Operation Resolute

PROTOCOL FOR THE REINTEGRATION OF U.S. MILITARY FORCES

I. PURPOSE

Operation Resolute is the authorized protocol for the redeployment of United States military forces from the European Theater to American soil. This operation is designed to:

• Support national recovery efforts following the nuclear exchange of November 1997 and the subsequent breakdown of civilian governance.
• Ensure the preservation of the U.S. Armed Forces as a cohesive and operational entity.
• Stabilize the domestic situation by restoring order and securing critical resources.
• Provide a unified chain of command under the direction of the Joint Chiefs of Staff during this period of unprecedented constitutional and political uncertainty.

The success of Operation Resolute depends on the discipline, commitment, and cooperation of all personnel. The United States military remains the backbone of the Republic’s survival, and every service member is expected to conduct him or herself with the highest level of professionalism and honor.

II. EXECUTION

Operation Resolute will be conducted in two primary phases: Troop Withdrawal and Repatriation.

PHASE I: TROOP WITHDRAWAL

Objective: To consolidate and redeploy U.S. forces from Europe to designated points of embarkation for return to the United States.

    1. Staging & Embarkation

• Units will assemble at Bremerhaven, FRG for withdrawal operations.
• Priority embarkation will be given to combat-ready units, critical support personnel (medical, engineering, logistics), and command elements.
• Units unable to withdraw due to operational constraints will receive alternate redeployment orders.

    2. Logistical Considerations

• Coordination with remaining NATO allies and neutral shipping contractors will facilitate transport.
• Airlift capability will be extremely limited and reserved for high-priority personnel and cargo.
• All personnel will be briefed on supply conservation measures during transit.

    3. Operational Messaging & Morale

• Units will receive official briefings on the necessity of returning to the United States to preserve the Republic.
• Military leadership will emphasize duty, honor, and service to maintain discipline and morale.

"We Are Going Home."

From the prepared remarks of Lieutenant General William Hawthorne, Commanding General, V Corps (U.S. Army), European Theater, delivered November 15, 2000, just prior to the departure of Task Force 34 from Bremerhaven, Federal Republic of Germany: 

We have fought, bled, and suffered together through the worst war our nation has ever seen. We came to Europe as the vanguard of American strength and, for years, we held the line. But now, our mission here is over. The order has come: we are going home.

Some of you may be asking why. Why now, when there are still battles to be fought? The answer is simple: America needs its soldiers. The war left deep scars on our homeland. Cities burned, families scattered, and the institutions we once took for granted are struggling to stand. We are no longer just warriors; we are builders now. Protectors. The fight ahead is not one of trenches and frontlines but of restoring order, defending our people, and ensuring that the nation we swore to serve does not crumble in the face of anarchy.

This will not be easy. The country we return to is not the one we left. The rules have changed. The faces in charge may not be the ones you remember. But our duty does not change. Honor does not change. We stand for the United States, not for any one man or council. And whatever shape the future takes, it will be built by those who refuse to give up on what America stands for.

Some of you have doubts about what lies ahead. I won’t tell you not to. The road home is uncertain. But I know this: wherever we go, whatever comes next, we go together. You have fought beside your brothers and sisters in arms through hell itself. You have carried each other through the fire. That is what will see us through the storm ahead.

So pack your gear, say your goodbyes, and steel yourselves for the road home. Our duty is not finished. It is only just beginning.

Soldiers: let’s move out.

Campaign Updates: Tous les Trois

Since these weekly (or semi-weekly) updates have been surprisingly well-received, I've decided to keep writing and posting them. In addition to simply giving readers insights into the games I'm playing and how I'm playing them, the updates also often serve as useful springboards for other discussions on this blog. It's long been my contention that, while theorizing about RPGs has its place, the most important thing – the very heart of the hobby – lies in actually playing these games. rather than simply talking about them. It's my hope that these updates will thus provide just as much food for thought as more "abstract" discussions. 

Barrett's Raiders

The characters continued to make preparations to leave Goleniów and head west toward Bremerhaven, where US forces were marshalling in preparation for evacuating Europe on 15 November 2000. Col. Kettering provided them with a reasonably up-to-date map ("It was accurate a week ago – or so my superiors assure me.") of northern Poland and Germany, including the current disposition of NATO and Warsaw Pact forces. While this made planning for their coming journey easier, it did nothing to resolve the question of the medium atomic demolition munition (MADM) and whether to reveal their possession of it to Kettering. In the end, the characters opted not to do so, feeling it better to turn it over to the appropriate authorities in Bremerhaven.

Before leaving Goleniów, Vadim (Soviet doctor POW), Michael (CIA deep cover operative), and Radosław (Polish People's Army deserter) all needed to obtain Polish identity papers – Vadim and Michael because they needed to hide their true identities from American forces, and Radosław because he had none. To do this, they had to work out a deal with Sergeant Dariusz Kowalski, a logistics officer attached to the forces of the Polish government-in-exile. Nicknamed "Miś" – "teddy bear" – Kowalski was a big, burly man who had black market connections. He could give the characters what they needed but it would cost them in weapons, ammo, or medical supplies. Fortunately, they had plenty of captured AKM rifles and 7.62mm bullets to trade. A deal was struck and they got their papers.

Now ready to go, the characters bid farewell to the Canadians who'd been traveling with them and departed. Their journey across northern Germany was relatively uneventful. They took longer than needed, because their commander, Lt. Col. Orlowski, wanted to be sure they were well rested when they reached Bremerhaven. In addition, he was still somewhat concerned about what would meet them there. The situation back in America was obviously fraught and he had no desire to see his men impressed by the Joint Chiefs into a civil war against their fellow Americans. On the other hand, the evacuation fleet in Bremerhaven was their only ticket home, so they had little choice. That's why, on Saturday, September 23, 2000, the men of Barrett's Raiders elected to head down the road that would lead them to an uncertain future. 

Dolmenwood

Now that Clement of Middleditch was Sir Clement of Middleditch, sworn knight of Princess Snowfall-at-Dusk, the youngest daughter of the fairy Cold Prince, he had a quest. His liege lady had asked him to investigate the activities of Lord Malbleat, a dubious breggle noble, who seemed to be behind schemes that threatened both the mortal world and Fairy. He and his comrades had chartered a boat to traverse Lake Longmere, in order to reach the High Wold, the ancestral lands of the breggle. This they did without much trouble – a first in their journeys across the Dolmenwood. 

On the other side, they encountered breggle fishermen who greeted Falin with great reverence. This discomfited her greatly. As a breggle cleric – and a somewhat heterodox one at that – she was used to being treated with condescension and suspicion among humans. To now be treated with respect was an odd thing. She learned from the fishermen that just to the south lay the hamlet of Shagsend, whose lord, Windore Hoblewort, was a vassal of Malbleat. If they wanted to know more about Malbleat and what might await him in his lands, Hoblewort was the breggle to talk to. 

As they made their way to Shagsend, the characters encountered a grimalkin mounted on a seelie dog. Sophisticated and elegant, he introduced himself as Marid Adventi, an enchanter traveling to Shagsend in the company of the Demoiselle Madrigal de Chanterelle, a fairy fungus cat. Marid is a new player character, so this was an opportunity to introduce him into the campaign, bringing the total characters to four. I was especially happy in this case, as his player is an old friend with whom we hadn't gamed for many years. His return to the fold was thus a moment for rejoicing.

