Dungeons & Distancing

How did we do so much when we were younger? Sure, we have more responsibilities now, but it's not like we had none at all back then, is it? And yet, it feels like we always had time for our friends, or to dive in and learn things, or have new experiences.

Nowadays setting up a gaming night for a group of six people has to be done a month in advance. Spontaneity seems to be the casualty of an over-programmed existence in many ways, and it feels like the days of saying, "Hey, did the two of you want to come over tomorrow and play some Battletech?" are well behind most of us now.

Thankfully, my family and friends are all firm believers in the power of connection, and we do our best to share activities as best we can. And it turns out there is nothing like a global pandemic and massive societal pressure to reduce physical interaction to force you to explore new ways of doing things.

After having seen numerous articles explaining how it is possible to gather a group of distant players around a virtual tabletop, the local lads and I took our first real crack at online Dungeons & Dragons last night on Roll20.net. We gathered together during the week in order to figure out the platform and roll up characters.

Roll20 presents wannabe Dungeon Masters and players with a means to view the same map in a web browser, access character sheets, and roll dice together - really, everything you need in order to play a roleplaying game like D&D. They also support a number of other games (Call of Cthulhu, GURPS, Pathfinder, etc.) and have officially licensed material you can download. This is critical, because creating a good-looking adventure on screen requires a degree of time and preparation that I simply do not have anymore.

The platform also provides numerous opportunities for automation, for example, automatically adding modifiers to dice rolls. In truth though, a lot of these processes seemed kind of buggy, and the six of us found it far better to play it a bit more old-fashioned, scanning the virtual character sheets for skill checks, ability modifiers and racial or class features. This had the added benefit of teaching us a bit more about this fifth edition of D&D, something none of us had actually played before.

We also abandoned the in-game video chat, since we were unable to get it working to a point where all players could hear each other. We ended up using Google Hangouts instead, some on their desktops, while I ran mine from my iPad next to the computer monitor. Being able to see and hear your friends added a little to gameplay, but did remarkable things for my soul.

"The books are guarded by a small, white beast with 11 teeth..."

Prior to playing online, I figured that having the third core rulebook, the Dungeon Master's Guide, would be a good idea if I was going to be running a virtual campaign, no matter how simple I intended to keep it. I put an order in for the DMG at Mission Fun and Games in St. Albert last weekend, to minimize the time spent in the store for the sake of physical distancing, but also thought, well, hell, I have almost everything I need to play a full game in person too - might as well grab a DM's screen while I'm out and about, right?

When I told the girls what I was heading out to pick up, I half-jokingly asked if they might be interested in playing D&D together since we are all trapped at home together anyhow. Fenya had played a little bit with me over a decade ago and relished the idea, and Glory was interested in giving it a try. Audrey agreed to join us, and on Friday night, the four of us sat down and played our first-ever RPG as a family.

The family that slays together, stays together

D&D Beyond had official "5e" character sheets and I purchased a short module online called "Tower of the Mad Mage" from the Dungeon Master's Guild. Now, Audrey's Dragonborn Barbarian, Fenya's Halfling Druid and Glory's Tiefling Rogue are slowly making their way through a goblin-infested tower, aided by an outcast member of the tribe who knows where the rest are keeping a stash of dragon gold. We are probably a third of the way through now, they've already leveled up once, and are having a great time.

I played online again this afternoon, this time with Rob in Ottawa and Island Mike on Vancouver Island - three old friends in three different time zones, gathered around a digital "tabletop," rolling simulated dice and slaying imaginary monsters. Figuring out the interface, slowly grasping new rules, and cracking jokes - it was glorious.

"Lessee here, three, plus my proficiency bonus, plus my dexter- nope, it's still crap, sorry."

If anyone at work asks me what I've been up to since Friday, it will be a little weird to tell them that I  played more Dungeons & Dragons in one weekend than I have since I was 17 years old - 18 hours, all together - but I couldn't be happier.

It feels like old times, in the best possible way.

"I swing my axe at it - does a 15 hit?"

