Sauce-Man

            In the Annals of the “No Shit, There I Was” Pantheon, there is a story that stands head and shoulders above the rest. It features a character with pluck. A character with Determination. A character that just would NOT FUCKING DIE!!

            This is the story of Sauce-Man.

            Shortly after I graduated High School, Striker started running Cyberpunk. A game of a Nihilistic future of Bad cops, Cyborgs and Corporate Ninjas. My character was known as “Dragonfly”, but this is not his story, though he is in it.

            Sauce-Man was Slick’s character. Slick has a certain style of role-playing. We like to call it “Gonzo”. Sauce-Man’s name was Arnie (There is no subtlety to Gonzo). Arnie was a Solo (Soldier of Fortune). Slick maxed him out on the Cyber-ware. Arnie was more Metal than man. He had something called an Omega-Frame that brought his Body (a trait in the game) practically off the chart. Arnie was a tank.

            Striker was running the game that night and our mission involved the group of us (about 4 or 5 of us were playing) breaking into a warehouse that the bad guys were using as a hideout.

            I had Dragonfly climb to the roof and open a sky light to rappel down. Arnie was waiting outside by a loading dock, and I guess he got impatient. He was strong as all fuck and could take a lot of damage, so Slick decided to take the direct approach…

            So Arnie steps up to the loading dock door (you know the kind, a big metal garage door), and just yanks it up, shattering the lock. Dragonfly was coming down from the roof and saw the three guards armed with machine guns, but it was too late to warn Arnie. The guards were startled, but not too startled to fire. And fire they did, all three of them emptying their guns into Arnie.

            I’ll let Striker fill in the details:

When [Slick] open the garage door with his cyberarms, three armed guards with fully loaded AKs opened up at him at a distance of 6 feet -

Since his body (?) stat was SO HIGH and the armor bonus for having cyberarms, legs and a vest, I rolled for headshots only and got 2 - both were resisted, so we went back to the damage chart. After the first 10 or so rounds were defeated by his jacket armor, we started into his body. Since it was so damn high, and the damage for the gun was average, he kept taking shots and filling in boxes...So many boxes, that [Slick] started to invent boxes so he could cross em off…

            How damage works in Cyberpunk is that for every point of damage that gets thru your armor, you mark off a box on the chart. For every four boxes you roll for system shock against your Body Trait. Every consecutive group of 4 boxes has a bigger negative until you get to negative 9 (The Trait is only supposed to go to 10). You roll ten side die for this.

            Sounds complicated, but what happened is that Slick went off the chart. He just kept making his saves. He just wouldn’t die. They just sat there at the game table, rolling and rolling. It was mind-boggling. Slick just sat there rolling 10 after 10. Striker looked like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to laugh or cry. The other players began to wander out of the room, getting snacks or taking a quick bathroom break, but I couldn’t look away.

            It was like a battle of wills between Slick and the universe. Finally, they stopped. Striker announced that they had run out of bullets.

            Once the dice rolling was done, Striker described the scene for me, since my character had witnessed it.

            Arnie had yanked the loading door open and then the shooting had started. He hung onto the door the entire time, never falling as they pumped round after round into him. Since he had a hydraulic grip, he just… hung there.

            Somehow, since Slick had made all his rolls, Striker said that Arnie was still alive. Slick shook his head.

            “No way. This guy is Sauce.”

            Slick could have kept the character, but it was such a glorious way to go that he volunteered to just die.

            As a bit of an epilogue to the story, I should add that after witnessing the horror of it all, I tossed a grenade at the guards and blew them away. Then I started some therapy…

            That Character Sheet hung on the wall next to the Gaming Table for years.

JHO

The Game Table

Where to go to waste your youth...
(Circa 1991?)

Striker's Table

            Striker was the Master of Ceremonies for more Games than my mind really wants to admit. Dominating the front room of his home was the Gaming Table. His father put it together for all his hobbies. It was a Stab of wood on 4 legs, four feet wide and eight feet long.

            We had as many as a dozen people around that table before, all playing one game or another. It was always strewn with books and soda and snacks and dice and scraps of paper and God knows what else.

            There was a good year there when it seem we were playing “Cyberpunk” daily.

“Dungeons & Dragons” was played in a very Gonzo style. (I had a berserker Elf called Tick)

For ultimate brainless carnage, there was “Recon” (We usually killed ourselves long before we found the enemy).

“Star Wars” (including my infamous Boba Fett stint).

