He also used graphs. I am admittedly a sucker for graphs.

In his essay Samu-Kun proposes three distinct themes and theses and expands upon them sequentially. In summary they are:

1. Moé is made by artistic idealization, similar to the art of portraiture – what is desirable and good is amplified, and what is not is omitted.
2. The application of moé in the service of a story can be done many ways: stories containing consecutive layers of ‘absolute moé’ and stories which build and remove ‘relative moé’.
3. Moétic character stereotypes serve an important function, allowing implausibly idealized characters to be introduced into a story.

I shall expand and reflect upon each three in turn.

The Moé Image
Samu-Kun introduces the concept of moé as an image or idealization with an investigation into it’s intrinsic variability.

My original proposition that the definition of moe is indeterminable in my previous essay has been changed to that the definition of moe is variable, or that what people think is moe is different for different people. Some people like glasses girls, while people like me honestly don’t understand what’s so good about them. Some people are addicted to shrine maidens and little sisters, while others like genki girls and dojikko. Well, that’s a pretty obvious statement, isn’t it? But if moe is different for different people, then how do we understand anything about it?

In other words moé is like ‘beautiful’ or ’sexy’. Different strokes for for different folks and all that. Yet despite that you may be a sucker for twintail-tsun-lolis and I may be weak against D-cup-meganeko-maids, we can both recognize a similar effect upon us produced via similar mechanisms. The primary moétic mechanism which Samu-kun identifies, is the shared quality of extreme idealization. So extreme that he likens it to the type of editorial excess normally motivated by fear of the rack.

First, Moe is an image. Let’s say that you’re a painter who’s been commissioned to draw an ugly Italian lord during the Renaissance. You know that you can be paid a lot of money if the lord likes your painting, but if he doesn’t, then you’ll most likely be thrown into the dungeon and tortured for three weeks. So obviously, you embellish the painting and make the Italian lord look a lot better than what he actually is, right? Moe is like that painting. Whatever real life may be for you, moe is a painting, or image, of life that has been embellished and made beautiful.

With this construction Samu-Kun joins the school of moétic thinkers who hold that moé can be understood, analyzed, and formulated in explicit terms, and also that the tools best suited for understanding and discussion of moétic evolution and moétic effects are those of art history. In this small fraternity he can count a minority of fellow anime bloggers such as Shingo, Love and myself, who stand against the prevailing sentiment that moé is an unknowable experience, resistant to analysis or logic.

Samu-kun’s identification of moé as a class of idealization stops short of identifying the types of idealization that make a subject specifically moé (as opposed to say the types of idealization that makes an Italian Renaissance Lord specifically gar). One hopes that this topic is explored in future as I suspect that Samu-kun’s perspective would offer interesting insights into the specific nature of moétic idealization.

Relative and Absolute Moé
The next portion of Samu-Kun’s essay deals with the way moétic characters, situations, and effects are used in stories. His theses is that moé can be used in one of two fundamentally different ways, illustrating this by analyzing several examples, primarily from anime series, but equally applicable to visual novels, games, manga – in short any dramatic narrative.

There are two ways to use moe. The first is to use absolute moe, and the second is to use relative moe. When you use absolute moe, the level of immersion is directly proportional to the amount of moe you create. Using this system, it’s the most beneficial to just maximize moe to the fullest degree. This can be a pretty successful method of writing, but I know that I suck at it and I don’t know how to pull it off. But if you happen to like it and if you know you can do it, then go ahead and use it. Just be forewarned that absolute moe creates nowhere the same amount of immersion as relative moe.

The second way, and the method that I favor, is relative moe. In this system, the level of immersion is proportional to the change in moe level over time. Your goal is not just to create moe, but to destroy and remake it at opportune moments to maximize the plot drama and so grip the viewer. After giving the viewer a glimpse of the image of the idealized world, nothing is more horrible than shattering the image and plunging him back into reality. And nothing is more relieving for the viewer than to return him to the image after dipping him in reality. You are the story writer who has the power to give moe and to take it away. This is about creating drama here, not creating happyland.