Working and Lurking (But Not Shirking) From Home

Just over a week ago, I watched Contagion with my girls. Today, both the city and province are under a state of emergency, my eldest and I are both working from home, and my youngest is not only looking at celebrating her 18th birthday without her friends in two weeks, but the possibility of her school not having any graduation ceremonies this year. Our church has discontinued services until further notice, and we are settling in for at least 6-10 weeks of this being "the new normal."

I want to stress: it could be worse. We are not ill, and don't know anyone yet who is (although I expect that to change). The four of us here get along pretty well, and even our modest hovel has enough corners for each of us to find one for ourselves when needed. But it is such a weird time, I feel compelled to describe our current state in order to better recall it later.

Fenya's job with the ombud's office sometimes requires her to participate in video meetings from home, so she has suspended a spare bedsheet from her ceiling with pushtacks and it has done an admirable job of sheltering her childhood room from outside eyes thus far. She will periodically come out to tell people in the kitchen that she is "meeting" a client and request for us to keep the volume down, but that's been about the extent of any home/work overlaps or incursions.

There's no real work from home options for Audrey, but she had spring break coming up anyhow. Getting a few more games and movies in with everyone stuck at home is sounding quite ducky to her, actually. And even Glory is applying grim humour to her situation saying "if we don't have a ceremony, I'm gonna wear my grad dress to Safeway and pick up toilet paper." This may end up being her grad quote, actually.

In order to access my work telephony system, I had to bring home my desktop PC, two monitors, and my mouse and keyboard, as well as two headsets. The offices are all locked up now except for some infrastructure people and a small crew in the mailroom, so it made more sense to have stuff on hand rather than not to. The corner with my home PC is a little crowded now, with my work setup preached on a tv tray right next to me, but it is a simple matter to push back my monitor, bring one over, remove my wireless keyboard and mouse and then set up my work versions.

Accessing some of the games in the corner might be a little challenging, but on the plus side, my headset cord is long enough to reach the recliner next to the desk. This is probably the most comfortable I have ever been while watching a training video.

Still, calling my situation "work from home" is a bit of a misnomer, since the training I need to do the work that my current area (the Member Services Centre) was scheduled to start the day after they announced the building was shutting down. Still, I have enough material to keep me busy until they sort out some way of training us redeployed folk up, including video courses, some assisting with edits on template responses, and going through my previous reference binder ("The Big Book of Stuff, Vol. 1") and sifting the contents for useful nuggets of info.

Socially, we have really tightened things up around here, and haven't had a visitor in over a week. Trips outside are becoming less frequent, although I popped out to the gaming store yesterday for some reference materials before non-essential stores become too hard to access, and to also pick up some groceries.

The grocery stores themselves feel surreal, with fewer shoppers but empty shelves nonetheless due to frantic people stocking up. It was a little eerie when I was there earlier in the week, actually.

And sure, I overstock too - but never frantically!

We have plenty of food, but we need to discipline ourselves not to dash out to the shop every time we discover we are short on some non-essential. It's getting better, and we are exercising social distancing on those occasions when we do venture out.

Between the rumour that liquor stores might be closing, and the possibility of meeting my friends online for some sort of virtual tabletop experience, last week saw my household procure 8.39L of spirits and liqueurs (I gave up beer for Lent, in case you were wondering).and 900+ pages of nerdy rulebooks and accessories (D&D5e and Call of Cthulhu, ICYWW).

This weekend, the family and I found the final island in our game of Seafall, got caught up on some episodes of Picard, cooked a chicken in the Instant Pot (and made soup with the leftovers), and today the girls and I had an immensely successful game of Pandemic. I mean, look at that board: two diseases sunsetted, are you kidding me?

Next up is learning how to use the Roll20 online platform to keep a bunch of us in touch while we stay out of reach. Maintaining those connections is tough when everyone is so busy, but this feels like a great time to reinforce them in another way. Honestly, the game is almost secondary to the chat and general b.s.ing going on around the table, so as long as the virtual tabletop supports that, we will be in good shape I think.

A former colleague forwarded this piece about the importance of reaching out while we withdraw inward:

SOCIAL DISTANCING - SPACIOUS CONNECTION?

How can we play with the space between us in a way that enhances our connection while keeping our bodies safe?

How can we respond to the need of the present situation of the coronavirus pandemic without denying its seriousness and yet without undermining our need for connection? Especially now.