Vulture’s totally Monty Haul games: “Stormbringer” and “GURPS” (I was Vigo. No excuse me, I was VIGO! You are like the buzzing of flies to me!)

Then there were the War Games. Shogun, Axis & Allies, Battle of Britain. Striker worked at a game shop, his collection was endless.

COMBAT CARDS! GO, SNOTI!

 

Many of the stories that you will see here take place here.

 

JHO

Wolfpack

Ah, the Wolfpack.

Back when I was in Junior High & High School, Photon was born. Photon was a place where they gave you a gun that shot light and a sensor that would register that light and threw you into a big maze with a couple dozen of your peers. Or so, I’ve heard.

I never went to Photon. Lack of money for one thing. Lack of friends for another. By the time I had found some friends, they had all grown tired of Photon. They were ready to move on.

Back then, O’Neil Park was actual wilderness (now it is surrounded by track houses). The Wolfpack would go up there for the weekend with their tents and their sleeping bags.

And their “Lazer Tag” equipment.

This was the coolest thing ever. Games tended to go deep into the night. I discovered that while I couldn’t shoot for shit, I could climb trees like a mutherfucker. I have a clear memory of “Playing Predator”. Climbing a tree and crossing from tree to tree from the upper limbs. I was much younger and much lighter. Iceman had a Hell of a time finding me that day. I should probably mention who these guys were…

Iceman: Leader of the Pack. Killed everybody. My first “grown-up” friend.

Warlock: Tank-ety, Tank. Tank-ety, Tank

Mandrake: “He’s behind us!”

“Holy Shit! How’d he get in front of us!”

Lady Drake: Boo-ya!

Hotlips: Earned the name…

Doc: Doesn’t really belong here (tho’ he was there). A friend of mine from Elementary School. Had some really cool Callsigns, but by the hand of fickle fate, Doc is what stuck.

Ripley: Didn’t use a gun to kill. Another story, another time…

And the regular gang: Hobbit, Frost, Phoenix, Striker, Myself…

The craziest stories from this time had nothing to do with Lazer Tag…

JHO

D.G.I.

Dumb Grunts, Incorporated

 

                Let’s give credit where credit is due. DGI was the precursor of the Knighthood. They shaped our young minds and are ultimately responsible for the madness that followed (Lawyers please note).

                DGI was made up of the Stagecraft class at my High School. This was the fringe. Connected to the Theater Crowd, but an entirely different animal.

                It was from these guys that I picked up a few things:

                Role-playing: Playing “Star Wars” in the Art Court at lunch

                Callsigns: In case you though my Mama named me Outlaw

                Cone-bombs: Not really destructive (maybe some petty theft), but certainly makes an impression

                Writing on your clothes: A fashion statement whose time had come. And has since left…

                The Zoz Moving Company: A tale for another day…

 

                Without these trailblazers, we would not be the men we are today. Gentlemen (& Ladies) we salute you:

                Frost: As mentioned before, his was a casual evil…

                Hanover: F’tang, F’tang

                Spoogy: I can’t begin to imagine how he got the name.

                Hank: Was that really a Callsign? I was never sure

                Sputnik: Never knew her, but she was part of the equation

                Little Big Mouth: (Mind you that’s just a fraction of the name) Don’t let her near Power Tools or Fire. She knows how to use both.

                And others I can’t remember (I know someone will remind me…)

 

 

JHO

 

 

           

           

Humble Beginings

The Knighthood was started by Outlaw & Banshee in the twilight years of the 80's. We were freaks and we reveled in it. Unfortunately, we didn't fit in with the established freaks. We were a class unto ourselves (or so we felt). We needed to make a name for ourselves.
And we would do so. We came up with a name and that's what we called ourselves.
So what if most of our adventures happened around a table while rolling dice? We had fun damnit!
And eventually, we found like-minded individuals to share our model of world-wide chaos with. The roster of allies is lenghty and distinguished:
The Hobbit: Despolier of women
Frost: Despoiler of, well, nearly everything
Phoenix: No one could go down in flames like him
Striker: Evil Master mind of all Genres
Spectre: Put it this way, his pet name was "Anti-Christ"
Vulture: King of the Cock-block
Slick: He of the teflon charm. and hair.
Of course, The Banshee: A smoldering volcano of misplaced rage and caustic wit.

And me, I'm The Outlaw. Confused Muse, Angry poet and mster of the missed opportunity.

These are the stories of The Knights of Disorder...


JHO
TKOD, DGI, CCC, et al...