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Richard Lewis recently did a stream talking about the terrible state of CS esports and I thought it was an important stream anyone who cares about the CS community should listen to.
Vod Link here: https://www.twitch.tv/videos/830415547
I realize it is 3 hours long so I took it upon myself to create a list of interesting points from the stream so you don't have to listen to the whole thing, although I still encourage you to do so if you can.
I know this post is still long but probably easier to digest, especially in parts.
Here is a link to my raw notes if you for some reason want to read through this which includes some omitted stuff. It's in chronological order of things said in the stream and has some time stamps. https://pastebin.com/6QWTLr8T

Intro

• "The last month has convinced me, that we are going to be heading into a dark place for Counter-Strike esports in 2021."
  • "I think I've seen the scene essentially kill itself."
• "For the past 5 to 6 years, we've basically been in a holding pattern of people coming into our game wanting to run it, wanting to run all of the esports and wanting to profiteer and its been sort of a concerted effort to drive them off and push them away."
  • "We're spread way too thin."
• "If Riot don't get involved and stop the scumbags that have moved over to Valorant from getting their feet under the table, Valorant is going to have real problems."
• RL thinks too much has happened all at once for us to do anything except watch it play out, like:
  • Recent CSPPA strike against BLAST
  • ESIC failures and them not being supported enough
  • Teams cheating i.e. coaches/bugs
  • Widespread match fixing
  • The Pandemic
    • "People who try to hold bubble events are so incompetent and fuck up and people get the 'rona and its their fault."
    • "People who say Flashpoint is a bubble is full of shit and is a lie and people are now suffering for that lie."
      • "To save money they let people go home and break the bubble for a week."
      • "Not just Flashpoint peoples decision, they have a partner that handles the production." (hinting FACEIT)
      • "People are trapped in hotels essentially under house arrest because of COVID restrictions and has fucked peoples lives up."
• "It's all too much, all of this incompetence, all of this greed, maybe we ride it out."
  • RL says he has talked to the Riot devs (the ones working on Valorant) and says, "They are so cognizant of all the fuck ups and all the problems we have in Counter-Strike."
    • He continues to say that this is factored into their business plan and that we never had a competitor, but just so happens to have one coincide, when we are at our worst.

CSPPA - Counter-Strike Professional Players' Association

"Who does this union really fucking serve?"

• RL believes that the CSPPA is a mockery.
  
  • He points out the hypocrisy that they wouldn't strike for the pros who were kicked out of ESL Pro League, or for Jamppi or dream3r.
    • He also says ESL paid CSPPA and are racketeering and many other TOs have to pay them to get their "seal of approval"
      • He says they would strong-arm TOs saying "well if you don't give us the money, these guys are so we'll just have to commit to playing their event."
    • Also points out that they will strike against a competitor they are not in agreement with (Flashpoint)
    • RL: "It's what it says about every other time you haven't done it and it's about every time you don't do it now moving forward." "The issues they've chosen to ignore this year alone are embarrassing."
    • Then he points out that there was no strike for Valve qualifiers even if we have no major but Jamppi and dream3r can't play in them.
      • "and Valve have said 'Oh yeah we know actually their stories are accurate, Jamppi didn't cheat, now in a legally binding document. Yep dream3r did have his account hacked in a LAN café', but they still can't play. Where is the fucking solidarity? Gone. Doesn't exist. It's not important [because] it doesn't affect you." "That's what the union does right now, it looks after all the tier 1 people."
• He says the CSPPA doesn't represent all players all the time and has driven a divide where you have the haves and have-nots
  
  • "We have a tier of players that operate with impunity and do not help their tier 2 or tier 3 players out at all." "If you are not a tier 1 player you do not matter, they don't event ask your opinion."
  • He tells chrisJ to admit and own the fact that the reason he didn't speak up during the ESL Pro League debacle is because it didn't affect him
  • "They are looking after some players at the expense of other players. How the fuck is that a union?"
• He says the BLAST situation is a reasonable dispute and supports the players but is not the right time for a strike and have not even identified the correct enemy
  
  • He thinks players are lashing out now due to previous incidents and are upset that BLAST are working with ESIC
    • He stated that CSPPA shouldn't beefing with ESIC and they should be working in harmony
  • He says what they need to do is talk with the teams/organizations that have sold that right to BLAST
    • RL: "Your employers, the people who pay you that massive exorbitant salaries, when you don't stream and you don't do interviews and you offer no value beyond your ability to click heads and you get 25k dollars a month." "Why don't you talk to them about it? Oh right. You're happy to take away BLAST's paper, but you don't want to risk your own."
  • "I am seeing such unbelievable cowardice from the players here with the battles you choose."
  • "Where was the strike action when in the qualifiers for the world championship, there were teams and players engaged in huge conflicts of interest?" "Where was the strike action when your image rights were taken and sold to every league you've ever been in every union type organization you've ever been associated with like, WESA, to your org every time you sign a contract, to the leagues you play in."
    • "Your image rights are essentially worthless now, there's about 10 fucking separate parties that have them, and how many of them are giving you anything for it? Not much pretty much your org by the way."
    • "That's a big issue. Your image is you, your image is your brand. What are you doing about that? Nothing."
• He is also angry at SirScoots who is "popping off" at people on Twitter who all want the same thing, which is 'A unified Counter-Strike scene for everybody, that works for everybody, that has a sustained ecosystem that nourishes everybody.' "We don't have that now."
  
• He also says their rankings are a joke
  
  • "Just so happened, oh look TACO, that very important prominent member of the board, we pushed his team artificially up when they weren't even in the fucking top 20, not by a long shot."
• He also says the ineptitude of the CSPPA cost Flashpoint a monitor sponsor
  
• "Is it really a player association or is it like a fucking agency at this point"
  

ESIC - Esports Integrity Commission

"They have been put in an impossible position."

• RL says that Ian Smith, the founder of ESIC and who was done work in mainstream sports, is a good and honorable man who has dedicated his life to integrity and sports. He takes on both sides, ensuring match fixers are punished, but also doing appeals and ensuring those punishments were fair.
• "ESIC is a tiny organization" and are in need of money, "They didn't run a grift like the CSPPA did."
  • "Saying 'you want our support and you want the players to turn up you better pay us.' They don't do that."
  • "Had startup seed money from MTG and since then they've been pecking shit with the hens."
    • Ian Smith made sure that the money given by MTG (Modern Times Group, parent company of ESL, ESEA, DreamHack) was nothing more than startup money and wouldn't be in debt to them
      • Ian Smith sat down with other TO's not part of MTG and wanted to partner with them. They declined and called ESIC "ESL spies and we will never align ourselves with you"
  • "They only were just able to afford, hiring a PR guy on a full time salary to deal with the press and send out those releases you've seen, this year."
    • "They have a tiny group of staff investigating these things and they have taken on the biggest problems in our scene: the cheating, the match fixing."
• ESIC have had "unprecedented levels of cheating to deal with, because there's something wrong with our scene ever since we went online. There's something wrong with it, everyone's lost their fucking pride and self-respect and they got no passion for it anymore, so they think fuck it, what's in it for me?"
  • He calls out coaches who are talking about players rights when they would rob and steal from them.
    • Also says more coaches being banned are coming
    • He also points out flaws in community's reaction to the punishments to coaches bans: "Half of the cunts still have jobs and some of the cunts got new jobs. We didn't even shun the cheating coaches."
• ESIC have "found I think another 2 or 3 exploits like that one and they are investigating them all right now, it's going on right now."
  
  • "I know that there are going to be more names getting banned, again."
  • "So they're doing that on a skeleton crew while, investigating 3 continents worth of match fixing in MDL and semi-pro level CS." "They're doing this with half a dozen people." "They don't have any money or any help. People barely even fucking cooperate with them, they are treated like pariahs. It's ridiculous."
    • "Why are the CSPPA popping off at ESIC on my Twitter timeline, when you should be working together." "because its all about what's in it in for me." "2020, the online era of CS: 'What is in it for me?' How can I cheat, how can I get my paper, how can I bleed this scene one last time before I fuck off and play shooty shooty bang bang Riot Games babys first fps."
• RL says that in the CIS region, teams have gone to tournaments and have been eliminated multiple times by the same team. We found out they were cheating and those players who lost, have been cut from their roster, careers ended because of cheaters.
  

Stream Sniping

"They're all at it in the online era, they're all at it, they're all cheating, they're all using exploits, probably that see through smoke bug got used a bunch of times"

• RL talks about how there is no integrity from dead (the player), always denying when caught doing something
  • On the topic of 'BLAST never said we couldn't stream snipe': "Lies, BLAST never said you could do that, they had to sort of retcon it." "because what happened after that they fucking started snitching and squealing"
    • "Suddenly you had like, 10 of the top 15 teams in the world, staring into the abyss of being banned for 6-12 months in line with ESIC recommendations."
      • He says that ESIC was put in a tough situation and couldn't enforce the bans because it would have resulted in killing CS. What resulted was, BLAST, ESIC, and teams came together and gave them a warning and told them, in RL's words "don't do this again or you're gonna get got."
        • He then says the top teams brushed this off and didn't give a fuck
        • The new MiBR team playing Flashpoint, that wasn't involved in the previous incidents are doing it again (stream sniping). He gave credit to Flashpoint for the quick resolution and punishment and respect for cogu's response to the situation.
        • "ESIC came out and said, once more, 'Guys, zero tolerance from now on.'" RL then got upset at community's reaction calling ESIC "pussies" for their non enforcement and said if we want competitive CS we cant ban the top 10 teams.
• He points out how players have no integrity and will do anything for an edge as long as they won't get detected or banned or it's within a grey area.
• "All of this shit was mad avoidable, even in the pandemic era."
  • He talks about why aren't we filming them. Why aren't there representatives for leagues and tournaments making sure players aren't cheating?

Match Fixing

"How many years have we let our scene be fucking pillaged by these greedy cunts?" "We just let it happen."

