Off to Gamehole Con

I leave today for Madison, Wisconsin to attend Gamehole Con 12, which formally starts tomorrow. However, being the anxious person I am, I like to arrive a day early to ensure that any delays won't adversely affect my attendance. Like last year, I'm signed up to play in several games, including a session of Traveller with Marc Miller himself, but my main reason for going to the con is the chance to meet up with friends whom I might otherwise only "see" online. That's by far my favorite part of the convention and why I look forward to returning each year.

While I still remain an avowed Luddite, I will be bringing a camera with me this year, so I hope to have more photos to share of the con than I did last year. I will still be largely out of contact while I'm in Madison, so there will be no significant posts from me here or on my Patreon or Substack until after I return. Likewise, comment approval will be suspended. With luck, I'll avoid coming down with the dreaded Con Crud as a result of my travels, but I wasn't so lucky last year. 

Regardless, I'm off!

The Mutable Dreamer?

Here's another public post from my Patreon about the development of Dream-Quest. As always, I invite comments on the post, since I'm still turning over ideas in my head and appreciate other perspectives. In this particular case, I'm pondering a fairly big change to the mechanics and presentation of the game as I've imagined it so far, which is why feedback is important.

The Articles of Dragon: "Plane Facts on Gladsheim"

Judging by the fact that this is the third post in a row about Dragon issue #90 (October 1984), I think it’s safe to say it was a good one. The funny thing is, before rereading it for these posts, I don’t think I’d have singled it out as anything special. I have a pretty good visual memory, especially for the covers of books and magazines I read as a kid or teenager, and recalling a cover usually brings the contents rushing back. I certainly remembered the cover of issue #90, but, until I revisited it, I doubt I could have told you much about what was inside, let alone why it might be worth talking about all these years later. Go figure!

In the case of the other two articles from this issue I've already discussed, that makes some sense. However, in the case of Roger E. Moore's "Plane Facts on Gladsheim," I'm a bit surprised. I was always a huge fan of Moore's articles, many of which are among the best ever to appear in the pages of Dragon. Likewise, I was fascinated by AD&D's planar cosmology from the moment I first saw it in Appendix IV of the Players Handbook. I wanted to know more about all these strange otherworlds that Gary Gygax mentioned there. Consequently, Moore's article on the Astral Plane was like catnip to me. Even now, I'd easily list it as one of my Top 10 Favorite Articles – probably even Top 5. 

That's why I'm surprised I didn't remember that issue #90 included Moore's attempt to do for Gladsheim what he had done earlier for the Astral Plane. Rereading it, though, I begin to remember why. But before I get to that, I'd like to talk briefly about the article itself. At over a dozen pages in length, there can be no question that Moore has been thorough in describing the realm of the Norse gods and other "chaotic good neutrals," to use Gygax's gloriously baroque terminology. He presents the overall "geography" of the plane, with its various realms associated with gods, giants, and other beings, as well as how they relate to one another. It's useful stuff but, if you're already well versed in Norse mythology, none of it is new information.

What is new are his notes on how various AD&D spells and magic items operate on Gladsheim. Indeed, the bulk of the article is taken up by these notes, as Moore describes a wide range of changes, tweaks, and restrictions in how these things work here. On the one hand, this is very much to be expected. Starting with Queen of the Demonweb Pits, AD&D largely took a game mechanical approach to describing the planes. The planes were places where the rules of the game worked differently than they did on the Prime Material Plane of your home campaign setting. That is what set them apart (along with some new random encounter charts). Now, there's nothing inherently wrong with that approach and I think, in the case of both Lolth's layer of the Abyss and the Astral Plane, it works reasonably well. In the case of Gladsheim, though, I don't think it does – or at least, it's not enough to do so.

For me, the problem – then and now – is that Gladsheim is boring. As described, it's a realm that's not too dissimilar to most vanilla fantasy worlds. That's not Gladsheim's fault really; it's more a consequence of the fact that Norse mythology is so rich with cool monsters and magic and gods and so forth that fantasy writers, including the writers of Dungeons & Dragons, have been looting them for decades. Unlike, say, the bizarre void of the Astral Plane or the malevolent chaos of the Abyss, Gladsheim is just like northern Europe – which is what a lot of fantasy settings are already like. What really sets it apart?