The virus is a global concern and is invisible - we cannot see the virus, every one of us can be an asymptomatic carrier - so we cannot place the responsibility outside of ourselves. Maybe this challenge gives us an opportunity to see ourselves as one body within which we are asked to create together new spaces to keep our bodies and our larger body safe. One of the faces of this is ‘social distancing’ which could be better named ‘spacious connection’ - seen as an act of generosity extending the caring space between us, rather than growing distance from each other out of fear. In spacious connection boundaries are clear and yet the space itself can be experienced as connecting us rather than dividing us. In the unbroken space between us we can hold our heart-ache about the loss of physical proximity and other losses that coronavirus brings to us. And we can be informed by the felt sense of deep care for life and each other - our tenderness towards our bodies and every-body. This space when consciously experienced is filled with the warmth of our indivisible connection. A necessary medicine to keep our immune system, including our social immune system, resilient.

The simple act of washing hands and keeping distance in solidarity with older and vulnerable people in community can be seen as an act of love.

Every smile, wave, every warm hello, every loving note and thought sent to each other - a saving grace. A prayer. A blessing.

Language is powerful. Naming the need for distance as ‘spacious connection’ rather than ‘social distancing' may be a step in turning our world the right way up. But consciously filling the space of necessary social distance with the warmth of our human hearts might be the most demanding work of art we are called to create.

With warm heart and cool distance. Namaste.

Maryla Rose

I hope everyone reading this is taking care of their loved ones and themselves, but also reaching out to family and friends to see how they are doing, especially those who might have been feeling isolated before these COVID-19 measures took place. We will need those connections just as much, if not more, once the current crisis has passed.

In the meantime, I am grateful to be sheltering in place with such cool people, still working, and with ample distractions for off-hours - it really could be worse.

Quarantainment

After a fairly rough week at work, I was feeling pretty low when I returned home Friday night. Thankfully both girls were free that evening while Audrey was at work, and they both thought my suggestion of watching a movie together while we ate supper made sense.

So, why did I pick Contagion?

Well, not because I thought Steven Soderbergh's 2011 film was funny, although I fully appreciated the irony of watching a movie depicting a deadly viral outbreak while more and more local action is taken against a global COVID-19 pandemic.

If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it. It is a tightly wound thriller showing the impacts of an unknown virus among people from all walks of life, the herculean efforts to determine what it is and how to stop it, and just how easy it is for panic and misinformation to take hold and erode our social structures. An ensemble cast includes Matt Damon, Laurence Fishburne, Kate Winslet, Gwyneth Paltrow, Marino Cotillard, and Jude Law, among others, and the electronic score by Cliff Martinez is gripping and evocative. I'm not sure why it only rates a 6.7 on IMDb.

I picked it largely out of curiosity - I remember thinking it was a well-done film when I first saw it years ago but couldn't remember too much else about it. Both girls are cinema-savvy and science-conscious individuals so watching good movies with them inevitably provokes conversations and follow-up discussions, which feels wholly appropriate.

I also picked it because of my tendency to run worst-case scenarios in my imagination. As more and more disruption in our lives is felt through things like the suspension of sporting leagues, postponement of major cinematic releases and the closures of things like recreation centres, it is easy to become disheartened.

Watching dramatized unrest in the form of store lootings, house robberies, home invasions and armed forces enforcing quarantine measures, is strangely encouraging in a way. The manner in which most people have adopted reduced interaction and social distancing, and the efforts made to protect the elderly and those with compromised immune systems is quite heartening.

Having said that though, I did hear someone in the grocery store yesterday finish up a diatribe against toilet paper hoarders with, "well, I have plenty of ammunition - worst-case scenario, I'll just take what I need."

Besides a chance to recognize how much worse we could have it, Contagion has a couple of other factors in its favour for topical viewing. First, the science is pretty well done, with due care taken to make sure the procedures, equipment and language used reflect reality, even if some corners are cut in order to preserve the narrative. They re-shot a scene after science consultants identified that a medical professional would never inject themselves through their clothing.

In fact, when Fishburne's CDC official Ellis Cheever is asked about how long before a vaccine is found and distributed, he pivots right away to saying that strategies like social distancing and hand-washing are far more critical at the early stages. Sound familiar?