House of Worms

The character continued their interrogation of the moneylender Kautélu huGurudrá. It soon became clear that he had acted simply as a go-between and that he knew comparatively little about the people with whom he interacted – including their schemes. He was, however, willing to aid the characters, provided he did not have to betray any confidences to do so. After some thought, they made use of a series of code words they'd plucked him mind via ESP, in order to present themselves as members of his own Copper Door clan sent to test his loyalty. This proved sufficient and he directed them toward an entrance to the underworld beneath Béy Sü. That's where their quarry, Makésh hiVriyón, had fled.

Crossing a series of basements, sub-basements, and hidden chambers, the characters soon found themselves in a subterranean labyrinth. Making use of Nebússa and Grujúng's tracking skills, they eventually made it to a room guarded by a number of copper-armored undead guardians – Shédra! They defeated them handily, though Kirktá wondered whether doing so was some kind of violation of the precepts of Sárku. Since no one else seemed concerned, they proceeded ahead, eventually finding a chamber that showed evidence of someone's recently passing through. A smoldering torch in a sconce more or less confirmed this.

Inside, they discovered Makésh attempting to make an escape through a trapdoor. With him was an unnerving beautiful woman. Everything about her was perfect by Tsolyáni beauty standards – so perfect, in fact, that it triggered a sense that she couldn't possibly be real, a fact more or less confirmed by the inability of Keléno to use his ESP on her. This was clearly Ki'éna, for whom Makésh worked. She was friendly and non-threatening. She explained she wished no ill upon the characters, especially Kirktá, who, she stated, had a "glorious role to play" in the coming ascension of Prince Dhich'uné to the Petal Throne. She told them that Kirktá would be unwise to seek the Throne himself, but, if they had to know the location of the golden disc identifying him as an heir to the deceased emperor, they should seek it at the Temple of Belkhánu.

The characters briefly considered attacking Ki'éna but opted instead to let her and Makésh go, They assumed her to be a powerful sorceress or some other potent being. More to the point, they had other matters to ponder, including whether or not to flee Béy Sü itself, since it's possible that, whatever Kirktá's "glorious role" was, he might not be able to achieve it elsewhere. This, in turn, led to speculation that maybe fleeing was exactly what Ki'éna wanted them to do. Rather than consider every paranoid possibility, they concluded that they had no real option but to keep pressing ahead in the capital. Whatever was going on and whatever Kirktá's role within it, they needed to prepare themselves.

How Long Are Your RPG Sessions?

I'm going to continue posting polls each Monday for a few more weeks, because I'm very curious about how the other half lives, so to speak. I know my own experiences gaming, especially over the last decade or so, are quite unusual, so gathering this data gives me a bit more insight into what my fellow roleplayers are doing (at least those who regularly read this blog). As always, please feel free to use the comments to clarify or expand upon your vote.

I've kept both of the previous polls open for now, so, if you haven't yet voted in those, please consider doing so. The more votes they receive, the better the picture I have. My intention is, sometime after all the polls are closed, to do a brief analysis of the results.

Retrospective: Traveller: The New Era

The original purpose of MegaTraveller's Rebellion was to shatter the Third Imperium into a welter of mutually antagonistic successor states – the idea being that this would make GDW's official setting more dynamic, thereby encouraging a wider range of play. Reception of this approach was mixed. Many longtime players of Traveller felt it had irrevocably "ruined" the setting, while newer players were simply confused. The Rebellion made sense (barely) if you were already deeply invested in the deep background. If you didn't have such arcane knowledge, it was downright confusing.

The situation only became worse as development of the unfolding Rebellion storyline relied more and more on such knowledge. That's when GDW decided to bring the Rebellion to a conclusion and usher in a new era for Traveller and its Third Imperium setting – or should I say post-Imperium setting, as the once-great interstellar empire was forever destroyed and would never be stitched back together, no matter how much some fans held out the hope that it might.

Enter 1993's Traveller: The New Era (TNE), a wholesale revision not just of Traveller's rules but also of its setting and, I would argue, tone. Whereas MegaTraveller's version of the Imperium was merely in the midst of long-term political turmoil, it was still largely recognizable as the same setting published by GDW since 1979's The Spinward Marches. TNE, by contrast, largely wiped the map clean. The shattered Imperium of MegaTraveller was mostly gone, its worlds thrown into chaos, with many reverting to barbarism as a result not just of the battles of the Rebellion but the release of an artificially intelligent weapon known as Virus that soon infected advanced computers and other technology throughout Charted Space. In doing so, Virus triggered a near-total collapse of all interstellar civilization outside of a few isolated pockets.

To say TNE's setting was very different from that of either classic Traveller or MegaTraveller is something of an understatement. With the exception of the Regency (an area of space that included the aforementioned Spinward Marches sector) and the alien Hive Federation, all the other pillars of the Traveller setting were now absent. The intention behind this was to provide referees with a blank slate on which to build their version of the Traveller universe. No longer would it be necessary to go delving into multiple supplements to learn the details of a sector or world. The Rebellion began and Virus ended the Imperium and its neighbors, leaving behind a vast expanse of unknown worlds to explore.

It's a great idea in principle, but, in practice, TNE required only slightly less understanding of the pre-Virus Traveller setting than did its predecessors. The larger story of TNE – the recovery from Virus and the rebuilding of interstellar civilization – depended on what had come before. Indeed, it was often a commentary on it, with lots of (in my opinion) intrusive criticisms of the Third Imperium and, by extension, most other interstellar states as cruel, uncaring, and often oppressive regimes that cared little for the worlds and peoples they governed. The violence and death of the Rebellion is presented as an indictment of the Imperium and its political structure, despite the fact that the nature of jump drive and a lack of interstellar communications makes more responsive, collaborative forms of governance impossible. 

Of course, TNE did itself no favors in the rules department either. MegaTraveller, for all its faults (and errata), was still broadly the same game as classic Traveller. By contrast, TNE uses rules that are quite similar to those in the second edition of Twilight: 2000 and Dark Conspiracy – GDW's so-called "House System." The House System is mostly fine, but it's not Traveller. For example, characters have a different set of ability scores (Agility instead of Dexterity, Constitution instead of Endurance, etc.) and that rubbed me the wrong way. Similarly, skills and character generation differed in ways big and small from those of previous editions. Combined with larger changes to combat, technology, and other areas, it made TNE feel off to me – like an uncanny valley version of the game I knew and loved.

I have no idea how the game was received by newcomers to Traveller. I know of at least one person who loved TNE and considers the time he spent playing it among the best experiences he ever had playing Traveller or indeed any RPG. That's great and I'm genuinely glad that someone enjoyed it. I say that as someone who contributed to the TNE rulebook. One of the two sample adventures presented there is written by me, my earliest credit in a roleplaying game book (as opposed to magazine). I still like the scenario well enough, but it's the kind of thing that really only works in the context of a game like Traveller: The New Era. 

