So this is it, the official RoosterTeeth unveiling of the box art for my upcoming tabletop game.
A special thanks goes out to Luke Mckay, for doing an incredible job on the artwork.
Hoard or Die, is a twenty minute, 3-5 player game that pits friends against each other in a free for all race to become the richest lord in the land. Raid the king's hoard for riches, and strike against anyone who tries to do the same. Command your army of five unique dice, specialized in attacking, pilfering, and roasting the competition...
Oh did i not mention the dragons? Yes, fire breathing, money grubbing dragons in the service of their lord will infrequently meet warriors on the field of battle (and most likely win, cuz you know they're dragons).
The game play is fast paced, and the tensions are high, because in this kingdom, it is Hoard or Die.
(the rhyme was unintentional but let's roll with it... that dice pun was also unintentional)
4 years agoSuperGenius
So this is it, the official RoosterTeeth unveiling of the box art for my upcoming tabletop game.
4 years agoSuperGenius
As a very select few of you are aware, I am presently in the process of producing a tabletop game, the details of which i am still holding fairly close to the chest until i have my promotional material ready. What i would like to know is if any of you have any of you happen to be going to gen con and would be interested in play testing and giving an unbiased review.
I promise there will be significantly greater detail in the coming weeks as preparation nears completion.
7 years agoSuperGenius
8 years agoSuperGenius
I never liked the Hudson River. It was always filled with debris and pollution, like the Ganges of America, but with slightly fewer dead bodies at the bottom And In fifteen minutes I would be one of them. How I got to this position I’m not entirely certain, maybe it was because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, maybe it was because of that bad bet I placed, or maybe it’s because I broke into the vault of a military contractor and stole some documentation that will expose their double dealing. It doesn’t really matter; all that was of concern to me is that I would be dying in fourteen minutes and forty six seconds.
My hands were bound behind me and my right leg was cemented into a bucket. It’s the kind of thing people only see in movies, unless of course that person’s name is something like Tony “The Brick” Bonitelli then this kind of thing is most likely a weekly occurrence. I asked them why they only did one leg, and got no response. They were still a tad bitter about my killing four members of their payroll. I wasn’t the man directly responsible for their deaths but they were unaware of this fact and unwilling to listen. I had already assumed they only cemented in one leg so that I could drag myself along the pier anyway, but as I sat in the back of their van I grew tired and started making attempts at conversation.
We were in the warehouse district on the water front, abandoned buildings sat only a few hundred feet behind us bearing the logo of Excelsior Armaments with a blank white van to my left. There I stood on the edge of the dock looking down at the river below, it was high tide, but as deep as the water was at this spot it wouldn’t make a difference. Once I fell over the side they would forget about me and drive off into the sunset. Too bad it was a quarter past one when the sun is just past its apex, so there would be nothing really cinematic about it. I needed to buy time just in case the cavalry showed up. I needed to buy time to complete the mission, but most of all, I needed to save my own ass. But my chest heaved with every breath and my side ached with every motion. Its times like this that made me think about the decisions I made and how they got me to where I was.
It was eight in the morning and I hadn’t showered in three days. That was just one of the perks that came with camping in the sewers. The smell was not so horrible; I had grown up near a sewage treatment plant so the aroma of excrement was a subtle reminder of warm summer days during my youth. Nor was it depressing to be in a cement tube, I had spent summers in my parent’s basement playing Silence of the Lambs with a neighbor child who always went a little overboard with the role of Buffalo Bill. No, it wasn’t either of those, the real problem came when the rats moved out of the water and covered the small walkways on which I slept. They would swarm the area biting and crapping indiscriminately over my sleeping bag, clothing and gear which rested only twenty feet from where I had been drilling. By far the worst of it came when I was dreaming of a gummy worm that had come to life. I was determined to eat it though, so I clenched down my teeth and only awoke when I felt a sharp pain of a rat bite on my cheek. The tailless rodent scurried away once I shot up, but the distinct texture of the gummy worm from my dream remained on my tongue.
I had been digging through the walls nearly nonstop for all three of the days I had been in the sewer. I was only able to operate the drill with the passing of the subway which lied just overhead. The vibrations from my drill would be enough to raise alarm if it weren’t timed perfectly with the rumbling train. I know that the men on the other side wouldn’t be happy to see me and my partner, and my partner wouldn’t be happy to see them before we were completely ready. That’s why I came up with the idea to evade the security team entirely by tunneling directly into the vault as a shock and awe campaign. My drill was small only able to create a hole big enough to fit one man at a time through the narrow tube. This was only an issue during the drilling process as the plan was to use plastic explosive to open up the wall as soon as I had drilled close enough. If I had timed and placed everything properly, we would be in and out in a matter of minutes leaving nothing but dust and an empty room in our wake.
