Open Friday: Dungeon Entry "Stat Block"

In the comments to last week's Open Friday post about setting detail, the idea was floated of a "stat block" for dungeon entries, which would include lines for doors, lighting, smells, and hazards -- something like this perhaps:

Door: Heavy wood with metal reinforcements, pulls outward, locked.
Lighting: Dark.
Smells: A faint musty odor.

I find the idea intriguing, though I do worry that such a format could easily lead to bloated room descriptions that provide so much information that it's hard to prepare and, worse yet, hard to improvise from.

So, for today's question: what do you think of the idea of dungeon entry stat blocks? Would they be useful to you and, if so, what sort of details would you like to see it include? If you don't like the idea of them, why not?

More Reprints on the Way

Joseph Bloch and Rob Conley both alerted me to the news that, next May, Wizards of the Coast, will be doing premium reprints of the AD&D 2e Player's Handbook, Dungeon Master's Guide, and Monstrous Compendium. Even more interestingly, they're also doing hardcover compilations of the A-series and S-series modules.

I'm no fan of 2e, but, even so, this is good news. If nothing else, it suggests that the 1e reprints from this past summer (which I did buy) sold well enough for WotC to be able to justify producing even more. Indeed, as many opined, I think it quite likely that the 1e reprints were a trial balloon to determine if there was in fact a market for reprinting reprinting older D&D products. I also think it provides a little more insight into the plans of the D&D product team at WotC, namely, they really are interested in winning back the fans alienated over the past few years as a result of 4e's botched marketing. If all these reprints stay in print I'll be even more impressed.

As anyone who reads this blog knows, I have been skeptical, if not downright dismissive, of WotC's attempts to appeal to old school gamers over the last few years, thinking them little more than shallow pandering. Recently, though, the company has given me a lot of reasons to think I may have been too hasty in my judgments. This is a case where I'd be quite happy to discover that my initial opinion was ill-informed and wrongheaded.

Here's hoping ...

Pulp Fantasy Library: Arak, Son of Thunder

When I was in college, I knew a guy who was really into comics -- DC comics in particular -- and he decided to bring a significant portion of his collection with him to keep in his dorm room. While certainly an odd decision, I didn't complain, as it afforded me the opportunity to read a lot of comics I'd never seen when they were released. Partly this was because I hadn't been all that interested in comics as a kid (with a few rare exceptions, mostly Marvel) and partly this was because the comics that seemed to be readily available in my neck of the woods were pretty straight forward superhero ones. Although I knew of the existence of comics like Savage Sword of Conan, I didn't regularly see copies of it at any of the drugstores where the neighborhood children bought their comics.

On the other hand, I'd never even heard of Arak, Son of Thunder when it debuted in September 1981. Amusingly, the comic was created by Roy Thomas (along with Ernesto Colón), creator of the aforementioned Savage Sword of Conan and there's a superficial similarity between the two comics. Both feature clever, muscular wanderers who have adventures in an ancient/medieval world. The similarities largely end there, though. Whereas Savage Sword is set in the fictitious prehistorical world of the Hyborian Age, Arak takes place in the real world of the late 8th and early 9th centuries. Admittedly, this "real" world is a legendary one, replete with magic, monsters, and Charlemagne's paladins, but it wasn't wholly imaginary in nature, even if it did play fast and loose with history in the interests of a good story.

Arak's "gimmick" was that its titular character was an American Indian (from a fictitious East Coast tribe) cast adrift in a canoe as a child -- by his father, the thunder god, He-No -- and then picked up and raised by Vikings. Though his real name was Bright-Sky-After-Storm, the Vikings renamed him Erik, which he mispronounced as Arak, giving rise to his nom de guerre. As recounted in the first issue of his comic, Arak spends his early life raiding with his adoptive people, becoming a great warrior, especially skilled with the axe and the bow. During a raid on a monastery, the Vikings find themselves attacked by a monstrous serpent sent by the sorceress Angelica of Albracca (who becomes the comic's primary antagonist). Arak slays the serpent by means of a hammer-shaped cross, leading one of the surviving monks to opine that Arak has a divine mission. Arak himself wonders what god it was, if any, who aided his victory and sets off to find his destiny.