Moreover, as a realm populated by lots of gods who are worshiped on the Prime Material Plane, the scope of what characters can do in Gladsheim is necessarily limited. Cause too much mayhem and they'll draw the attention of Odin or Thor and that's not likely to end well for them. I get the sense that Moore might have recognized this on some level, because he also wrote an accompanying adventure, "Aesirhamar," that's set on Gladsheim as an example of the kinds of things he expected characters could do here. I appreciate that, even if I'm not convinced his answer is an especially good one. However, I'll save my comments about the adventure till next week, because I think it's worthy of a separate post. For now, I'll simply say that I can now see why Planescape opted for such a strange and idiosyncratic approach to the planes. Like it or hate, at least it's different.

Troubleshooting (Part II)

Troubleshooting (Part II) by James Maliszewski

A New Frame for Thousand Suns

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Pulp Fantasy Library: Yours Truly, Jack the Ripper

First published in the July 1943 issue of Weird Tales, Robert Bloch’s “Yours Truly, Jack the Ripper” remains one of the author’s most famous short stories. In less than a dozen pages, Bloch manages to do what few others had attempted: to transplant one of history’s most notorious murderers into the modern world and suggest that his evil was not an isolated eruption of Victorian depravity but rather something timeless and ongoing.

The story’s plot is simple but clever. Set in contemporary Chicago, it follows Sir Guy Hollis, a visiting Englishman who approaches a skeptical American psychiatrist, John Carmody, with the extraordinary claim that Jack the Ripper still lives. Hollis explains that the Ripper was no mere man but an occultist who discovered a means of prolonging his life through ritual murder. The killings, he insists, have continued for decades, always masked by local crimes. Carmody humors Hollis, until a twist ending reveals the truth in classic pulp fashion, namely, that the Ripper is indeed alive and much closer than anyone suspected.

Despite its shock ending, Bloch’s tale is more than a clever “gotcha” story. It’s a condensation of the author’s lifelong preoccupations with the psychology of evil and the thin membrane separating reason from madness. Bloch's Ripper is not a shadowy figure from the past but a symbol of the persistence of violence and the darkness within modernity itself. The idea of evil as immortal, adaptable, and perversely rational is one Bloch would return to repeatedly, most famously in his novel Psycho, adapted into the even more famous Alfred Hitchcock film of the same name. Bloch's fascination with hidden monstrosity under a civilized veneer runs through “Yours Truly, Jack the Ripper,” which expertly combines the analytic tone of mid-century crime fiction with the lurid, occult sensibility of Weird Tales.

The story also marks a bridge between two eras of pulp horror. Bloch’s early mentor, H. P. Lovecraft, had encouraged him to look beyond imitation and find his own unique take on horror. “Yours Truly, Jack the Ripper” shows that lesson fully absorbed. While Lovecraft looked outward to cosmic terrors, Bloch looked inward to psychological ones. His Ripper is a mortal man sustained by unholy ritual rather than an inhuman being, yet he represents a similar idea – that horror is not confined to a time or a place but an enduring truth about existence.

Other pulp writers of the same era, such as Seabury Quinn and August Derleth, had already blended supernatural elements with the detective story, but Bloch’s version somehow feels more modern than their efforts. Its clipped dialogue, urban setting, and psychiatric framing anticipate the tone of postwar noir as much as the supernatural mystery. The story’s success, both in Weird Tales and in the numerous anthologies that reprinted it, helped establish Bloch as a master of the short form and demonstrated that pulp horror could engage with contemporary anxieties rather than remain trapped in the past.

Bloch himself would later revisit the central idea of this story in a different medium. For the television series, Star Trek, he wrote the 1967 episode “Wolf in the Fold,” which imagines Jack the Ripper as an incorporeal entity feeding on fear across time and space. The science-fictional reframing underscores how adaptable the premise is and how central it was to Bloch’s conception of evil as rational and enduring. That Star Trek episode, like the 1943 story, reflects his belief that horror is never merely historical. Instead, it’s part of Man, wherever and whenever he lives.

