Friday, June 24, 2022
Simplifying BRP Combat?
Wednesday, June 22, 2022
Retrospective: Operation: Rapidstrike!
I have many fond memories of TSR's espionage roleplaying game, Top Secret. My friends and I regularly played it as part of our rotation of RPGs that weren't Dungeons & Dragons. Though Top Secret is not without its problems, we had a lot of fun with it. I typically acted as the Administrator, which meant that it fell to me to come up with the missions for the player character agents. This rarely bothered me; I'd seen enough espionage-related movies and TV shows to have ready sources of ideas.
Like many referees, though, I sometimes appreciated having someone else do the heavy lifting for me, which is where pre-made adventures like Operation: Rapidstrike! came in. Written by Mike Carr (of In Search of the Unknown fame) and Corey Koebernick (husband of the Jean Wells) and published in 1980, Rapidstrike! is the first adventure module sold separately from the Top Secret boxed set. Consequently, I was quite keen to pick it up after its release, hoping that it would make a nice change of pace from my own "original" scenarios.
The character agents are assigned to infiltrate a pharmaceutical research facility located on an island off the coast of Africa. The facility is owned by a wealthy Frenchwoman, Geneviève Larreau, with a history of anti-Western agitation. Also located on the island is Felix Fendelmann, a Nobel Prize-winning Swiss scientist who disappeared from his laboratory several months previously. Reliable sources suggest that Fendelmann is developing Zucor, "a mind-expanding drug of incredible power," which Larreau hopes to use to undermine the nations of Europe and North America. All in all, it's a fairly typical plot for the pulpy spy thrillers of the era, not too different, for example, from 1969's Bond outing, On Her Majesty's Secret Service.
As an adventure, Operation: Rapidstrike! is, in effect, a dungeon crawl, with the characters sneaking from room to room of Larreau's facility, fighting her guards and evading the traps placed therein. As I would later discover, this is more or less the template of most Top Secret adventures published by TSR. There's not a lot of espionage to be had here; it's mostly an infiltration and elimination module, with the requisite amount of gunplay and associated mayhem. I don't think any of us much minded at the time, since Top Secret's various combat-related sub-systems were among its attractions for us. Likewise, the module was originally intended, as Carr explains in his foreword, for use at a GenCon tournament, which necessitated a fairly straightforward – and deadly – scenario. (I continue to wonder how the history of the hobby might have changed had fewer of TSR's published modules not originated in the tournament scene.)
Nowadays, I'd judge Operation: Rapidstrike! a fair bit more harshly than would my younger self. As I said, it's a rather limited, smash-and-grab situation, more like a special operations mission than something calling for the world's greatest spies. Mind you, that's the eternal problem with espionage roleplaying games: how do you incorporate more than a couple of player characters into a campaign without its becoming a mess? Parties of dungeon explorers make sense, but spies? Not so much, hence the inevitable morphing of the game's ostensible genre into something more closely resembling SEAL Team Six (or, more likely, the A-Team) than anything from James Bond or The Man from U.N.C.L.E.
Despite these criticisms, I nevertheless retain an affection for Rapidstrike! My friends and I enjoyed ourselves while using it, which is the ultimate seal of approval when it comes to entertainment of this sort. Nowadays, I think the module's main value might be in some of its artwork, created by the likes of such legends as Jeff Dee, David LaForce, Bill Willingham, Jim Roslof, and Erol Otus. Otus, in particular, offers up some truly memorable illustrations, such as this one depicting the effects of the drug Zucor on any agent foolish enough to ingest it. Good times!
Tuesday, June 21, 2022
White Dwarf: Issue #39
Issue #39 (March 1983) of White Dwarf sports not only a cover by Nicholas Bibby (who also did last month's cover) but also a new cover logo and non-justified text, the latter of which makes its articles much easier on the eyes (or mine, at any rate). Another addition is a book review column by Dave Langford. In addition, Ian Livingstone mentions in his editorial that this issue is just the start of changes to the magazine. Future issues will include more original fiction, a comic strip, and a column devoted to boardgames.
Kicking off the issue is part one of "Inhuman Gods" by Phil Masters. The article presents a half-dozen gods for various nonhuman D&D monsters, such as the aaracokra from the Fiend Folio and the desert raiders from issue #12 of White Dwarf. This is the kind of article I ate up when I was younger and, even now, I can appreciate the creativity that went into imagining the types of deities "lesser" species must worship. Nowadays, my natural inclination is toward greater simplicity when it comes to gods and cosmological questions, so I don't favor the "a god for every monster" approach employed here.