From then on, Arak wanders, for a time settling in one place, but eventually moving on as he continues his personal quest to discover the truth about himself and his dimly-remembered past a continent away. For most of the early issues, Arak is in Frankland, as part of the court of Charlemagne, fighting side by side with his famous paladins against a variety of magical and mundane foes. Among the paladins was the female warrior Bradamante, whose daughter, Valda, is a powerful fighter in her own right, as well as the eventual love interest of Arak. In time, Arak moves on from Frankland and has adventures all across the Old World, meeting both historical personages and mythological monsters. It is my understanding that he eventually returned to North America to be reunited with the tribe of his birth before the comic ended its run in 1985.

Arak, Son of Thunder appealed to me back in college for the same reasons it does now: it's a fun take on historical fantasy with a twist. Certainly it's not very plausible historically but then neither are the tales of Conan. Still, I think Roy Thomas did a terrific job with the comic, presenting both a world and a protagonist worth reading about. It's also a good model for historical fantasy gaming, something I find myself pondering quite regularly. I have no idea how hard it is to find copies of the comic nowadays (I last saw them in the early '90s), but, if you ever come across them, they're worth a read.

Open Friday: Level of Setting Detail

The first published setting for Dungeons & Dragons I remember seeing was probably The World of Greyhawk, which was long my model of the "perfect" level of detail in a published campaign setting. Its entries are short -- a paragraph or two at most -- and provide just enough information to inspire the referee while not leaving him without a net, so to speak. In recent years, I started to become a lot more enamored of the terseness of Judges Guild's Wilderlands setting material, but, on reflection, I realized that something a wee bit closer to The World of Greyhawk might have greater utility. That's why I'm very fond of the format Rob Conley adopted in Blackmarsh last year, which seems to offer a happy medium between the two approaches.

Here are some examples of what I'm talking about (taken from the gazetteer of the area around Dwimmermount):

2806 Elphame

Population: Unknown; Alignment: Neutral; Ruler: Linwa Nirmalan, Elf 8, N; Resource: Market

Elphame is the elven “capital” in the north, a secluded, fortified settlement closed to most outsiders. Its precise population is unknown, owing to the secretive nature of the elves, but is reputed to be in the hundreds.

2911 Gloris

Population: 300 Men; Alignment: Lawful; Ruler: Mayor Gillet Hodemer, 0-Level, L; Resource: Farm

Gloris is a small community whose inhabitants make their living by farming and trading with the friendly goblins of the nearby Makrono Marsh (see above).

3413 Ghaz Droonan

Built into the side of a mountain, the mighty dwarf hold of Ghaz Droonan stood for centuries as an example of the great works of the sturdy Children of the Earth. All that changed when a plague of unknown origins swept through its halls and exterminated its population. The source of the plague has never been determined and a foul miasma lingers still, discouraging any dwarf from ever returning.

3627 The Outyard

The Outyard is an immense subterranean complex hewn out of the Thunderhome Mountains (see above) and populated by giants. In Thulian times, the giants were kept at bay, but, in recent decades, they have become more active, raiding the settlements of Men and dwarves.

4004 Castle Greenholt

Population: 200 Men; Alignment: Neutral; Ruler: Nycaize Ouyquant, MU 7, N

Caste Greenholt is home to a powerful magician who has set himself up as protector of the Greenholt Forest (see above). Some believe this is because the forest hides a secret of the Great Ancients, while others believe he entered into a pact with the elves of Elphame (2806). Whatever the truth, the magician and his men do their best to prevent anyone from entering the forest without his permission.

4221 The City Out of Time

Whether this city even exists is open to debate among scholars. Legends claim that, on certain nights -- naturally there is debate as to which ones -- an ancient city filled with treasure appears for a short time before disappearing again. Legends also claim the city has magical guardians that slay any who attempt to make off with its treasure.