I first encountered this story in a 1977 Del Rey anthology of Bloch's short stories whose cover is inspired by "That Hell-Bound Train," another of the stories found within it. Re-reading it for this post, I think “Yours Truly, Jack the Ripper” still holds up as a sharp, efficient masterpiece of pulp horror. Its structure is almost textbook in its presentation, its atmosphere thick with tension, and its theme of evil as an ongoing contagion remains hauntingly relevant. Visible within the story are both the legacy of Weird Tales and the seed of the more psychological horror that would dominate the second half of the twentieth century. It’s a story that, like its title character, refuses to die.

AMA

Late last year, when I thought my House of Worms Empire of the Petal Throne campaign was only a few weeks from ending — shows what I know! — I mentioned that I planned to let the players ask me questions about the campaign, particularly about what things looked like “on the other side of the screen,” so to speak. I’ve always believed in a certain degree of transparency when it comes to what I do as referee. None of it is “secret knowledge,” so long as revealing it doesn’t spoil or diminish the experience of play.

Now that House of Worms has finally come to an end, I’m happy to answer any questions the players might have.

For that matter, I’m happy to answer questions from readers as well. If you’re curious about the campaign, post your questions in the comments below and I’ll do my best to respond. Some answers might be lengthy enough to warrant their own posts and that’s fine. I already have several more pieces about the campaign and its conclusion planned for the weeks ahead, so they’ll fit right in. House of Worms may have ended, but after more than a decade of regular play, there’s still plenty more to say about it.

Uncomfortable Truths

Uncomfortable Truths by James Maliszewski

Thoughts Occasioned by Reviews

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Retrospective: The Whispering Vault

For a long time, my Retrospective posts have focused on games and products from the so-called Golden and Silver Ages of Dungeons & Dragons, which is to say, the first fifteen or so years of the hobby. It was an arbitrary boundary, sure, but it also matched my own introduction to RPGs and, judging by reader comments, it often matched theirs too.

Alas, time moves on and here we are in 2025. Even the mid-1990s are now three decades in the past, which makes it worth looking back at some of the games from that era that have been overlooked. These titles might not feel “old school” in the classic sense and that’s okay. Grognardia has never been solely about old school gaming; it’s also about my memories of my own early days – and that sometimes means revisiting games that came later, but which still left a mark.

One of those games is The Whispering Vault, a small-press horror RPG that feels like a strange, almost forgotten cousin to the more well-known Vampire: The Masquerade. Written by Mike Nystul (of Nystul's magic aura fame) and published in 1994, The Whispering Vault focuses on Stalkers, immortal beings who carry out their cosmic hunt in a weird, unsettling universe. The game's approach to horror is quite distinctive, especially when compared to other horror games before or during its initial release, being at once heroic, moral, and surreal. 

Where Vampire (and the rest of White Wolf's "World of Darkness" games) explored personal horror and moral ambiguity, The Whispering Vault offered something equally unusual: a horror game in which the characters are empowered, not paralyzed, by the supernatural. Its Stalkers are once-mortal agents of the Primal Powers who move between the Realm of Flesh and the Realm of Essence to hunt the Unbidden, alien intruders whose presence corrupts reality. Each Stalker inhabits a personal Domain in the Realm of Essence and manifests in the mortal world through a Vessel, a form that conceals his inhuman nature while retaining traces of his former self. 

Mechanically, the game is fairly simple, using dice pools, attribute checks, and the judicious use of Disciplines and Servitors allow for a kind of "cinematic," narrative-driven play without bogging down in minutiae. While the system is easy to grasp, the game’s appeal lay more in its structure and tone. The Hunts on which the Stalkers went provided a clear goal, while the Stalkers’ moral and metaphysical responsibilities gave their work weight. Horror came not from helplessness, but from obligation, from the consequences of failing to protect the Realm of Flesh, and from confronting entities whose motives are alien and inscrutable.

The result is a game that feels both very much of its time and ahead of it. Its publisher, Pariah Press, was small and didn't have great reach. Likewise, the game's dense, sometimes opaque terminology kept it from reaching a broad audience. However, those who did find a copy found it strangely intriguing, helped no doubt by its excellent and evocative art. The Whispering Vault was nothing like older horror RPGs, like Call of Cthulhu, nor did it bare more than a superficial resemblance to White Wolf's stable. Instead, it offered a distinct, almost heroic take on horror. 