Thoroughly convinced that we would succeed, my partner had suggested walking in the door and taking the service elevator. After about two hours I finally managed to convince him that fighting our way through a fully staffed security force of thirty three would be rough, even for us. But that was the kind of guy Erok was, a level seven gun wielding wizard. He was one of the best shots I had ever seen, doing on impulse with a pistol what most men struggled to achieve with a rifle. Erok, in all his regalia, was dressed for Black ops and I in my dirty jeans and worn out T shirt was dressed to find plastic bottles at the city land fill. Standing just shy of six feet, his dirty strawberry blonde hair was worn like a slightly grown out crew cut. He had specialized mat black goggles around his eyes with lenses to match. His tactical black pants were customized with small pouches and stitched on sections of an ammo belt. Around his waist were two Colt Double Eagles and a black ten inch barrel Anaconda sat in the holster next to his heart. He also had an AMT Automag V strapped to his upper thigh in case he wanted to stop an elephant mid charge. I on the other hand was a minimalist by comparison; content with my dark walnut handled kukri, black paracord wrapped tanto, and Smith & Wesson M&P40 pistol.
8 years agoSuperGenius
Those Other Guys
Erok’s feet barely made contact with the ground as he moved, the gravel of the rooftop sloshed about underneath him. Up ahead a shear drop awaited him. Cocking his legs for a powerful burst His left foot caught the ledge as he sprung forward with immense power, the wind rushed past his face as his arms braced for impact. The man behind him followed suit, leaping with minimal effort, verbally mocking Erok’s physical strain. The glass shattered over his body as he burst into the room below the top floor. The inhabiting family screamed as shards filled the room as Erok hit the carpet in a roll, and a shard entered his body just below the right half of his ribcage. Noticing the shard but neglecting the pain, he kept moving. Erok popped back up and bounded forward splintering the pinewood door off its hinges with the force of his body against it. The sheetrock turned to dust as he corrected direction with his combat boot against the wall and sped towards the stairs. Striking the punch bar with his body, the steel door flew open as cold air struck Erok’s face. A glint of light was seen out of the corner of His eye as a sharp pain finally entered his side. He stumbled back to the side of the door bracing himself against the stacked brick.
The creak of the rusty hinge resonated in Erok’s ears as the man allowed the door to slam shut behind him as he moved out to explore the roof. Erok’s throat tightened on him as he pulled out the foreign object that had impaled itself in his side, letting it fall to the ground. The man spun around as he heard the glass shard shatter on the tar coated rooftop, locking eyes with his quarry. Erok’s coat fluttered open revealing a tattered black shirt that went unnoticed by the man whose eyes were now fixated on the smooth bore of the metallic gun that was pointing directly at him. The man who was now standing in the center of the tarred roof shuffled back a few inches into the shadow of the water tank. Erok’s brown coat hung down to his boots, his calloused hands trembling as the trigger grew tighter against his finger. The man’s coat flew open as a flash of silver approached Erok’s eye level. His left arm jerked back as his ears began to ring. The man staggered forward before falling into the light. Erok’s slowly put one foot in front of the other creeping closer to the young man’s twitching body.
“I’m sorry kid… I gotta bring you in.”
What about the pedestrians? It had been several months since Erok had run down Tack, and the problem of dealing with such obstacles still had not been outlined. Ironic as the whole reason behind tracking down NexGen’s was the protection of the global community as a whole. Erok listened to the suited man drone on about the particulars of the next assignment while falling into his own trail of historical thought. Ever since he and his old commanding officer came across an oddly strong drunk in an upscale bar, they had realized that such people could provide a public safety risk and must be dealt with. That was why Erok was here now and that was why he no longer had to sit behind a cramped office desk supporting corporate America. As he stood in the corner of the small conference room pondering his past, glazing over the details of the latest assignment, he noticed a pair of muddied brown eyes glance up at him.
“Think you can manage it?” asked the man wearing a pressed grey business suit.
“I always do,” replied a sardonic Erok, “though there’s going to be plenty of people to get in my way.”
“Problems with collateral damage?” Grinned the man.
“Erok’s been shot before,” chimed in a man easily twice Erok’s size.
“I have no problem accidentally killing a father of three who was just crossing the street at the wrong time, but getting shot is more painful that anyone should have to endure,” grimaced Erok, “I don’t shoot unless I know I can hit the target.”
It wouldn’t be the first time casualties could run high and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. But still, to do this in a crowded plaza was far too risky for his liking, and the target was of seemingly little consequence. Erok flipped through the briefing; a young enterprising bank thief able to evade capture by anticipating the actions of those around him just before they make their move. Erok surmised from this that his team was in fact going after someone gifted with enhanced social empathy, nothing to unorthodox, but still quiet effective in the proper hands. Erok closed the briefing and took a few steps back before exiting the room, leaving the three seated men deep in conversation.
“Never could sit through those humdrum meetings could you?” asked the approaching colonel in medal regaled uniform dress. His grey lit black hair was cut short, as if he were only three weeks out of boot camp, and had thin black rimmed glasses resting upon his wide nose.