Ultimately, that's close to my real feelings about TNE: it has its virtues but it doesn't feel like Traveller to me. Nearly everything about the game – the setting, the rules, the general tone – is like a funhouse mirror version of Traveller, which is to say, recognizable but twisted in ways I didn't find especially congenial. It's not a bad game as such; it's simply not a game that I had much fun with. To a great extent, that's a reflection of my own love of the Third Imperium setting and how I hated seeing it trashed by Virus. In fact, my experiences with Traveller: The New Era served as a major impetus for the creation of Thousand Suns years later. Others not as wedded to the Imperium or the game's original rules may well feel differently. In any event, all subsequent versions of Traveller have quite pointedly been set before either the Rebellion or the New Era, which says it all, I think.

The Brink of a New Dawn

Real life intrudes, so my Retrospective on Traveller: The New Era must wait until tomorrow. In the meantime, enjoy this advertisement for the game from 1993.

"Moncton's Finest Lookout Gear"

About a month ago (game time), the characters in the Barrett's Raiders Twilight: 2000 campaign were traveling down the Vistula River, hoping to use it as a means of reaching friendly – or at least friendlier – territory. Along the way, they picked up some radio traffic near Tarnobrzeg that suggested some independent Polish faction had captured a team of Americans and was holding them captive. Lt. Col. Orlowski, the commander of the characters' unit, made the decision to launch a rescue operation. The rescue was successful, but it turned out the "Americans" the Poles had captured were, in fact, a pair of Canadian scouts from the 8th Hussars, traveling in civilian garb.

The two Canadians, Privates Logan Williams and Luke Landry, were eventually joined by Master Corporal Travis Dumont, also of the 8th Hussars ("Crazy Eights"), who was in the area trying to find his comrades. Grateful for the aid rendered to them by the characters', the trio stayed with them, acting as a special reconnaissance team. The Canadians were very good at their jobs and respected for their skills. Later however, while preparing to cross the Oder River near Krapkowice, Landry failed to spot someone approaching the unit, allowing him to get within 30 meters. Fortunately, the person in question was friendly, but Orlowski then spent many days gently chiding Landry for his rare moment of inattention.

Once the characters reached Goleniów, the Canadians prepared to part company with the Americans. They intended to join up with the 4th Canadian Mechanized Brigade Group in Karlino, a town not far from Goleniów. Before they departed, though, they made sure to say their good-byes to the characters, starting with Lt. Col. Orlowski. Landry presented him with a memento, a pair of broken binoculars, saying:

"Alright, I know what you're thinking: ‘Landry, these things are busted as hell.’ True! But hear me out. These are ‘Moncton’s Finest Lookout Gear,’ right here. Passed every inspection, except for the one that actually mattered."

"Consider ’em a reminder: Even when you don’t see trouble coming, it’s still coming. So keep your eyes open – both of ‘em, unlike me."

Orlowski was actually embarrassed by this. He began to apologize to Landry for having ridden him so long about the one and only time ever failed to see trouble coming. Landry stopped him, adding:

"And if you ever end up in Moncton – somehow – look me up. Not that you’d wanna go there in winter, mind you."

Everyone laughed at this. Then Dumont said:

"Colonel: I know we wear different flags, but out here, that doesn’t mean a damn thing. You saved our lives and we won’t forget that. Doesn’t matter if it’s Poland or the Moon. If you ever need help, and there’s a Canadian around, you tell ’em we said we’re brothers and that ought to be enough."

With that, they saluted the Lt. Colonel and the other characters. Orlowski returned the salute and told them he and his men were honored to have served with them, if only for a little while. With that, Dumont, Landry, and Williams headed out.

REPOST: The Articles of Dragon: "Seven Swords"

Like his "Pages from the Mages," Ed Greenwood's "Seven Swords" from issue #74 of Dragon (June 1983) is an article I remember reading for the first time very vividly. Not only was I keen for more information about Greenwood's then-mysterious Forgotten Realms setting, but I had come recognize the man as one of the more clever and imaginative writers to appear in Dragon's pages. A big part of Greenwood's appeal is the way that he could make something as seemingly banal as sword +1 and make it interesting – and he did it without having to introduce a host of new powers or abilities into the game.

What "Seven Swords" does is present seven different magical weapons, none of which is more potent than a sword +3. Each of these swords gets an extensive description of both its physical and magical properties. Amusingly, it's often the physical description that really sets these swords apart from the pack. Whether it's the huge cabochon-cut black sapphire in the grip of Adjatha, the six matched bloodstones set in the bronze blade of Ilbratha, or the rearing serpents who make the guard of Shazzellim, Greenwood makes each of these weapons unique in appearance as well as abilities. This is a small detail that many referees overlook, concentrating instead on game mechanical effects. Greenwood doesn't skimp on these either, but they're only one facet of what makes the titular swords special.

Each weapon also includes a "lore" section, detailing the history of the blade, from its forging to the present day. It's this section that I really ate up as a younger man. Re-reading them in preparation for this post, I can completely understand why that was the case. The lore Greenwood presents isn't extensive – no more than four or five short paragraphs in most cases – but it's evocative. It's suggestive of adventures and, better still, it gives even a lowly sword +1 an air of antiquity and individuality that makes it a weapon worth holding on to even when better weapons come along. That was probably the biggest lesson "Seven Swords" taught me: game mechanics aren't always what make a magic item special. It's a lesson I've kept with me all these years and one I'd like to see adopted more broadly.

How Big Is Your Gaming Group?

As a follow-up to last week's poll – which is still ongoing, by the way – I'm curious as to how many people with whom you presently play roleplaying games. This time, there are more options, since I want a more refined sense of just how big most readers' regular gaming groups are. As usual, feel free to use the comments to clarify or expand upon your answers, since that's also useful data. In the event that you play with more than one group of people, go ahead and use your largest group as the basis for your answer.

Grognards & Gatekeepers

 As you can probably guess from my recent post about combat in Secrets of sha-Arthan, I've been re-reading RuneQuest and other Basic Role-Playing-derived games. Though I was never a regular player of RQ back in my youth, I came to admire it and its setting of Glorantha a great deal during their early 1990s renaissance. That admiration has not only remained to this day but has increased, thanks in no small part to the excellent work Chaosium has done in recent years to revitalize the game. Consequently, I've come to regret my one-time dismissal of RuneQuest as a product of too much Californian air and/or drugs. 

Over the course of the years I've delved into RuneQuest, one of the many things I've learned is that its fans, especially those who've been there since the '70s, have earned a reputation for being grumpy and unwelcoming to newcomers. Glorantha is such a rich fantasy setting, brimming with marvelous details and idiosyncrasies, that it's no wonder it's inspired a lot of devotion in its enthusiasts. At the same time, that detail can make it overwhelming, even intimidating, to those not fully initiated into its mysteries. Fear of being told that one is "doing it wrong" by old time Gloranthaphiles has no doubt been an obstacle to many a neophyte, though I don't believe I've ever directly experienced it myself.

RuneQuest fandom is hardly unique in this regard. The fandoms of two of my favorite settings, Traveller's Third Imperium and Empire of the Petal Throne's Tékumel, have both long had similar reputations as crotchety and inhospitable. For example, I remember well how, in the early days of the consumer Internet, I was very excited to join the Traveller Mailing List (or TML). The prospect of discussing Traveller with other fans across the globe seemed like a dream come true. Alas, one too many arguments over the plausibility of piracy in the Third Imperium, the use of near-C rocks as weapons, and Aslan footwear, among other topics, disabused me of that notion and I soon unsubscribed.