Secondly, it makes a point of addressing how the danger of the fictional MEV-1 virus is compounded by willful misinformation, disseminated by unscrupulous individuals for their own gain.

Dr. Ellis Cheever: We're working very hard to find out where this virus came from. To treat it and to vaccinate against it if we can. We don't know all of that yet, we just don't know. What we do know, is that in order to become sick you have to first come in contact with a sick person or something that they touched. In order to get scared, all you have to do is to come in contact with a rumor, or the television or the internet. I think what Mr. Krumwiede is uh... is spreading, is far more dangerous than the disease.

Hearing far-right talk-radio cranks try to dismiss COVID-19 as "the common cold" or "the sniffles" was bad enough, but when elected officials refer to it as "the Wuhan flu" or a "foreign virus," it's absolutely galling. Visibly Asian people in my own city are reporting facing racism and persecution on the streets and in schools due to some presumed connection to this virus; fear and paranoia don't need amplification from people who are supposed to know better.

But like the poster says, "nothing spreads like fear."

Contagion is currently streaming on Netflix (third or fourth most popular show!)  and Crave if you want to check it out. In the meantime, I am hoping to get a game of Pandemic in this afternoon...

Ominous Verbiage

A little more than three decades ago, I attended my first out-of-town science-fiction convention, Con-Version. I think it was Con-Version II or III; I had somehow ended up getting the newsletter of a southern Alberta Star Trek club called "Prefix Code" in the mail while in high school, and they had reviewed the first or second iteration of the convention. It sounded like fun, so some chums and I made some incredibly basic costumes and went down one summer to check it out.

It was a great time, and we ended up attending several more times over the years. For a while, Con-Version included a self-contained gaming convention as part of its programming, and it was here I saw my first ever miniatures wargaming (15mm Napoleonics if I recall correctly), plus people playing role-playing games, and an immense game of Star Fleet Battles.

SFB, as it is known, is one of the earliest attempts at tabletop starship combat set in the universe of the original Star Trek series, and exists to this day. In fact, our circle plays a miniatures-based form of it still, but in its purest form, it is a detailed and serious game, with the densest rulebooks I have ever encountered. They are written in case form for easier rules citation (e.g. "4.32 Grappling and Boarding; Damage to Ships"), and three-hole punched so you can easily add in the never-ending supplements and expanding rules. Leafing through, you will even find the officious "This page left intentionally blank," a sure sign that this is indeed a serious business.

Each ship has a full-page ship's structure diagram or SSD, and allocating energy between shields, weapons and movement is the heart of the game, after which tiny counters are moved accordingly on a hex-based map and dice are rolled to determine combat results.

Now, I do not find the game very fun, but there are many who play it and enjoy it. I heard a good explanation as to how SFB is not about swashbuckling space combat and tactically outmaneuvering your opponent, but how it is, in fact, a resource allocation game dressed up as a naval combat game. which is a good fit for people who don't like a lot of, you know, fun in their boardgames.

That said, I respect the individuals who have made an engaging pastime out of transferring gravity from the zero-g washrooms to power up the hangar doors in order to launch a suicide shuttle loaded with anti-matter in hopes of taking out an opponent who has otherwise crippled their ship. I can't imagine socializing with them, but hey - more power to you, space accountants.

Anyhow, despite a tedious turn sequence and an impetus towards "realism" that can reduce game flow to a crawl, Star Fleet Battles still has the potential to evoke drama, as I found out seeing it for the first time.

It was a massive group game, maybe over a dozen players, and who knows how many might have been eliminated by the time I started paying attention. Each player had a single ship, and while it may have been a "last ship standing" sort of affair, some players had clearly aligned along factional lines for increased survivability, so there was some coordination among Klingon players and Romulan crews and so on. But not among the Federation players.

Somehow, a sole Starfleet commander had alienated every other faction and even many of his supposed comrades-in-arms. I don't know if he had tweaked the rules, or taken an overpowered ship, or preyed exclusively on weakened or battered foes or maybe even turned coat on his allies on a previous turn, but it was clear that no one at the table was impressed with this individual. The fact that he was insufferably pleased with himself did not endear him to anyone either.