The examples Samu-kun proceeds to give illustrate three types of stories. For each example he provides a graph of the ‘level of moé over time’, which should not be taken as a single measure of number of moétic characters or effects, but rather as an abstract measure of the sum feeling of moé upon the viewer. Finally he categorizes each of the three according to the schema above – absolute or relative moé. I’ve changed the order of his examples to provide a more logical progression, nonetheless these are his examples:

1. Simple ‘comedies’ with no significant character or plot development. The level of moétic effect just rises over time as there is really are no other significant story elements. Just moé piled upon moé. In a nutshell this type of story telling is what Samu-Kun calls ‘absolute moé’, presumably because this story is absolutely about moé and really nothing else! In this case Samu-Kun also posits a ‘diminishing returns’ effect, where each additional application of moé raises the total moétic experience to a lesser degree.
2. Traditional ‘romances’ where happiness is thwarted temporarily before a joyful apotheosis. The level of moé begins high, but then other types of story elements intervene. The level of moétic experience drops, only to return ever higher with paradoxically less moétic artifice than it took at the start. This is due to the fact that a brief sojourn into a story not dominated by moé makes the ultimate moétic end appreciated even more. The contrast makes the moétic idealization even more appealing, and it is this contrast of moé that Samu-kun terms ‘relative moé’.
3. Traditional ‘tragedies’ where a joyful status quo is slowly and agonizingly destroyed. Like in the case of ‘romance’ the moé levels begin high, but in this case they are removed step by step as other story elements take their place. While the end of the story is the very opposite of the moétic ideal, the loss of moé elevates the memory of the moé experienced at the beginning to greater heights. Thanks to this contrasting effect, an equal application of moétic elements will produce a greater feeling of moé in the viewer than they would get from a ’simple comedy’. Again this element of contrast is why Samu-Kun terms this category of story another example of ‘relative moé’.

In this analysis I find myself in complete agreement with Samu-Kun’s division of the ways in which moé can be used in a story. Basically the use of moé can be understood like any other equally positive idealized element and moétic stories can be categorized like any other narrative.

However I think Samu-Kun’s presentation runs the risk of making it seem that these narrative structures are unique to moé. His essay seemingly conflates the specifics of moé as one type of idealized positive/pleasure giving story element, with all of the other similar elements that could provide the same foil to realism and development character, and thus can produce the same type of complex ‘romance’ and ‘tragic’ plot structures. In short I think it’s important to see how moé plays into these structures because moé is of a similar type of thing as ‘moments of overwhelming awesomeness’, ‘kawaii’, or ‘techno-fetish’. Moé can be a positive pleasure giving element in a story.

Moreover, while I think the underlying insight is quite important, I think the terms ‘absolute moé’ and ‘relative moé’ are somewhat obscuring of their actual nature.

‘Absolute moé’ is refering to a simple type of story, where moé is the desired result and the effect is achieved primarily be repeated application of things that make you go, “Moé!” K-On is indeed a perfect example of this genre. The viewer is introduced to four cute girls, with cute appealing quirks, and not much else is known, save for the fact that they want to form a band. The trials and tribulations they face are of the lightest and most trivial type, because anything more would destroy the atmosphere of light fluffyness which the show strives to create. Actual drama, tension, embarrassment, are all studiously avoided because that is not the type of emotional engagement desired. While this is indeed absolutely nothing but moé from beginning to end, I would think a term like ’simple moé’, ‘pure moé’, or perhaps even ‘fetishistic moé’, might do a better job at capturing the spirit of a story who’s entire purpose is to function as a moé delivery vehicle.

‘Relative moé’ is ultimately about moé as an element in the service of a story. In this usage I find the term ‘relative’ even more misleading. I would propose in contrast to ‘pure moé’, something like ‘mixed moé’ or ‘compound moé’ stories, preferring when ever possible to identify the other story elements that are of equal importance. For example Higurashi would be a moétic horror mystery, Bamboo Blade a moétic sports saga, and Kanon a moétic tearjerker romance.

However none of this criticism should detract from what I see as a very valuable insight into the nature and use of moé. Namely that moé can be used in a continuum. On one end the ‘pure’ moétic story, and at the other extreme, the story that ‘mixes’ moé with another element to produce something greater than the sum of it’s parts.

Previously I had been of the opinion that all moétry inevitably tended towards the ‘pure’ and ‘absolute’ form. This was largely influenced by Love’s terrific essay on the rising ‘fetishistic’ nature of anime, and indeed the last decade has seen a rise in this class of story. However it has also also seen many excellent and richer works produced in which moé is merely a genre element.

To illustrate what I mean consider another story element that can elicit just as strong a fascination as moé (and which once held the primary spot in the pantheon of distinctive anime traits) – mecha. What I mean here is mecha, in the larger sense of a fascination with intricate imagined and powerful machinery, producing ‘techno-gasams’ which, like moé, can be of the pure or mixed kind. This comes to mind because I recently watched Avatar, and while this is a western live action film, James Cameron is undoubtedly one of the great artists of the mecha genre. I went to see Avatar primarily as mecha-porn, expecting a ‘pure mecha’ experience supported by a thin and likely insufferable plot. Surprisingly Avatar exceeded my expectations, providing a rich and complete story experience with great loss and great wonder combined with a adrenaline fueled jolt of mecha action. Yes, I was obsessing about the cable cutters mounted on the rotor blades of the various ‘copters.