Of course, I was already a longtime fan of Traveller and the Third Imperium by the time I discovered the TML. Though I had no interest in the minutiae that tended to occupy its subscribers, I wasn't put off by the game entirely by their antics. I was already sold on the game and the Third Imperium, since, by this time, I was already a published author in the pages of GDW's Challenge and a member of the History of the Imperium Working Group (HIWG), a Traveller fan organization. Nevertheless, there were parts of Traveller's fandom, like the TML, that even I found a little off-putting and I would later learn that I was not alone in feeling this way.

And Tékumel – well, Tékumel fandom has always been filled with people so in love with its intricacies that they'd almost rather spend all their time and creativity talking about the setting instead of playing in it. I was fortunate, I suppose, that my own introduction to Tékumel in the early '90s was a welcoming one, because I can easily see how a newcomer might find its fans a cantankerous lot. Much like Glorantha and the Third Imperium, there's so much detail that it's exceedingly easy to get lost in it. Tékumel has the added wrinkle that it's a very niche setting, most of whose setting material has either been out of print for years or only available through publishers so small that it's effectively out of print. This lends Tékumel fandom a mystery cult quality to it that seems intended to scare off outsiders.

I thought about all of this recently, because I have a number of contacts within the RPG business and a regular topic of conversation among them is how to bring new players to games with complex settings and existing fanbases that reject any attempts to water down or otherwise alter them. It's a very real conundrum. All three of the games/settings I've mentioned have attempted to grapple with it to varying degrees. How successful they've been is a matter of debate. Of the three, I'd say Traveller is currently the one that's done the best job of it, thanks in part to the second Mongoose Publishing edition of the game. I have my issues with their version of the game, but it's pretty clear that Mongoose has done a good job of promoting and supporting Traveller for newcomers.

Previously, GDW had attempted to make a more accessible version of Traveller in the form of Traveller: The New Era (the subject of an upcoming Retrospective post), to very mixed success. Lots of old timers didn't like TNE and the way it thoroughly wrecked the Third Imperium setting – far more so than even MegaTraveller had – in the interests of wiping the slate clean for new players. The middling sales of TNE was not responsible for the demise of GDW, but many old Traveller hands often imply that it was. More recently, there's the Fourth Edition of Dungeons & Dragons, whose rules and overall approach deviated significantly from its predecessors in an effort to attract a new audience, with similarly middling results – and that's probably being kind. 

The fact is no one lives forever. The audience for many RPGs is aging and, if you're a game publisher, you need to have, if not an expanding customer base, at least not a declining one. That's why you need to find ways to make your games appealing to more than the existing fans. The problem is that many such efforts, while well intentioned, can tick off your existing fans to the point where they abandon your game forever. That's certainly what happened with me and D&D. I'd already jumped ship from Third Edition before Fourth was even announced, but, had 4e been more to my liking, I might well have returned to the game. Instead, I never looked back and, to this day, I haven't bought a single thing from Wizards of the Coast. 

Maybe it's because I'm old and crotchety myself, but I feel like older fans often get a bad rap. Yes, it's definitely true that we're set in our ways. Yes, it's true that we prefer that things never change or, if they do change, that they do so slowly and in accordance with previously established principles. Huge shifts unsettle us, as do repudiations or denigration of what came before. "This ain't your father's D&D!" or similar marketing campaigns are not going to endear your new edition to us. Neither will mocking or belittling the products of the past or those who created them. "You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar" is a good rule of thumb here.

Oldtimers, properly motivated, can be among a company's most dedicated evangelists, singing the praises of your roleplaying game to anyone who will listen. I was inculcated into the mysteries of Tékumel, for example, by several such oldtimers, who pointed me in the right direction and patiently answered my many, many questions about the setting. There's no reason that my experience shouldn't be universal. I love introducing people to Tékumel and Traveller, because doing so means I get more players for games and settings that I love. That's a win-win situation, as far as I'm concerned. 

However, not all oldtimers are like that and I'd argue that it's not always their fault. The trick is to find ways to include the grognards, to draw upon their experience and devotion to help promote the game to the next generation. That means reaching out to them and listening to their concerns rather than just casting them aside. No one likes to feel abandoned, especially by something or someone for whom you have a deep affection. The problem with grognards in my experience isn't that they're necessarily unwelcoming to newcomers; it's that they're rightly suspicious of attempts to chase a new audience at the expense of the existing one – and that seems completely reasonable to me.

Campaign Updates: All Three

Some brief updates on the three campaigns I'm currently refereeing:

Barrett's Raiders

Advancing northward, the characters saw evidence of both the remnants of the last Warsaw Pact push westward and the entrenchment of NATO forces along the Baltic coast. Just east of Goleniów, they made contact with a reconnaissance team attached to something they identified as "Task Force Saber," an amalgamation of surviving elements of several US Army forces in the area. Headquartered Goleniów, the task force consisted of about 600 men and vehicles. Its mission was twofold: aid the partisan forces of the Polish government-in-exile and cover the retreat of the NATO units heading for Germany.

Lt. Col. Orlowski decided the characters should make their way to Goleniów for rest, resupply, and a sharing of intelligence. He worried somewhat that they'd be dragooned into joining Saber, but he hoped he could argue that he and those under his command were answering call to pull out of Poland and, therefore, could not remain there. What he found in Goleniów were friendly and helpful US soldiers, keen to render them whatever support they required. After months behind enemy lines, warm food, soft bed, and hot showers were welcome.

Michael, the CIA field agent who'd been traveling with the characters, wanted to make contact with the task force's own intelligence apparatus. He was soon in a meeting with Major Rachel Sturgess. After an exchange of code words to demonstrate authenticity, Sturgess told Michael that he's fortunate he spoke to her first. She explained that the situation back home was very fraught and that members of his service were no longer trusted, owing to their support for "President" Broward. Though she herself was loyal to the Joint Chiefs, she cared more about the fate of their country than political disputes. She urged Michael to hide his CIA connections and to pose as a Pole to avoid being arrested upon reaching Germany.

Orlowski also had a meeting, with Col. James Kettering, commander of the task force. They shared information and it soon became clear that Kettering had no interest in keeping the characters in Goleniów. He wished them well in their journey, explaining he and his men would be bugging out toward the end of October. For now, they had to remain here, especially in light of recent reports that a Soviet general, former commander of the Baltic Front, had reportedly got hold of a MADM (medium atomic demolition munition) and may have been planning to make use of it. Orlowski, of course, knew a little of this, but he hesitated in revealing more – at least for now.

Dolmenwood

Clement of Middleditch had wanted to become a knight since he was a small boy. He'd set off in search of adventure to achieve that goal, in the process acquiring several traveling companions – Waldra the woodswoman; Falin the breggle cleric; and Alvie the young thief. Over the course of their time together, the one thing Clement most desired was a lord worthy of his service, someone to whom he could pledge his loyalty and who, in turn, would make a true knight. He eventually concluded that the lord he most wished to serve was, in fact, a lady, specifically the Princess Snowfall-at-Dusk, the youngest daughter of the cruel Cold Prince. 