• RL says that gambling and skins betting which existed in moderation was "accelerated and blown up by the Call of Duty greedy fucks."
  • "Never forget TmarTn was on the board of EnVyUs." "His website, CSGOLotto, they had a bunch of off-the-books sponsorships." "NBK promoted them. People forget."
• "Those people who had access to the skins, go to the players" "Even people like s1mple, best player in the world, even he scammed knives and skins off fucking fans."
• Owners of skin casino sites would approach pros and lend them skins to use in tournaments and possibly keep them after reaching a deal
  • Players would tip off inside info about matches and teams in exchange for skins. Info such as: roster changes, how they played in scrims
    • They would use this info to bet and subvert the odds on their sites. "That happened religiously, I can't even tell you how many times it happened."
      • "I had access to the biggest database of information, from an inside betting circle in NA, and it would take information and screenshots from other pro players, who were feeding them info in exchange for money or skins."
        • "Some of these players are still playing." "Incredibly, there are players still in the CSPPA today, complaining about the BLAST recordings, that were embroiled in this murky shit back then."
• RL also says that there were tournaments where teams contrived with each other, who should throw, who should win.
• "There's a handful of people that are trying to fucking clean it up, and you think you get something over the line and you see something like the CSPPA and it's run by corrupt fucking chuckle heads, and now you've got another corrupt body you have to fight on a fucking daily basis, it's demoralizing."
  • "It's too far gone. Our entire semi-professional scene is compromised."
• "It's rife guys, I'm not going to lie any more. It's not just China, it's not just Russia, it's here, it's NA, it's Europe, it's Australia, so much more than you think, so much more than we can prove."
  • "I get sent chat logs all the time […] and they're morons, these players, short-sighted, amateur, morons and they're doing it on WhatsApp." People would get cut from the bets because they want to make more money, then they leak the logs. He says, from the chat logs, they spread "little" bets across every site they can (400 to 1k dollars) to prevent shifting odds
• He says the scumbags who've fucked off to Valorant will do the same there if Riot doesn't do something and says Valorant "is an esports scene heading for a very early fall based on the sheer volume of scumbags that are already there."
• "That's tier 2 CS in a nutshell these days. They know they're never going to play in a major, so what's the punishment?"
  • "All of these tier 2 fucks that are fixing games now they are like the fucking mafia compared to iBuyPower" "These guys are working with organized criminals to fix entire seasons worth of games. That's what's going on in your tier 2 CS."
• "I'm literally being told that there are players fixing games at all levels of Chinese esports and motherfuckers with guns are turning up to team houses and stuff."

North America

"Everyone in NA has left we've lost a continents worth of support during this pandemic and Valve haven't said a fucking word."

• RL says the Call of Duty "goblins" that destroyed CS for years are the same people who are now trying to leave CS. "The nerve to treat a game where the fans, and the community, and the TO's were nothing but good to you." "To just kick the players out now and go and leave and say 'It just doesn't make financial sense.' Oh you'll slither back when we have a major though for them stickers won't you."
• There's a cascading effect in NA where people don't bother with CS anymore and people like Chaos suffer.
• He says NA team owners are incompetent for always wanting it easy and always wanting a guarantee on their investment without skill or nuance.
  • RL says he would be able to market a team correctly and would have a good ROI and also points out how TSM wouldn't even be bothered to tweet that their team, which was one of the best in the world, was playing at the Major.
  • He also says not all NA owners are like that, compliments and respects Jason Lake who nearly lost everything to keep Complexity going.
• He then calls out the incompetence in Infinite Esports when they acquired OpTic Gaming and bought an Indian CS team.
  • He says HECZ is not to blame here and that they couldn't tell forsaken was cheating when it was so obvious.
    • They measured his reaction time to the likes of dev1ce and s1mple
    • When an enemy showed up on his screen he won that duel something like 44% of the time
    • "was like the number 1 player in the world statistically"
    • He brought a laptop to their bootcamp and refused to use the high end PCs that hey provided
• He respects Andy Miller (NRG CEO) and HECZ but says that the attitude of not being able to easily monetize their teams is "piss weak" and there needs to be a risk.
  • He says Chaos EC shouldn't be cutting their roster and should be competent enough to be able to figure out how to make money off their team.
• He says there are still opportunities in NA and people are panicking and pulling out, and says Valorant will be the same if not worse.
  • He also says "bums" who couldn't even get out of groups in NA competitions, are making crazy money in Valorant and says it will continue to inflate.
• He also said that he heard rumors that EG (Evil Geniuses) are done.
• He also thinks that the rumors of a Valve franchised league from before was sparked up from "these lazy fabled weak NA fucking team owners basically trying to see if Valve would bite at the hook if it was dangled and they didn't"
  • Slasher says NA team owners are really in favor of franchised leagues because they want to make more money. "Most of the powerful team owners right now are on board with ditching this third party organization structure, or they are trying to play this power politics with all the TOs, and that is contributing to a lot of the problems there"
• RL says that Riot has proved they can run a franchised league (LCS) and will be profitable in 2021 which is what a lot of team owners care about and says the competition will only serve to snatch people away from CS.
• RL continues to say, "I am so sick and tired of what we have done to this scene, I am just exhausted with it." "I think we have legitimately fucked it, I really think we have. I think we're staring into almost like a CGS (Championship Gaming Series) wasteland in NA." "Counter-Strike esports is a fucking joke."

Talent

"TO's have treated CS talent like absolute human garbage for years now."

• RL says that people like Sean Gares and ddk switching over to Valorant isn't for financial reasons because they are making less over there.
• He points out that TO's can't even give talent a 3 month in advance calendar.
• Because of the pandemic TO's won't hire certain people and some people are working more hours for the same money.
• He says we as a community don't respect journalists enough which is why we don't have good journalists.
  • He also says DeKay is leaving the scene soon and that Thorin is close to leaving also
• He says he had to talk a caster down from quitting and was struggling to find reasons.
• He says that DreamHack told Vince they would hire him but not if he wants to stick with dusT and says that this is the norm in esports. "Constant leveraging of people against each other." and says this is why we don't have a talent union.
• New gen casters are getting put into shit situations and the community's reaction to them is adding fuel to the fire
• He says the reason Moses left was because of the terrible conditions
• He says that Anders had to constantly leave his family and kid because someone fucked up or broke promises and had to constantly tell his kid to their face that "daddy can't be home this weekend."
• He says that esports has always been a lie to sell you this dream, "Meanwhile there's about 2% of the cunts getting all the checks."

Valve

"Anything that Riot does, is better than Valve's inaction"

• Slasher says that the larger aspect of esports as a whole compared to other entertainment mediums and Valve's lack of inattention are the bigger problems. He continues saying that the fact that Valve let their game be ran as an esport, they need to take on the responsibilities of it.
  • Both Slasher and RL wants Valve to take control but not on the level of Riot Games, there needs to be a balance.
• In case it was ever a question: Gabe Newell has been to 0 CSGO Majors.
• RL calls Valve out saying they could have done something during the gambling era.
• He says Valve used to come to the majors, but doesn't think they do anymore.
• RL had met with Valve at the Cluj-Napoca Major and had tried to appeal iBP's indefinite punishment and had also gave Brax's life story:
  • A recent family member passed away, they had lost a lot of income, they had to live in trailer, iBuyPower did not pay any salaries, and was pressured by family to make money who didn't support his career.
  • RL said that Valve told him, "How dare you try and make us feel guilty." "We shouldn't feel bad about enforcing the only thing that matters that we need to make players afraid of: cheating and match fixing"
  • RL also tried to share other info about match fixing and nothing came of it
• RL points out that Source 2 or a new engine is not something you will want based on the experience of transitioning from CS 1.6 to CS:S. "Valve's track record with brand new engines being launched, not fucking great from what I remember."
• Slasher says "If there is anything the community should do, is pressure Valve to hire a community manager."
  • They say that we need a commissioner, a community manager (not the person who runs the Twitter who posts memes all day), then we need to have a circuit
• RL reiterates that Valve doesn't care about CS esports and says they need to change the culture at Valve to make them care about CS esports
  • Slasher says a systemic problem is making it so working on CSGO would be a bad decision for you as an employee for Valve
• He also hasn't talked to Valve in ages and have sent over bugs and cheats and doesn't get emails back anymore
• Slasher says we should be directing attention at the developer leads, pointing out Ido Magal, if he even is still the project lead
  • RL thinks that Ido and Brian are the only people that "vaguely even give a fuck about CS" and were the only people that RL recalled that actually read Reddit and paid attention from time to time
• "It is really fucking precarious. Somebody has got to step the fuck up and start giving a shit"
  • Slasher suggests org owners, with CSPPA, with ESIC, with TOs have a concerted effort against Valve
• "Riot Games are doing better things than Valve in the esports space" which is something RL didn't think he'd say.
• "People who used to be talent, working with unions, arguing with other talent, when the unions fucked them over, can't understand their perspective, TOs fucking over broadcast talent, broadcast talent wanting to leave and go and work for orgs, orgs having no money, Valve might take coaches away because all the coaches are cheating, ESIC has about 4 people in a fucking call doing the investigations, everyone thinks they're spies for ESL, ESL are just the evil fucking overlords wanting to rule the scene and will just somehow, like cockroaches outliving a nuclear bomb, and Valve are in a fucking holiday in Hawaii thinking about the next Dota character because they don't give a fuck about us."

Closing Statements

"We've peaked. If we want to sustain and exist, now is the time to figure it out. No esports lasts as long as this, we've already done 8 years. We've already broke the records. We have got to figure out a way to coexist and drive the negative forces out and we need to do it as a collective and we're not doing that."

• RL compared the Counter-Strike scene to the people on the Titanic who ran around with guns robbing people while the boat was sinking.
• "We have given up on being a respectable esports scene." "We are now a conduit to make money for those who want to just milk it, just have one last ride, one last roll of the dice. It's done." "What a fucking mess. What have we done to our fucking scene?"
• "There's just too much self-interest driving all of this." "I don't see a way we stop the dominoes." "When it's that bad, when there's that many dishonest people that ESIC have to come out and say that if we punish them all there's no one left. What does that tell you?"
• "How many opportunities have we had to clean house? How many times have we said, 'this must never happen again', and another scandal." "The entire skins betting operations was the biggest criminal conspiracy in esports ever executed and no one has been punished for it." "The people who could be driving that don't want to."
• "Right now people are fans of those organizations because the scene has value. It is worth being a fan of Astralis because they are excellent at Counter-Strike. It is worth being a fan of s1mple because he is the best player in Counter-Strike, maybe the exception of ZywOo. If the scene is devalued, if the scene loses its meaning, those things lose its meaning too, and people will leave, people will stop tuning into the games. I have seen it happen in multiple esports, this is not my first time at the rodeo. I am getting big Brood War vibes right now and I don't like it."
• "The role you play in all of this as fans, as viewers, as listeners, as consumers of esports content, it's absolutely imperative that you know who the good guys are. It's absolutely imperative that you use your voice. It's absolutely imperative that when things are bad, you know who, at least, is trying to make them good, and you have to apply your criticism to the right targets."
  • He continues saying it's no good in continuing to attack ESIC and saying how they are bad, ESIC have it hard
• He says CSPPA are on the right side of the argument on BLAST but have been on the wrong side of many arguments many times.
  • "If you are not willing to stand along side the weakest member of the union, with the least amount of influence, and the least amount of power, then it is not a union at all and you shouldn't pose as one." "You wanna serve a bunch of special interest do it, everyone else in esports fucking does, but do not pose as something you are not." "We love the players. I've been fighting for players rights for as long as I've been able to, but the CSPPA is not what we needed."
    • "They are not applying the pressure to the right people, they are not fighting the right battles, they are not helping their weaker members."
• He says what orgs have done by keeping or hiring coaches is bad. "When you give up on holding an appreciable standard, you've lost the scene" "Competition matters, rules matter, punishments matter, achievements matter, excellence matters" "If you start stripping that away, you have nothing" "You guys need to take that knowledge and apply it sensibly."
• "Valve has sold you all down the river, they sold everyone in the esports scene down the river, tournament organizers are selling their talent down the river. Don't hate on them for sounding tired after a 16 hour day. Don't hate on them because the hype for a matchup they've seen for the 20th time in the past 3 months, they can't be as excited or it sounds contrived. Support your guys, they're there for you, these are your people."
• "This community has got to start acting like one for the first fucking time. Just put the petty shit away, let's try and fix this fucking scene while we still have one to save."
• "You can't rely on Valve, you can't rely on ESL, you can't rely on the CSPPA, you can't rely on anyone." "Once again, it's gonna be the likes of us, the amateurs, the people who give a fuck, rolling up our sleeves and grafting." "I'm old and tired and I don't want to have to do it again. People need to pick up the torch and do it."
  • "Like Michal did, like Dudenhoeffer did. You see something wrong, fix it. You see somebody doing something wrong, call it out. If you think something could be better, let people know."
• "Vote with your wallets if you're not happy with the direction Valve goes in. If when we do get to the Major, they serve up another subpar, same old bullshit stickers and signatures package again, do not buy it."
  • "You're a powerful block and if you use it correctly we can fucking avert this disaster."
• "I'm not doing another year in this broken, bust-up fucking scene, where everyone is miserable, everyone is broke, everyone is tired, and everyone is trying to fucking rob everyone else, blind, while the fucking people who are meant to be protecting you, are just fucking enhancing it and lining their own pockets."
  • "I'm not doing it anymore and you shouldn't want to do it either."
• "I stand by every fucking thing I said. I mean it, because this game fucking matters to me, this scene fucking matters to me. I put my life into this, my adult life, and to see it in this state is fucking sad."