So what do you think? Is this too little detail? Too much? Just right? If these don't hit your personal sweet spot, what does? And how would you change these entries to make them more in line with your own philosophy of setting detail?

Multi-Level Mapping

When I first entered the hobby, I was greatly taken by the cross-section illustration of "Stone Mountain" (aka Skull Mountain) presented in the D&D Basic Set rulebook edited by Dr J. Eric Holmes. Indeed, it's not unreasonable to say that, for over three decades, Stone Mountain has been my mind's eye vision of what a "megadungeon" looks like. For those of you somehow unfamiliar with this illustration, here it is:

There's a similar, though, in my opinion, less interesting, cross-section in Tom Moldvay's 1981 Basic Rulebook that looks like this:

A much better cross-section appeared in another Tom Moldvay effort, The Lost City, and it looked like this:

What I like about these cross-sections is the way they provide context for a dungeon by showing how all the various levels interrelate with not just one another but also the surrounding environment. I think that's key to presenting a compelling tent pole dungeon for long-term campaign use.

Much as like these cross-sections, they do have one problem: they're very stylized. That is, they're more art than map. That's fine for helping one to visualize the dungeon as a whole but it doesn't provide the nitty gritty details that are vital to ensuring that all the dungeon's pieces fit together properly. That's why I had Tim Hartin put together several images where all the levels of Dwimmermount were piled on top of each other to show how they connected. Here's one that shows seven different levels (1, 2A, 2B, 3A, 3B, 4, and 5):

Here's another that shows four different levels (5, 6A, 6B, and 7):

Doing this was incredibly helpful, since it revealed a couple of minor errors in the cartography -- places where the connections between levels didn't quite work out as they were intended to. While easily fixed and relatively minor in nature, neither of us would have noticed the errors if we hadn't undertaken this exercise. More than that, I got a different perspective on ten dungeon levels than a cross-sectional illustration might provide. I still think cross-sections are useful tools for referees and players alike, but they do have limitations, no matter how attractive and inspirational they may be.

REVIEW: The Complete B/X Adventurer

The Complete B/X Adventurer is the latest publication by Jonathan Becker of the B/X Blackrazor blog. It's a 62-page softcover book focusing on a variety of new rules and rules options for characters in "fantasy role-playing games of the sort that use 'class' and 'level' to define [them]." Like its predecessor, the B/X Companion, The Complete B/X Adventurer is not written with any specific retro-clone in mind (even though it's probably most directly compatible with Labyrinth Lord). In fact, this supplement doesn't even use the OGL at all, which, while defensible, ensures that no other publisher will be able to make use of its contents. I bring this up mostly because I think there's a lot of good stuff here and it's a pity that some of it likely won't get used more widely.

Physically, the book is a sturdy perfect-bound volume, with color cover art by Brian DeClercq, depicting four of the seventeen new classes presented herein. Interior artwork is by Josh Boelter, Kelvin Green, Matthew Shultz, and Kayce Sizer, all of it quite good, with Green's being the stand-out in my opinion. The book uses a two-column layout and the text is clear and readable. Currently, it's only available in printed form for $28.99 for US/Canada and $37.99 for the rest of the world (the price includes postage).

The book begins oddly, with a section entitled "100 Fine Reasons & Fantastic B/X Headgear." The 100 Fine Reasons in question are tied to a percentile table offering justifications for characters to be traveling together. It's intended as a quick and simple way to explain why a party of adventurers has come together. The section on headgear is a collection of random tables intended to describe what a character, be he a PC or NPC, is wearing on his head. Neither of these sections is badly done or without value. Together, they take up three pages of the book. Still, they seem out of place, particularly given the bulk of the book's contents.

Less odd is another three-page section entitled "Exceptional Traits," which offers four D12 tables for each broad character archetype (cleric, fighter, magic-user, thief). Each entry on the table indicates something that's special about the given character. For example, a cleric might be an "apostate," which grants him the ability to cast reversed spells freely without penalty, while a magic-user might have a "mystic aura" that grants him a +2 bonus to reaction rolls. These exceptional traits all grant minor mechanical benefits, as well as helping to distinguish the character from others of the same class. It's a clever concept elegantly presented and I like it a lot.

