he wore a suit of black-and-slicer plate, though the insignia upon his shoulder was an axe upon a field of white. Even now he wore a re-breather, connected by a hose to his armour's power plant, thin trails of vapour escaping from the vents. His eyes were a watery green, and a shock of ill-combed hair fell almost to his shoulders.
Beside him stood one of the few to wear a helm; though mask may have been more appropriate, given that it left a shock of black hair and a darkly tanned neck visible beneath. It resembled a man's face, but luridly decorated with colour to describe a painted skull bright colours and simple geometry a stark contrast to the macabre backdrop. The device upon his shoulder could be said to describe a stylised hour glass, a skull centred over it.
Next, a pace or two back, as if frightened to touch his fellows, stood a figure who did little to mask his contempt. He refused any attempt at introduction, preferring instead to cast weary glances about his companions, as if worried they might turn on him any moment. His ebony hair was close cropped, and his shoulder displayed a red talon upon blue.
Next stood a wreck of a man; skin charred, burnt, and blistered in equal measure. His teeth, filed to points, sparked whenever they met, casting light over his device; a clenched, burning fist.
Beside him was a brute of a man, even compared to his fellows. He stood in a suit of terminator warplate, the armour raising him taller even as it forced him into an uncomfortable hunch. His eyes, grey as slate beneath a heavily scarred brow, moved constantly, and every so often one tendon or another would tense involuntary. Upon his shoulder was the image of a chalice; twin swords crossed beneath it, a blood-red drop spilling from the rim.
Finally, stood to be as far from the first as possible, was the only armed figure in the room. His hands rested upon the head of a great maul; stylised as a winged skull, to match the leering deathmask upon his head. He spoke only to the terminator, his voice a clipped whispering, as though afraid another might hear his words. A third skull adorned his pauldron, crowned with a ring of thorns, the paint chipped and uncleaned.
After an interminable period of time; both due to the lack of natural light and the unknowable ebs and flows of time within the Warp, an eight figure entered. He was unhelmed, his crown bald, though a thick moustache linked one temple to the next. Upon his shoulder was the head of a wolf, crimson on black. As he entered, conversation stopped, and he regarded them with a wide grin.
"What ho!" He declared, striding to take his place at the head of the table. "A fine day to meet you. I am Peld, and it is my honour to lead Fire Team Crimson."
He waited a moment, as if to give the chance for a response. When it became clear that none had any such intention, he carried on, enthusiasm unabated.
"I believe it best that we get to know each other somewhat better before we depart this vessel. To that effect..." As he spoke, he tapped away at the screen upon his wrist. A moment after finishing the hololithic projector mounted beneath the desk flicked to life, casting a grainy image before each of them. Facign outwards, and therefore easily legible to their neighbours, was a record of their rank, origin, honours won, actions they had participated in, kill ratio, strengths and more. It was a record they all knew existed, and some might even have accessed, but one that was rarely accessed. Some showed mild interest at the display, but most gave only the most cursory of glances.
"Of course, this is only part of the picture..." Peld's smile slipped just a git, the gaiety gone from his words. "The real reason you are all here is upon this." He held up a small chip for the congregation to see, before inserting it into his wrist-mounted logarithmic engine. He paused a moment, scrolling through the various contents, before tapping a rune. At once the displays before them vanished, instead replaced by a single display in the centre - the head of the Librarian, rotating slowly as a psyche evaluation hovered beside it:
CODICIER SKARLSON; RAVEN'S WATCH. SUFFERS FROM BERSERKER-LIKE INSTABILITY. LOSS OF IMPULSE CONTROL. UNCONTROLLED BLOODLUST.
Many eyes turned to the Librarian of the Raven's Watch, but he paid them no heed, instead glaring at Peld. The veteran spared him a quick glance before activating the next image; the next in line.
BROTHER SIGSUND; MASTERS OF PROTELUS. CHAPTER GENE-SEED UNSTABLE. REQUIRES FREQUENT DOSAGE OF SUPPRESSANTS TO STABILISE.
He paid the image little head, more interested in the slow rotation of his likeness than the words beside it. Peld shook his head and tapped, replacing the image with that of a stranger, though by the cast of his face he could only be the colourful mourner.
BROTHER EXUZIA; KNIGHTS OF ETERNITY. MARTYR COMPLEX. BORDERLINE SUCICIDAL TENDENCIES. SURVIVOR'S GUILT.
Exuzia regarded his image evenly, neither denying nor acknowledging the claims.
BROTHER DRACHUS; BRAZEN CLAWS. ANTI-SOCIAL TENDENCIES. FREQUENT BOUTS OF INSUBORDINATION. EXCESSIVE HUBRIS.
Drachus ignored the criticisms, not even glancing at the display.
BROTHER 'SMOKE'; FIRE LORDS. SOCIOPATHIC TENDENCIES. REPEATED ARSONIST. PYRO-MASOCHIST.
SERGEANT ARTUR; KNIGHTS OF BLOOD. MENTAL DISCOMFORT WHEN STATIONARY. POOR ATTENTION SPAN. MILD HALLUCINATIONS.
CHAPLAIN VYRN'N; ANGELS PENITENT. FOLLOWS EXTREMIST SECT OF IMPERIAL CREED. INTENSE DISLIKE OF OUTSIDERS. ACTIONS INVOLVE EXTREME PREJUDICE.
Peld paused a moment, meeting the eye of everyone in the room - or, at least all who would look over long enough to - before tapping one last rune.
BROTHER PELD; RED WOLVES. OBSESSIVE COMPULSION TO HUNT XENOS. FREQUENT TROPHY TAKING. RELUCTANCE TO IGNORE UNIQUE SPECIMENS.
"I show you this so you each understand your place in this squad. You, like I, are useful, but disposable - as disposable as any Astartes can be. Our missions will be difficult. Our praise minimal. Our success vital. Do not fail, or we shall not be given a second chance. Remember this." With that he turned and strode from the room, leaving a silence that deafened in his wake.
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