1What retiring early is like

It's fucking great.
I wake up happy, I do pretty much whatever I want during the day, I go to sleep happy.
I indulge my limited passions and hobbies, I plunge down fascinating rabbit holes of knowledge, I bugger off to places for months at a time (harder with Brexit, you xenophobic malcontents), I spend time with people I want to. I feel smug.
I don't have an alarm waking me up, I don't need to take any shit off anyone, I don't burn 90 mins a day on a loud bus screeching stop announcements at 90db in my ear.
In the summer I sometimes pop over to the local greenery, have a pint and meal, read a book, soak up the sun. Great stuff.
My phone is always on silent. It can wait.
People occasionally ask me “what I do all day”. If your imagination is so limited, living in such an incredible time, with so much at your fingertips, that the question even crosses your mind, then carry on working and bitching about it, you don't know how to be happy.
“Scipio used to say that he was never less idle than when he had nothing to do “ - Cicero, On Duties.

2How to get there

2.1Difficulty modes

2.1.1Easy mode: Get free university education, get a good job, buy a cheap house

Not too difficult if you were born in 1972. Easy mode is now disabled in the UK. Maybe available in foreign versions of the game, such as in Greece or Denmark.

2.1.2Medium mode: Don't have kids

I swear to god, I have been pretty lucky not to accidentally father a crotch goblin, and believe me, little Goocho often vetoed my brain. Use contraceptives. Notice how all the shit hole countries don't give women control over their reproduction.
If I had foolishly crapped out a kid, I would have had to work another 10 years at least I reckon. Ugh.
Borrow kids to play with them, and return when they start crying.

2.1.3Hard mode: Have kids

Look, if you are spending 100k or whatever to raise a kid I don't know what to tell you, at least you got laid eh?
I hope you enjoy working like I didn't. Seriously, if you have a job you like, great stuff, things will be much easier for you. The impetus to leave it won't be so great. The point of all this is to be happy after all!

2.2Control your costs

Filling your house full of nonsense is consumerism at it's worst.
I practice a kind of minimalism. So I don't own a freezer, a cooker or a dish washing machine. Guess what? They will never need repairing or replacing! But I do own an amazing OLED tv, a solid speaker system, loads of films and books. Minimalism is a whole other subject, and attracts the mentally ill who take it to extremes. Spend money on a decent mattress you fools.
Subscriptions are death by a thousand cuts, and will weigh you down. However Netflix and Amazon Prime are great. Shades of grey.
Screw charities, charity workers get paid salaries and you are supposed to give for free? Nope. Begging scum. “it is only the price of a coffee”, bitch please, I pay 10p a cup for my lovely coffee.
Pay your taxes. Don't be a leech on society.
Live in a small house.
Aldi is great.
If you don't get married, you can't get ruinously divorced, .
Insurance is generally a scam, if you are drunkenly fucking up so regularly than you need your phone insured, sort your life out.
You really need that car? Hmmm. If you are driving to the supermarket and paying for the gym, you are an idiot. Those two cancel each other out.
Only unhappy people play the lottery.
Buy a decent phone for £200, pay £5 a month for service. You think iFruit users will look down upon you? Comparison is the thief of joy.
DIY accomplishments are mentally rewarding, great exercise and cheap – or you can throw money at a problem to make it go away, this is the point of money after all, we sell and buy time with it. Before I buy anything big, I ask myself, is this worth x days sitting in an office for​?
Spend your money how you like, I am not your mum.
Enjoy what you have.

2.3Plan a little

Write down (don't guess) how much you spend a month over a couple of years.
For investments, assume inflation cancels out general increase in non distributing equity value. This is all a rough guessing game anyway, don't pretend it isn't.
I think there are two ways to look at when you can stop working:

2.3.1Cash drawdown per month until death

If you assume you are going to die around 85 (actuarial tables available online), divide your cash + private pension wealth + state pension amount will pay you until age 85 by the number of months left to live, this tells you how much you can spend a month before you die. Sounds like enough? Investment appreciation means you might have more than that.

2.3.2Cash dividends per month

You have a lumpsum of wealth. Flexible uk pension rules means you no longer need to take the annuity gamble. 4% returns a year seems conservatively doable. Can you live on that? Means you die with a load of cash. Stash it in your silk lined coffin.

2.4Play it safe, but not too safe

Assume laws and taxes will change. Don't count too much on that state pension.
If the NHS falls ill itself, you might need some cash to go private. Good luck getting that hip surgery in the next 12 months post covid!
If the stock market takes a 10% dump, you must still sleep soundly. Don't live too close to the edge.
Assume and hope your parents will spend all their wealth on themselves, having a happy end of life in an old folks home. Points off as a human being for relying on your parent snuffing it for free money.
What if your body conks out and you start shitting yourself and have to pay 4k a month to be served Dickensian gruel in a nursing home? Trust in the societal safety net? Work another 5 years just in case? Keep a cyanide pill by the bed? Sell your house I guess? I'm rolling the dice on this one. Maybe dancing in VR and these 50 degree Victorian terrace stairs will keep me fit (or kill me).

2.5Personal Story

Went to Uni, got a Computering degree, got a job I liked, autistic-ally worked at it, got paid lots of money, bought a house at 26 for 48k, parents threw in 10k to get rid of me, paid off the mortgage in 30 months.
After 8 years in said job, started to dislike it, took 6 months off work. Worked another 2 years before I got made redundant, 15k for doing nothing? Yes please!
Worked about half the time from age 32 to 46 as Contractor scum, in jobs I generally disliked or eventually hated. Had 2-3 years between jobs. Snatching retirement chunks from the future. I figured, why leave retirement until I am too old to enjoy it? Took around 3 months to get a new job each time, I didn't care, I loved not working!
Played casino blackjack for a couple of years for ~8 hours a week, made £12k. Shuffling machines have stopped all that now, was bored of it anyway.
Decided at 40 I had better get a pension, threw money at it when working.
So at 46, when I walked out on the pathetic management at my last gig (FIS Birmingham, you see when you are retired, you really don't have to give a shit!), I had worked for a total of ~15 years, thoroughly enjoyed not working and was sick of working.
At 47 I realised maybe I don't actually need another job? Started paying real attention to my finances.
At 48, I have 110k cash & 140k pension = 250k. 4% a year dividends = 10k a year. I can live happily on that.
£800 a month is enough. I spent £350 a month in December and January, had a great time. Will get a PS5 when available, boiler is bound to break eventually. It all evens out.
My state pension fortells a sickly £117 per week. Meh. Forgive me for not factoring that in too much. Who knows where I will be in 20 years? Hopefully sleeping in late without an alarm clock.

Hi DMs!
I'm looking for some gambling mini games for an upcoming casino scene. Issue is, most of the ones I can find suit much better for in person games where they're rolling real dice (like liar's dice, poker and blackjack variants, etc), I can't find much that would suit online play where your rolls are displayed for everyone to see. I know there is an option to hide rolls, but it does lack the final reveal moment that an in person game would have.
Any advice on potential gambling minigames I can run over roll20?