Clement had briefly met the Princess at the very start of the campaign, when he and his companions had reunited her with the ghost of her lover, Sir Chyde. She resided in the realm of Frigia within Fairy and getting back to her was nigh-impossible, thanks to the innumerable wards placed on that otherworldly realm centuries ago by an alliance of mortals. Nevertheless, Clement and his friends found a way to bridge the gap, albeit briefly, during which time he hoped to convince Snowfall-at-Dusk to become his lady. 

What they found was that the Princess's tower was besieged by elves under the command of the nobleman, Uncounted Sighs, who believed she (and Sir Chyde) were somehow responsible for the appearance of crookhorn raiders within Fairy – a rare example of intrusion into the elves' domain from the mortal side of the barrier. Snowfall-at-Dusk asked Clement and the others to prove this was not so and help to lift the siege. If he did this, she would consent to take him as her vassal.

Investigating the matter, the characters learned that the crookhorn had entered Fairy through a previously unknown means: a magic portal that connected Frigia to the domain of Lord Malbleat, a breggle lord of decidedly unpleasant reputation. Closing the portal, the characters then took evidence of what they'd discovered to Uncounted Sighs, who asked them to swear to its truth. Having done so, he and his army departed and Princess Snowfall-at-Dusk took Clement on as her "eyes and ears in the mortal world." She then tasked him to travel to Lord Malbleat's domain and discover just how and why he'd created this portal and, if possible, put an end to his meddling in Fairy once and for all.

House of Worms

With the Kólumejàlim less than a month away, the characters are scrambling to locate the inscribed golden disc that can identify Kirktá as a child of the decease emperor. Without it, Kirktá is just a minor priest of Durritlámish from a minor clan in eastern Tsolyánu. With it, he is a candidate for the Petal Throne – or at least a publicly recognized scion of the mighty Tlakotáni clan, with all the rights and privileges associated with that exalted rank. It's really for this reason that the characters want to locate the disc: it's a golden ticket to a better life for them and their clan mates through Kirktá.

The characters' investigations initially seemed to hit a brick wall. No one they talked to, either at Kirktá's original Red Sword clan or the Temple of Belkhánu, had much information to offer them. Their only leads were a high priest back in Sokátis – two weeks travel from Béy Sü – and a scribe within the Court of Purple Robes in the imperial citadel of Avanthár. The scribe was close and more likely to know something, but getting to see him would be a challenge. Avanthár is not a place one simply turns up to unannounced or without a powerful sponsor.

Fortunately, the newly-revealed Prince Táksuru, whom the characters had helped years prior, was willing to assist them. Though himself a candidate for the Petal Throne, he had openly expressed his hope that the characters, including Kirktá, would support him in his bid to become the next God-Emperor of Tsolyánu. He made arrangements for the scribe, Makésh hiVriyón, be brought to Béy Sü to speak with them about events more than 20 years prior, when Kirktá was first placed with his clan as a hidden heir.

Makésh proved unhelpful. He feigned ignorance of the knowledge they sought and displayed a confidence in his own inviolability bordering on arrogance. As a member of the Court of the Purple Robes, he could not be harmed or forced to testify to anything without the involvement of someone of very high station. However, when he left the characters, Nebússa shadowed him back to the marketplace, where he observed Makésh enter the workplace of Kautélu huGurudrá, a moneylender and member of the Copper Door clan. Makésh never left, suggesting he'd made use of a hidden exit.

Nebússa and his minions then kidnapped Kautélu and interrogated him, with Keléno using ESP on him during the interrogation. It soon became clear that Makésh was an agent of a woman named Ki'éna, whom the characters do not know, and Prince Dhich'uné, whom they do. Though many unanswered questions remained, at least they had a better sense of who might be behind their current problems.

sha-Arthan Combat

Mechanically, Secrets of sha-Arthan began as a variant on Moldvay/Cook Dungeons & Dragons, because I'm a big fan of that version of D&D, which is easy to learn and to play. However, as I've worked on it and playtested bits of it, several elements – for example, the magic system – have diverged more and more from B/X, to the point where it's becoming more of its own thing. I'm fine with that, since, at the end of the day, my first priority is to make a game I like. However, I do hope that, when I'm done (whenever that might be), it'll also be something others might enjoy, too.

Lately, I've been experimenting with some ideas related to the combat system. Most significant among these ideas is that player character hit point totals are mostly static and equal to one of the character's ability scores. So, for example, if the character's score in relevant ability is 12, he has 12 hit points. This makes beginning characters quite a bit tougher than a typical 1st-level D&D character, who might have half that many hit points to start. However, I don't envisage those 12 hit points ever really increasing with experience, except perhaps in small ways here and there.

This is a big change from D&D and its derivatives, though very much in line with games like RuneQuest and other members of the Basic Role-Playing family. Having played many BRP games over the years, I do appreciate the benefits of non-inflationary hit points. For one thing, combats are generally much more dangerous, since a single lucky hit is capable of knocking a character out of a fight, if not outright killing him. That means players have to think twice about rushing into battle and, when they do so, they have to rely on planning and superior skill, not simply bags of hit points, to achieve victory. 

On the other hand, precisely because of combat's deadliness, BRP games include a lot of ways to potentially mitigate that deadliness. For example, the combat rules include active defense maneuvers, like dodging and parrying. The rules also include ablative armor that lessens any damage that makes it through those defenses. These are welcome aspects of the combat rules, but there's no question that their inclusion slows down play in a way that D&D's relatively simple and abstract combat rules do not. As a guy who usually finds combat the least interesting aspect of most RPGs, fast and simple better suits my preferences.

Yet, I'm still playing around with ways to keep hit point totals low and combats quick and deadly in Secrets of sha-Arthan. It's proving to be harder than I thought it would, for some of the reasons I've already mentioned. Though BRP-style combat historically grew out of early attempts to regularize OD&D combat and make it more "realistic," it did so at the cost of speed. Finding a way to thread the needle between the elegance of D&D's combat system and the perilous nature of BRP's equivalent is tough, or at least I'm finding it so. 

Consequently, I'd love to hear more from people who have long experience with BRP in any of its forms. Is there a way to have your cake and eat it too? Can I get the best of both worlds? Fast, simple combat that nevertheless has some tactical depth, with lower hit points and active defense? Or is this a fool's errand and I should just abandon the attempt? I'd love to know your thoughts. 

Dangerous Journeys Commercial

Once again, reader Marc Sonnenberger has pointed me toward a video worth sharing: a TV spot advertising Dangerous Journeys. I'd never seen this before, so it's quite the find.

Breakthrough, Evolution, Alliance

From issue #57 of GDW's Challenge, a teaser advertisement for Mythus before it had been formally announced by the company.

Issue #58 featured a similar ad:

Issue #59 ran a third variation on the ad:

Finally, issue #60 spilled the beans (note the Dangerous Dimensions) title:

Retrospective: Mythus

By the end of 1986, Gary Gygax had completely severed any connection to TSR, the company he'd founded in 1973 with Don Kaye. His departure was not entirely of his own accord, having lost both financial and creative control over TSR a year earlier to his former business manager, Lorraine Williams. This is a well-known story the details of which others know better than I. Suffice it to say that, just before I graduated from high school, Gary Gygax, a man who had been, for good and for ill, the public face of Dungeons & Dragons and, by extension, TSR, was no longer involved with either in any way.