"Open Box" reviews four of TSR's "Endless Quest" choose-your-own-adventure books, including Dungeon of Dread. The reviewer, Marcus L. Rowland, judges them individually, with the lowest receiving 5 out of 10 and the highest 7 out of 10. All, he says, are clearly geared toward younger readers and suffer from "a surfeit of lucky coincidences, cute talking animals, and lousy dialogue." I can't really disagree. Also reviewed is Citybook 1 from Flying Buffalo (7 out of 10) and four Traveller adventures. The first two are by FASA: Rescue on Galatea (6 out of 10) and The Trail of the Sky Raiders (8 out of 10). The other pair are from GDW: Prison Planet (5 out of 10) and Double Adventure 6: Divine Intervention/Night of Conquest (9 out of 10). I'll readily grant that Prison Planet isn't among GDW's best work, but I likely wouldn't judge it as low the reviewer, Andy Slack.
"Runeblades" by Dave Morris presents rules for creating rune weapons for Chaosium's non-Gloranthan RuneQuest setting, Questworld. I can't say it impressed me much, since it's effectively just a collection of magic swords, none of which stood out as unique in the annals of RPG history. Similarly, part four of "An Introduction to Traveller" by Andy Slack is a bit of a letdown. This installment focuses on campaigns, specifically the kinds of decisions a referee must make before starting a new Traveller campaign. I suppose an utter neophyte might find its discussions of size, scope, the presence of Earthlike worlds, alien races genuinely insightful. For myself, it's more of the same I've read many times in many different places – too bad, as Slack often produced some of the best Traveller material to be found anywhere.
"Slayground" by Marcus L. Rowland is a Champions scenario set at a London fun fair, where three supervillains are causing mayhem. The main attraction here (pun slightly intended) is the environment, which offers unique options for superheroic fisticuffs. It's also interesting to see a Champions adventure in the pages of WD, something I can't recall being a common feature. "Stand By to Repel Boarders" by Andrew Miller is a good, if short, article about starship security in Traveller. Miller discusses airlocks and iris valves, as well as tactics for fighting in enclosed spaces aboard spacegoing vessels. It's a niche article but a useful one, especially if your Traveller adventures sometimes include a little Snapshot-style action.
"The Daughter of Danu" by Alan E. and Charles M. Paull is an AD&D adventure that makes use of the faerie information presented in issues #37 and #38. The scenario is geared toward characters of levels 2-4 and concerns the troubles experienced by a rural village beset by two different tribes of warring goblins, each of which is trying to curry the favor of Black Annis. It's a classic set-up, trite even, but the faerie lore details add just enough spice to make it seem fresh.
Dave Langford's premier "Critical Mass" column reviews several science fiction and fantasy books, the most significant of which are Arthur C. Clarke's 2010: Odyssey Two, Isaac Asimov's Foundation's Edge, and Robert Heinlein's Friday. Langford likes the first book and has mixed feelings about the second two. Having read all three, I can't say I disagree with his assessment, though I think I probably disliked Friday more than he seems to have. Reading this column is fascinating, primarily because it engenders strange feelings of nostalgia of the time before science fiction and (especially) fantasy literature had become as big as they are today. Also, am I really old enough to remember new books by Clarke, Asimov, and Heinlein? Yikes.
"A Day in the Life of a Monster" by Lewis Pulsipher is an examination of monster intelligence and how it might influence their motivations. Pulsipher even includes a simple system to aid the referee in deciding the goals of a monster (or group of monsters). "Monster Mash" presents two new monsters for use with RuneQuest and "Non-Player Characters" by Roger and Georgia Moore presents three detailed NPCs for use with AD&D (including Konun the Halfling (the joke should be obvious).
All in all, it's a good issue, with lots of varied content. This is quite close to what I think of when I remember White Dwarf: a mix of long and short articles for use with many games but with D&D, RuneQuest, and Traveller predominating, as God intended. What's not to like?
Monday, June 20, 2022
Pulp Fantasy Library: The Planet of the Dead
I've been in something of a Clark Ashton Smith mood lately, re-reading not only his more well-known tales, such as those of the Hyperborea or Zothique cycles, but some of his less celebrated ones. "The Planet of the Dead," first appearing in the March 1932 issue of Weird Tales, arguably falls into this latter category and it's not difficult to understand why.
Much of Smith's fictional output is decidedly lacking when it comes to plot, especially when compared to his fellow pulp writers. He is much more focused on evoking feelings in his readers than on presenting a straightforward narrative. That's not to say he has no interest in action, but it often takes a backseat to mood. That's certainly the case in "The Planet of the Dead," whose story, while present, is much less important than the emotions Smith hoped to conjure with it.