Ramtidings, dear friends! It is I, your dutiful lord and master, the eternal GM. My sabbatical proved most fruitful, having figured out some depth mechanics for 3 dimensional combat in my pet project, Blood & Thunder, a maritime piracy RPG that has been both a joy and a nerve-wracking nightmare to create. If you want to see what's going on with that, you can swing by patreon.com/BlackFlagPrintingPress to take a look or support my endeavors. But I digress, because I did not come here today to talk about Blood & Thunder, no. I came here with something else in mind, good friends, for while I have been writing my bread and butter, you have gone without your beard and butter, and this is unacceptable! And so, I have trawled the depths of my memory to bring you yet another TAAAAAALE FROM THE TABLETOP, lovingly subtitled A Prologue Into Poverty.
Life is not an easy thing. There was a time when life was very difficult for me. I had far less than most, and I went without frequently, my entire life loaded into a backpack of bare necessities. Joys were few and times were hard, but I made the best of it. I traveled the countryside, mostly alone, making friends where I could amongst the other forgotten souls who haunt the streets of the United States. I met a good number of people, many of them listless drifters in their own right, who became fast friends. We would hang out for a time, but like all drifters, we would eventually part ways, called to different places to do different things. I had just come from North Carolina. I had been in Asheville, playing bluegrass to make money with friends who eventually proved dishonest, and so I parted ways with them. While in Asheville, I had met a girl, also on the road like myself, and I developed a massive crush on her. Fortune would have it that our time together was short lived, as she disappeared on a freighter down the train tracks, and I layed curled up in a bush sick as a dog for the next 3 days.
You can't get a ride from a freighter with 8 people without getting pulled off by johnny law. Our group had fractured, and myself and one other soul continued on our own, until we parted ways in Atlanta. Now, on my own, clueless and green, I wandered aimlessly, until a friend of mine at the time reached out to me by way of the internet. He had work for me, back in California, if I could just make it there. What's 3000 miles? I've got this. I walked out of Atlanta, hitched a series of rides to Arkansas, and then caught a freighter myself, all the way back to the west coast while UP did the driving. I laid on the back of that train for 3 days until I finally ran out of water and decided to get off. I was in Los Angeles. After a bit of panhandling, I got a bus into the central valley, and my friend came and scooped me up. I worked on my friends farm for a bit, building green houses and stacking money until the time came for me to once again depart. During that time, my crush from North Carolina had found me on Facebook. We got to talking.
She told me she had gone back home to Wisconsin and was working in some greasy spoon trying to save up money to afford a bus. She'd been back for awhile now, but wasn't making any headway. Her vices were getting the best of her, and she couldn't seem to get ahead. I told her she needed to knock that shit off and clean up her act. After a long enough time talking, however, things started to get flirty and dirty.
I wanted to see her, and it's actually amazing what a guy will do for love. You're how far away? Piece of cake. Hold my beer. With the work season coming to a close, I took my pay and my leave of my old friend, and he dropped me off in Modesto at the Greyhound. On the way out, he loaded me up with gifts for my travels - a new backpack, socks, a sleeping bag, some snacks for the ride... and naturally, he gave me a gift that I always treasure. He gave me a set of RPG dice. I gave my boy a hug, wished him well in his endeavors, and promised I'd be back in the fall to help him with the harvest and gathering firewood. So I went on my merry way.
I absolutely despise Greyhounds. Have you ever been on one? It's miserable. There's no room to stretch out unless you sit in the back, right by the toilet. Some asshole is always blaring garbage mumble rap on his phone all day long. It doesn't matter who you are - at the end of the trip you exude the pungent aroma of a neckbeard. This didn't bother me too much - personal hygiene suffers when you have no way to bathe regularly, so I was used to being dirty, and my friends from the road were usually very dirty people in their own right at the time, so I could handle a certain degree of grossness... within limits. I did shower at my friend's farm before I boarded that bus, though, and was feeling rather spiffy - clean body, clean clothes. Life was good and I was on my way to see my woman.
I did my best to zone out. I tried to sleep as much as I could and ignore the general atmosphere of the bus, but that was no longer an option after a layover in Las Vegas. We boarded the bus once more after an almost 24 hour delay on our schedules, and finally got moving again. I sat in the back near the toilet, as I was no stranger to this game and wanted that bench seat, and foul smells at the time didn't bother me much... or so I thought. With the bus filling up and the seats reducing to slim pickings, it dawned on me that my coveted back seat bench was going to get shared. Then, I saw him... the Busbeard.
I'm usually a pretty nice person, but I did not want my coveted backseat benchseat getting taken up, let alone by this massive lardass that now lumbered towards me. I did everything in my power to seem as big and hostile as I could. This was all in vain, however, as some people cannot read social cues. I stared at him, dripping hostility, mentally repeating sit somewhere else like it was a Zen mantra. However, nobody wanted him to sit by them either, and so, he made his way, closer and closer, as he asked people if seats were taken until he got to me at the back. He shifted to sit into the seat, angling his ass in the general direction of my face. The smell of soggy feces-laden underwear wafted up as he slid his bulk onto the bench.
Did I mention that personal hygiene suffers on a greyhound bus ride, especially when you've been riding for days? I've taken my fair share of Greyhounds, and it's unlikely that this new arrival had been riding for awhile. He was eastbound, like the rest of us, and we were in Las Vegas. His point of origin was... not very far east. I had only been on the bus for approximately a day so far, minus the extended layover time of course, so I was getting a ittle sweaty myself, but this guy smelled as if he not only lived on this bus, but was born in the blue poop goop of the latrine. It was a question worthy of debate as to whether this man had actually employed the use of a speed stick in his life. His patchy jowels jiggled at me as he said, hi.
I responded with a gruff and monotone hello, and then turned my attentions to the window, watching the bus depot workers loading up suitcases beneath. My fate was sealed. This man was to be my travel companion all the way to Denver. I decided then that maybe it would be best to ignore him. I plugged in my phone, booted up an emulator I had downloaded, and started to play some Pokemon to whittle away the hours. It didn't take long, however, before I could feel his olfactory looming become physical looming as he examined the screen upon which I played from over my shoulder.
Busbeard: Pokemon? I fucking love Pokemon! I didn't know you could play it on a phone. How are you doing that?
His heavy respirations were like an infusion of green spearmint and halitosis.
GM: Emulators.
I went back to my game, trying to angle myself away from him in such a way that he couldn't lean over my shoulder and watch me as I trained my team, but I was effectively sandwiched between him and the wall, forced to sit straight as he leaned over and watched me play. I debated then, what I ought to do. Playing Pokemon would make the time fly, but I would be crushed between the window and a sweaty fat man. Not playing Pokemon would save me the physical agony of being squished, but I would be painfully bored for seemingly endless miles, and he may use it as an opportunity to interact further. A decision needed to be made.
I shut the emulator off and put away my phone, turning my attention back out the window as the bus pulled out of the Las Vegas terminal and began down the freeway. It was not long after we had pulled out of the station, however, when that wheezing, rasping voice chirped up again.
Busbeard: So where are you going?
I ignored him, focusing on the casinos towering in the distance of the skyline, pretending as if I hadn't heard the question, or as if it weren't addressed at me. With insistance, he repeated his question at my turned back again, searching for a response within my stony exterior. I mumbled, the Midwest, and he questioningly grunted, and asked me to repeat myself. I guess we're doing this.
GM: I'm going to the Midwest.
Busbeard: Where in the Midwest?
GM: Wisconsin.
Busbeard: I've never been to Wisconsin before, but I know they got really good cheese! Hyuk hyuk... Is that why you're going there?
Judging by his smell, he must have been an excessively avid connosieur of fine Wisconsinite cheese. However, cheese was the last thing on my mind at the time.I was enamored with my lady love.
GM: I'm going to see an old friend.
Busbeard: Oh, that's cool... who is it?
The odds of this man knowing the person who I was on my way to visit were astronomically low. Your odds of getting struck by lightning, winning the lottery, and becoming president in the same day were probably higher than this cretin knowing the one specific person whom I was going to go visit in some backwater Wisconsin town. Still, I humored him, and in the same flat voice, answered his question, and told him I was on my way to see my sweetheart.
This caught Busbeard's attention. For a grown man in his mid 30s, he let out a loud "oooooooo" like a middle schooler would when he finds out his friend has a crush. I contemplated execution methods and the subjective severity of their barbarism as he excitedly asked me where she was from.
GM: Wisconsin.
Busbeard: Yeah... but, where in Wiconsin?
GM: Fuck off, dude. I'm not going to tell you the town where she lives.
Busbeard: Heh! I'd be terrified of telling a superior male like me where my girlfriend lives, too. A little kid like you wouldn't stand a chance next to a man like me. Her panties would hit the floor from one whiff of my pheromones. It happens all the time, bro, I swear. I could have any woman on this bus. They just can't resist me. They can sense my manhood, I know it.