The next three-page section offers up rules for "Firearms in a Fantasy World," specifically black powder weapons. As presented here, firearms have almost as many drawbacks as they have advantages, making the decision whether or not to use them a significant one, which I like. However, unless my aging eyes deceive me, there is no indication of how much damage each type of firearm does under these rules. There are lots of asides about range, rifling, misfires, use in sieges and the like, but nothing on damage -- again, unless I am missing something.

The meat of the book lies in the seventeen new character classes it presents. They are:

• Acrobat
• Archer
• Barbarian
• Bard
• Beastmaster
• Bounty Hunter
• Centaur
• Duelist
• Gnome
• Ogre-kin
• Mountebank
• Mystic
• Scout
• Summoner
• Tattoo Mage
• Witch
• Witch Hunter

Of these seventeen, most are human-only (all but centaur, gnome, ogre-kin) and four are spellcasters with their own unique lists of spells (gnome, mystic, summoner, witch). Several other classes use spells from either the traditional cleric or magic-user lists. Slightly less than half of the book (pages 32-61) consists of new spells.

The new classes and spells are a mixed bag, though I suspect I'm a lot more prone to dislike new classes than many gamers. For me, a class clearly needs to fill a role that no existing class does, so, on that basis, a class like the archer is going to be a hard cell, no matter how well done. That said, what I really like about the new classes presented here is that their associated rules are simple and straightforward. And, even if I don't like the class itself, I can pillage ideas from them for use in other contexts. The same is true of the new spells.

In the end, I suspect one's reaction to The Complete B/X Adventurer will depend greatly on how many options one likes in one's games. For many players, the more available classes, the better; for others, that way lies madness. The same principle applies to new spells. If, like a lot of old schoolers these days, your tastes abhor the baroqueness that afflicted late AD&D (or even BECMI), you may find a lot less to like here. On the other hand, if there's no such thing as "too many" options, especially when it comes to player characters, The Complete B/X Adventurer is probably right up your alley.

Presentation: 7 out of 10
Creativity: 7 out of 10
Utility: 6 out of 10

Get This If: You play an old school class-and-level RPG and are looking for more character-related options.
Don't Get This If: You are happy with the range of character options available in your class-and-level RPG.

Retrospective: 2001: A Space Odyssey

I have decidedly mixed feelings about roleplaying games based on pre-existing properties. They have a long history in the hobby, with early examples appearing less than five years after the release of OD&D. The 1980s saw a huge uptick in the number of licensed RPGs, some of which I not only played and enjoyed but, even today, consider examples of excellent game design. Though I often think the best RPGs are inspired by rather than based on other media, I'm far from wholly opposed to the notion. My real concern is that, more often than not, licensed games are little more than unimaginative cash grabs.

That's not my criticism of the 1984 Star Frontiers adventure module, 2001: A Space Odyssey. Written by Frank Mentzer, it's got to be a serious contender for being one of the most bizarre RPG products ever published by TSR. I say that as an admirer of both Stanley Kubrick's 1968 science fiction film and Star Frontiers. I say "bizarre," because, for all its virtues as a RPG, Star Frontiers wasn't sold as a game of cerebral scientific speculation. I say "bizarre," because, for all its virtues as a film, 2001 doesn't lend itself to being the basis for an adventure scenario. That's not to say that I think it impossible to use Star Frontiers for something more than space operatic shoot 'em ups or that 2001 couldn't inspire a compelling -- and fun -- adventures, because I don't.

Unfortunately, this module adopted a kind of worst of both worlds approach that baffles me to this day. Rather than using Kubrick's film as a launching point for something original, 2001: A Space Odyssey is instead a rather uninspired recreation of the film using the Star Frontiers rules. So, the first "chapter" is called "the Dawn of Man" and puts the players in the roles of -- I kid you not -- primitive man-apes who must survive until the Monolith appears to induce the evolutionary changes that will allow them to defeat their enemies and begin their slow ascent to true sentience. There are also chapters devoted to the mission of the Discovery to Jupiter, including HAL 9000's attempt to murder the crew, as well as the passage through the "stargate" there -- that funky psychedelic part of the end of the movie.