The referee took it all in stride, however, keeping things in good order, making sure everyone filled out their energy allocation forms for each turn in a strict time limit, and calling for movement at each turn segment or "impulse."

Having rendered an opponent immobile, the Federation player was clearly planning on engaging another opportune target, but as players around the table announced their plans for that impulse, the person behind him reached out an arm to get the referee's attention. This puzzled the erstwhile conqueror. "Are you even playing?"

"Oh, yeah," the new player answered calmly. "I'm running a Romulan Bird of Prey."

The Starfleet player scanned the map, looking for a Romulan counter. "I don't see where..."

"Well, you wouldn't," the Romulan replied. "I've been running with my cloaking device engaged since the start of the game, and handing in my allocation forms and movement to the ref on pieces of paper." He turned to the ref, patiently awaiting the next command with a smile that conveyed relief and schadenfreude simultaneously.

"I uncloak now," the Romulan player said.

The referee nodded, turned to pick up the appropriate counter, and placed the Bird of Prey on the map directly behind the Federation player. The Starfleet captain sputtered, blood draining from his face. His turn to move was next, and he proceeded directly ahead one hex, unable even to turn because he had put all his extra energy into his weapons and shields - his front shields, specifically.

"All right, that's movement done, anyone firing?" the referee inquired innocently. All heads turned towards the Romulan player, who seemed unaware of the effect his revelationary disclosure had on those in attendance.

"Yes, please," he answered, checking a reference. "I've been powering up a plasma torpedo for...: he trailed off.

The referee checked his clipboard, "For...wow, five turns, actually."

(Note: I learned afterwards that plasma torpedoes dissipate significantly at long range, but are devastating at close quarters, and a range of one hex was definitely knife-fighting proximity. Furthermore, one could compound their effects by spending precious energy to hold them in the tube, doubling their damage from four to eight points, and so on. It was a difficult trick to pull off, but if your opponent was unaware of your presence, so you weren't spending any energy whatsoever on shields, well...)

The Federation captain fumed while the Romulan player rolled his dice, scoring a hit and inflicting a devastating 64 points of damage in a game where anything over a dozen at a single blow is a most palpable hit.

The plasma torpedo blasted through the rear shields and effectively cored out the Starfleet ship, with some damage actually coming out the bow and damaging the front shield from the inside. Hollowed him out like a caribou carcass, in point of fact.

I don't know which aspect of this attack the arrogant Federation player found more galling: the fact that it eliminated him from the game so decisively or the hoots and cheers that accompanied his ignominious departure.

I left shortly after that, because I couldn't imagine anything cooler happening. I think I picked up the starter set of Starfleet Battles that same trip, but I was disappointed at just how tedious it was to play, and it collected dust for a long while. I eventually traded it away after years of keeping the rulebook in my bedside table to combat insomnia. (Seriously, the book could count as a class II soporific and should be labelled "Do not operate heavy machinery immediately after reading.")

But it also taught me what I did appreciate in my tabletop games, and eventually led me to the more elegant mechanics of Battletech, Warhammer 40,000 and eventually the "A Call to Arms" variation of SFB itself.

To this day, however, the phrase "I uncloak now" remains firmly ensconced in the lexicons of my nerdy friends, as a reference to or salute of tactical ingenuity or creative strategery.

Post Tenebrae Lux

I have a dear friend who is troubled.

Well, in truth, I probably have more than one, and I would describe myself as troubled more often these days than not, but I have a friend in particular who shared a significant concern with me.

Their fear is that society is failing, if, in fact, it hasn't failed already. They fear for the future.

I didn't press for details or evidence of this failure, because I share an awful lot of these concerns. Divisiveness is the rule of the day in not only politics but social discourse. Income disparity between the rich and poor has never been greater. There no longer appears to be any common ground at all between people wanting to defend clean air and water and those looking to secure economic prosperity. The country we once referred to as the world's surviving superpower is now tearing itself apart under the leadership of an egomaniacal narcissist and proven liar, whose devoted followers have made it clear that he can do no wrong in their eyes.

Worse still, there are people in positions of power, people who should know better, who seek to exploit these divisions and exacerbate the conflict, turning left against right, rich against poor, greens against entrepreneurs, rural versus urban, you name it.