To get a sense of what I mean, consider the opening of the story:
By profession, Francis Melchior was a dealer in antiques; by avocation he was an astronomer. Thus he contrived to placate, if not to satisfy, two needs of a somewhat complex and unusual temperament. Through his occupation, he gratified in a measure his craving for all things that have been steeped in the mortuary shadows of dead ages, in the dusky amber flames of long-sunken suns; all things that have about them the irresoluble mystery of departed time. And through his avocation, he found a ready path to exotic realms in further space, to the only spheres where his fancy could dwell in freedom and his dreams could know contentment. For Melchior was one of those who are born with an immedicable distaste for all that is present or near at hand; one of those who have drunk too lightly of oblivion and have not wholly forgotten the transcendent glories of other aeons, and the worlds from which they were exiled into human birth; so that their furtive, restless thoughts and dim, unquenchable longings return obscurely toward the vanishing shores of a lost heritage. The earth is too narrow for such, and the compass of mortal time is too brief; and paucity and barrenness are everywhere; and in all places their lot is a never-ending weariness.A reader is either immediately entranced by prose of this sort or is put off by it; there's rarely a middle ground. I've sometimes described Smith's word as incantatory, though, in this case, I'd probably use the word hypnotic. The passage doesn't simply introduce us to the tale's protagonist, whose name recalls (not coincidentally, I suspect) one of the Magi who followed a star to the birthplace of Christ, but also acclimates the reader to its tone – contemplative, melancholic, wistful.
Melchior, we learn, has achieved some measure of success as a dealer in antiques, enough that he doesn't worry much about material needs. At the same time, "he had never cared to marry," "had made no intimate friends; and he lacked many of the interests which, in the eyes of the average person, are supposed to characterize a normal human being." I hesitate to suggest this sounds more than a little bit like Smith himself, but it does, doesn't it?
In any event, Melchior devotes himself to studying
one minute star in a wide-flung constellation south of the Milky Way. It was barely discernible to the naked eye; and even through his telescope, it gave an impression of cosmic solitude and remoteness such as he had never felt in any other orb. It allured him more than the moon-surrounded planets or the first-magnitude stars with their flaming spectra; and he returned to it again and again, forsaking for its lonely point of light the marvelous manifold rings of Saturn and the cloudy zone of Venus and the intricate coils of the nebula of Andromeda.
One evening, the star seems to look "a little larger and brighter than usual" and viewing it elicits an excitement within Melchior that makes him feel as if "he was peering downwards into a vast, vertiginous abyss." Before long, he loses consciousness and, when he awakes, he finds himself in another place, one at once alien and familiar. After a few moments of confusion, he realizes the truth.
He [was] Antarion, a renowned poet of the land of Charmalos, in the elder world that was known to its living peoples by the name of Phandiom, had gone on a brief journey to a neighboring realm. In the course of this journey, a distressing dream had befallen him — the dream of a tedious. unprofitable life as one Francis Melchior, in a quite unpleasant and peculiar sort of planet, lying somewhere on the farther side of the universe. He was unable to recall exactly when and where he had been beset by this dream; and he had no idea how long it had lasted: but at any rate, he was glad to be rid of it, and glad that he was now approaching his native city of Saddoth, where dwelt in her and splendid palace of past aeons the beautiful Thameera. whom he loved. Now, once more, after the obscure clouding of that dream, his mind was full of the wisdom of and his heart was illumed by a thousand memories of Thameera; and was darkened at whiles by an old anxiety concerning her.
Not without reason had Melchior been fascinated by things antique and by things that are far away. For the world wherein he walked as Antarion was incomputably and the ages of its history were too many for remembrance: and the towering obelisks and piles along the paven road were the high tombs, the proud monuments of its immemorial dead, who had come to outnumber infinitely the living. In more than the pomp of earthly kings, the dead were housed in Phandiom; and their cities loomed insuperably vast, with never-ending streets and prodigious spires, above those lesser abodes wherein the living dwelt. And throughout Phandiom the bygone years were a tangible presence, an air that enveloped all; and the people were steeped in the crepuscular gloom of antiquity; and were wise with all manner of accumulated lore; and were subtle in the practise of strange refinements, of erudite perversities, of all that can shroud with artful opulence and grace and variety the bare uncouth cadaver of life, or hide from mortal vision the leering skull of death. And here, in Saddoth, beyond the domes and terraces and columns of the huge necropolis, a necromantic flower wherein forgotten lilies live again, there bloomed the superb and sorrowful loveliness of Thameera.
This is a common theme in Smith's work. Whether by means of sorcery, science, or the transmigration of souls, a man of our Earth realizes that he belongs elsewhere. Earth is, at best, a place of exile, if not torment, and he only truly comes into himself when somehow liberated from the dreary. humdrum existence of "everyday" life. There's a powerful, mournful longing in these tales, as the protagonist grapples with the fact that it is only by leaving behind all that he knows – or thought he knew – that he can ever experience the elation for which his soul was made. It's heady stuff, particularly for any reader who might himself have felt that he, too, did not fit in.
Smith might well be called a romantic. However, he was not a sentimentalist and so what happens to Melchior – which is to say, Antarion – now that he has returned "home" is not without its own share of sadness. That's what elevates "The Planet of the Dead" beyond mere wish fulfillment and makes a story that while far from Smith's best, is nevertheless well worth reading.