In contrast last summer I suffered through Transformers, where the story and characters were incomprehensible, but the giant robot action was just as thrilling as in Avatar. Trasformers is as good an example of ‘pure mecha’ as K-On is of ‘pure moé’. A fantasy twisted into being with one purpose only. So long as that purpose is served no other failing or contortion is too great to suspend disbelief for. It is no wonder that one draws the inevitable comparisons to pornography, and no wonder that the techniques and tricks of that art are so easily applied in this case. It doesn’t matter how ridiculous it may be that the Pizza delivery guy is a hot hunk and the three nubile co-eds need him to help ‘light their oven’ – all that maters is how quickly they can all get nekkid.

And yet, like the ‘mech-gasams’ of Avatar, Samu-Kun has now convinced me that the mere presence of moé does not inevitably lead to it’s pure and fetishistic form. There do exist excellent works such as Toradora! and Bakemonogatari which embrace moé but use it in the service of a greater art. Samu-Kun’s insight allows me to see how this is possible. Moé is not in of itself shallow. It is indeed niche, a type of idealized escapism that can indeed appeal most of all to thoose who find the feminine other threatening or mysterious. However the question is to what degree does moé dominate the story?

Moétic Character Types
In the final portion of his essay Samu-Kun turns his attention to the topic of the moétic character stereotypes. Looking at a couple of typical examples Samu-Kun is able to demonstrate that a ‘typical character’ actually allows a much greater degree of idealization than would be allowed by typical characterization techniques. This is such a great insight and he makes his point so clearly and convincingly that I’ll quote the entirety of his second example:

After the player character wakes up, he walks down the stairs and bumps into a younger girl. She falls down and shyly covers her exposed underwear with a blush. She ruefully smiles and tells the player character that “big brother is always such a ditz! He should really watch where he’s stepping.”

And already, without the writer having to say a word, the player already tells himself that this is his little sister. She’s a cheerful young girl who looks after her older brother. She’s had a girlish crush on him for awhile now, but she knows that he’s family and that it’s not allowed. Once again, all of this is absolute fabrication. Have you ever seen a little sister who behaved like this? If any self respecting writer actually tried to convince a reader that this was all true, he would be laughed out of his career. But it all works and it accepted whole heartedly by the reader because the writer never actually tells the reader this, but the reader tells himself the lie just by identifying the archetype.

Ever since the ancient Greeks, story tellers have understood the power not just of archetypes, but of stereotypes, and yet in contemporary western drama these types are seen as the most undesirable of shortcuts. There can be no greater criticism of a writer’s characters than to say they are two dimensional, even though they may be minor players. Yet here Samu-kun succinctly illustrates how in achieving this particular type of idealization lack of characterization is not merely convenient, but down right necessary.

This insight is deeply counter intuitive to the western narrative tradition, but critically important to one attempting to recreate the moétic effects of our Japanese idols.

Moétry for You
In short Samu-Kun’s essay ranges far and wide and contributes quite a bit of new formal thinking to the understanding of moé. While I hope he will take up my challenge with his first and second theses I am already indebted to him. Not just in the perspective he’s provided in the abstract, but very tangibly in the practical ways to leverage stereotypes to support my own artistic attempts at generating mixed moé. I know Starlight will certainly be moér, and my attempt to create a artfully balanced moetic mecha space epic seems perhaps not as wildly implausible as it once did.

Recenty I’ve found myself only really playing four kinds of games:

1. Rock Band – Beatles, et al. Social cooperative games of skill and music played as part of regular parties.
2. PSP RPGS – Disgea mostly, but a handful of others. Games of strategy and grinding, perfect for travel.
3. Wargames – Simulation of tactical choices and historical outcomes are my turn ons. Oh and tanks. Lots of tanks.
4. Board and Card games – Battlestar Galactica, Race for the Galaxy, Dominion – typical Board Game Geek fare.

It was boardgames that once again lured me into the art and science of game design.

“Luck hads no place in games!” is a zealously defended opinion among some board game players. It’s easy to understand why. Candyland is a crappy game. It’s really all luck and the game plays itself. On the other hand Chess is awesome, and look… no dice!

The only problem with this point of view is that I can’t stand all the most popular brain burning games of no luck! Even many popular collectible card games turn me off. Why? And why did I continue to enjoy wargames of all stripes where buckets of dice capture the uncertainty and chaos of the battlefield?

Well it would be mostly an academic question were it not for the fact that I was trying to make a few games of my own. Like Doki-Doki Classmates!! The harem-building er.. friend-collecting moé anime card game. I need to understand games if I’m going to have a chance at making a good one myself. Unlike writing a visual novel there is no screenwriting authority to show me the way!