I shouldn't stir the pot. All common sense tells me that I should just stop myself while I'm ahead, but sometimes... sometimes I just can't help myself. I've always been a pretty reserved and self-contained person for the most part, and I just want to be left alone 90% of the time to do my thing. Apparently, that's a lot to ask, because every now and then, somebody comes and invades my personal space with their protruding belly, bad breath, and self-aggrandizement, and then I find it really hard to resist my inclination to fuck with them. I know, I know, it's wrong of me to do that, but I'm human, damnit, and something good was cooking in the kitchen. What's the harm in dipping a spoon into this self-important concoction of body odor and bravado?
GM: Any woman, huh? Tell ya what, Busbeard, I just got paid, and you seem really confident in the power of your, ahhhhh, pheromones, so... how about a wager.
I laid out the terms of my devil's bargain. With a wager of 100 dollars, I would pick a lady on the bus at the next break. Busbeard would then have to seduce her. He MUST "present" his pheromones to her, naturally. If he recovered her phone number, or anything in excess thereof, like a kiss or a consensual toilet stall consummation, it would suffice to meet my criteria and loose my grasp from the freshly printed Franklin in my wallet. He agreed enthusiastically to my terms, insisting I was going to loose and he was going to get his dick sucked in a Greyhound portajohn "blumpkin style".
We rode along in silence for the next hour or so. The sun was high in the sky when we made our next stop at some gas station in Utah, and everyone filed off the bus to stretch their legs and get their snacks. I wandered around, huffing down my smoke, chatting it up with people and making friends, seeing just who they were, asking them questions - where they were going, who they were going there with. I got to talking with one guy and his girlfriend.
The guy, who we will call Sarge, was built like a brick shithouse and was a former infantry man who served 2 tours of duty in the middle east. He was traveling with his wife, a young and pretty little thing who we will call Alexandra. They were on their way back to the east coast to stay with family. Alexandra's mom was getting old and had asked them to move in to help take care of her. They were on their way out there to steward her aging mother's estate. I remarked that that was awfully kind of them, and sincerely wished them the best on taking care of Alexandra's aging mom. I told them a little bit about myself, as well... that I was effectively living on the road, playing life by ear, and on the way to see a loved one of mine for a bit before the wind blew me somewhere else.
Eventually, the bus driver gave everyone a 5 minute warning before departure, and we all filed on board. I moved back to my seat and waited for Busbeard to arrive. He came back, cradling piles of gas station sandwiches, bags of chips, and a couple of sodas in his massive paws. He sat down beside me with a loud "oof" and offered me a drink, saying that it's the least he could do before he took my money. I took that beverage. It was both cold and delicious.
GM: Well, Busbeard, I've done my rounds, and I've come to a decision.
Busbeard: Who is it? She better be hot. I swear to God, if you make me waste my time on some dried up roastie, I'm gonna be so fucking pissed at you dude.
GM: Why would I do that dude? Naturally, I only want the best for you. No, she's very pretty. You see that girl over there, in the aisle seat? That's the one. Make your move whenever you're ready.
I pointed out Alexandra to him. I already knew this was going to end very poorly. There was no way in Hell that Alexandra would express any interest in this disgusting lardass whatsoever when she had a stable and solid man like Sarge, and Sarge wasn't about to take guff from anyone. Add on to it that Sarge was easily the size of, if not bigger than, the prodigious Busbeard himself. Sarge was also trained to kill and hardened by years of combat in the graveyard of empires. I can fight - I've fought a lot - and I would not want to square up against him under any circumstances. Busbeard was going to get the snot beat out of him and pay me 100 dollars for that privilege.
The bus took off and I listened to the disgusting sounds of Busbeard inhaling the equivalent of 5 pounds of gas station food. I was only halfway through my soda, when Busbeard emitted a satisfied belch that rumbled the seats, and the feeding frenzy had ended in an effervesence of curdling bile and preservatives just as fast as it had begun. He then started to pump himself up for the task at hand. He started to sweat with excitement and latent cardiac arrest as he prepared his pheromonal aura about himself, and then with a gruff, alright, let's do this, he stood up from his seat and waddled down the aisle, his greasy belly bumping into everybody who had chosen an aisle seat.
He approached Alexandra. They were near the front end of the bus, and so I couldn't hear a word that they were saying. I watched Busbeard as he extended an arm and held on to the overhead luggage rack, exposing the damp miasma of corn-syrup infused armpit sweat to his unsuspecting victim. His pheromones were beginning to work their magic over the unsuspecting Alexandra who would soon be enraptured by its juicy spell. I waited, leaning forward intently, when a loud shout broke the silence.
Sarge: BACK THE FUCK UP.
Alexandra started to shout, too, yelling "get the fuck away from me!"
The driver turned back and yelled for everyone to sit down and shut the hell up or he would pull the bus over.
Sarge: Please do! I'm gonna beat this fucking lardass into the pavement! Saying shit like that to my wife? Who the fuck do you think you are?
The bus driver repeated his warning, and Busbeard began to shout his protests, insisting upon his innocence.
Busbeard: B-but, I was put up to it! It was that guy, in the back seat! He said---
He pointed back at me. I yelled back, I don't fucking know that guy.
The bus driver meant his threat, and pulled the bus over. We were on a long and empty stretch on the I-15 somewhere in rural Utah. The last town I had seen was about 20 miles back. It was late spring, and it was getting hot outside that afternoon. The bus driver got out of his seat, walked up to Busbeard, and told him to get the Hell off of his bus. Busbeard kept protesting, when Sarge moved past his wife, and started forcing Busbeard towards the front door.
I've heard the threat of getting kicked off maybe a thousand times on a Greyhound, but I had never seen it play out before. Busbeard was thrown off the bus. Sarge did not join him outside and pummel him into the asphalt, regrettably, as I would have loved to have watched it. Busbeard kept pleading with the bus driver as the driver shut the door on him, sealing him out on the shoulder of a lonely stretch of highway. I breathed a sigh of relief, and stretched out my legs. It was another 15 miles before we saw signs of civilization. A part of me felt bad for Busbeard, but the other part of me said, "if I can walk 20 miles in a day with 60 lbs of shit on my back, he can do an unencumbered 15 and be fine."
The ride continued on in sweet, reclined silence for me until we reached Denver, werein there was another changeover, and this bus was much, much more desolate. The rest of the Greyhound voyage passed without incident, and I spent my time flirting with my lady love and training some Pokemons. At long last, I finally arrived in Wisconsin. She came to pick me up at the bus station, and when we approached each other, we made out like long lost lovers for a good 5 minutes before we finally caught our breath enough to say hello. I got in her car, and spent maybe a week or so with her, before it was time to take my leave. I couldn't live there forever, and so, as fast as I had drifted into her life, once again, it was time for me to disappear. We said goodbye, and she dropped me off at a lonely interstate overpass on the edge of town. I put my thumb out to catch a ride to Anywhere But Here USA.
I planned my next move, and I figured that there were some friends of hers and mine that lived not too far away in the Dakotas, and maybe I would pay them a visit next. I was in the neighborhood, and figured that I might as well say hello. I reached out to them online, and then made my way west again. They were excited for me to come see them. It was only a day into the voyage when I received a message from Janet. It said, "wait for me, I'm catching up." She had packed her backpack again, and was coming after me, hot on my tail. I told her we could meet up at our mutual friend's house.
I dialed ahead to our friends, who we shall call Sarah and Queenie. Sarah used to travel together with Janet for many months before she stabilized, and then settled down. Queenie was one of my friends from North Carolina. He was a loveable chucklefuck of a drifter, missing a few teeth, wore a skirt, and spoke in the most haggard voice you could imagine. Still... he insisted on being called Queenie. He had settled down with Sarah after they hooked up, and they were living at Sarah's house. He was on thin ice there, however, and she was threatening to kick him out.
I arrived at Sarah's and Queenie's, and spent the next few days waiting for Janet to come up on my heels. During that time, Queenie and I played a lot of Magic (he had just gotten into it), and I remembered the dice that my friend in California had given me that were laying unusued in my backpack. I asked him if he had ever played tabletop RPG's before, to which he answered no. I told him that, maybe next time I see him and I'm in a better spot, we could run a game. Eventually Janet caught up, and we prepared to leave Sarah's for good towards our own new horizons. Queenie, however, had finally broken through the thin ice upon which he skated, and was getting thrown out. On the day of our departure, we asked him if he wanted to join us in our travels so he wouldn't have to go it alone.
Thus we began from Sarah's house out into the unknown once again, a cheerful trio, and true to my word, I began to teach not only Queenie, but Janet as well, the joys of tabletop RPGs.
As I'm sure you can surmise, dear friends, that this is not the end of our story, but only the beginning of another chapter. Is Busbeard still alive? What does the future hold for Ramtide's love life? How do a gaggle of vagabond drifters play tabetop games without a table? Some of these questions will be answered, my dear friends, in our next installment of TAAAAAALES FROM THE TABLETOP.
A shoutout to my lovely patrons, Tatoferret and Sillibits. You guys are wonderful. Thank you for believing in the dream.