Thursday, June 16, 2022
Retrospective: Curse of Xanathon
I have strangely fond memories of the Dungeons & Dragons adventure module, Curse of Xanathon. I say "strangely fond," because it's not a very good module, even if one grades it on a curve, many people do. My personal fondness stems not from the adventure itself, but from the fact that it's the first D&D module a member of my extended family purchased for me.
Though my love of D&D and other RPGs was well known to my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, none of them really understand this new obsession of mine. Even my favorite aunt, who'd introduced me to Star Trek, taken me to see Star Wars, and got me Darren McGavin's autograph, took a while to fathom what roleplaying games were all about. That's why her gift of Curse of Xanathon to me on my birthday still sticks with me decades later.
Published in 1982 and written by Douglas Niles, Curse of Xanathon – or The Curse of Xanathon, since the interior text is inconsistent on this point – is the third module written for use with the D&D Expert Set. The suggested level range is 5–7, which I consider a mechanical sweet spot for D&D. The module opens with "Notes for the Dungeon Master" that are well worth examining, since they shed some light on its shortcomings:
The Curse of Xanathon is an unusual module, in that much of the players’ actions will be in the form of detective work, as they try to discover clues to the problem plaguing the town. Once they have located these clues, they will have to decide on a proper course of action. If they make wrong decisions, they could conceivably waste much time and obtain no results. You, as the DM, will need a careful touch to keep the players on the right track without making solutions and objectives too obvious.
I find it remarkable that, even as late as 1982, the conflation of "player" and "player character" is still occurring. That aside, you should already be able to see the source of the module's problems. Niles explicitly presents Curse of Xanathon as an investigative scenario, in which the characters' actions depend on the discovery of clues. Because scenarios of this sort are prone to going awry, he counsels the DM to "keep the players on the right track," even he warns against "making solutions and objectives too obvious."
Niles goes on:
Much information is included in the various scenarios, and astute players will no doubt be able to determine the proper course of action at each stage of the adventure. If a group of players is unfamiliar with this type of detective game, they may become frustrated or disinterested. The DM is encouraged to offer additional clues whenever these would seem to be necessary. This can be handled in a number of ways. For example, the High Priest of Forsetta, who moves around in a beggar’s disguise, is introduced in Scenario 1. The DM should feel free to use this character whenever necessary as a source of information and guidance to the party. He will never join in any adventuring, however!
Hard as I might wish to do so, I find this paragraph difficult to defend. While I suspect that all but the most intransigent referees have occasionally thrown a metaphorical bone in the direction of hapless players from time to time, the use of an non-player character as suggested here is a very bad practice to encourage, despite his final admonition. Curse of Xanathon isn't quite a railroad, as the term is traditionally used, but the High Priest is a railroad conductor who regularly pops up throughout the scenario to nudge the characters in the "right" direction.
The mystery the characters must investigate is the strange behavior of Duke Steven Rhoona, a previously good and just ruler, who has lately been issuing nonsensical decrees, such as that all taxes must be paid in beer rather than gold and that all horses must be ridden backwards, with the rider facing the horse's tail. His subjects fear the duke has gone mad, but the truth is he's fallen under the titular curse of the Chaotic priest, Xanathon. Xanathon is an agent of a nearby nation; he's been sent to foment rebellion in the duchy as a prelude to invasion.
As a premise, it's a perfectly fine one for an adventure focusing on investigation and intrigue and Niles does provide a number of useful tools for the referee to aid in this. For example, there are tables of rumors and tavern names, as well as an overview of the businesses and NPCs of the duchy's capital, not to mention a map. Likewise, there are five distinct sections of the adventure, each of which deals with finding or follow up on certain clues. These sections each take place in a different locale, with their own unique elements and denizens, like the Chaotic shrine and the ducal palace. The guts of Curse of Xanathon are solid, evocative of earlier location-based adventures.
However, it's clear that a sea change has overcome module design at TSR by this point. A stronger sense of "plot" has begun to creep in, along with narrative crutches like the aforementioned High Priest NPC, who pops in and out of the adventure as needed to ensure the characters keep heading toward the inevitable resolution of their tasks. This isn't full-blown Dragonlance-style "story," but it's certainly heading in that direction. At the time I was given Curse of Xanathon, none of this was at all obvious to me. Re-reading now, though, it's impossible not to see the signs of the impending Hickman Revolution and all that it would eventually entail.
Wednesday, June 15, 2022
White Dwarf: Issue #38
Speaking of Traveller, "Open Box" begins with an extensive review of The Traveller Book, which I have previously called "the perfect RPG book." The reviewer, Phil Masters, thought well of it, too, though not as well as I do, as he gave it "only" a 9 out of 10. Also reviewed is Dicing With Dragons, a book – one of several released around this time – intended to introduce newcomers to the still largely unknown hobby of roleplaying. I own a copy and think it's a pretty good example of its type. The reviewer, Marcus L. Rowland, agreed and gave it a score of 9 out of 10. Finally, there's a joint review of Traitor and The Spirit Stones, two scenarios for use with Chaosium's Thieves' World. Until I read this review (which judges both 7 out of 10), I'd forgotten about the existence of these adventures, which I never owned but whose advertisements I remember from old FASA catalogs.