Us against them - it's the oldest game in the book, and part one of a proven strategy: divide and conquer.

It's an almost overwhelming tide of situational terror, reinforced with almost every news report. It is easy to become disheartened, and I didn't even attempt to refute my friend's assertion about society's failure, because I couldn't.

So where do we find hope?

Is it possible to mine it from the past?

Yesterday the family and I travelled to the Red Deer Museum and Art Gallery to see the exhibit Anne Frank: A History for Today. It is a travelling exhibit from the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam and has no real historical artifacts in it per se. There are some recreations and a clever papercraft model of the secret annexe that she and seven others hiding for almost two years during the Nazi occupation of Holland before being found out.

The main focus of the gallery is a series of panels that block out a comprehensive timeline of events, the upper half depicting the rise to power of Adolf Hitler and the Nazi party and the lower half charting significant events of the Frank family - their fearful emigration to Holland, terrifying news from their homeland, the invasion of Holland, and the orders for Anne's sister Margot to report for a work camp, which prompted their seclusion.

To this day, no one knows who telephoned the police with the message "There are Jews in that house!" but all the occupants of the secret annex were arrested and shipped off to labour or death camps. Anne's father, Otto, was the only survivor.

Long after the war, devastated by the loss of his family, he was presented with Anne's diary, found after the raid at the annex. The depth of Anne's thoughts and the articulation of her feelings were a revelation to him.

I can't imagine how reading that diary must have felt, re-experiencing the growing terror of the Nazi menace from the perspective of a girl from ages 11-13. How much darker even than ours her world must have seemed.

And yet, she somehow managed to maintain a glimmer of hope, an optimistic assertion about the fundamental decency of humanity:

In spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart. I simply can’t build up my hopes on a foundation consisting of confusion, misery, and death. I see the world gradually being turned into a wilderness, I hear the ever approaching thunder, which will destroy us too, I can feel the sufferings of millions and yet, if I look up into the heavens, I think that it will all come right, that this cruelty too will end, and that peace and tranquility will return again.

Now, it can be argued that Anne, being a child, would have been driven by a childish naivete, a lack of guile and understanding about the real world. Or that had she known her future held betrayal, arrest, imprisonment and death, she would have perhaps renounced her compassionate outlook. Hell, the usual gang of white supremacist asshats and Third Reich apologists tried to claim she was a fictional character herself and dared famed Nazi hunter Simon Wiesenthal to find her alleged arrester (which he did).

But I don't think so. 

I don't know that this brave girl was completely indomitable, but I choose to believe she went to her fate hoping for better days for those that came after her.

And came they did. Peace and tranquility did flourish for a time, if not universally or for very long. Having grown up in the shadow of the Cold War, I feel very strongly that it was a superior experience in most measures to being a civilian in the previous global conflict.

History and the story of humanity is not rhythmic, but it is cyclical. Peace is sometimes defined by the war that preceded it and many of our successes happen in spite of our past failures, not because of them. I sometimes wonder how terrified early humans would have been at the onset of winter, wondering on the longest night of the year if warmth and greenery would ever really return. Prior to the advent of language, was there a way for the elders to convey the idea that they had seen this all before, to symbolize the notion that yes, things would get better?

At church today, we had our first Tenebrae ceremony, a sort of reverse advent, where a series of candles are extinguished, one per week over the course of Lent. The final one will be doused on Good Friday before they are all re-lit on Easter Sunday. It will be strange watching this wreath give off less light each week until it is completely dark, but watching it happen, having a hand in it, while knowing that the light will return, is a curious thought experiment, an intriguing exercise in faith.

Anne Frank's hopeful words exist not only in the diaries that survived her, or in the movies and plays based on her life. They can be found on the walls of the Montessori school she attended in Amsterdam to this day, in her own handwriting, where I hope they inspire others as they have encouraged me.

My troubled friend and I have vastly different belief systems, but I hope he is not offended to know that I am praying for him to find faith, from whatever corner it may come - faith that things will indeed get better, that light following darkness is more than likely, it is an inevitability. Times might get worse before they do, but they will indeed get better, and perhaps that peace and tranquility will impact more people, and last a little longer. 

And maybe we troubled souls can find some for ourselves, as well.