Tl; dr: What is 'crisp set' and what is 'fuzzy set' or whatever terminology you want to use, and what isn't a board game at all?
X = crisp set
Y = fuzzy set
Z = out-group (not within nor bordering the in-group) Chess = X/board game Poker = Z/standard card game (casino game and tabletop game) Necromunda = Y/tabletop wargame, board game hybrid (heavily leaning to tabletop wargame) Magic: The Gathering = Z/custom card/trading card game Blood Bowl = Y/board game, tabletop wargame hybrid (more wargame than board game)
Poker? Necromunda? Magic: The Gathering? Chess? Blood Bowl?
The reason the aforementioned can't all be crisp set (in-group) board games is because it would, therefore, include all possible physical games (or close to it); thus, it would be rendered a useless, all encompassing category.
I will tell you what I think of such examples, and then you can tell me what is taken to be the truth within the board gaming space.
Note: According to Board Game Geek (BGG), one of the leading authorities of all things board gaming, and a website heavily followed by such Reddit pages as this one, they pretty much publish whatever they feel is 'board game' or, rather, under the overarching group of 'tabletop', as they see fit, so their website does, indeed, have Poker on their listing, along with Warhammer 40,000, for example, which is not at all a board game but a tabletop wargame, though there is some overlap, of course.
Poker = standard card game and casino game (out-group)
I think Poker isn't a board game because it (1) doesn't use dice, a board, or otherwise elements and (2) only uses a standard deck of cards. This is a 'gateway' to either card games or casino games, or maybe like-minded tabletop games, but not board games (though some may include it within 'party game', but still not 'board game', as the overarching group of 'tabletop' is also not 'board game', just as 'tabletop wargames' are not 'board games', such as Warhammer 40,000).
​
Necromunda (2017) = tabletop wargame, board game wargame hybrid (fuzzy set)
I think Necromunda could be seen as a board game hybrid because it does use a board, along with other board game-like mechanics, not just tabletop wargame, but it is primarily a tabletop wargame, yet marketed and treated as a hybrid/fuzzy set due to its board game nature, cardboard game board, and skirmish nature. Some also call it a 'gateway game', meaning, 'a gateway to the more standard forms of tabletop wargaming'. I would call this a 'true fuzzy set' but leaning heavily to 'tabletop wargame' as once you remove the board, it's really just a 'skirmish tabletop wargame', but the addition of the board makes it a fuzzy set board game, once all the other elements and mechanics are factored. Necromunda is also seen as a real 'gateway' to either place. Note that Necromunda isn't a board game at all, it's just a tabletop wargame with a forced hybridisation for marketing purposes and as a 'gateway', but it's still a tabletop wargame at its core, and edges, for the most part.
​
Chess = board game (crisp set)
I think Chess is a board game because it (1) doesn't use standard cards; (2) uses a board; and (3) uses game pieces. Chess is a 'gateway' to other abstract board games or board wargames, not card games or tabletop wargames.
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Magic: The Gathering = custom/trading card game (out-group)
I think Magic: The Gathering is a custom/trading card game because it (1) uses custom cards; (2) doesn't use dice; (3) doesn't use a board; (4) doesn't use standard cards; (5) doesn't use game pieces or miniatures; and (6) doesn't use otherwise game pieces. I know some people throw Magic in with the overarching group of 'board game', but the problem with this is it would include every card game.
Blood Bowl = board game, tabletop wargame hybrid (fuzzy set)
I think Blood Bowl is a fuzzy set board game because it (1) uses a board; (2) uses miniatures; (3) uses custom cards; (4) uses dice; (5) has individual characterisation; and (6) uses core wargaming mechanics. This is common for 'skirmish wargames', but not so common for board games; further, it has all the elements of both wargaming board games and tabletop wargames, so I would call it a 'true fuzzy set' (or 'gateway', to either place). Of course, you could view all 'miniature games' as 'tabletop wargames', regardless, though sometimes there are 'fuzzy set' examples; in fact, many 'grand' board games have miniatures and are not tabletop wargames at all. But, maybe it's only extended when the miniatures are individual characters, and not just representations/abstractions. Likewise, it could be that 'any game played on a board' is a board game, or that a certain combination is required to make 'board game' instead of 'tabletop wargame'.
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This means a board game can exist, or partly exist, without a board at all, and it also means that just because it has a board, it's not necessarily a board game. And, a board game must include something other than a standard deck of cards; further, we can state that a 'fuzzy set' is a 'gateway between the two game classifications that it is bordering', typically, 'board game' and 'tabletop wargame'.
Again, I have seen much debate online about the aforementioned games -- and, more importantly, what their game types are. What is taken as true within the board games space, and what are your own views? Thanks.

Tl; dr: What is 'crisp set' and what is 'fuzzy set' or whatever terminology you want to use, and what isn't a board game at all?
X = crisp set
Y = fuzzy set
Z = out-group (not within nor bordering the in-group) Chess = X/board game Poker = Z/standard card game (casino game and tabletop game) Necromunda = Y/tabletop wargame, board game hybrid (heavily leaning to tabletop wargame) Magic: The Gathering = Z/custom card/trading card game Blood Bowl = Y/board game, tabletop wargame hybrid (more wargame than board game)
Poker? Necromunda? Magic: The Gathering? Chess? Blood Bowl?
The reason the aforementioned can't all be crisp set (in-group) board games is because it would, therefore, include all possible physical games (or close to it); thus, it would be rendered a useless, all encompassing category.
I will tell you what I think of such examples, and then you can tell me what is taken to be the truth within the board gaming space.
Note: According to Board Game Geek (BGG), one of the leading authorities of all things board gaming, and a website heavily followed by such Reddit pages as this one, they pretty much publish whatever they feel is 'board game' or, rather, under the overarching group of 'tabletop', as they see fit, so their website does, indeed, have Poker on their listing, along with Warhammer 40,000, for example, which is not at all a board game but a tabletop wargame, though there is some overlap, of course.
Poker = standard card game and casino game (out-group)
I think Poker isn't a board game because it (1) doesn't use dice, a board, or otherwise elements and (2) only uses a standard deck of cards. This is a 'gateway' to either card games or casino games, or maybe like-minded tabletop games, but not board games (though some may include it within 'party game', but still not 'board game', as the overarching group of 'tabletop' is also not 'board game', just as 'tabletop wargames' are not 'board games', such as Warhammer 40,000).
Necromunda (2017) = tabletop wargame, board game wargame hybrid (fuzzy set)
I think Necromunda could be seen as a board game hybrid because it does use a board, along with other board game-like mechanics, not just tabletop wargame, but it is primarily a tabletop wargame, yet marketed and treated as a hybrid/fuzzy set due to its board game nature, cardboard game board, and skirmish nature. Some also call it a 'gateway game', meaning, 'a gateway to the more standard forms of tabletop wargaming'. I would call this a 'true fuzzy set' but leaning heavily to 'tabletop wargame' as once you remove the board, it's really just a 'skirmish tabletop wargame', but the addition of the board makes it a fuzzy set board game, once all the other elements and mechanics are factored. Necromunda is also seen as a real 'gateway' to either place. Note that Necromunda isn't a board game at all, it's just a tabletop wargame with a forced hybridisation for marketing purposes and as a 'gateway', but it's still a tabletop wargame at its core, and edges, for the most part.
Chess = board game (crisp set)
I think Chess is a board game because it (1) doesn't use standard cards; (2) uses a board; and (3) uses game pieces. Chess is a 'gateway' to other abstract board games or board wargames, not card games or tabletop wargames.
Magic: The Gathering = custom/trading card game (out-group)
I think Magic: The Gathering is a custom/trading card game because it (1) uses custom cards; (2) doesn't use dice; (3) doesn't use a board; (4) doesn't use standard cards; (5) doesn't use game pieces or miniatures; and (6) doesn't use otherwise game pieces. I know some people throw Magic in with the overarching group of 'board game', but the problem with this is it would include every card game.
Blood Bowl = board game, tabletop wargame hybrid (fuzzy set)
I think Blood Bowl is a fuzzy set board game because it (1) uses a board; (2) uses miniatures; (3) uses custom cards; (4) uses dice; (5) has individual characterisation; and (6) uses core wargaming mechanics. This is common for 'skirmish wargames', but not so common for board games; further, it has all the elements of both wargaming board games and tabletop wargames, so I would call it a 'true fuzzy set' (or 'gateway', to either place). Of course, you could view all 'miniature games' as 'tabletop wargames', regardless, though sometimes there are 'fuzzy set' examples; in fact, many 'grand' board games have miniatures and are not tabletop wargames at all. But, maybe it's only extended when the miniatures are individual characters, and not just representations/abstractions. Likewise, it could be that 'any game played on a board' is a board game, or that a certain combination is required to make 'board game' instead of 'tabletop wargame'.
This means a board game can exist, or partly exist, without a board at all, and it also means that just because it has a board, it's not necessarily a board game. And, a board game must include something other than a standard deck of cards; further, we can state that a 'fuzzy set' is a 'gateway between the two game classifications that it is bordering', typically, 'board game' and 'tabletop wargame'.
Again, I have seen much debate online about the aforementioned games -- and, more importantly, what their game types are. What is taken as true within the board games space, and what are your own views? Thanks.

