2007.01.28

Once Upon a Time

Posted in Board Games, Writing at 11:09 am by Jeremiah Wittevrongel

Last night, Jason, Chris and I played two games of Once Upon a Time.

Once Upon a Time is a story-telling game that is a lot of fun with the right group. Each player has a hand of story element cards – for instance, you might have the following cards in your hand: Queen, Castle, At Sea, Night, and Happy. The idea is to tell a story that incorporates those elements, allowing you to play those cards. In addition to this being a lot more difficult than you would think, there are two major roadblocks you have to overcome:

  1. Other players are trying to interrupt your story and take over the storytelling themselves. This means that when you’re telling the story, you have to keep things consistent with what the other players have already incorporated into the narrative.
  2. In addition to the story element cards, each player has an Ending card. This ending might be something like “And the curse was lifted as had been foretold.” Each player is trying to bring the story to a conclusion where they can read their ending card as the final sentence of the tale.

So, if you’re holding the particular ending card which was mentioned earlier, you had better try to work a curse into the story in such a way that the other players can’t simply ignore it.

For the non-master storytellers among us (which certainly includes me), this is a lot harder than you would think. Still, it’s quite a fun and rewarding game with the right group of people.

Observations
Before getting into specifics about the games as we played them, I have a couple of observations about it that bear mention:

  1. I wish we had recorded the games.
  2. We need to set a time limit where a player is compelled to pass if he hasn’t played a card.
  3. When deciding to do a non-fairy-tale style story, we should all do our best to make it work within the game. The cards lend themselves most easily to fantastical fairy tales, though it is possible to use them in other types of speculative fiction if the players are willing. Because of this added difficulty, though, the players should all agree beforehand on a genre.
  4. We should agree on a title for the story after the story is completed, to make it easier to reference them.

Without further ado, here is a synopsis of each of the games.

Story 1
Jason started the first game off with an interesting twist. He chose an “Arabian nights” sort of theme, and the story began with a death. After revealing the death, and without much explanation, Jason moved backwards in time to a time before the death, and thus our task was to tell the story of the events leading up to the death of this lady named Bernadette (don’t ask).

It was revealed that Bernadette’s husband, a man of some import, was often away fighting wars to defend the land, and thus she was lonely and began a somewhat secretive relationship with a guard named Alim. Their relationship became strained, and Bernadette sent Alim away on a quest.

From here things became somewhat interesting. Alim encountered mirages in the desert that were not fully explained at the time, and which would come back to be re-used later on in the narrative. Alim also had a very crazy quest that turned out to be impossible, but which was a delight to discover as the three of us fleshed it out.

I was gunning for Alim to be reunited with family at the story’s conclusion, so I spent some time telling a bit about Alim’s past and working it into the fabric of the story in a consistent fashion. Of course, I got interrupted, but eventually regained control of the narrative.

And so Alim was about to return home, when I realized that I still hadn’t killed off Bernadette. Because of the way the story began, Bernadette’s death had to happen and she had to die with some significance to the story.

Luckily, we were playing a variant where each player had two endings to choose from, which makes things a little easier (and less strained at the end). So I had to switch gears and start planning for my other ending.

At this point, the story was clearly drawing to a close, and Chris managed to finish it with a well-told double suicide.

After we finished, Jason and I each revealed our intentions for the ending. In my ending, Bernadette was going to be killed by her husband in a fit of rage, and then the husband was going to turn on Alim, though they were going to agree to be peaceful after a battle. Jason’s ending centred around murder, and I believe he was going to have Alim murder Bernadette.

Story 2
For me, at least, story two was much more compelling. There were numerous points where I was drawn into the story and really wanted to find out where it was going and how it would end. It was a lot more work and took a bit longer, but it was worth it.

Chris opened the story with a bit of action. Salina, the protagonist, awakens to the sound of explosions that turn out to be suicide car bombers trying to kill her. She’s a scientist of some sort, working on a cure to a pandemic that is presently escalating in severity. As it turns out, Salina has this theory that the pandemic is somehow linked to werewolves, and the three of us found ourselves re-gearing to tell the tale of Salina as an urban fantasy.

Once I gained control of the story, I spent a lot of time tying together some of the disjoint pieces of Chris’ narrative into a more cohesive whole, while also establishing a number of loose threads I would be able to pick up on later. My major plot contribution was Salina discovering a rather unusual book at the University library, titled Vampires, Werewolves, and Witches: an American History 1843 – 1943. One of the essays inside the book is a somewhat chilling tale of a man named Ethan who lives in New York in the mid 1800s. Ethan becomes a werewolf, and there is some detail about a particular ring that Ethan comes to possess without remembering how he came by it. Chillingly, this narrative is written in the first person, as though Ethan himself had written it. Salina wasn’t sure at this point whether it was fact or fiction.

This ring sparks a lunch date wherein Salina meets up with a friend (who happens to be a Linguistics professor) to discuss the ring. This friend also happens to be named Ethan (not coincidentally, it would turn out). Salina later realizes that her friend Ethan is actually in possession of the ring that was in Ethan’s story.

With the beginnings of the fantasy starting to gel into Salina’s world, things get more interesting. She discovers a second book that describes the ancient history of humans and wolves as distinct races, long before dogs were domesticated as pets. There was a primordial contest once per generation between the humans and wolves, and at each contest, the victor would gain some sort of concession over the other race.