Thankfully I’ve gotten a second opinion about luck and games from Fortress Ameritrash. This fantastic article lays it all out. The more I thought about it the more it rang true. All of a sudden so many other aspects of what I enjoy in many games, from Rockband to Disgea to Conflict of Heroes, all made sense!

So of course I drew some diagrams…

Sagrilarus’s thesis is that luck in games (paradoxically) provides control. In his analysis, luck prevents any one player from completely controlling the game, due to their superior godly game analysis (or more commonly, useless mental arithmetic skills, combined with two dozen uber strategies from the web).

In other words, some luck gives everyone a fighting chance, gives you a reason to stay engaged, and a reason for the masters to stay on their toes. Against a superior player, luck increases the odds of you winning!

So let’s look at this question of odds. The following chart shows a typical curve of your chances of succeeding in any individual game challenge plotted against the relative skill levels between you and your opponent.

The chart is fairly self explanatory. If you dominate your opponent in skill, the odds are certain in your favor. Conversely the opposite is true. If your skill levels are close then the odds become closer. Now I drew this chart thinking of combat in Disgea (or any level based RPG) but you can immediately see that the concept of an RPG skill level can abstract itself to any game. This could be the chart of my odds at winning in chess if we could somehow distill a skill level number for chess playing. To the left is me against my 16 mo old daughter, to the right is my odds against Deep Blue.

For our next chart I’ve overlaid my purely personal perspective on the amount of fun I have when attempting a challenge.

Again, this chart was drawn with Disgea in mind. At the extreme left you’d see a me playing a 999 level Etna against a lowly zombie – boring. Whereas at the far right that’s me attempting to beat Lamington after just transmigrating Etna back to level 1 – futile. In the middle, where my odds of success are fairly mixed, is where I have the most fun.

In this third chart I’ve labeled those three areas.

The swath to the left, where success is guaranteed, is the dreaded realm of grinding. It’s where you go to level up. On the left is the realm of immediate and pointless fail. The middle is not only the area where I have fun, but also the area where the majority of story driven battles take place. Granted you can over-grind (though some games like Final Fantasy Tactics attempt to prevent this), but more importantly, why would you? Story driven battles are the most engaging of conflicts, and if you make them too easy it’s like you’re cheating yourself.

So what can we learn from this, and how does it relate to luck? Well for starters it’s pretty clear why grinding is such a pain. There is no challenge, no risk, and so the reward is diminished. You can also immediately see how this chart applies not just to an individual RPG encounter, but to any gameplay challenge in general. If it’s too easy, it’s a bore. If it’s impossible to win, why bother?

Luck is interesting here because it’s an element that changes the initial red graph of likelyhood of success / relative levels. Consider a game that is all luck.

As we can see there’s no opportunity for fun in the game itself. Maybe there’s a meta game. Maybe it’s Twister and it’s all about inappropriate accidental touching. The game though… no fun.

Now consider a game with no luck whatsoever.

Wow. The striking thing about this graph is not the fact that the area under “fun” is very small.

No, what shocked me was the realization that it was not symmetrically aligned around the cliff of equal levels. That’s right. If I’m honest with myself, I’m going to admit that I will enjoy consistently closely beating an opponent, more than consistently being closely beat. Id’ rather have a dozen narrow wins, than a dozen narrow loses.

If the game has no luck whatsoever, then it follows that I should optimize for an opponent slightly under my skill level (which is similar to my grinding strategy in RPGs). Games with no luck not only allow one player to literally dominate and control the other, they actually encourage it!

Assuming Disgea has a little bit of luck let’s think of a game with some more luck.

As that red graph flattens out, the green graph flattens out as well. To some degree it loses height (because it’s not fun if you roll poorly on every single combat), but it gains width at the same time. This may not be desirable in a single player RPG like Disgea which has strategy elements that verge on puzzle solving, but in a multiplayer competitive boardgame this is a worthwhile tradeoff.

Flattening the red curve by the introduction of luck lets more people have more fun at more disparate skill levels.

Too much luck however, and while your appeal is very broad, you quickly end up with something at gives you too little control. In this case it’s not your opponent stealing your fate, but the gods of chance.

Now I’ve been using ‘luck’ for most of this post because it’s a nice inflammatory word and I like stirring up the ire of the eurogame zealots, but really the issue is not pure luck, but rather control. Perfect control is born out of the combination of perfect information, and determanisticness (no luck). By removing either one you can start to keep any one player’s skill from completely dominating the others, all without the introduction of dice.