PAGE 2 of 2
**** * ****
Hussein nudged his brother Iqbal and aimed his chin toward the bar. “Look, a fat, stupid American has finally managed some success.”
Iqbal smirked, “It is the only way the infidels can succeed. They have no education and no skills to do anything useful. They don’t even worship their own God anymore, only money and fame. They will soon learn better…”
The brothers were out enjoying a night of revelry, with a few more planned when they reached the city. The celebrations were a last reward before they fulfilled their mission and achieved True Paradise through martyrdom. Hussein was superstitious and hoped to find success at gambling before they took the great risk that if successful, would help to sustain their cause. They’d grown up in this land of debauchery and foolishness but had been taught from the first to honor their own Beliefs and culture above anything the Americans professed.
Hussein was on roll number five of what he intended to be a short run. He wished to win five times for the Five Pillars of Islam, the name of his cell in the latest great Jihad. He blew on the dice and tossed. The small cubes bounced against the back side of the pit and tumbled end over end as he watched breathlessly. “Another ten!” the barker called. And pushed the winnings toward Hussein. He placed a minimum bet and rolled once more. He had already left the table before the barker called, “Snakeyes! Next roller please.”
He held up his chips triumphantly, “Iqbal, more money from roll number five! I kept the bet in place for five rolls, I left only the minimum for the last roll, it is a Sign! We are fated to succeed. We will meet the others tomorrow, go over the plan, and then have a few last nights to revel in this world…”
Iqbal patted his brother on the shoulder, “There is something I would like more than winning chips. He nodded toward the bar and the attractive and sinuous young local who worked behind it, steadily polishing glasses.
Hussein watched for a moment, unsure whether his brother meant the alcoholic drinks that had been forbidden until now or the woman. Knowing Iqbal, he assumed both. “As you wish brother. Take your mortal enjoyments while you can. She looks a little sullen though, frown, lowered brows, I like the happy ones.”
Iqbal’s serpent-like smile widened, “She will look better when I have freed her from the miseries of the uncircumcised. She will enjoy a real man. Who knows? Maybe I will convert her so that we can meet again in Paradise.” With that, he surged away from his brother and slithered up to the bar opposite the young First Nations maid. “Good evening, I noticed that you do not have many customers at the bar. It seems odd that so beautiful a creature as yourself would not attract more company.”
The woman ignored him, intently focused on her task. He tried again, “Perhaps I must order a drink to remain at the bar? If so, a gin and tonic if you please.”
She continued to polish the glass. He leaned forward, “Did you hear me?” he inquired in an annoyed tone. “Perhaps you have no business because you are surly and unhelpful.”
She looked at him and delivered a smirk that appeared to be far more evil than anything he could ever hope to muster, despite his thin, reptilian lips and predatory mind, “We don’t want customers to linger at the bar, getting drunk and building from misery to anger over their losses. We want them playing… and losing.” She leaned toward him and glared into his own eyes that he normally considered flinty and daunting. “You know about losing, don’t you?”
Hussein noted that the large man at the end of the bar in the “Security” shirt had begun stumping toward them. “Iqbal, perhaps it is time to go look for other entertainment.”
Iqbal ignored him, he was trapped in the serpent’s gaze, like a mouse dropped into a snake’s tank to be devoured while its owner watched with perverse interest. Hussein reached for his brother to tug at his arm but never got the chance. The big security officer seized his hand, drew it to his too wide chest and turned. The weight of the man drew him away from his brother and caused him to spin around so that he ended up facing the goon with his brother beyond the man and in the clutches of the Serpent Woman. The ham-fisted gargantuan continued to twist the hand he gripped until the pressure caused Hussein sever pain. He grunted and bent into the angle of his wrist to relieve the distress. He found himself bent forward and looking up desperately toward the man’s face.
The security staffer smiled, his square, blunt teeth showing dark behind an almost lipless mouth. His wide back and chest, covered in body armor under his shirt made him appear like a monster-sized… Turtle. Hussein felt himself lifted and placed behind the bar. His brother soon slithered over the top and fell to the floor beside him, smiling beatifically. Hussein opened his mouth to scream for help, but a large, blunt fist crashed into the side of his head and he saw stars… seven of them, like the Holy... The fist descended once more, and he saw only darkness.
**** * ****
Fr. Danilo Bayani was immensely enjoying his latest trip to the continental USA. He had visited Hawaii many years ago, and New York City more recently, but this was his first tour of the grand landbound spaces that this country offered. He’d managed to roam so far from his origins in Manila. Now, in his twilight years, he longed to see what he could of God’s Green Earth. All on the payroll of The Vatican while they cleanse the records of those hateful… allegations. The bitter thoughts raced across his mind. Of course he was a sinner, he was only mortal. He’d been expiated of those sins and had paid an enormous price to continue serving in his capacity as a parish priest. He forced his mind to return to the moment and more enjoyable pursuits.
He noted the hirsute and similar appearing pair of men who had gone to the bar and wondered why the Security officer approached them, but his attention was called once more to the round of Texas Hold’em and his table mates. When he again had a moment to look, no one was at the bar, in front or behind… curious, he thought, but he quickly refocused his attention on the fascinating new game he was in the process of learning. He was familiar with Poker, so it wasn’t difficult to learn. He liked the high level of interaction that this version of the old game allowed. He’d done well, certainly gained enough to fund extracurricular activities during the rest of his current sabbatical.
He’d been disturbed by the overall atmosphere of this place when he’d arrived. He did not care for the numerous paintings and sculptures of Ancient Native Deities and Spirits. They seemed to be mostly images of the Dark Beings of various Tribal cultures. He loved to study diverse cultures, but this place was an amalgamation of cultures, built for mutual support by several Tribes in the region. Much of the artwork was schlocky and clearly intended to cater to the garish and sordid tastes of the vapid gambling set. Some part of him did not feel… welcome, as though he had intruded on some private Place, set aside for Other Gods.
He shook off the depressing musings… There are NO Other Gods, he reassured himself. He soon stepped away from the table to take care of personal needs and to decide what he should do with the rest of his night. Perhaps he would visit the White Dove Restaurant & Ballroom on the other side of the hotel lobby from the casino. It boasted a good reputation according to online reviews, even though it was a simple buffet style with a dance floor to one side. He liked the name, it was… peaceful he decided.
He soon had a selection of food piled onto a plate and was seated near the dance floor. The place was sparsely occupied, so his hopes of being able to watch dancers as he ate were dashed. Still, the food was good enough. A little bland, but that was necessary in a place that acted as a crossroads of cultures. There was a spice table at the end of the primary row of entrees. He’d helped himself, yet nothing seemed to attach to his taste buds. The combination of eating nearly alone, having no one with energy around him, and the tasteless food soon had him growing restless. He finished up his repast and left the table to go out to the final section of the complex he had not visited, the River Overlook.
As he passed the table nearest the entrance, he saw a stout man in a rumpled sport coat, who glared daggers at him, eyes focused on his crucifix, the only outward sign of his profession. The man appeared to be so hostile, that he paused for a moment to determine whether he’d done anything to offend the fellow. “Excuse me sir, have I offended you in some way?”
The man looked startled. He was apparently unused to being confronted about his demeanor or behavior. He scowled, “Don’t like that thing you have around your neck. You Catholics are all Hell-bound. No concept of righteousness. Not that you’d understand, you people don’t even read The Book. You listen to your priests and pope and disregard The Word. All the kneeling and ritual prayers in the world won’t save you in the end. Go back to your idols and beads and leave me alone to seek Heaven.”
Fr. Bayani was startled by the vehemence with which the man spoke. He hadn’t been attacked directly for his Faith in years. “Sir, I’m not sure what Religion you practice, but I am a man of God, a consecrated priest of the Holy Church. I assure you that I understand more than most, if not as much as I would like. I meant no harm and wish you a peaceful night.”
With that, he started to walk past the man, but the man rose from his table and pointed his finger, “Your pope is the Anti-Christ, and your Church is a place of Satan! Look to the Bible for your salvation before it’s too late.”
Fr. Bayani increased his pace and continued on his journey to the River Overlook. He would need the peace and tranquility that nature and the sound of flowing water would provide to settle his roiling mind.
**** * ****
Pastor Bill resumed his seat and shook his head, “Fool, doesn’t know that he’s risking his soul, courting Damnation.” He’d had a bad run at the tables over at the casino. His Denomination frowned on games of chance, but he had needed the money. One of his congregation had come up pregnant and they had to get it resolved before the three-month deadline for abortions. He knew that if his wife found out about Carmen, then she would divorce him. He was here to break every major rule that he professed to hold dear each week. His plan for quick money had failed, so he’d visited the bar. Now he hoped that eating would guide him back to sobriety. He had to think of another plan.
Seeing that… priest had annoyed him. Had he not been inebriated, he would never have said what he did, nor stared so rudely in the first place. Yet he wanted someone on whom to vent the anger he felt, that arose from fear and he’d always disliked the papists. If his wife divorced him, if the scandal involving the woman who cleaned the church all week and then occupied the back pew every Sunday ever broke; he would lose his ministry, his livelihood. His degree in Theology would be worthless. He might be able to get a job teaching, at some secular school, but most would not hire fervent Christians like himself.
He stared dejectedly at his plate of food that had contained more spice and flavors than he liked, a shadow passed in his periphery. It was low-slung and blurred just a bit as it loped along the wall. He thought he heard an odd laugh, somewhere between human and… canine? Maybe a little like a hyena might sound, or so he imagined. There was a manic quality to the laughter. A jest that was on him so that only the other Entity knew what it was. It was the wicked laughter of children at play, who’d decided to target a fat kid with glasses. A kid whose parents had been abusive addicts but who later “got right” through religious-based recovery programs. Their faith had led him to his own, but he’d never really lost those early traumas of being unaccepted by his peers and being beaten by people who later professed faith above all.
A mocking whine, definitely doggish, his now sobering consciousness informed him. Something was making fun of him, teasing him from the shadows. He looked around for staff members or other customers but found himself alone. The dining area and the dance floor were deserted. It was odd, there was almost always someone at the buffet service tables. He looked over to the kitchen doors in hopes that one of the employees would burst through with a fresh serving of chicken wings or whatever tray had been emptied. He saw dark figures move past the clouded round windows on the swinging doors and temporarily occlude the bright kitchen lights within, but they were indistinct blobs, and appeared to be focused on tasks of their own choosing rather than service of his needs.
He stood and realized that he was more intoxicated than he’d realized. He immediately resumed his seat and bent forward to regain his balance and bearings… and to swallow his rising gorge. When he sat up again, a dark, shaggy form perched in the chair across from him. The figure was no more than a silhouette, a raggedly hewn shadow. Yet there were eyes. Sinister golden gleams appeared and blinked at him. He heard a heavy, panting sort of breathing and a gust of foul-smelling carnivore breath assaulted his olfactory senses. “Who? Er, what are you doing at my table?” he asked in a mushy, confused manner. Still fighting off waves of nausea.
He could not see it very well in the poorly illuminated dining room, but his impression was that the... Being… smiled at him: a gaping, lolling smile, with a tongue dangling out to one side and sharp canines gleaming. “I thought I would check on you my righteous friend. You seem to be upset, unhappy. You nipped and barked at that other person who shares your Faith. I thought perhaps there was a deeper concern preying on your conscience?”
Pastor Bill had to force himself to think through what this… person? Had said to him. Likely some hippie-dippy weirdo. “That guy was a Catholic priest, we’re nowhere near the same Religion.”
Once more he heard the chortling laughter that was now very clear, “I’m sure you think it’s different. Those of his specific religion, came to these lands many years ago. They were the first of you Christians to arrive. The rest have been simple variations on a theme. The problems began, when your co-religionists assumed that only your God exists; that all of the local Gods and Spirits were instead Demons and Dark Powers. Instead of trying to show that yours is a better Way, you Christians insisted that yours is the only Way. You’ve forgotten that in Ancient Times, people held True to Deities who were attached to local communities or to the land and features around them; geographically and ethnically relevant. You have gone from subsuming and incorporating Older Gods as Angels and Saints, to Demonizing Them, and now in your hubris, to denying Them altogether.” He shook His head. “Too bad really, it creates an Adversarial relationship.” He chuckled at some joke that Pastor Bill was still too drunk to comprehend.
Pastor Bill had grown increasingly fearful as the Voice intoned Its Philosophies. He wanted to refute that Voice, to deny Its very Existence. Yet he feared Its Wrath more than anything he’d ever feared, even the Fires of Hell. Instead of making a stand and arguing his faith, he staggered to his feet and ran, stumbled, blindly toward the kitchen and the pale, ghostly figures within. Surely someone within would save him! The sardonic laughter chortled after him and chased him into the too bright lights, descending into the yips and howls of Coyote even as the doors swung shut behind him. He looked around at the glowing white figures who halted in their various progresses to stare at him. Their eyes! There were none, just empty sockets, faces slack, with gaping, lamprey maws. He heard a new sound as they swarmed him… his own forlorn screams of ultimate agony.
**** * ****
Fr. Bayani stood out on the River Overlook platform and enjoyed the solitude that had so recently left him restless. There were plenty of noises out across the flowing torrent: the water itself, as it passed over hidden objects, fish as they leapt from its embrace to kiss the night air, frogs and insects, and the warbling, mournful sounds of a loon, and the soft sigh of the wind as it passed through the verdant landscape. This is much more peaceful than the White Dove he thought. He had some trouble shaking off ruminations on the verbal assault from the strange, possibly drunken man in the restaurant. He decided that he would pray for the man, that he would one day soon find The True Faith. Sometimes that was all one could do for the short-sighted.
He heard a deep, coughing hiss out in the dark. He was startled but quickly realized that it was an American Alligator, cousin to creatures he had observed in many places around the planet. He was truly content, at one with Nature in all Her Glory… in all the natural splendor of Creation! he immediately corrected himself. A sound impinged on his senses as it slowly rose and obscured the others… it was a lapping sound at first, more like ocean waves on a beach than the banks of a river. Waves, at cross purposes to the flow of the river, slapped at the base of the platform. Soon they sounds evolved into splashes, as if something very large approached the River Overlook platform. He leaned over the rail to have a closer look. Perhaps it was a large water creature or a boat… maybe a ‘gator as the locals called the big reptiles.
He peered down at the dim rippling surface below. At first, he was unable to discern anything but small reflections on the water as it swirled and lapped; then from below the surface, he spotted an eye, a too large eye! It glowed from within with a sickly luminescence akin to that produced by deep growing fungi. As he stared in horror, he saw a mouth gape below the eye, and enormous frog-like opening with no teeth but serrated lips, like some monstrous catfish. As he stared, too much in shock to act, he suddenly felt his body wrapped in strong, leprous flesh and he quickly lost his ability to breathe. The last sight he saw before he plunged over the safety rail was the thin, grey, first light of dawn.
**** * ****
Chief Harry Whitehorse gazed around at his fellow chiefs and Shamans from various local Tribes, “So, are The Dark Ones satisfied once again? Have They sated their appetites on strangers so that our peoples will be safe for another year?”
Affirmative rumbles muttered around the conference room. Red Wolf, a Shaman, spoke from near the back row, “They are not only satisfied but Coyote assures us that the prey people will not be linked with our premises or business operations.”
Most of the fresh mutters sounded pleased, but old Harry had to ask, “Can we trust Him?”
Chortling laughter sounded throughout the conference room and ascended into thunderous yips and howls of hysterical glee.