This fact did not, however, mean that Gygax would no longer be involved in the RPG industry. Almost immediately after his departure from TSR, he joined Forrest Baker, a fellow wargamer who'd worked as a consultant at TSR, in forming New Infinities Productions. Nowadays, New Infinities is probably best known for its publication of the science fiction roleplaying game, Cyborg Commando and the later installments of Gygax's "Gord the Rogue" novels.

New Infinities did not last long, ceasing operations barely two years after its founding. Even so, Gygax's projects during this period laid the groundwork for much of what he'd be doing for the remainder of his professional life. For example, he planned to produce "Castle Dunfalcon," a version of his Castle Greyhawk dungeon that would never see the light of day, though it did light the way for the eventual publication of Castle Zagyg in 2008. Likewise, Gygax announced an upcoming game called "Infinite Adventures." To be co-written with Rob Kuntz, "Infinite Adventures" would have been a multi-genre roleplaying game, consisting of different related rulebooks, each one devoted to a different genre (fantasy, horror, science fiction, etc.).

"Infinite Adventures" was never published and I have no idea whether any work was even devoted to its design. However, just a few years later, in 1992, Game Designers' Workshop released Mythus, the first book of a multi-genre roleplaying system written by Gygax, with the assistance of Dave Newton, a name otherwise unknown to me. That multi-genre system was initially announced as Dangerous Dimensions, but TSR threatened a lawsuit, because of a supposed similarity between the initials – DD – and those of Gygx's more famous game (D&D). To avoid the suit, GDW changed the series title to Dangerous Journeys. Unfortunately, this was not to be the last time TSR would legally interfere with GDW, Gygax, and Dangerous Journeys, as I'll discuss later.

Mythus is the fantasy component of Dangerous Journeys, focusing on an alternate world called Aerth where magic – or magick, in Gygax's parlance – and monsters are real. There are no "classes" in Mythus. Instead, there are "vocations," which are collections of skills (properly Knowledge and Skills or K/S). Regardless of vocation, characters – or heroic personas – can learn most skills, but at differing rates and costs, depending on a number of factors, chiefly vocation. It's a very different approach than in D&D and a lot more complicated too, or at least I felt so at the time. The situation isn't helped by Gygax's use of all manner of peculiar terminology and abbreviations that make reading almost any section of rules a challenge. 

The Mythus rulebook is over 400 pages long, divided between basic (or prime) and advanced rules. The prime rules are only about 20 pages long and covers all the foundational elements of the rule, like character creation, actions, combat, magic (or heka – as I said, the book is riddled with idiosyncratic word choices), and advancement. The advanced rules, meanwhile, take up the rest of the book. While extensive, they still don't cover everything you'd need to play Mythus. Magic, for example, is mostly shunted off to a separate book (Mythus Magick); the same is true of monsters (found in Mythus Bestiary). 

It's a shame. Though Mythus is way more complex than I like in my RPGs, there are lots of fascinating details hidden within it. For example, his approach to the planes, which is clearly an outgrowth of thoughts he'd had on the topic during the later years of his time developing AD&D. Indeed, that's the general vibe of Mythus overall: an evolution or development of many of the weirder ideas Gygax was toying with for his never-realized second edition of AD&D. I'm not suggesting that a Gygaxian 2e would have looked anything like Mythus rules-wise, but I do think that many of the game's worldbuilding flourishes, whether it be monsters, the planes, or magic, might have been incorporated into it in some fashion or other. That remains the appeal of the game to me, even though I've never played it: Mythus is a window into the imagination of Gygax more than a decade after he'd created AD&D.

That was also likely its downfall. TSR continued to hound Gygax about Dangerous Journeys, alleging that it derived too much from his prior work on AD&D and that it made use of concepts he'd developed while still employed by TSR. If you're interested, you can read some court documents related to their claims here. A great deal of it seems petty and its allegations so broad that I wonder whether they would have held up to legal scrutiny. In the end, though, it didn't matter, because GDW lacked the resources necessary to put up a protracted fight. After a couple of years, they threw in the towel, selling Mythus and Dangerous Journeys to TSR as a way to end the suit. And that was that.

To this day, I'm not certain I've ever met a person who's actually played Mythus, but I have met many people who, like me, have a strange affection for it nonetheless. That's not an endorsement of the game exactly. As I said, it's much too complicated mechanically and its bizarre nomenclature is an impediment to learning the rules, but I appreciate its Gygaxian oddities – its baroque cosmology, its quirky takes on folkloric monsters, its peculiar alternate Earth setting – and sometimes wonder what might have been had TSR not interfered. We never got to see Unhallowed, the next game in the Dangerous Journeys line, which was supposedly a horror game. What might that have been like? What would a Gygaxian take on sci-fi have been? So many unanswerable questions.

Now What Do You Do?

Though actually released in late 1984, I first became aware of GDW's post-apocalyptic military roleplaying game, Twilight: 2000 through a three-page advertisement that appeared in issue #93 of Dragon (January 1985). Spread over six pages, with the ad appeared on every other page and left a powerful impression on me. Looking at them again, I can easily understand why.

 

REPOST: The Articles of Dragon: "Relief for Traveller Nobility"

(Originally posted December 1, 2011)

In celebration of the imminent release of Thousand Suns, you'll see an increased attention given to science fiction RPGs here in the month of December. To kick things off, let's take a look at an article from issue #73 of Dragon (May 1983), entitled "Relief for Traveller Nobility" by Paul Montgomery Crabaugh. Though Dragon was always very focused on fantasy and (naturally) D&D, the magazine did publish SF RPG articles -- many of them, in fact, starting in 1984, when it added the Ares Section.

For those not familiar with the game, Traveller characters have six randomly determined ability scores, one of which is Social Standing. Scores are generated by rolling 2D6 and results of 11 or 12 for Social Standing indicate the character is of noble birth. Scores can reach as high as 15 a result of events in character generation, with each number above 10 reflective of a different level of nobility (from Knight to Duke). This is all well and good and comports with much of the sci-fi that inspired Traveller, but, other than a title, there is absolutely no difference between a noble character and a non-noble one. One could reasonably argue that it's up to the referee to decide what benefits (and drawbacks) go along with patents of nobility in his campaign, especially given that Traveller presents itself as a generic game without a default setting of its own. However, not a few gamers wanted something more than "make it up yourself" and that's where Crabaugh's article comes in.

"Relief for Traveller Nobility" firstly provides rules for determining what sort of family estate (if any) a noble character possesses, as well as the revenue generated by it. Of course, estates require management and, if a noble does not spend much time on his estate, preferring instead to go traipsing across the galaxy with his old military buddies, there's an ever-increasing chance of a coup or revolt. Of course, estates have expenses, too, and Crabaugh spends some time discussing that aspect of noble life in the article. He also discusses the sorts of personal starships to which a noble might have access, something suggested in various parts of the rules but insufficiently fleshed out to Crabaugh's satisfaction.