In all of the cited examples, the final outcome of the chapter is nearly identical to that of the movie. Sure, if you're playing Frank Poole, you may survive to travel through the stargate while David Bowman is killed off by HAL, but that's about as big a change as you're likely to make. If you've seen the film, there's really no reason to play through this adventure. The only place where there's even a hint of a wider world is in Chapter Two, "Lunar Excursion," where the players take on the roles of astronauts scouring the Moon for the source of a strange magnetic anomaly (the Monolith) within 400 km of Moonbase Clavius. This is an event not seen in the movie but alluded to. As written, it's stated that the Chinese (for reasons never explained) are also looking for the anomaly and that it'd be somehow bad if they managed to find it. So, this part of the module is a race across the lunar surface, as the PCs check out various potential locations for the anomaly while the Chinese NPCs do the same under the control of the referee. If that sounds vaguely interesting, even tense, it isn't, since the module's text flat out states:

If they [i.e. the Chinese] reach the goal first, assume that they do not test it accurately and believe it to be a large (300-400 gamma) but not unnatural anomaly.

The module thus makes it impossible for the PCs to "lose" -- or for events to play out any differently than depicted in the movie.

Equally baffling is the loving detail provided on so many aspects of the adventure. There are lots of rules additions to Star Frontiers, including new skills and equipment. There are charts for the odds of successfully navigating lunar hazards, daily schedules of the Discovery crew's activities, and lengthy discussions of HAL's various malfunctions and how they might be addressed. Even more impressive are the maps, by Dave "Diesel" LaForce, of Discovery, maps that, as a teenager, I simply adored. There's an incredible earnestness to this adventure in terms of its presentation, as if everyone involved felt they needed to make a "serious" adventure scenario that did justice to the seriousness of the 1968 film. Alas, it resulted in one of the most boring and uninvolving modules I've ever purchased. To this day, I still wonder why it was ever made.

Ares Magazine: Special Edition #1

In addition to its seventeen regular issues, Ares also released two "special editions," the first of which appeared in Summer 1983. If you're curious what's constitutes a special edition, managing editor Geoffrey Golson helpfully provided the following:

The Special Editions will maintain the same format of the regular game issues, but will concentrate on different aspects of the magazine's formula. Sometimes we'll delve deeper into science fact, other times we'll explore myriads of game variants.

My own feeling is that the special editions (of which there were two) were an attempt by TSR to make use of material they already had but couldn't find a way to include in a regular issue of the periodical. For example, this first special edition's highlight is a massive supplement for the Universe RPG detailing an alien race. I also think that TSR was simply experimenting with different formats, trying to find some way to make Ares work for them now that they held the editorial reins.

The issue kicks off with "White Hole Bomb" by Curtis L. Johnson. This is a "science fact" article that discusses the possibility of creating artificial singularities to use as weapons of war. While the science may be considered dubious nowadays, the article at least makes an attempt to present then-current ideas as fodder for speculation. It's a far better approach than the killjoy articles John Boardman wrote for most of the magazine's run. Next up is "Conan the Barbarian" by L. Sprague de Camp, which is little more than a timeline of Conan's life according to both Howard's original stories and the later pastiches. As these things go, it's fairly innocuous, though, as usual, De Camp can't resist getting in his digs at REH, especially with regards to his "abnormal" devotion to his mother.

There are two fiction pieces in this issue. The first, "The Oaken Sword," is by Ian McDowell and is an Arthurian tale whose protagonist is Mordred Mac Lot. Mordred is here portrayed sympathetically, as a rakish youth who feels disappointment at his true father's unwillingness to admit to his paternity. The second story, "Nitimandrey & the Cabinet Maker's Vision," by Jessica Amanda Salmonson, concerns the titular king who is visited by a poor cabinet maker who has received a terrible vision that the king decides must never come to pass. Edward Bever then offers rules variants for use with the Dawn of the Dead simulation game to make the game "more like the film."