“One of the perks of being a private contractor,” Erok replied, “I know what I need and that’s all I have to stay for.”
“So how did you convince that Kid to work for us anyway? I would never imagine that He’d be so helpful.”
“Prison tends to be a good motivator, that and all he was looking for was a thrill,” Erok paused,” What’s more thrilling than hunting down some of the most dangerous people on the planet?”
“That kinda reminds me of you…” started the colonel.
“Hmph,” grunted Erok.
“Yeah, I suppose not so much now that I think about it, you were one of the best even before you knew about this funky thing with your eyes,” the colonel stopped, “miss having you around in an official capacity.”
“I like the freedom, I don’t get bothered, and people don’t get in between me and what I’m after. You wouldn’t want the connection made anyway; damage tends to run high in the wrong circumstances.”
“You act like you’re the bogey man…” replied the colonel.
“Only when they don’t play nice,” Erok grinned, “It’s a hell of a lot more fun than desk work either way.”
8 years agoSuperGenius
This is my first bowie-esque but somehow seax influenced blade. I call it the blackbird because i gave it a beeswax finished ebony handle and decided to carve in the head of a bird. This was truly an experimental piece, as i decided to give it a matte finish instead of going for a bright shine, i also tried my hand at some simple handle carving and file worked the spine of the blade. it has brass fittings on either end and i'm thinking about going with a white oak sheath, but am willing to take any suggestions. The knife is 13 inches over all with a 7 inch blade. The steel is D2 and i learned that it's not my personal preference
9 years agoSuperGenius
In case anyone has wondered, if the choice comes down between hitting a deer and swerving to avoid it, mow that SOB down! that is the consensus of law enforcement officials, my insurance agency,and myself using hindsight.
I shall explain why very soon, but first i would like to hear suggestions for used safe cars with good gas mileage and don't look horrible that are 10,500 or less.
Now to the fun part:
While driving down I694 back to my house at 3 AM. I found myself making fairly good time. the road was clear so i glanced down to check the time, which read 3:38.(Mind you the mid section that devides eastbound and westbound traffic is a ditch in this area, so there is no visibility with my headlights) I had recently moved some stuff from the back of my explorer to the front seat to help my friend move his mattress back home earlier that day and had neglected to put the steel pot, water bottle, shoes and cleaning solution back in the cargo bay. After having checked the time (read as 1 second). i glance back up to see this fawn and looking at me with, please don't kill me eyes. the does head was just above the fawn's body.
So not wanting to damage the car (screw the doe) i swerve to avoid it. I swerve a little to much. I move to correct, and the car is now outside of my control, i try to fight with the steering wheel that has now lost it's power steering, and glance off of the guard rail, turning the wheel just enough to send my 1999 ford explorer and myself barreling sideways into the ditch 2.5 times.
I look out through spider webbed glass and then around the cab, only one window is busted out aside from the windshield. the passenger side. i feel a bump on my head and a sore elbow from having it ram into the driver side handle. I open my door, unbuckle my seatbelt and look out to see a traffic worker standing on the road.
"How's your night goin?" I ask.
"I called highway patrol." He responds ignoring my quip.
"Thanks, how's my head look, is it bleeding?" I reply
"Nah you're good."
"Alright i'm gonna look for my phone" I say as i shut the door and begin rummaging around in the cab. (well the door kind of shut itself being that it was vertical)
I look around for a few minutes unable to locate the cell, but fortunately coming across my harmonica in the process.
I force open my door again, "can you call my cell phone? i think i lost it in here."
i hear the ring tone sound from beneath the passenger side door, i hop down with my feet out the broken window and feel around for it underneath the door, finding it just as the ring tone ends. "Thanks!"
I bend over and crouch out from under the passenger side of my car. working my way up the hill i say to the man, "I shoulda just hit that damn deer"
"Yeah probably," he says with a chuckle.
"so... eventful evening?" i ask as the state patrol pulls up behind us.
the road worker says nothing, obviously not the greatest conversationalist.
"Everyone alright here," asks the state patrolman.
"Super, how about yourself?" i ask.
"fine, thanks, you been drinking?" The patrolman asks.
"No.... yes, half of an amaretto sour 2 hours ago," i reply (I was helping a friend finish it off... don't judge me)
I work my way through the roadside sobriety test when another state patrol walks up and asks the first officer, "He fall asleep at the wheel?"
"No, it was a deer," corrects the first.
"He shoulda hit the damn thing," replies the new officer.
"That's just what i said," i called to the officers.
thus ends the fun part of the story the rest is fairly boring, i blew out two tires on the passenger side, blah blah blah, "I'm so glad you're alive" says countless people. "No duh," says my internal monologue. never went into shock, never got worked up over it, was supposed to drive a friend to the airport the day after (that didn't happen) but all in all it was a dramatic scene. worthy of a film clip it there was one to be had.
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