"Faerie Denizens" by Alan E. Paul is a follow-up to last month's "Faeries" article. Paull presents a collection of nine new AD&D monsters drawn from British and Celtic folklore, ranging from redcaps to spriggans to phookas. It's an excellent assortment of new monsters, varied in the abilities and disposition toward non-faerie creatures. As I've said many times before, I'm a sucker for monster write-ups drawn from real world myths and legends, so I'm likely biased strongly in favor of articles of this sort. Nevertheless, I think Paull did a genuinely good job here.
"Questworld" is a very short article by Oliver Dickinson and Bob McWilliams, in which they provide an overview of the RuneQuest's oft-forgotten non-Gloranthan setting for the game. More than that, the article highlights the fact that Chaosium was actively seeking outside submissions from writers interested in developing Questworld. I've long been intrigued by this path not taken for RuneQuest, so I was glad to see this article, however short. One of these weeks I should dedicate a post or two about Questworld and its development (or lack thereof).
"Khazad Dûm" is an AD&D scenario written by Lewis Pulsipher. As its title suggests, the adventure is set in Tolkien's Middle-earth, specifically the abandoned dwarven city known to later generations as Moria. Pulsipher presents this as a beginners' scenario, complete with pregenerated characters based on those in The Fellowship of the Ring. The game stats he provides for the characters are interesting, with Gandalf being judged an 8th-level cleric – shades of Gary Gygax! – Aragorn a "ranger-paladin" hybrid, and Frodo a 2nd-level fighter, to cite just three examples. Pulsipher's version of Moria is a thoroughly D&D-ized one, with spiders, ghouls, and wights being presents alongside the more obvious goblins, orcs, and trolls. It's a simultaneously odd yet compelling vision of the place, one that rather powerfully evokes odd goulash of fantasy inspirations and influences of the era. Rather than being critical of it, I find myself charmed.
"Digital Dragons" by Noel Williams is another article that evokes the era, but in a different way. Williams opines about the ways in which personal computers might eventually prove important in the hobby. Many of his intuitions have since proven correct but it took a lot longer for them to come to pass than he probably expected in 1983. "Monsters Have Feelings Too" by Oliver MacDonald is much what you'd expect: it's an exhortation to referees to make better use of monsters by considering not just their abilities but also how they might think about the world. Accompanying the article is one possible illustration of this advice in the form of :Extracts from the Uruk-Hai Battle Manual" by Graeme Davis. It's presented as a short in-setting document that outlines the strategy and tactics to be employed by orcs under different circumstances. There are thus sections of the use of spells and traps, appropriate weapons and armor, and the use of terrain, among many other topics. It's quite well done and useful, though it's written in a clear, concise way that is at odds with my own natural conception of orcs as not being particularly deep thinkers, but your mileage may vary.
"Lords of the Spirit World" by Dave Morris provides rules for powerful spirits for use with RuneQuest. The article, though short, is a welcome one, especially in RQ games where spirit magic plays an important role. Meanwhile, "Treasure Chest" presents five new spells for AD&D, none of which really struck me as groundbreaking. Mind you, I have never been the target audience for new spells – I think AD&D already has more than enough in the Players Handbook – but, even so, these aren't anything speical.
Issue #38 of White Dwarf is a good one, at least from a nostalgia point of view. Several times while reading it I was transported back to the bygone world of four decades ago, when fantasy roleplaying still possessed a wild, untamed energy to it I don't think it's possessed in many years.
Monday, June 13, 2022
Suspense in the 1920s
Pulp Fantasy Library: The Return of the Sorcerer
When it comes to the work of Clark Ashton Smith, my own preferences tend toward his fantasy output, particularly those set in Averoigne, Hyperborea, and Zothique. However, nearly all of Smith's work is tinged with horror, which is why it should come as no surprise that produced numerous tales which is much more explicitly horrific in nature.
One of his most well known (and anthologized) horror stories is "The Return of the Sorcerer," which first appeared in the September 1931 issue of Strange Tales of Mystery and Horror. The tale is influenced by the work of H.P. Lovecraft, with the blasphemous Necronomicon playing a central role in its narrative. Smith shared a typescript of the story with HPL in early 1931, who had kind things to say about it, though he did make several suggestions for heightening its tension. Smith embraced these suggestions with enthusiasm and the result is a creditable, occasionally frightful yarn in the best tradition of the pulps.