The remaining half of the magazine (32 of 64 pages) is devoted to "First Contacts," which describes an alien race known as the Sh'k''tlp. Written by Greg Costikyan, this is, as I noted above, more a full-length supplement to Universe than a mere article. It presents not only information on the race's history, society, and culture, but also rules modifications for Universe to enable players and referees alike to create Sh'k'tlp characters for use in their campaigns. It's very well-done but suffers a bit because there's only a single very small and not very clear illustration of a Sh'k'tlp, making it difficult to visualize what these rather alien aliens look like. There's also the fact that their name is unwieldy to the point of being unpronounceable, but that was the style at the time.

I personal liked the first special edition of Ares, particularly the "First Contacts" supplement. However, I can't help but wonder how it was received at the time. Unless one were a hardcore Universe fan -- did such beasts even exist -- more than half the pagecount was devoted to something of very limited utility. Of the other half, most of it was taken up by fiction pieces and, while decent enough, neither one is science fiction. Once again, Ares seems to have suffered from an identity crisis to its likely detriment.

REVIEW: The Monolith from Beyond Space and Time

I find it interesting how widespread the term "adventure module" (or just "module") is among gamers to describe a pre-written scenario for a roleplaying game. I suppose it's yet more evidence of the long shadow cast by Dungeons & Dragons. I have no idea if the term predates its use by TSR which is how the company described its own published adventures, but it was from these that I first encountered it.

Whatever else it does, "module" brings with it the unspoken assumption of interchangeability -- something you can pick up and drop into your existing campaign with ease. Modules were for when a referee needed something with which to occupy the players and he hadn't had either the time or inspiration (or both) to come up with something on his own. Because modules were self-contained, one generally assumed that using one is simple and consequence-free.

Though comparatively few RPG companies describe their adventures as "modules" anymore -- does even Dungeons & Dragons do so in 2012? -- the term still colors how many gamers think of pre-written adventures. For them, an adventure should be straightforward and cause few, if any, lasting problems for the campaign into which they are dropped. These expectations may explain why James Raggi's The Monolith from Beyond Space and Time (hereafter Monolith) is meeting with such strong reactions from many. While I completely understand these reactions, I also think they're a little unfair. Monolith most definitely isn't an adventure module in the traditional sense (though Raggi does in fact use the term). Dropping it into an existing campaign will have long-term consequences; any referee thinking of using Monolith needs to bear this in mind.

Let's talk briefly about the physical qualities of the adventure before getting into its contents. Monolith is a 48-page A5 (148 mm x 210 mm -- slightly smaller than 6" x 9"). The color cover, depicting the titular Monolith, and black and white interior illustrations are all by Aeron Alfrey and have a suitably "Lovecraftian" vibe (more on that later). The book uses a clean, two-column layout and is, in fact, very easy on the eyes. In fact, I'd say it's one of the more attractive Lamentations of the Flame Princess released to date (though the text of my copy was slightly blurred on a couple of pages). The text was written by James Raggi, with a small, two-page section, called "The Owls' Service," written by Kenneth Hite. Monolith is available either as a PDF for 4.80€ (about $6 US) or as a PDF + Printed Book bundle for 12€ (about $15.50 US).

Like it or not, Raggi's adventures have a strong authorial voice. This is particularly true of Monolith, which he describes in his "Author's Notes" section as his "homage to Howard Phillips Lovecraft." He further elaborates that his goal was to make

a Lovecraftian adventure without leaning on the usual trappings of Lovecraft's mythos ... No Cthulhu, no Necronomicon, none of it. Just take the concepts these things were vehicles for communicating, and use those.

