Tag Archives: Louisville Gaming Mafia

Can you hear me now?

The one Dragon*Con I attended was 1997. I didn’t intend to LARP there, but some of the Louisville Gaming Mafia was tight with the Liquid Dreams storyteller crew, so I sorta got recruited. “We need more werewolf players,” someone said, and jammed a character packet into my hands before running off to attend to a mass combat or some shit.

I opened the packet and looked at the sheet. Huh. Rank 5 Silent Strider Theurge? I can work with this.

Because werewolf players were so very few and far between, I wound up tying in with Little Sister and her attendant vampires, who collectively formed a long-standing and ridiculously-overpowered Sabbat pack known as the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The fact that they numbered more than four was irrelevant, as they kept adding apocalypses (my favorite was Grievous Bodily Harm). The fact that I, as a werewolf, should not have been anywhere near these walking atrocities was less than relevant – as a player, I had a choice between hanging out with friends and seeing plot, or being lonely and seeing no plot. Seemed like the appropriate decision at the time.

Because Little Sister was known as a player and her character was equally known as Someone With Whom Not To Be Fucked, no one questioned her or me when she brought me along to a summit of the Sabbat leadership. No one even checked to ensure I was a vampire. I made a couple of mental notes about security lapses.

Then the meet started. It swiftly became clear that the elder vampires had their collective cravats in a knot about an ancient mummy who had arisen and was causing no shortage of pre-apocalyptic problems for them. Huh. Mummy? Something in my character packet, which had been provided without explanation, suddenly became much more relevant.

In the back of the room, I raised a hand. “I know his True Name.”

I am not usually the loud type of player. No one heard me.

Little Sister looked at me sideways. “You what?”

I cleared my throat. “I know his True Name.”

No one paid attention.

Okay, fuckit. I raised my arms above my hand, wrists crooked, in the Mind’s Eye Theatre hand signal for transforming into a war-form. In game, this meant I was shapeshifting into the werewolf Crinos form.

Suddenly, in a room full of elder vampires, this nine-foot-tall avatar of Anubis in full mystic muscular mass murder mode stood up and managed to growl out, “I SAID… I KNOW HIS TRUE NAME.”

What Goes Around, Surprise Round

Not my story, but I’m batch-writing and scheduling a bunch of war story posts, and this one bubbled to the surface of memory.

Back in the early editions of Mind’s Eye Theate, the LARP engine for the World of Darkness, character stats ran on adjectives. The stronger your PC was in physical/social/mental categories, the more adjectives you had. The intent was that when you declared an action, you had to use a relevant adjective in a sentence. It was supposed to be more immersive. Most players ignored it.

Some, however, found ways to use it to their advantage.

Another amusing rule of those editions involved surprise. If someone declared a challenge, you had three real-world seconds to respond. If you failed to meet that time, you were considered surprised and could not resist the incoming hostility. I suspect the design intent was to keep play flowing quickly without a lot of the page-flipping and sheet-consulting and other usual sorts of dithering that happen when someone is yanked out of their Interview with the Vampire fantasy by some Near Dark action.

This story features NLP, and this is kind of representative of his LARP play style. At one particular RiverCon LARP at the old Executive West, NLP was in character, seated at a table, in negotiations. Negotiations were not going well, and it looked like the other party was about to call in her attack ghouls. NLP decided to get in a little preemptive revenge. Without raising his voice or changing his tone in the slightest, he palmed the item card for his character’s sawed-off shotgun, slid it under the table, and said, “I deftly shoot you in the gut.”

Cue wide-eyed crogglement. “You… I… what? Wait…”

NLP glances at the narrator who’s observing this and raises a hand, folding out fingers. “One… two… three, BOOM.”

“That’s surprise. Take two damage.”

“But I…”

“I quickly shoot her again.”

Pool Party

Louisville. RiverCon ’94 at the ol’ Executive West hotel. I didn’t personally witness this, but it’s a fixture of Louisville Gaming Mafia folklore.

This con is infamous for several reasons, not the least of which is that it’s the con (and con LARP) at which most of the LGM met for the first time. Like many LARPs of its day night, the Vampire LARP issued badges separately from the con’s membership badges. Regardless of the status of your con badge, if you were wearing your LARP badge, you were considered to be in character and in play.

You will see this material again.

Also, like many LARPs of its day night, this con featured significant power creep and inattention to consequences. One of the PCs was one Father Drake, a vampire hunter with True Faith. For audiences who may be unfamiliar with Vampire: The Masquerade, the capitalization indicates that the wielder is capable of faith-based supernatural effects.

We shall cut, for a moment, to the players running our game’s Sabbat pack – effectively, semi-feral nomadic vampires who reject human morality and any pretense of clinging to their own humanity (ref: The Lost Boys, Near Dark). The players decided that since the hotel had a perfectly usable pool and the game had slowed down, they may as well take a dip. Alcohol may have been involved.

