Finding Joy in Permanent Scurvy

This column is a reprint from Unwinnable Monthly #182. If you like what you see, grab the magazine for less than ten dollars, or subscribe and get all future magazines for half price.

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Wide but shallow.

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We got arguably the best possible ending in our Masks of Nyarlethotep game, which wrapped up with us on our heels waiting for the other shoe to drop. But the most positive outcome – merely delaying Nyalethotep’s schemes, because he’s a god and we are less than ants – was achieved almost accidentally, nihilistically. We just couldn’t fathom that our work was over, near done, or even possible to be completed. But then it suddenly was.

As for the world, what can we say. A few generations were spared, more than would remember our investigators. Some of us clawed back family long dead, others achieved impossible dreams, all as gifts from a bemused eldritch being who dropped some sugar from the sky for these briefly charming insects. Nyarlethotep will still get his, as he is inevitable and playing a much longer timescale, and humans are already bad at long-term thinking.

But of course, the point of Call of Cthulhu isn’t to win, because the abysmal end has been pre-written. The players are meant to scheme, cajole, investigate, agitate against the undeniable, overwhelming terror. We were fully expecting the monkey’s paw to curl a finger as we stepped into a world rewritten to suit our heart’s greatest desire, and were told it’s fine, relax, it’s not our problem any more.

I can’t say that this was satisfying, though the game sated us of course. We supped for years on the near-weekly sustenance of bumbling through globe-spanning occult conspiracies. This included one player’s multiple betrayals, a reveal enabled only by trickster dice, the impossible survival of dropping a rocket into a volcano at extremely close range, stories told to sell a game of impossible odds to people who think they’ve got a shot. The mayhem is the point, the joy is in fighting against the undefeatable tides.

Another game that challenges the very notion of heroism against insurmountable terror is MORK BÖRG, a favorite in these pages. I can only assume that as a dedicated subscriber to Unwinnable that you’ve read our many features on the adventures and offshoots of MORK BÖRG, so I will focus on the most relevant element from the game on this column – in MORK BÖRG, the world is ending, and ain’t no one stopping it. As players, we are only meant to thrash against the flames, to scratch out an existence above absolute dirt, and have a little fun along the way.

It’s definitely not a power fantasy, as flesh is weak and power is a sharp knife that easily slivers the wielder. Power can be gained along with wealth and notoriety, but you will die and you cannot take these things with you. And death is the easy option. Thus is the core of MORK BÖRG and its many variants, including the somewhat recently expanded PIRATE BÖRG, which I had the pleasure of demoing at this year’s PAX Unplugged.

Pirates aren’t really my thing but my homies were into it so we successfully got in line to grab a game, which is always the most difficult part. From there our Referee Simon held the helm steady, which wasn’t terribly surprising as he mentioned that he worked with Hex & Co. in New York City and has been grinding out games for a while now. Simon brought panache, plenty of dice and a homebrewed mini-sandbox that led us straight into the foggy bay of adventure.

Just because we were playing scallywags in a doomed world, doesn’t mean that we were baddies though. As players of somewhat decent moral standing, with safety rules established and enforced, we weren’t keen on ripping around with full chaotic evil energy, but the BÖRG games are all steeped in heavy metal album art. We were here to get unchained, take some morally dubious jobs, rack up the silver and avoid losing life, limb, or sanity.

As stated, my sea legs aren’t quite proper developed, but PIRATE BÖRG deftly slices the appropriate inspirations and drops loads of tables to steer your characters towards delightful chaos. I took charge of Bleeding Gums Kevin, named so because he has a kind of permanent scurvy, and through some bad decisions found himself on this boat with nothing but rags, a wig and his trusty musket. I’m the kind of player that finds great characters are often made from disparate driftwood, and PIRATE BÖRG provides plenty of flotsam and jetsam to work with.

All of this could be written off as merely a Pirate-skinned MORK BÖRG, but then we got a taste of that ship life, and in this the variant blossomed further into its own sea anemone. We found ourselves facing off against a mini fleet of Shoglins, shark-goblin mutants who were mad at us because we beheaded their priest for coin. From there it was time to hit the hexes, sail around full-port and starboard to position our guns large and small, raiding and then commandeering ships, growing our fleet piece by piece. Simon led us through all this with nimble grace, clearly led by rules with enough to chew on without getting bogged down in the gristle.

Against all odds we escaped intact, if somewhat infamous for our less than subtle approach. Loaded with silver but stuck behind a blockade, fending off giant tentacles, we got our first scratch of success, but I know it can’t last. And part of me is sad not to have at least one player get bitten by a Shoglin, but I can’t wait to drop that surprise in my own game someday soon, because in PIRATE BÖRG and the like, the madness is the point – may we ride the wave for a moment of bliss before it drags us down into the dark.

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Levi Rubeck is a critic and poet currently living in the Boston area. Check his links at levirubeck.com.