Told in the first person, "The Return of the Sorcerer" tells the tale of Ogden, a scholar who "had been out of work for several months" and whose "savings were perilously close to the vanishing point." I find it difficult, upon reading those lines, not to think of Smith himself, who often engaged in all manner of odd jobs, including manual labor, to make ends meet. Ogden has recently applied for the position of secretary to John Carnby, an aged scholar living "at the end of a hill-top avenue in the suburbs of Oakland." Ogden's application is successful, owing to his knowledge of Arabic, which Carnby explains is absolutely essential to his own researches.
Though overjoyed at finding gainful – and potentially intellectually stimulating – employment, Ogden is nevertheless put off by Carnby himself.
He had all the earmarks of the lonely scholar who has devoted patient years to some line of erudite research. He was thin and bent, with a massive forehead and a mane of grizzled hair; and the pallor of the library was on his hollow, clean-shaven cheeks. But coupled with this, there was a nerve-shattered air, a fearful shrinking that was more than the normal shyness of a recluse, and an unceasing apprehensiveness that betrayed itself in every glance of his dark-ringed, feverish eyes and every movement of his bony hands. In all likelihood his health had been seriously impaired by over-application; and I could not help but wonder at the nature of the studies that had made him a tremulous wreck But there was something about him — perhaps the width of his bowed shoulders and the bold aquilinity of his facial outlines — which gave the impression of great former strength and a vigor not yet wholly exhausted.
His voice was unexpectedly deep and sonorous.
Carnby asks Ogden to move in with him, which he does immediately, despite his reservations – well-founded, we soon learn – about his patron.
"I have made a life-study of demonism and sorcery," he declared. "It is a fascinating field, and one that is singularly neglected. I am now preparing a monograph, in which I am trying to correlate the magical practices and demon-worship of every known age and people. Your labors, at least for a while, will consist in typing and arranging the voluminous preliminary notes which I have made, and in helping me to track down other references and correspondences. Your knowledge of Arabic will be invaluable to me, for I am none too well-grounded in this language myself, and I am depending for certain essential data on a copy of the Necronomicon in the original Arabic text. I have reason to think that there are certain omissions and erroneous renderings in the Latin version of Olaus Wormius."
Ogden "had heard of this rare, well-nigh fabulous volume but had never seen it." He had also heard of its sinister reputation as a source of "the ultimate secrets of evil and forbidden knowledge." After dinner on the first night of his employment, Carnby shows his secretary the book in question.
It was enormously old, and was bound in ebony covers arabesqued with silver and set with darkly glowing garnets. When I opened the yellowing pages, I drew back with involuntary revulsion at the odor which arose from them — an odor that was more than suggestive of physical decay, as if the book had lain among corpses in some forgotten graveyard and had taken on the taint of dissolution.
Carnby is quite keen that Ogden should translate a section of the Arabic text that is absent in the later Latin translation. This Ogden does, his rough translation being the following:
"It is verily known by few, but is nevertheless no attestable fact, that the will of a dead sorcerer hath power upon his own body and can raise it up from the tomb and perform therewith whatever action was unfulfilled in life. And such resurrections are invariably for the doing of malevolent deeds and for the detriment of other's. Most readily can the corpse be animated if all its members have remained intact; and yet there are cases in which the excelling will of the wizard hath reared up from death the sundered pieces of a body hewn in many fragments, and hath caused them to serve his end, either separately or in a temporary reunion. But in every instance, after the action hath been completed, the body lapseth into its former state."
Though Ogden deems the passage "errant gibberish," Carnby is pleased with his translation, even as he seems to become even more anxious than before. It's at this point that the reader is treated to the story's first serious intimations of horror:
I heard an indescribable slithering noise in the hall outside. But when I finished the paragraph and looked up at Carnby, I was more startled by the expression of stark, staring fear which his features had assumed — an expression as of one who is haunted by some hellish phantom. Somehow, I got the feeling that he was listening to that odd noise in the hallway rather than to my translation of Abdul Alhazred.
"The house is full of rats,' he explained, as he caught my inquiring glance. 'I have never been able to get rid of them, with all my efforts."
I spoil nothing by telling you there are no rats in Carnby's house.
"The Return of the Sorcerer," while not Smith's best work, is still an engagingly grisly tale of the dangers inherent in practicing the Black Arts. I can't quite good so far as to say the tale is fun, but there is something of a joyous ghoulishness in the building tension, as CAS provides more and more clues to the reader about just what is happening. It's the kind of story one might expect to have found in the pages of EC Comics a generation later. If that's the sort of thing you enjoy, you can't go wrong with "The Return of the Sorcerer."
Friday, June 10, 2022
High Lethality
Thursday, June 9, 2022
The Tékumel Interview
Last week, Sean McCoy, designer of Mothership, asked me if I'd be willing to be interviewed about my experiences refereeing my ongoing House of Worms Empire of the Petal Throne campaign. Sean was particularly interested in what I'd done to keep the campaign running for the last seven years and I hope I provided some answers useful to others. Since I return to blogging almost two years ago, I've been beating the drum for long campaigns, but I recognize that this is outside many people's experiences, which is why I keep talking about it. Odds are it'll remain a significant theme on Grognardia for quite some time to come.
