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.