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**** * ****
Hussein nudged his brother Iqbal and aimed his chin toward the bar. “Look, a fat, stupid American has finally managed some success.”
Iqbal smirked, “It is the only way the infidels can succeed. They have no education and no skills to do anything useful. They don’t even worship their own God anymore, only money and fame. They will soon learn better…”
The brothers were out enjoying a night of revelry, with a few more planned when they reached the city. The celebrations were a last reward before they fulfilled their mission and achieved True Paradise through martyrdom. Hussein was superstitious and hoped to find success at gambling before they took the great risk that if successful, would help to sustain their cause. They’d grown up in this land of debauchery and foolishness but had been taught from the first to honor their own Beliefs and culture above anything the Americans professed.
Hussein was on roll number five of what he intended to be a short run. He wished to win five times for the Five Pillars of Islam, the name of his cell in the latest great Jihad. He blew on the dice and tossed. The small cubes bounced against the back side of the pit and tumbled end over end as he watched breathlessly. “Another ten!” the barker called. And pushed the winnings toward Hussein. He placed a minimum bet and rolled once more. He had already left the table before the barker called, “Snakeyes! Next roller please.”
He held up his chips triumphantly, “Iqbal, more money from roll number five! I kept the bet in place for five rolls, I left only the minimum for the last roll, it is a Sign! We are fated to succeed. We will meet the others tomorrow, go over the plan, and then have a few last nights to revel in this world…”
Iqbal patted his brother on the shoulder, “There is something I would like more than winning chips. He nodded toward the bar and the attractive and sinuous young local who worked behind it, steadily polishing glasses.
Hussein watched for a moment, unsure whether his brother meant the alcoholic drinks that had been forbidden until now or the woman. Knowing Iqbal, he assumed both. “As you wish brother. Take your mortal enjoyments while you can. She looks a little sullen though, frown, lowered brows, I like the happy ones.”
Iqbal’s serpent-like smile widened, “She will look better when I have freed her from the miseries of the uncircumcised. She will enjoy a real man. Who knows? Maybe I will convert her so that we can meet again in Paradise.” With that, he surged away from his brother and slithered up to the bar opposite the young First Nations maid. “Good evening, I noticed that you do not have many customers at the bar. It seems odd that so beautiful a creature as yourself would not attract more company.”
The woman ignored him, intently focused on her task. He tried again, “Perhaps I must order a drink to remain at the bar? If so, a gin and tonic if you please.”
She continued to polish the glass. He leaned forward, “Did you hear me?” he inquired in an annoyed tone. “Perhaps you have no business because you are surly and unhelpful.”
She looked at him and delivered a smirk that appeared to be far more evil than anything he could ever hope to muster, despite his thin, reptilian lips and predatory mind, “We don’t want customers to linger at the bar, getting drunk and building from misery to anger over their losses. We want them playing… and losing.” She leaned toward him and glared into his own eyes that he normally considered flinty and daunting. “You know about losing, don’t you?”
Hussein noted that the large man at the end of the bar in the “Security” shirt had begun stumping toward them. “Iqbal, perhaps it is time to go look for other entertainment.”
Iqbal ignored him, he was trapped in the serpent’s gaze, like a mouse dropped into a snake’s tank to be devoured while its owner watched with perverse interest. Hussein reached for his brother to tug at his arm but never got the chance. The big security officer seized his hand, drew it to his too wide chest and turned. The weight of the man drew him away from his brother and caused him to spin around so that he ended up facing the goon with his brother beyond the man and in the clutches of the Serpent Woman. The ham-fisted gargantuan continued to twist the hand he gripped until the pressure caused Hussein sever pain. He grunted and bent into the angle of his wrist to relieve the distress. He found himself bent forward and looking up desperately toward the man’s face.
The security staffer smiled, his square, blunt teeth showing dark behind an almost lipless mouth. His wide back and chest, covered in body armor under his shirt made him appear like a monster-sized… Turtle. Hussein felt himself lifted and placed behind the bar. His brother soon slithered over the top and fell to the floor beside him, smiling beatifically. Hussein opened his mouth to scream for help, but a large, blunt fist crashed into the side of his head and he saw stars… seven of them, like the Holy... The fist descended once more, and he saw only darkness.
**** * ****
Fr. Danilo Bayani was immensely enjoying his latest trip to the continental USA. He had visited Hawaii many years ago, and New York City more recently, but this was his first tour of the grand landbound spaces that this country offered. He’d managed to roam so far from his origins in Manila. Now, in his twilight years, he longed to see what he could of God’s Green Earth. All on the payroll of The Vatican while they cleanse the records of those hateful… allegations. The bitter thoughts raced across his mind. Of course he was a sinner, he was only mortal. He’d been expiated of those sins and had paid an enormous price to continue serving in his capacity as a parish priest. He forced his mind to return to the moment and more enjoyable pursuits.
He noted the hirsute and similar appearing pair of men who had gone to the bar and wondered why the Security officer approached them, but his attention was called once more to the round of Texas Hold’em and his table mates. When he again had a moment to look, no one was at the bar, in front or behind… curious, he thought, but he quickly refocused his attention on the fascinating new game he was in the process of learning. He was familiar with Poker, so it wasn’t difficult to learn. He liked the high level of interaction that this version of the old game allowed. He’d done well, certainly gained enough to fund extracurricular activities during the rest of his current sabbatical.
He’d been disturbed by the overall atmosphere of this place when he’d arrived. He did not care for the numerous paintings and sculptures of Ancient Native Deities and Spirits. They seemed to be mostly images of the Dark Beings of various Tribal cultures. He loved to study diverse cultures, but this place was an amalgamation of cultures, built for mutual support by several Tribes in the region. Much of the artwork was schlocky and clearly intended to cater to the garish and sordid tastes of the vapid gambling set. Some part of him did not feel… welcome, as though he had intruded on some private Place, set aside for Other Gods.
He shook off the depressing musings… There are NO Other Gods, he reassured himself. He soon stepped away from the table to take care of personal needs and to decide what he should do with the rest of his night. Perhaps he would visit the White Dove Restaurant & Ballroom on the other side of the hotel lobby from the casino. It boasted a good reputation according to online reviews, even though it was a simple buffet style with a dance floor to one side. He liked the name, it was… peaceful he decided.
He soon had a selection of food piled onto a plate and was seated near the dance floor. The place was sparsely occupied, so his hopes of being able to watch dancers as he ate were dashed. Still, the food was good enough. A little bland, but that was necessary in a place that acted as a crossroads of cultures. There was a spice table at the end of the primary row of entrees. He’d helped himself, yet nothing seemed to attach to his taste buds. The combination of eating nearly alone, having no one with energy around him, and the tasteless food soon had him growing restless. He finished up his repast and left the table to go out to the final section of the complex he had not visited, the River Overlook.
As he passed the table nearest the entrance, he saw a stout man in a rumpled sport coat, who glared daggers at him, eyes focused on his crucifix, the only outward sign of his profession. The man appeared to be so hostile, that he paused for a moment to determine whether he’d done anything to offend the fellow. “Excuse me sir, have I offended you in some way?”
The man looked startled. He was apparently unused to being confronted about his demeanor or behavior. He scowled, “Don’t like that thing you have around your neck. You Catholics are all Hell-bound. No concept of righteousness. Not that you’d understand, you people don’t even read The Book. You listen to your priests and pope and disregard The Word. All the kneeling and ritual prayers in the world won’t save you in the end. Go back to your idols and beads and leave me alone to seek Heaven.”
Fr. Bayani was startled by the vehemence with which the man spoke. He hadn’t been attacked directly for his Faith in years. “Sir, I’m not sure what Religion you practice, but I am a man of God, a consecrated priest of the Holy Church. I assure you that I understand more than most, if not as much as I would like. I meant no harm and wish you a peaceful night.”
With that, he started to walk past the man, but the man rose from his table and pointed his finger, “Your pope is the Anti-Christ, and your Church is a place of Satan! Look to the Bible for your salvation before it’s too late.”
Fr. Bayani increased his pace and continued on his journey to the River Overlook. He would need the peace and tranquility that nature and the sound of flowing water would provide to settle his roiling mind.
**** * ****
Pastor Bill resumed his seat and shook his head, “Fool, doesn’t know that he’s risking his soul, courting Damnation.” He’d had a bad run at the tables over at the casino. His Denomination frowned on games of chance, but he had needed the money. One of his congregation had come up pregnant and they had to get it resolved before the three-month deadline for abortions. He knew that if his wife found out about Carmen, then she would divorce him. He was here to break every major rule that he professed to hold dear each week. His plan for quick money had failed, so he’d visited the bar. Now he hoped that eating would guide him back to sobriety. He had to think of another plan.
Seeing that… priest had annoyed him. Had he not been inebriated, he would never have said what he did, nor stared so rudely in the first place. Yet he wanted someone on whom to vent the anger he felt, that arose from fear and he’d always disliked the papists. If his wife divorced him, if the scandal involving the woman who cleaned the church all week and then occupied the back pew every Sunday ever broke; he would lose his ministry, his livelihood. His degree in Theology would be worthless. He might be able to get a job teaching, at some secular school, but most would not hire fervent Christians like himself.
He stared dejectedly at his plate of food that had contained more spice and flavors than he liked, a shadow passed in his periphery. It was low-slung and blurred just a bit as it loped along the wall. He thought he heard an odd laugh, somewhere between human and… canine? Maybe a little like a hyena might sound, or so he imagined. There was a manic quality to the laughter. A jest that was on him so that only the other Entity knew what it was. It was the wicked laughter of children at play, who’d decided to target a fat kid with glasses. A kid whose parents had been abusive addicts but who later “got right” through religious-based recovery programs. Their faith had led him to his own, but he’d never really lost those early traumas of being unaccepted by his peers and being beaten by people who later professed faith above all.
A mocking whine, definitely doggish, his now sobering consciousness informed him. Something was making fun of him, teasing him from the shadows. He looked around for staff members or other customers but found himself alone. The dining area and the dance floor were deserted. It was odd, there was almost always someone at the buffet service tables. He looked over to the kitchen doors in hopes that one of the employees would burst through with a fresh serving of chicken wings or whatever tray had been emptied. He saw dark figures move past the clouded round windows on the swinging doors and temporarily occlude the bright kitchen lights within, but they were indistinct blobs, and appeared to be focused on tasks of their own choosing rather than service of his needs.
He stood and realized that he was more intoxicated than he’d realized. He immediately resumed his seat and bent forward to regain his balance and bearings… and to swallow his rising gorge. When he sat up again, a dark, shaggy form perched in the chair across from him. The figure was no more than a silhouette, a raggedly hewn shadow. Yet there were eyes. Sinister golden gleams appeared and blinked at him. He heard a heavy, panting sort of breathing and a gust of foul-smelling carnivore breath assaulted his olfactory senses. “Who? Er, what are you doing at my table?” he asked in a mushy, confused manner. Still fighting off waves of nausea.
He could not see it very well in the poorly illuminated dining room, but his impression was that the... Being… smiled at him: a gaping, lolling smile, with a tongue dangling out to one side and sharp canines gleaming. “I thought I would check on you my righteous friend. You seem to be upset, unhappy. You nipped and barked at that other person who shares your Faith. I thought perhaps there was a deeper concern preying on your conscience?”
Pastor Bill had to force himself to think through what this… person? Had said to him. Likely some hippie-dippy weirdo. “That guy was a Catholic priest, we’re nowhere near the same Religion.”
Once more he heard the chortling laughter that was now very clear, “I’m sure you think it’s different. Those of his specific religion, came to these lands many years ago. They were the first of you Christians to arrive. The rest have been simple variations on a theme. The problems began, when your co-religionists assumed that only your God exists; that all of the local Gods and Spirits were instead Demons and Dark Powers. Instead of trying to show that yours is a better Way, you Christians insisted that yours is the only Way. You’ve forgotten that in Ancient Times, people held True to Deities who were attached to local communities or to the land and features around them; geographically and ethnically relevant. You have gone from subsuming and incorporating Older Gods as Angels and Saints, to Demonizing Them, and now in your hubris, to denying Them altogether.” He shook His head. “Too bad really, it creates an Adversarial relationship.” He chuckled at some joke that Pastor Bill was still too drunk to comprehend.
Pastor Bill had grown increasingly fearful as the Voice intoned Its Philosophies. He wanted to refute that Voice, to deny Its very Existence. Yet he feared Its Wrath more than anything he’d ever feared, even the Fires of Hell. Instead of making a stand and arguing his faith, he staggered to his feet and ran, stumbled, blindly toward the kitchen and the pale, ghostly figures within. Surely someone within would save him! The sardonic laughter chortled after him and chased him into the too bright lights, descending into the yips and howls of Coyote even as the doors swung shut behind him. He looked around at the glowing white figures who halted in their various progresses to stare at him. Their eyes! There were none, just empty sockets, faces slack, with gaping, lamprey maws. He heard a new sound as they swarmed him… his own forlorn screams of ultimate agony.
**** * ****
Fr. Bayani stood out on the River Overlook platform and enjoyed the solitude that had so recently left him restless. There were plenty of noises out across the flowing torrent: the water itself, as it passed over hidden objects, fish as they leapt from its embrace to kiss the night air, frogs and insects, and the warbling, mournful sounds of a loon, and the soft sigh of the wind as it passed through the verdant landscape. This is much more peaceful than the White Dove he thought. He had some trouble shaking off ruminations on the verbal assault from the strange, possibly drunken man in the restaurant. He decided that he would pray for the man, that he would one day soon find The True Faith. Sometimes that was all one could do for the short-sighted.
He heard a deep, coughing hiss out in the dark. He was startled but quickly realized that it was an American Alligator, cousin to creatures he had observed in many places around the planet. He was truly content, at one with Nature in all Her Glory… in all the natural splendor of Creation! he immediately corrected himself. A sound impinged on his senses as it slowly rose and obscured the others… it was a lapping sound at first, more like ocean waves on a beach than the banks of a river. Waves, at cross purposes to the flow of the river, slapped at the base of the platform. Soon they sounds evolved into splashes, as if something very large approached the River Overlook platform. He leaned over the rail to have a closer look. Perhaps it was a large water creature or a boat… maybe a ‘gator as the locals called the big reptiles.
He peered down at the dim rippling surface below. At first, he was unable to discern anything but small reflections on the water as it swirled and lapped; then from below the surface, he spotted an eye, a too large eye! It glowed from within with a sickly luminescence akin to that produced by deep growing fungi. As he stared in horror, he saw a mouth gape below the eye, and enormous frog-like opening with no teeth but serrated lips, like some monstrous catfish. As he stared, too much in shock to act, he suddenly felt his body wrapped in strong, leprous flesh and he quickly lost his ability to breathe. The last sight he saw before he plunged over the safety rail was the thin, grey, first light of dawn.
**** * ****
Chief Harry Whitehorse gazed around at his fellow chiefs and Shamans from various local Tribes, “So, are The Dark Ones satisfied once again? Have They sated their appetites on strangers so that our peoples will be safe for another year?”
Affirmative rumbles muttered around the conference room. Red Wolf, a Shaman, spoke from near the back row, “They are not only satisfied but Coyote assures us that the prey people will not be linked with our premises or business operations.”
Most of the fresh mutters sounded pleased, but old Harry had to ask, “Can we trust Him?”
Chortling laughter sounded throughout the conference room and ascended into thunderous yips and howls of hysterical glee.

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