In my opinion this is part of what makes Dominion such a great game. Sure the deck shuffling introduces a bit of randomness, and the lack of information about what other players are holding both reduce control. However the same could be said for Race for the Galaxy a game in which it is much easier for some uber strategies to dominate. The genius of Dominion is that the typical analysis of optimal production strategies that make most economic development games prone to uber analysis is thwarted by the sheer number of possible deck combinations and the temporal uncertainty about the end game introduced by the need to dismantle your economic engine to convert it into victory points. It’s a brilliantly intrinsic catch up mechanic that magnifies the effect of randomness at the end in the same way that economic games normally magnify the randomness of the beginning.

So when you look for a game to play, don’t look for luck or lack thereof. Look for control and meaningful engagement. Look for a contest of control that can never be fully settled until the game has been played out!

And with that in mind, I really must get back to designing my game…

Yes, yes Bakamonogatari was the knock-out hit of last season and quite possibly the last five years. So why am I wasting my time on what I should be bemoaning as typical J.C. Staff dreck, instead of waxing rhapsodic?

Two simple reasons:

1. Bakamonogatari deserves more than a quickie post dashed off from the hip.
2. A contrast between Railgun and A Certain Magical Index provides a unique opportunity, unparalleled in the annals of anime, to contrast two shows with near identical moétic goals but very different moétic results.

I dare say that even after only one episode Railgun is an almost unqualified moétic success, while Index failed to retain my interest for even ten episodes. Of course what’s most fascinating about this comparison is that we have not only similar goals, with contrasting results – we also have the same source material, the same studio producing the show, even many of the same characters. It is a near ideal laboratory to study the success and failure of moétic technique, and even to gain some insight into the evolution of this genre/school of art. Yes my dear readers, this is once again an entry in the service of moé.

The story for Railgun will obviously be just as vapid as it was for Index, the characters just as 2-dimensional, and the action just as telegraphed and predictable. The difference clearly does not lie there, and it is notable that the difference could not lie there since these factors cannot even come into play in the single episode glimpse we have had of Railgun.

Moétic effect is instantaneous. It requires neither plot, characterization, nor dramatic action to be conveyed (though all three can enhance it).

So what are the differences between Railgun and Index?

1. Male protagonist vs. Female protagonist. Come on, this is like basic marketing. With a male lead you are one person removed from moé – with a female, gratification is instant. Not to mention all the time we have to waste on the male lead’s motivations, travails, whatever. With a male lead all these elements have to be well executed, or at least quickly drive the introduction of more moé characters or moé events with the current cast. With a female they don’t matter. Practically anything you throw in there will be moé. School idol = WIN. Collecting cute frog figures = WIN. Sports girl type with shorts under skirt = WIN. See how easy it is?
2. Hetero loli romance vs. Yuri loli romance. This one is now obvious as well. How can we have the required romantic frisson without a male lead? Yuri of course! Which has the added benefit of Yuri itself, fertile ground for moétic crushes, embarrassment, and HAWT fantasy Yuri. The loli aspect in Railgun also fares better than in Index. With an all school girl cast the longings are less creepy – if not in consideration of the audience, at least in consideration of the fictional world (plus we avoid the truly bizzare elementary girl school teacher).
3. Harem tease vs. full moé cast. Index teases the audience with promise of a harem full of moétic types in the opening animation. Yet a third of the way through the series they still don’t deliver. Railgun packs a fully functioning cast of four moétic types in the first episode and teases at at least two more to come. See what you can achieve with some single minded focus?!
4. Cliffhanger action sequence (lots of them) vs. self contained action sequence. The endless cliffhangers of Index only focus attention on (ridiculous and plodding) plot. In contrast the (painfully obvious) self contained sequence in Railgun delivers both satisfaction of action (and is mercifully over before you have too much time to think about it) allowing the viewer to focus on contemplation of the moétic characters

And there’s more, but rather than trying to do a complete analysis of the deltas and synthesize a framework in this post (that’s for the future), let me just close with the thought that these two shows don’t just demonstrate differences in style, they also demonstrate the history of the moétic school of anime. A cursory glance at the four contrasting approaches above calls to mind the realization that Index makes the same choices as many anime shows did ten years ago, while Railgun is following the pattern of many contemporary shows. Regardless of ultimate quality, Index,Tenchi,Ranma, all sit on the left side of the comparison, while Railgun, Sea Story, and Saki sit on the other. This is indeed a unique and fascinating case study in moétic execution.

And that’s how I can justify watching it – especially after Bakamonogatari… orz

It combines the delicate physics, precise controls, and insanely demanding dexterity of the 2D Super Mario series, the exploration and story of Metroid, and a weapon power up selection mechanic inspired by the best of side scrolling shooters like R-Type. If that wasn’t enough, this phenomenal gaming package is wrapped in a style that is uniquely cute and cool in that Japanese style that seldom made it to the US in the 8-bit Golden age.