In any case, the interview has been posted here, if you're interested. (Apologies in advance: the interview long and the font size on Sean's blog is quite small.)
Gold as Experience
As characters meet monsters in mortal combat and defeat them, and when they obtain various forms of treasure (money, gems, jewelry, magical items, etc.), they gain "experience". This adds to their experience point total, gradually moving them upwards through the levels.–Dungeons & Dragons, Volume 1, p. 18 (1974)
The importance of finding treasure to a character's level advancement is a foundational feature of the Gygaxian presentation of D&D. In fact, after the publication of Greyhawk in 1975, which introduced a new – and less rewarding – method for calculating the XP of defeating monsters, finding treasure only rose became more importance. In AD&D, which uses a roughly similar system, Gygax explains that the system is intended to be an abstraction rather than reflective the in-game activities by which a character might "actually" advance in the skills and abilities of his chosen class.
I have never had any significant problems with this set-up. I accepted it without question when I was first introduced to D&D more than forty years ago and have made good use of it in multiple campaigns in the years since (including in my D&D-derived Empire of the Petal Throne campaign). I largely agree with Gygax that it's a perfectly workable compromise for a game whose rules don't (generally) possess a high degree of detail (see the one-minute combat round as another example of this in action).
However – you knew there'd be a "however" – I've been thinking lately about the need for experience and advancement systems for roleplaying games. In doing so, I began to think about the idea of using gold and other monetary treasure in a slightly different way. In Chaosium's RuneQuest, characters can improve both characteristics and skills through training. This training takes two things: time and money. A character who lacks either cannot make use of this method of improvement and must instead rely on the much more unpredictable method of experience rolls after the successful use of a skill in an adventure. It's worth noting, too, that even spells are acquired by "buying" them, usually from a cult.
Beginning characters often lack sufficient funds to buy all the training and spells they desire. That's why the cults and guilds of RuneQuest sometimes extend credit to neophytes, enabling them to take on a debt in exchange for training. This not only makes beginning characters a little more prepared for the adventuring life than they would otherwise be, but it establishes a connection between the character and the cult. In this way, beginning characters are immediately connected to the setting, one the referee can then use in the course of the campaign. It's an inspired idea to my mind and one I think more games should look to for inspiration.
This brings me back to the use of gold as a measure of experience in Dungeons & Dragons. As I've been thinking about this matter, I find myself wanting something akin to RuneQuest. Instead of a character simply improving all of his class-based abilities as soon as his experience total reaches a certain threshold, wouldn't it be more interesting – I won't say "realistic" – if instead he could use his gold to buy training that improved his abilities piecemeal. For example, he could employ a weapons master to increase his combat skills or acquire access to new spells at the sorcerer's guild and so on. Even mechanics like hit points and saving throws could be acquired through training of some sort or another.
Now, I realize that AD&D at least already possesses training rules and that, to some extent, they exist to explain the purpose of the large sums of money needed to gain new levels. However, like so much in D&D and its descendants, they're very abstract, more abstract, I would argue, than many similar systems in the game. Mind you, I speak from some degree of ignorance, since I cannot recall ever having made use of these rules, nor did I ever know anyone who had, until relatively recently. It's quite possible that AD&D's rules work very well and achieve the kind of in-setting connection I increasingly see as vital to a campaign's long term success.
One thing the AD&D training rules do seem to do is take time. Much like those in RuneQuest, a character will spend weeks of in-game time training the new abilities he's acquired upon gaining a level. That's something I very much appreciate. Between my House of Worms campaign and the Pendragon campaign in which I'm currently playing, I am more convinced than ever that a long campaign should encompass years or in-game time, with characters and events growing and changing in the process. This is an area where RPGs excel and it ought to be embraced.
Wednesday, June 8, 2022
Retrospective: Tarsus
A common knock against the official Third Imperium setting for GDW's Traveller is that it's simply too big. Encompassing 11,000 worlds spread over nearly 300 subsectors, there's simply no way a referee can make use of it all except in a cursory way. Even a single sector, like the Spinward Marches or Solomani Rim, still contains close to 500 planets. The end result is that, for all its breadth and diversity, the Third Imperium will be little than an abstraction in most campaigns that make use of it.
There's more than a little truth to this criticism, though, at the same time, I also feel that using the Third Imperium as a loose backdrop is exactly what the referee should be doing. Focusing too much on large scale sector-wide events, like the Fifth Frontier War, is precisely where GDW went wrong in its later development of Traveller. In my opinion, the company – and the game – would have been much better served by focusing instead on smaller scale details, such as individual subsectors or even worlds.
