We Need Large Groups

Number of Players: At least one referee and from four to fifty players can be handled in any single campaign, but the referee to player ratio should be about 1:2- or thereabouts.

–Men & Magic, Volume 1 of Dungeons & Dragons (1974)

Players: The more the merrier!

–Metamorphosis Alpha (1976) 

Any number of people can participate in a campaign or scenario, although generally 40 players should be treated as a maximum. Optimum game size (based on the ability of the referee to control and interact effectively) is from three to ten persons.

–Characters and Combat, Book 1 of Traveller (1977) 

When I first took up the hobby of roleplaying, my neighborhood circle of friends consisted of seven people, a number that often increased, such as when one friend's cousin from Minnesota spent the summer with him or when we met up more distant school acquaintances to do something together. Consequently, my earliest experiences of playing RPGs, especially Dungeons & Dragons, include being surrounded by a sizable number of people. I've talked before about the local gaming meet-ups and the the number of participants at most of the games there. Those games were raucous, lively affairs – even anarchic by many measures – but I enjoyed them a lot, which is why I regularly reflect on them on this blog. 

I found myself thinking about this recently, because, due to a concatenation of events, my House of Worms campaign hasn't met for the last couple of weeks. That's highly unusual. There are eight players in the campaign and it's rare that more than a couple of them are unavailable on a given week. That's one of the joys of a large group: there are always enough people to play.  That means more than one might think, since it's only through regular, continuous play that a campaign can be built up and survive for years. And, as a commenter on another post rightly said, long campaigns are "indeed the acme of the hobby." Anything else is, in my opinion, a mere shadow of what the hobby is capable of.

In the past, I used to make all sorts of excuses as to why my groups consisted of only three or four people and some of them might even have been valid explanations rather than facile rationalizations. I can't do that any longer, as it's become increasingly clear that I'd been missing out on the chaotic creative energies that can only be unleashed by a larger group of players. I've had fun with small groups certainly and I'd even argue that, in some contexts – an espionage campaign à la Top Secret, for instance – they make more sense than large ones, but, as a general rule, I think large groups are vital to the success of a RPG campaign. Indeed, I'd go further and suggest that RPGs were created with large groups in mind.

At some point, though, a shift happened and smaller groups became the norm. I'm not quite sure when it happened or why. A quick survey of games from the early '80s, during the height of RPGs' first instance of faddish popularity, reveals that the subject of the size of a gaming group is rarely addressed at all. When it is, such as in, for example, in Tom Moldvay's Basic Rules, there's a certain hedging of bets:

At least two persons are needed to play this game, though the game is most enjoyable when played by a group of four to eight people.

It's a far cry from OD&D's four to fifty players but still skewing toward a size that is large by the standards of later eras, when smaller groups seems to have become more common – at least that was my experience during the later '80s and into the 1990s. 

The other thing I have observed, especially during this year, is that having a large group of people with whom you regularly game, even if it's only virtually, as it is for most of us these days, is a much needed antidote to the social isolation we might otherwise feel. My House of Worms crew, with whom I've spent many hours, have helped keep me on an even kilter and contributed much to my general level of emotional well-being, which is exactly what any worthwhile entertainment does. Further, the presence of so many different people, with different playing styles, ideas, and temperaments has not only made the campaign richer and more varied than it otherwise would be, it's also, I think, made me a more patient, tolerant, and open-minded person. That's no small thing, particularly in an age when so many of us voluntarily wall ourselves off from others and then despair of loneliness. 

Get out there and play with more people and more regularly. It's good for the hobby and it's good for you too.

The Dark Crystal

It's often said, not without plausibility, that the 1970s were the years when fantasy became an unstoppable pop cultural force. Indeed, this blog has since its inception championed the 1970s as a time of unique artistic ferment during which many, if not most, of our contemporary fantasies achieved a foothold in our collective imaginations that they have not yet relinquished. Despite that, I would like to submit an addendum to that thesis, namely that it was not until the 1980s that we would truly start to see the full fruits of the work of the previous decade. 

A good example of what I'm talking about is the 1982 movie, The Dark Crystal, which I recently had occasion to watch again for the first time in many years. I saw the film when it was first released and probably saw it again a few years later, after it appeared on VHS. I can't recall seeing it again until this week and, as such, my recollections of the movie's plot and other details were hazy. 

I did recall enjoying The Dark Crystal as a teenager, though I also remember that my opinion was in the minority among my peers, never mind adults, who largely found it confusing. That's understandable, as the action and characters are wholly fantastical, without any connection to our Earth. Likewise, the film proceeds incredibly briskly, clocking in at 93 minutes – the blink of an eye by the ponderous standards of 21st century Hollywood. It probably didn't help that the dialog is idiosyncratic and often opaque or that plot points are revealed only by a narrator's voice-over. Had Jim Henson had his way, it would have been even more cryptic, with some of its characters speaking only in a constructed language whose meaning is revealed via subtitles.

On the other hand, one could quite reasonably argue that The Dark Crystal respects the intelligence of its viewers. Rather than spoon feeding its plot with slow-moving expository scenes, it moves nimbly, trusting that viewers will understand the details the action implicitly conveys. That's not to say that the movie is perfect by any means. The main character, the Gelfling Jen, is something of a cipher, for example, and that leads, I think, to a certain level of detachment by the viewer. Jen is no Luke Skywalker; we learn very little about who he is or what he wants beyond a vague sense of his loyalty to his deceased master, urSu.

Yet, I can't hold this against the movie, because of how wondrous its world and characters are. The villainous Skeksis are simply amazing, upright vulture-lizard attired in rotting finery and bickering with one another within the Castle of the Crystal. So striking are the Skeksis that they even had an effect upon Dungeons & Dragons, in the form of the Nagpa that appeared in module X4, Master of the Desert Nomads. Equally amazing are the urRu Mystics, who stand in opposite to the Skeksis. Slow-moving and deliberate, the Mystics have six limbs and spend their time in quiet contemplation, contrasting with the power squabbles of the Skeksis. Both are delights to watch, not to mention testaments to the skills of Jim Henson's Creature Shop

All the characters and creatures in The Dark Crystal are Muppets of one sort or another and I couldn't help but marvel at both the imagination and artistry involved in their creation. The weird crustacean soldiers of the Skeksis, the Garthim, really impressed me, as did the landstrider mounts employed by the Gelflings. These are only the most prominent examples, however; most scenes included lots of other creatures in the background and they're every bit as imaginative as those shown front and center. Everything in the movie employed practical effects, not out for the fetishistic reasons we see in big budget movies nowadays, but because there was simply no other way to achieve these effects in the early 1980s. They truly are wonders of another era of film making.

As I said, The Dark Crystal isn't perfect. There have been more cohesive and approachable fantasy films since its release almost four decades ago. Yet, for all its flaws, I found it hard not to be impressed with the scope of its fantastical vision, accomplished before the advent of computer generated imagery, and without (too much) recourse to the well worn tropes of the genre. This is a movie that dares to present a different kind of fantasy world and to tell a story that isn't just the usual plucky band of rebels versus the Dark Lord – and does so in the span of barely an hour and a half. I wish there were more movies like The Dark Crystal today; if there were, I might be more interested in what Hollywood is producing.