In the end, it's actually a very short and sketchy article, but it provides more ideas for dealing with noble characters in Traveller than were ever provided in the rules themselves. One of the things that Crabaugh stresses is that the presence of a noble character who takes running his estate seriously will necessarily change the content and scope of the campaign. Instead of speculative trading and breaking and entering on behalf of shady patrons met in startown bars, the campaign will focus more on power politics and all that that entails. That's certainly my own experience in playing a noble-centric campaign and doing it successfully definitely requires a shift in one's perspective and expectations. On the other hand, it can be a lot of fun, particularly if, like me, you enjoy the ups and downs of political machinations and jockeying for influence.

Traveller Distinctives: Jump and Its Consequences

Book 2 of Traveller (1977) states the following about faster-than-light travel:

Interstellar distance is calculated on the basis of jumps, which range in size from one to six. Some worlds are inaccessible with the use of lesser size jumps, while, in other areas of the universe, large clusters of worlds are all situated within one jump of each other. Different ships are also equipped with jump drives of different capabilities, which determine the jump distance each ship is capable of. Actually making a jump takes about one week of elapsed time, which includes navigational and pilot support, and normal preparation as necessary. Transit time to a point at least 100 planetary diameters out adds a total of approximately 20 hours to the whole trip. 

There are several things to unpack here, all of which are, I think, important to understanding Traveller and its unique style of science fiction gaming. First, there's the statement that "some worlds are inaccessible with the use of lesser size jumps." Traveller's default style of play, as its title suggests, involves traveling from world to world in search of adventure and profit. It's basically an interstellar hexcrawl – literally, given what Traveller star maps look like. However, the limitations of jump drive can aid the referee in naturalistically constraining player choice to a handful of worlds "all situated within one jump of each other," if the characters don't have access to a ship whose jump drive is capable of larger jumps. This is, in fact, a plot point in the early part of The Traveller Adventure.

This might not seem like a big deal, but I think it is. A common complaint about hexcrawl-centric campaigns is that they give players so much freedom that it's difficult for the referee to plan in advance. For inexperienced referees or even those simply uncomfortable with thinking on their feet, this can pose a problem. Traveller's jump drive system gives the referee the means to limit choice without taking it away entirely. Likewise, it does so in a way that's consonant with underpinnings of the setting rather than simply being arbitrary. 

Second, there's this: "making a jump takes about one week of elapsed time." This is regardless of the jump drive's rating. Whether your ship has a jump-1 drive or a jump-6 drive, it takes approximately one week of time (168 hours) to travel. During the time a starship is traveling, it exists outside normal space and is incommunicado. This is an important aspect of the play of the Traveller wargame, Fifth Frontier War, because the rival space navies of the Imperium and the Zhodani, once they enter jump, are committed to their final destinations and cannot change course in response to new information that might arise as a result of, for instance, battles. 

This is probably the single most important consequence of the way jump works in Traveller: the bottleneck on information. There is no such thing as FTL communication in Traveller independent of starships. Unlike many popular science fiction series, like Star Trek or Star Wars, both of which feature faster-than-light communication systems, Traveller limits communication to the speed of the fastest ship (six hexes/parsecs per week). Depending on astrography, that speed might even be less than that, as even a jump-6 ship cannot travel more hexes than are possible on the map. So, if, for example, there's not a world within six hexes of the starting world, the ship will generally travel less. (The matter gets muddled in later Traveller materials, once fuel tanks become commonplace and jumping into an open hex a possibility.)

The end result of this is that Traveller postulates a universe not unlike that of the Age of Sail, where news travels slowly and ships, even military ones, are frequently out of contact with their headquarters. The captain of a starship on the frontier can't radio back to his superiors to advise him on the best course of action. Instead, he's left to his own judgment, which is both a blessing and a curse. It is, however, great fodder for adventure. James T. Kirk was rarely in situations where he couldn't contact Starfleet for instructions, but the average Traveller naval commander has no choice but to figure things out for himself. 

Like a lot of the distinctive aspects of Traveller, it's easy to underestimate its impact. The comparative slowness of jump travel, combined with the veil of ignorance it creates for those traveling through jump space, is ripe with possibilities for creating fun and challenging scenarios. It's something that I've internalized over the years, to the point that, when I was designing Thousand Suns, I never considered the inclusion of FTL communications independent of starship travel. In fact, I listed it as one of the pillars of the game's meta-setting in my chapter on game mastering. (I also made FTL travel potentially even slower than in Traveller, but that's perhaps a topic for another post.)

Which Alien is Dangerous?

Since I wrote a bit last week about aliens in Traveller and Thousand Suns, I thought it'd be a good time to share this advertisement from issue #98 of Dragon (June 1985). It's one of a series of ads GDW ran promoting its series of Alien Modules. 

This ad is one I remember very vividly for the way it attempts to draw you into the Third Imperium setting and its unique elements. Arguably, the advertisement is a bit too wordy to be effective, but I've always liked it, precisely because it goes into some detail about the three species who are the subjects of the Alien Modules available at the time. Plus, the fact that it's the K'Kree rather than, say, the Aslan who are the most dangerous of the three just tickles the world builder in me. 

How Big Was Your Gaming Group?

My post over the weekend generated a lot of comments and discussions, for which I'm grateful. I'm always very interested in learning more about readers' experiences gaming over the years. One topic that came up several times was the size of one's gaming group and how that influenced whether or not one player, one character was employed. Quite a few commenters noted that, when they first started roleplaying, they didn't have a large gaming group and so it was often necessary for players to take on the role of more than one character. 

That makes sense to me, but I hadn't really considered it, since my earliest gaming group was relatively large – seven of us, including myself. We were occasionally joined by others, so our numbers would occasionally creep up closer to ten. In the circles in which I traveled, groups this large weren't uncommon, though I wouldn't go so far as to say they were the norm. In my experience, four to six players (including the referee) was more typical. Even so, I can't recall ever coming across anyone whose group consisted of only two or three people. That's completely outside my own experience.

With that in mind, I thought I'd create a little poll to gather some data about this question. Please take a moment to answer the question below, bearing in mind that it's about your earliest gaming group, which is to say, the one with whom you first played after entering the hobby. At the moment, I'm not interested in data about your current gaming group, so please keep this in mind when answering. Feel free to include any additional details you think relevant in the comments to this post.

Note: I opted to use another method of polling. Let's see if this one works better. Apologies if you voted in the previous version. You'll need to vote again.

One Player, One Character

Though I'm pretty sure that almost no roleplaying game actually states this in its text, it's nevertheless a fairly common idea that each player has only one character. On the surface, it makes sense. If playing a RPG is about, on some level, experiencing an imaginary world through the eyes of an equally imaginary persona, then I can see the argument that allowing a player to have more than one character at the same time would hamper or at least dilute that experience. In general, this seems to have been the default approach – one character per player – I've encountered while playing roleplaying games over the years. It's not universal, mind you, but it's very common.