Yet despite this appealing presentation, the story is surprisingly heartrending. Sure the backstory and setting are the typical patch work fluff you expect in this era of games. However the plot is really moved by the characters, and that exhibits a sensitive and tragic sensibility that was never present in the games I played as a child. I guess it helps that I was immediately infatuated by Sue – even though at first I thought she was a boy! (^_^);;

If any of the above appeals to you in the slightest, then really there’s nothing more to say. Go download it now, here!!!

A bit of background first, I’m an old time Star Wars fan. My childhood was pretty much defined by the original trilogy and I remember fondly the old Action figures, comic books, even that trashy novel by Alan Dean Foster! :p

In highschool I was an X-Wing (and Tie Fighter) addict, and while I remember little of the details, I was strongly impressed by the depth and complexity of tactics thoose games created. I suppose they were partially responsible for my adult fascination with military wargaming from WWII to more modern stuff.

Today I like fast paced games that simulate the meta aspects of combat more than stuff that attempts to simulate every bullet on the battlefield, mostly because computer games (largely the Combat Mission series) made me realize that it was much better to let machines to that kind of work. If I’m going to play in real life, I find that playing with minis beats the stuffing out of the old cardboard counters I gre up with. However I get no enjoyment at all out of the painting, so I’m a big advocate of the style of collectible miniatures games like WotC has been producing. I guess that as a visual designer in real life, painting is too much like work!

Today I don’t really think much about Star Wars since I can’t possibly stand to watch the movies again (I’ll fall asleep, usually during some action sequence). I had seen Starship Battles for sale many times at Borders, but I wasn’t seriously tempted because the mix of new movie units, and I didn’t really want to make the investment in a new game. However with the end of Battlestar Galactica this spring, I was really jonesing for some space combat gaming, and I had even started to figure out a simple game system to let me pit Colonial vs Cylon. So I initially justified taking the plunge to buying Starship Battles as ‘research’ for my project.

After picking up a starter set and two boosters cheap on eBay, my interest increased considerably. I was enthralled by the lovely little models – much more detailed and better painted than the Axis & Allies minis! Memories of what ’serious’ Star Wars could be like came flooding back from highschool and so I decided to pick up enough singles to play a decent Rebellion era game.

While I waited for my order to arrive I decided to read up on strategy and scenarios and soon became quite concerned. So many negative reviews regarding the lack of range rules. Had I just invested in a lemon that would only be worth the value of the miniatures? Was my only hope overly complex house rules? It was with some trepidation that I embarked upon my first game.

I choose a 300 point meeting engagement on the regulation starmap, with regulation set up 3 squares from the edge. Since I’m a classic Star Wars fan, I had both fleets constructed purely from Rebellion era ships.

The scenario I imagined was that the Rebels had lured away the majority of the Executor’s Star Destroyer escort with some kind of decoy, and were attempting a daring strike to take out Vader’s flagship. Because in the movies (and the X-wing games) the Rebels are usually at a capital ship disadvantage I decided to not bring the Viscount, and instead load up on all the Class 2 and 3 ships I could afford.

The Imperials started in orbit around a planet with:
1 Super Star Destroyer
1 Star Destroyer
1 Interdictor Cruiser
3 Tie Fighters
2 Tie Fighter Aces
3 Tie Interceptors
2 Tie Bombers
1 Darth Vader’s Tie Fighter.

The Rebels jumped in with:
1 MC Cruiser
2 Assault Firgate
1 Cruiser
2 Transport
1 Y wing
1 B wing
2 X wing
1 X wing ace
1 Luke Skywalker’s X wing

I really had very little idea what I was doing when I set up or selected this fleet as became obvious in the first round.

With the Interdictor in play the Imperials automatically won the initiative. This guaranteed that the Executor was in position to open the battle with a devastating broadside right into Home One. A command order of “power to front shields!” was not enough as the Super Star Destroyer’s turbolasers and ion cannons continued to pummel the Rebel flagship, and the poor Mon Calamari Cruiser didn’t even last the round. Only Luke’s X-wing squadron managed to get deployed in time to escape the devastation (I notice the official rules never mention how many fighters an individual fighter mini is supposed to represent, but I imagine this is to keep the concepts simple. In my mind each fighter represents a squad of at least 3 fighters, but quite possibly 5 or 7).

As the Imperials focused their fire on my two carriers, I realized my only hope was to launch as many fighters as I could. However the Interdictor effectively squashed that plan. In the Rebel attack phase I focused all my fire on the Interdictor until I had dealt enough damage to ensure that it’s gravity well generators would be offline next turn. Then I switched fire to the Star Destroyer to try and reduce the Imperial’s launch capability.