With that in mind, he presents "a teleporting, dimension-hopping, time traveling phenomenon" that "can be placed anywhere in any campaign without the need to be adjusted to fit a specific flavor." This phenomenon is the Monolith and the valley that surrounds it. Their mere presence warps reality, creating distortions that change Nature in various ways. Likewise, the valley of the Monolith is home to several unique encounters that reflect the weirdness of the place. All of these distortions and encounters are detailed at some length (16 pages).

Of course, the adventure's main attraction is the Monolith itself, which the characters may enter and explore. Once entered, the laws of reality function differently -- such as the fact that it's bigger on the inside than on the outside -- and the characters must spend some time figuring out exactly what does and does not work while inside. Raggi provides extensive details on how to run the Monolith, complete with examples. This is helpful, as the Monolith is a structure of a very bizarre sort and it's not just the player character who'll wonder just how it functions. There are also a number of specific locations within the Monolith, in addition to a single "encounter."

I hope I can be forgiven for being vague on the precise details of what's in the Monolith and how this eldritch structure operates. Much of the enjoyment of this adventure comes from discovering these things for oneself. What I will say is that, as presented, the Monolith is a very open-ended environment, in that the players have a create deal of freedom in deciding where their characters go and what they can do. Of course, that freedom comes at a price and a big part of the adventure's "Lovecraftian" tone comes from the players' grappling with whether or not they're willing to pay that price or if they can live with the consequences of not doing so.

I think it's on precisely this point where opinion will be divided regarding The Monolith from Beyond Space and Time. Unlike most adventure modules from the past, playing this one will forever change a campaign. More precisely, it will forever change the characters in the campaign. Raggi himself brings this up in his "Author's Notes," where he says of the characters will eventually "... realize they cannot win. They are doomed, and were doomed from the moment they got involved." No character who enters the Monolith will escape unscathed and at least one won't escape at all (unless he and his companions are willing to allow even worse consequences to follow).

In this respect, Monolith is a bit like Death Frost Doom turned up to 11. In both, there are dire consequences from the moment the player characters walked onto the scene. The difference, I think, lies in the fact that the consequences in Death Frost Doom are more impersonal -- unleashing a zombie plague on the world -- whereas those in Monolith directly affect the sanity and well-being of the characters themselves, with any effects on the wider world being sub-consequences of that. This is an adventure that will wreck characters, a fact made all the worse because some aspects of Monolith are, once entered into, inexorable. They simply cannot be avoided unless the player characters decide not to participate in the adventure at all.

That's why, I think, the only way to use this adventure without generating a great deal of acrimony and unhappiness is as a location within a sandbox-style campaign. In this scenario, the Monolith is some weird thing placed on the referee's map that the PCs might come across as they explore the world and one that they might, like a dragon's lair or a powerful magic-user's tower, choose to avoid entirely out of fear of the consequences. Simply throwing it at the players -- "Here's what we're going to play today ..." -- is unfair and cruel, because the horror of Monolith lies not merely in the nature and purpose of the titular structure but that, if the characters' curiosity gets the better of them, they truly will have come across a Thing Man Was Not Meant to Know and paid the price for it. Without that initial choice, the rest is meaningless.

I like The Monolith from Beyond Space and Time and think it's largely successful in its aims of presenting a Lovecraftian scenario without the overt trapping of Lovecraft's mythos. However, I also think that it's a "nuclear option" adventure that the referee ought not to use lightly and that, if used, has the potential to change things forever.

Presentation: 9 out of 10
Creativity: 8 out of 10
Utility: 2 out of 10

Buy This If: You're interested in introducing Lovecraftian themes into your campaign and are willing to accept the far-reaching consequences to the player characters and campaign in doing so.
Don't Buy This If: You have no interest in Lovecraftian themes or have no interest in potentially wrecking one or more player characters to introduce them into the campaign.

Pulp Fantasy Library: Witch of the Demon Seas

When I was a kid, I never much bothered by the fact that Iron Man (whose superpowers were technological in origin) could fight side by side with Thor (whose superpowers were alien-science-appearing-as-magic in origin) and Dr. Strange (whose superpowers were purely magical in origin) to fight against Dr. Doom (who wielded both advanced technology and magic). So long as the story involving these four characters was compelling to me, what difference did it make?