As I mentioned previously, the Stalkers’ role is to mend the damage caused by the Unbidden, restore balance, and act as moral agents in a world most people cannot perceive. The game supports this through mechanics such as the Five Keys, objects that anchor a Stalker’s identity and powers, and through the structure of their Hunts. Hunts are self-contained scenarios, intended for use as pick-up games, which is another way that The Whispering Vault sets itself apart from other horror games. Though campaign play is, of course, possible and supported, it's not the only way to approach the game, nor was it what it was originally designed for.

For years, I only ever heard about The Whispering Vault without seeing it in stores. When I finally obtained a copy, nearly a decade after its release, it was easy to miss the sense of novelty that had made the game so appealing in the ’90s. Many of its ideas had already filtered into other games by then, diluting its impact on me. Even so, it’s worth remembering what made the game unique. It occupies a fascinating space between horror, myth, and metaphysical speculation. Its focus on heroism, moral responsibility, and imaginative interpretations of supernatural threats makes it a game that I think sets it apart even now. I've still never had the chance to play it, but one day I'd like to.

The Mutable Dreamlands (Part I)

Here's another public post from my Patreon about the development of Dream-Quest. As always, I invite comments on the post, since I'm still turning over ideas in my head and appreciate other perspectives. In this particular case, I have a pretty good idea of how I plan to proceed, but it's still good to hear from others.

The Articles of Dragon: "Playing the Political Game"

Sometimes, an article, adventure, or even an entire game can exert a peculiar kind of influence over you, even though, viewed objectively, it’s not especially remarkable. I don’t mean that it’s bad, only that what it offers is, on the surface, mostly common sense. Most readers would nod in agreement, turn the page, and quickly forget about it – but you’re not most readers. For whatever reason, the author’s words reach you at exactly the right time and something clicks. The ideas linger. They grow. They shape how you see the hobby and, in some small but lasting way, how you play.

That’s what happened to me with “Playing the Political Game” by Mike Beeman, published in issue #90 of Dragon (October 1984). Beeman isn’t a name I associate with any other major contributions to the magazine and, by most measures, this article isn’t a landmark. Yet, when I first read it, just shy of my fifteenth birthday, it was nothing short of a revelation. It was the first time anyone had suggested to me that politics could be the central focus of adventures or even entire campaigns.

Beeman argues that politics isn’t an intrusion into fantasy roleplaying but its natural evolution. After all, nearly everything adventurers do already has political consequences, whether toppling tyrants, slaying monsters that guard vital resources, or flooding a town’s economy with treasure. At low levels, these effects remain background noise. But as heroes rise in power by claiming fiefs, leading troops, and  attracting followers, they inevitably become political actors. So why not embrace that reality deliberately and make politics a conscious part of the game’s action?

He goes further, contending that political play adds depth, realism, and moral challenge to a campaign. Where the dungeon tests courage and cunning, the court tests judgment and restraint. Ruling a realm or maneuvering among rival nobles requires players to think beyond combat rolls and saving throws, to weigh alliances, read motives, and face the consequences of their decisions. Politics, in Beeman’s hands, becomes not a dry digression but a stage for high-stakes, character-driven adventure.

What made the article truly stand out to me, though, was how practical it was. Beeman treats political scenarios as a kind of “social dungeon,” where familiar design principles still apply but in subtler ways. The setting might be a player’s own domain or a foreign court; the plot a brewing war, a trade dispute, or a palace intrigue; and the monsters a web of scheming nobles, rival factions, and hidden traitors. Clues replace traps, words replace weapons, and mystery, not combat, drives the scenario.

Even more memorably, Beeman classifies political adventures into distinct types – military, economic, commercial, internal security, and revolt – each offering a different framework for turning governance and intrigue into adventure. In doing so, he sketches a vision of AD&D that extends far beyond treasure maps and monster lairs. It's a world that feels alive and reactive, where power comes with responsibility and every decision has weight.

I won’t claim that “Playing the Political Game” is a forgotten masterpiece. Most of its ideas are, in hindsight, obvious. But for me, as a teenager discovering what roleplaying could be, it was transformative. It suggested that fantasy worlds could be more than stages for combat. They could be societies, with all the peril and promise that entails. Decades later, politics and intrigue have become my stock in trade as a referee and I can still trace that fascination back to Beeman’s unassuming article. It's a reminder that sometimes, the right words at the right time can change the way you play forever.