At the end of the first round the Rebels only had two X-wings deployed, and had already lost their primary carrier. The Imperials had lost the use of their Interdictor’s anti-launch capability, but still had all their capital ships and two fighter squadrons ‘in the air’.

In the next few turns the Rebel Transports rushed forward to provide support to the anemic fighter screen, which in turn was trying to keep the Tie fighters, especialy Vader away from my sole remaining carrier, the Rebel Cruiser. The Assault Frigates concentrated on the Star Destroyer, slowly inching their way up the two sides of the board, trying to get in position for flank shots to the Star Destroyer’s weaker flanks.

It was however, a futile effort. By the end of turn three, the concentrated fire from three Imperial capital ships had obliterated the Rebel Cruiser. Half of my fighter force was eliminated before it even got on into play! Oh noes!

In the mid-board, Luke and Vader dusted it up with a few other fighters and Transport support. By the barest margin Vader was knocked out of combat, but so was Luke, and the remaining Rebel fighters were easy pickings for the steady stream of Tie’s deployed from the Executor.

I thought about jumping away to safety with what little fleet I still had, but I had also just sunk the Star Destroyer, and the Interdictor was crippled, easy pickings. If I could only destroy the Executor I might still be able to snatch a meaningful victory from the jaws of defeat. I decided to gamble all and sent my surviving fighters and transports to menace the Executor’s right flank, while the Frigates finished off the Interdictor and moved into position to surround the Executor.

Alas that too was a vain hope. While I did knock out the Interdictor, and manage to deplete the Executor to it’s damaged card side, my Transports practically evaporated under the attention of the Super Star Destroyer. Soon the Executor turned it’s turbo lasers to the two Frigates and made quick work of them in turn, with some support from the Tie Bombers.

Lord Vader’s life pod was picked up, and repairs began post haste upon the Executor – the still untarnished symbol of Imperial dominion. The Emperor was pleased to hear that the Rebels had squandered their forces upon this foolish sneak attack with no significant strategic objective.

Oh well, guess I’ll pretend this happened after the Empire Strike’s Back but before Jedi…

So what did I think?

Well I was delighted by the chance to play in the Star Wars universe. Since I knew many of the pitfalls of range-less rules I wasn’t surprised by it, and perhaps because of that, not too bothered by it either. I was a surprised by how quickly my capital ships sunk! I realize that’s part of the point of keeping the games quick and short, but I felt that their survivability was a little too short for the number of significant gameplay decisions I had an opportunity to make. More than anything that felt the most off from my conception of the Star Wars universe.

All in all that first game was a blast. I could create an interesting narrative that fit perfectly with the movies. The miniatures looked awesome as all heck when out on the board. Best of all, despite my fears there was (limited) opportunity for maneuver driven by the desire to flank, and line up for broadsides and spinal attacks.

I realize I made a serious strategic error in not creating a rebel fleet with sufficient fighter launch capability, and so am setting up a second run through with a second Rebel Cruiser and a few more fighters instead of my Assault Frigate. I’m also going to be much more careful about deployment! The Imperials for their part are cutting down on their fighters (they had way too many an never launched them all) and instead are bringing Boba Fett and Slave-One into the next fight. We’ll see what round two looks like…

With regards to all the concerns about range, I’m not sure I think you need it on a regulation board. I also feel like 300 points is the absolute max you should try and cram on this. I think for a larger playing surface (like the 3′x3′ star mat I have now ordered… *cough*) some kind of range effects will be needed. My gut however tells me that the 5-class# is too constrictive. In fact I really dislike the idea of setting range by class since it seems that for real Star Wars flavor all capital ship weapons have roughly the same effective range (it’s just a matter of how many of them you cram onto a SSD that makes it so awesome). In particular I’m interested more in modifiers for making distant and smaller class ships harder to hit, rather than per class weapon range limits. Now real Star Wars flavor may be futile since the whole Interdictor fighter launch impair ability also makes no sense, but hey…

All in all I feel like I got my money’s worth. A bit of Star Wars geekiness. Some lovely models. Some rules to learn from and deconstruct. Even if the game turns out to not be one that I can seriously invest in playing with stock rules, I am still happy. I got a nice looking and easy to pick up minis game that I can use as a basis for other projects and a gateway-game for folks interested in wargaming.

In any case there’s a few shows I was eagerly awaiting this season. K-ON had huge potential because, well rock bands are awesome (and they are more so now that we play entirely too much Rock Band(tm)), Japanese highschool girls are awesome (and they are more so when uber moé), so it could be two great tastes and all that… Of course it also had the potential to be utter dreck since an all-too clever concept can easily be a crutch that replaces the more important things like plot, and characterization.