As I got older, I became much more hung up over "genre" distinctions, due to the dual influences of some of the older gamers I knew and, more insidiously, English teachers. From that point on, I became a lot more dismissive of entertainments that didn't share my new fastidiousness toward keeping fantasy chocolate out of my science fiction peanut butter (or mixing any other two genres, for that matter). Older still, I find myself caring less and less about such literary miscegenation. Indeed, I find myself reveling in it, which is why, for example, the setting of my Dwimmermount dungeon includes lots of elements my younger self would almost certainly have abhorred.

I bring this all up because of the history behind today's pulp fantasy story, "Witch of the Demon Seas." Written by Poul Anderson using the pseudonym A.A. Craig (because he already had another story under his own name in the same issue), it was published in January 1951 issue of Planet Stories. Planet Stories, as you may know, was a pulp magazine that ran from 1939 to 1955 and whose stories were devoted to "planetary adventure." This category could include space opera or sword-and-planet yarns but it could not include "straight" fantasy. Consequently, Anderson's tale was given the thin veneer of being a science fantasy tale set on a far away planet so that it might be salable at a time when pulp magazines of any sort were drying up faster than the seas of Barsoom.

That said, "Witch of the Demon Seas" is not lessened because of Anderson's willingness to make a few fleeting references that pleased the editors at Planet Stories. The story opens with Khroman the Conqueror, thalassocrat of Achaera, pondering what to do with the pirates he has just captured, in particular one named Corun, whom Khroivian respects after a fashion.

"What will you do with them, sire?" asked Shorzon the Sorcerer.

Khroman shrugged heavy shoulders. "I don't know. Pirates are, usually fed to the erinyes at the games, I suppose, but Corun deserves something special."

"Public torture, perhaps, sire? It could be stretched over many days."

"No, you fool! Corun was the bravest enemy Achaera ever had. He deserves an honorable death and a decent tomb ..."

While still a prisoner awaiting execution, Shorzon and his daughter Chryseis -- the wife of Khroman -- visit Corun and make him an offer.  His voice shook:

"What do you want?"

"Your help in a desperate venture," said Chryseis. "I tell you frankly that we may well all die in it. But at least you will die as a free man—and if we succeed, all the world may be ours."

"What is it?" he asked hoarsely.

"I cannot tell you everything now," said Shorzon. "But the story has long been current that you once sailed to the lairs of the Xanthi, the Sea Demons, and returned alive. Is it true?"

"Aye." Corun stiffened, with sudden alarm trembling in his nerves. "Aye, by great good luck I came back. But they are not a race for humans to traffic with."

"I think the powers I can summon will match theirs," said Shorzon. "We want you to guide us to their dwellings and teach us the language on the way, as well as whatever else you know about them. When we return, you may go where you choose. And if we get their help, we will be able to set Conahur free soon afterward."

Corun shook his head. "It's nothing good that you plan," he said slowly. "No one would approach the Xanthi for any good purpose."

"You did, didn't you?" chuckled the wizard dryly. "If you want the truth, we are after their help in seizing the government of Achaera, as well as certain knowledge they have."

If Corun agrees to help the father and daughter, since they promise him not only his own freedom but the liberation of his homeland, currently subjugated by the Achaerans. Like any good barbarian, Corun is suspicious of his supposed benefactors but is also unwilling to let a chance like this slip through his fingers, thinking it better to die a free man engaged in a desperate adventure than executed as a prisoner.

What follows is a very enjoyable story well told, one that feels more like Robert E. Howard than Poul Anderson, filled as it is with swashbuckling combats, duplicitous alliances, and eldritch horrors. On the other hand, Anderson has always been good at producing interesting and believable characters, even when those characters are very "archetypal" as those in this story are. The same is true of the plot, which manages to be genuinely surprising at times, despite the clichéd nature of its set-up. "Witch of the Demon Seas" is thus a good example of the kind of pulp fantasy tale --  fun, fast-moving, and engaging -- I like to read.