This was used in our narrative to explain the domestication of dogs (each time the humans won, they would get concessions resulting ultimately in domestication). The wolves only ever won the contest once, but the concession they were granted would prove to be the origins of werewolves.

Salina never fully discovers whether this new volume is allegory or actual fact or some mix of the two, but she eventually finds herself, along with her estranged mother, at the centre of one of these generational conflicts.

Chris was gunning for what would have been a really nice ending to the story if I hadn’t interrupted him at the last moment. Unfortunately for me, his telling had allowed the humans to win this generation’s conflict, and my ending worked a lot better if the wolves won. I had a bit of spinning to do, and my ending felt a little clumsy to me (Salina, along with all of the wolves, dies in a fire deliberately set by her mother), but I managed to win the game.

The construction of the werewolf mythos in the second game and the way in which we managed to work it throughout the story turned out to be very compelling. Part of what made it work was our willingness to build on each others’ work in the same fashion as improv actors do.

As a particularly good example, the Ethan in the book and Salina’s friend Ethan turned out to be the same person, and he was a somewhat pivotal character. Jason and I both hinted at the possibility that the two Ethans were the same without ever actually saying so until late into the story. We found that keeping the possibilities consistent without actually closing them makes the story easier to tell (since there were different possibilities that were never ruled out until later), and it also has the effect of making the story more intriguing.

I think we’ll likely get better at the game as we play it more often.


2006.04.09

A Sunday Night in the Rain

Posted in Short Stories, Writing at 9:25 pm by Jeremiah Wittevrongel

It’s raining. At first, it started with a few drops, but those few drops quickly became a shower. It’s warm outside, and I really don’t mind. This isn’t a deluge; it’s one of those rains that seems to cleanse everything it touches. The city, the cars, even me.

It’s raining on a Sunday night, and the city is empty. There’s concrete everywhere, dripping and running with water, washing away all the sins of the daytime and the weekend, of the worker and the partier, the resident and the visitor. Washing away everything. What’s left is the city itself. My city. Even though there are people around, the city belongs to me. The skyscrapers, the empty C-Trains rumbling by, the traffic lights and crosswalks. All shimmering with water, and all mine.

The rain is dripping from my shaved head and my grinning face. My coarse beard is wet and somewhat itchy from the water, but I keep smiling. The rain feels good. My pants are getting wet, but my fleece jacket is keeping me warm enough and dry enough that I don’t really notice. My shoes look clean for the first time in weeks, the water beading up on the black leather. For a moment, I am the rain, and I feel happy.

I look up at the sky. The cloud cover stretches as far as I can see from down here, but it’s not foggy at all. Just a nice cool rain. The clouds glow with that peculiar orange glow that comes from the thousands upon thousands of city lights. That same orange glow that you can see from sixty miles away. That same orange glow I saw every cloudy night when I was growing up and lived outside the city.

I watch the rain in the streetlights, dancing and flickering and shining. I watch the rain in the puddles, dripping and splashing and beckoning. I hear the rain falling all around, drumming and gurgling and pinging.

I just want to keep walking, and for the rain to continue forever. But I’m home now. Still, the rain calls me with the irresistible lure of its siren song against my window, and it plays its undeniable tattoo on the streets below. I make a cup of hot chocolate and step onto the balcony, and lean over the railing. Watching the rain cleanse the city, my home, and my soul.


2006.03.11

5 Blocks and 22 Stories

Posted in Short Stories, Writing at 11:17 am by Jeremiah Wittevrongel

Suddenly, I’m awake. The warm confusion of alcohol brushed aside by the cool air. Cool, but not cold; I’m dressed for it.

5 blocks and 22 stories. That’s how far I am from home. There’s a line of cabs waiting outside a bar. Ceili’s. No wait, the cabs are lined up for the bar next door. Last I checked it was 1:30. The bars will be closing soon.

I walk past the theatres. I would have been there earlier, but Dean had car trouble. The show will have to wait.

Now I’m walking past My Apartment. The dance club. It used to be Area 51, and it was Escape before that. At least I think it was. It’s hard to keep track. I wonder if it has changed at all inside.

4 blocks and 22 stories. A man runs past me. He’s talking on his cell phone. Loudly.

“I’m really tired. I’ll be there soon. Stay right where you are, Kate. I love you.”

3 blocks and 22 stories. The man runs up to a young woman, grabs her in a hug. She must be Kate. I hope she’s Kate. She jumps up, wraps her legs around the man. I doubt they realize anyone is around. I’m the only other person on the street.

When he called her, they were only half a block apart. He was speaking so loudly, I’m surprised she couldn’t hear him without the cell phone.

Happily reunited, they stumble into Ceili’s. No, this is the other Ceili’s. The one on 7th. It must almost be last call.

2 blocks and 22 stories. Kate and the man are gone now. I’m alone. The street is empty, but somehow warm and comforting.

I need to urinate. To save time, I cut diagonally across the parking lot. I wave my card at the sensor, but the door won’t unlock. Oh yeah. The sign. This door won’t be unlocked until 5:00. I haven’t come home this late in a while.

22 stories. The front door yields, thankfully. The lights in the elevator are all working. I can’t remember the last time that was true.

There’s a note under my door. “Yearly tenant file update.” Funny, I don’t remember getting a note like this last year. Not that it matters. I’m moving soon.

The warm air in my apartment catches me. I’m suddenly tired again. Goodnight.

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