So how did it turn out? Read on…

So it is with great relief that I can report that the first episode of K-ON! did not suck. In fact it positively rocked. The animation was delightfully dynamic, the cinematography solid, as was the pacing and development. The overall production quality lived up to the lovely character designs – whereas the preview has actually convinced me that it would not. Now, of course a heartful show that is fundamentally about highschool girls forming a band really rests on two things: the music and the characters.

The music is your average anime J-pop, but at least it is of the more rocking variety, and given the setting I would have found anything harder or ‘more authentic’ to be distractingly less moé. It’s catchy and not irritating and most importantly fun and fitting.

Likewise our heroines are adorable and engaging, and though stereotypical, deliver their cliches with wonderful nuance and depth. Akiyama Mio is the main character, and she posesses the holy moétic trinity of shy, lazy, and clumsy in Tsukasa proportions. However, her hyper animated facial expressions (matching her internal monologue), and the blunt yet enthusiastic appraisal she has of her new bandmate’s talent (You guys aren’t really that good.. but it looks like fun!) deliver a subtlety of execution beyond the typical play for laughs and kneejerk appeal. I’m reminded of the excellent portrayal of Yurie in Kamichu! (another great anime with with awkward punctuation in the name).

Only time will tell if the excellence of the first episode can be sustained for the entire series, but one is for sure… I’ve found my new Toradora.

P.S. Of course there will be meido!

Wow, an epic match-up by most accounts. Jun’s would normally be a shoo in. His femininity is clearly established and he has huge fanbase with plenty of screen time and lots of doujin and fanart to bolster his popularity. Hayate on the other hand seems a tough sell. Since he spends most of his time as a normal boy (well clueless servant to insanely rich and spoiled loli-tsun-otaku) you’d think its hard to see him as very moé at all. Nontheless I’m going to give my vote to Hayate. The fact that he’s a normal hetero boy makes his cross-dressing discomfort that much more adorable, not to mention that his outfits tend to be cuter and frillier too!

Too funny, but the votes are serious now…

Seeing as how the Clannad Girls are rising in the rankings I’ve decided to start voting arbitrarily against them.

ARENA 01: [Suiseiseki] Kasuga “Ōsaka” Ayumu
ARENA 02: [Shameimaru Aya] Sawatari Makoto
ARENA 03: Remilia Scarlet [Abstained] Patchouli Knowledge
ARENA 04: [Kinomoto Sakura] Sunohara Mei
ARENA 05: Suzumiya Haruhi [Hinamori Amu]
ARENA 06: [Kawashima Ami] Sakagami Tomoyo
ARENA 07: [Konjiki no Yami] Ibuki Fūko
ARENA 08: [Chiba Kirino] Asahina Mikuru
ARENA 09: Kamio Misuzu [Suigintou]
ARENA 10: [Saber] Louise Vallière
ARENA 11: [Hiiragi Kagami] Ryōgi Shiki
ARENA 12: [Furude Hanyū] Mizunashi Akari
ARENA 13: [Nagi] Hiiragi Tsukasa
ARENA 14: [Kirisame Marisa] Holo
ARENA 15: [Katsura Hinagiku] Illyasviel von Einzbern
ARENA 16: [Aisaka Taiga] Kushieda Minori
ARENA 17: [Kōzuki Kallen] Furukawa Nagisa
ARENA 18: [Tsukimiya Ayu] Kawasumi Mai
ARENA 19: Takamachi Nanoha [Katagiri Yūhi]
ARENA 20: [Yagami Hayate] Nagato Yuki
ARENA 21: Izumi Konata [Kawazoe Tamaki]
ARENA 22: Fujibayashi Kyō [Shinku]
ARENA 23: Shana [Misaka Shiori]
ARENA 24: Misaka Mikoto [Sanzen'in Nagi]
ARENA 25: Index Prohibitorum [Fate Testarossa]
ARENA 26: [Maria] Minase Nayuki
ARENA 27: Tōsaka Rin [Vita]
ARENA 28: [Ryūgū Rena] Hakurei Reimu
ARENA 29: Anya Alstreim [Furude Rika]
ARENA 30: [Kurata Sayuri] Evangeline McDowell
ARENA 31: Chii [Abstained] C.C.
ARENA 32: Ichinose Kotomi [Alice Carroll]

For this posting I started with this awesome Star Trek comparison chart as the basis, then matched the scale based on two observable features: the main gun batteries and the Viper launch tube opening/hatches. Both of these match in scale, giving a reasonable confirmation to the idea that Pegasus is ~1600 meters long.

Another shot after the break…

These guys are properly scaled to fit six of the fighter units per 3″ hex – not that that’s interesting in any way whatsoever…