For the sake of expedience, many LARPers – including several of our Sabbat players – had attached their LARP badges to their con badges’ lanyards or holders. Thus, it so transpired that the Sabbat pack was having a (perhaps unintentional, but again, alcohol may have been involved) pool party in character.

There our vampires were, minding their own business, when Father Drake’s player came sauntering down the Executive West’s main hallway. He glanced through the windows overlooking the pool desk and saw… opportunity. Quickly, he affixed his own LARP badge and collared a Storyteller.

Around and in the pool, the Sabbat players were having a grand old time. Several were in the pool as Father Drake approached, unnoticed, trailed by a Storyteller whose smirk could best be interpreted as yo, Caine, check this shit out – you are about to see some shenanigans, fangboy.

One of the players climbed onto the diving board.

Father Drake looked left. Looked right. Saw no one observing him.

The player strutted out to the end of the board.

Father Drake knelt poolside.

One bounce.

Father Drake placed his hand in the water.

A second bounce.

Father Drake began chanting in Latin.

A third bounce.

Father Drake completed his invocation, stood, and smiled.

The player launched on a gentle arc and happened to glance toward the side of the pool. Recognized the clerical collar. Had just enough time for regret, and perhaps the beginnings of a Wile E. Coyote-esque air-clawing motion, vainly attempting to halt his ballistic plunge.

And that’s when the screaming started.

Con Report: RiverCityCon 2025

Let’s get one thing out of the way first: RiverCityCon, despite the name and host city, is not a successor to RiverCon. Whereas the latter con (and its shorter-lived successor, Conglomeration) was a general fantasy/SF con with a gaming track, RiverCityCon is a board game con that wedges TTRPGs into the cracks around its founders’ main focus. It’s a Louisville-based spinoff of the older Lexicon, which, as the name suggests, started in Lexington, Kentucky a few years ago.

Because it’s in our city of shared origin, the Louisville Gaming Mafia used last year’s inaugural RiverCityCon as a found-family reunion. We put it to the same use again this year, and as far as that goes, it satisfied our purposes adequately. Absent that, as a con fitting my own purposes, I’m somewhat ambivalent about it.

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Masonic Ritual

After almost a year and a half on this blog, I finally have a D&D post.

After tonight’s Kaserne on the Borderlands session, someone mentioned Roman cement, and I was reminded of the time another friend broke a Living Greyhawk module in the first ten minutes of play.

To set the scene: the PCs have all been hired by a particular church to escort the mortal remains of some great and powerful figure. The journey is to be by sea, and the decedent is in a large stone sarcophagus.

One of the players is AH, running Methrys, a cleric. Methrys is, among other things, a master mason – literally. AH has been buying up Craft (Masonry) to max every time Methrys levels up. Don’t know why; it probably seemed like a good idea at the time.

So Methrys looks at this sarcophagus and thinks, insurance policy. And he drills two holes in the lid and completely fills the thing with concrete.

Every night of the voyage, the party heard, distantly, as if through a great thickness of stone, “Rrr rrr urrr arrrrgh” and the sound of frustrated straining…

Hell Comes to Cave City

Another ConCave, another unfortunate encounter.

In this instance, several of us had decided we were hungry and the hotel diner was overpriced. But that vaunted mecca of civilization, Cave City, was nearby! And our hero protagonist victim had a car! Thus it was that four people squeezed into my ’99 Mitsubishi Eclipse, truly the gothiest of goth rides, to seek sustenance.

Two of the witnesses shall remain nameless. The third passenger, he whose reputation burns in infamy even today, shall be called WB, he who sometimes was called “Wookiee” for his stature and lack of a volume control. WB was about 6’6″, not a small man in width, made mostly of metal from the knees down, and aggressive in asserting his identity as Louisville’s largest and most notorious Jewish goth punk gamer bookmonger.

So it was that the four of us sauntered into a combination Long John Silver’s/A&W (i.e., the Fish&W) restaurant. I was attired fairly nondescriptly, as was my habit. My companions… had only brought Vampire LARP costumes to the con.

Needless to say, we attracted some attention on this fine Saturday morning. Our kind was rarely seen in Cave City. There were murmurs of outrage and consternation.

I, being attuned to the ways of incipient redneck unrest, was uneasy. My unnamed companions, alas, were more sheltered. And WB… WB was aware of the attention and was feeling provocative.

As we dined, WB’s volume increased. Every French fry brought forth another bloody tale of in-game vampiric horrors, presented out of context for the Barren County public’s edification. I began gauging the distance to the exits.

Finally, our trays were empty. Could we escape without incident? Alas, WB had one more arrow in his quiver. As we discarded our waste and headed for the exit, his voice boomed out: “Hey, Clayton, you know the best thing about this leather jacket?”

I cringed. “No, WB, what would that be?”

And as the door swung shut behind us, the last thing the good folk of Cave City heard was WB’s proud declamation: “A little rain water washes the goat blood right off it!”