There are probably a number of explanations for the prevalence of this approach. A significant one, I believe, is the way that, as the hobby expanded to include more players who'd never previously been involved in wargaming like myself, the frame of reference changed. Roleplaying was no longer viewed by reference to military campaigning but instead became analogized to novel series or television series, with the player characters being its protagonists. I'm sure others can find even earlier examples, but I always recall that, in his foreword to his 1981 revision of Dungeons & Dragons, Tom Moldvay states, "Sometimes I forget that D&D® Fantasy Adventure Game is a game and not a novel I'm reading or a movie I'm watching."

We can argue about whether this approach is the "right" one or not – honestly, I don't really care one way or the other. However, as I said, I think it's a pretty widespread approach and has been for a long time. In some of the campaigns of my youth, this was the assumption, while in others, it was not. For example, I've never run or played in a Traveller campaign where any player had multiple characters. Meanwhile, it's been quite common in the D&D campaigns in which I participated. In my old Emaindor campagn, nearly every player had at least two characters, one high-level and one mid or low-level. This practice grew out of necessity rather than any principle. Sometimes, a character would die and be replaced or sometimes players wouldn't show up as often to sessions and, therefore, their characters would lag in experience. To deal with this, we had "multi-level" campaigns. They all took place within the same setting, but there were different parties or groupings of PCs, all adventuring and sometimes crossing paths with one another.

Because my House of Worms Empire of the Petal Throne campaign has been ongoing for just shy of a decade now, it has a very expansive cast of characters. The main group all belong to the House of Worms clan, but, as the years have worn on, additional characters have come into their orbit, becoming new player characters in the process. During their many years governing the Tsolyáni colony of Linyaró, some of the characters remained in the colony to handle administrative matters while the others explored the wilds of the Achgé Peninsula. During that time, new characters were created to replace those who stayed behind. Likewise, the wives, retainers, and slaves of certain characters were added into the mix as secondary characters. What was happening in the campaign determined which characters were played.

In the Barrett's Raiders Twilight: 2000 campaign, the group of characters was initially small – only seven, one for each player. In time, though, the group picked up a stable of secondary characters, too. The largest group of them joined while the PCs were in Kraków. Because of the overabundance of sergeants, we decided as a group that we needed to introduce some enlisted personnel to fill out the roster. That's how Aquaman, Bedford, Oddball, Rocket Man, and others entered the campaign. Later, Dumont, Landry, and Walker of the 8th Canadian Hussars and Walker of the US 3rd Cavalry entered as NPCs but served as occasional secondary characters, when needed. 

I could probably go on with other examples, but I think I've made my point. In thinking about this, I'm starting to think that secondary (or "back up") characters are more common, though not exclusive, to long campaigns, those that last more than a couple of years. They make much more sense in the context of a large, freewheeling campaign that's gone to a lot of places and done a lot of things. Shorter, more focused campaigns tend to be much more like Tom Moldvay's analogy of a novel or TV show. That's because long campaigns eventually start to be about the campaign itself rather than about the characters. The setting and its events looms large and, while it may not take the spotlight completely away from the "main" characters, it does diminish their importance somewhat. If my past and recent experiences are any indication, it can be a lot of fun.

Regrets

I've been writing a lot more about my Barrett's Raiders Twilight: 2000 campaign lately – partly because the campaign is, after three years of play, on the verge of seeing the characters return to the USA and partly because I now know that readers actually enjoy periodic updates about the games I'm currently refereeing. I'd already been intending to spend more time writing about games other than Dungeons & Dragons, so this is good. There's quite a lot to talk about when it comes to both Twilight: 2000 more generally and my campaign in particular. 

As Barrett's Raiders prepares to enter a new phase, I found myself reflecting back on what's happened so far. By and large, I'm pretty happy with the result. There have been plenty of ups and downs over the years – what campaign doesn't have those? – but, taken as a whole, I feel as if this has been an enjoyable campaign with lots of memorable moments. It's still a long way from House of Worms in terms of longevity, of course. However, according to my usual metric of judging a campaign's success, namely, whether or not players keep showing up week after week, Barrett's Raiders is a winner. 

That said, I do have one significant regret: I didn't have a Session Zero. 

I've never been a big fan of the whole Session Zero concept. My preferred approach, when starting a new campaign, is simply to do a short write-up for all involved, outlining the kind of campaign I hope to run, as well as its framing, and then let the players go off into their separate corners to generate their characters. If they have questions, I'm happy to answer them, but I don't like to guide the process too much, nor do I want the other players to interfere in each others' character creation process (whatever that might be). 

In the case of Barrett's Raiders, I laid out for the players the basic scenario: the characters were all survivors of the US 5th Mechanized Infantry after the disastrous Battle of Kalisz in July 2000. Their ragtag band's initial mission is simply to survive. If they succeed in doing that, they should attempt to make it back to NATO lines and, theoretically, safety. Beyond that, I didn't say much else, leaving everything up to the players' judgment. As I said, I answered any questions the players asked, like "Is it OK if I player a Russian POW?" Otherwise, though, I was pretty hands-off.

My laissez-faire attitude had a couple of unintended consequences. First, the characters consisted of too many sergeants. Aside from Lt. Col. Orlowski, all the other military characters were sergeants of one grade or another. There were no corporals, privates, or specialists. Neither were there any other officers, not even a lieutenant. While it's true that the characters' unit was a haphazard one made up solely of survivors of the 5th, the odds that so many would be sergeants strains credibility. Consequently, the early days of the campaign saw Orlowski musing aloud, "What I wouldn't give for some privates or even a corporal!" Eventually, this weird imbalance was fixed somewhat, with the introduction of secondary characters (more on that in a future post), but it bedeviled the campaign for a while.

The second unintended consequences concerned the expectations of the players. Some of the players had already played an earlier edition of Twilight: 2000. Others were merely familiar with it. Others still were complete neophytes. Furthermore, my own take on the game, though generally in line with GDW's original vision for it, was somewhat idiosyncratic. For me, T2K is a game about both survival and, more importantly, rebuilding. I wasn't interested in refereeing a campaign about nihilistic carnage in post-apocalyptic Europe (or America). No, I wanted the campaign to be about picking up the pieces after the nukes had already fallen. In a weird way, I was interested in a very idealistic campaign in which people came together to put the world back together after madness had shattered it.

Not everyone in the campaign fully understood this and it took time to get that point across. Despite being a game about playing soldiers, I don't bog sessions down with combat. Combat occurs, of course, but it's not the focus of the campaign. I'm fascinated by more human topics, like dealing with other survivors, navigating the politics of post-war Poland, and the toll all of this takes on everyone involved. Because I didn't make this clear enough early on, there have been some sessions where things didn't go as well as I (or the players) might have liked. Fortunately, we're now all on the same page and these misunderstandings rarely occur anymore.

Could these unintended consequences have been avoided with a Session Zero beforehand? Maybe. I don't know. As I said, I've never been a huge fan of Session Zero as a concept. Some of it is just curmudgeonliness on part, but some of it comes from a deeply held belief that good campaigns aren't planned – they just happen. I don't like to put my fingers on the scale, so to speak, preferring to let things evolve naturally. That doesn't always work and perhaps that speaks to the utility of Session Zero. In the case of Barrett's Raiders, I do think the early months of campaign might have gone more smoothly if I'd been clearer about my intentions. Likewise, if the players had generated their characters together, they might have been a more cohesive unit from the start. 

Live and learn!