While the much celebrated The Traveller Adventure did the former, 1983's Tarsus: World Beyond the Frontier did the latter and did it very well indeed. Located in the unaligned District 268 subsector of the Spinward Marches, Tarsus is a non-industrial, agricultural world that's home to some 2.2 million human beings. Consequently, it's something of a backwater planet, though it maintains economic ties to both the Imperium, which it hopes to join one day, and other nearby interstellar powers, like the Sword Worlds.
Tarsus was released as a boxed set and included a 24-page World Data book (written by Marc Miller and Loren Wiseman) that detailed the planet, its history, local government, ecology, and more; a color map of the planet; a color map of an important region of the planet (Tangle Wald); a map of District 268 subsector; five 4-page adventure pamphlets; and a dozen pre-generated character cards. It's an excellent collection of material, attractively presented. Taken together, the referee has more than enough information to provide many months' worth of adventure on Tarsus itself, even longer if the characters eventually expand their scope beyond the planet itself to its neighbors in the subsector.
With its focus on agriculture and ranching nobbles (a large, horned, grazing animal), Tarsus has a vaguely Western feel to it. The whole planet reminded me of an unincorporated territory of the 19th century United States, on the verge of consideration for statehood, with various interests lobbying one way or the other. Indeed, there's much discussion of the voting system employed on Tarsus, which not only allows the open buying and selling of votes but also the buying and selling of them by newcomers to Tarsus. By law, only individuals can hold votes, though they may hold multiple votes, and may freely vote on behalf of others, like offworld corporations, that cannot themselves legally vote. It's a situation ripe for political machinations and corruption – not to mention adventure.
Of course, there's more to Tarsus than political maneuvering. The planet is a giant sandbox, with plenty of scope for a variety of approaches to its content. Player characters could, for example, become involved in nobble ranching, working for or against a megacorporation, exploring the Tangle Wald, cataloging the planet's native life, and more. There are also several flashpoints for armed conflict, as well as mercenary company in need of new recruits. This is in addition to the presence of many local patrons, a staple of Traveller adventures and a good way to kick off a campaign or extended adventure on this frontier world.
If one were to complain about Tarsus, it's that the information it presents about the planet and its conflicts is diffuse. The referee needs to read through all the included material several times to get a good handle on it, but, to my mind, that's the job of any good referee. Having done so, the referee should have little trouble keeping things the players and their characters engaged for a long time. With so many worlds in the Third Imperium, Tarsus is thus a good example of the kind of thing I wish GDW had done more often: fleshing out a single world in sufficient detail to demonstrate how much fun could be had be spending an extended period of time there. The game is called Traveller for a reason, to be sure; that doesn't mean the characters should always be on the move, Tarsus is a world worth visiting.
Tuesday, June 7, 2022
You Want the Treasure
White Dwarf: Issue #37
When I say "brief," I mean it. None of the ideas is fully fleshed out and most are only a paragraph or two long. Like the "Introduction to Traveller" piece earlier, it's hard to judge articles like this in retrospect. I can only say that I wasn't inspired, let alone blown away, by any of the ideas presented here. How much of that reflects my current vantage point is hard to say. Much more compelling was this month's installment of the "Fiend Factory," which presents four new monster species, the standout being the weed-delvers, a race of ancient cephalopods that ruled the seas eons ago. Also called the Wet Ones, the weed-delvers come in three varieties and are Chaotic Neutral in alignment, meaning the referee can use them in a multitude of ways, not simply as straight up antagonists.
Monday, June 6, 2022
Create Exciting Color Pictures with Light!
I'm a well-known meanie when it comes to the brandification (and kiddie-fication) of Dungeons & Dragons by TSR in the mid-1980s. For that reason, I apologize in advance for my instinctive disdain of products like the Dungeons & Dragons Lite-Brite Picture Refill. Bear in mind that, in 1984, when this was released, I was almost 15 years old and at the height of my adolescent snobbery. That 15 year-old still slumbers within my middle-aged shell. When I look at images like this one, it's hard to keep him in check.
On first glance, I wondered why Bozo the Clown was pictured on the front of this thing. As I looked closer, I realized that the kids were in fact creating an image of Strongheart the Paladin, but I can't be the only one who had to squint to recognize him, can I?Are Character Advancement Rules Necessary?
I mention this because twice in recent weeks I've been asked about how I handle character advancement in my ongoing House of Worms Empire of the Petal Throne campaign. Though obviously derived from OD&D, EPT includes a number of unique mechanical features, including reduced experience points as characters rise in level. The practical effect of these reductions is that, unless one's campaign is focused very heavily on underworld exploration and the acquisition of huge amounts of treasure, character progression stalls out at about level 6 or 7. That's what has happened in House of Worms.
In Traveller, once you've generated your character, his characteristics or skill levels will probably never improve (though characteristics can decrease, due to the effects of aging). As the game explains,
Characters already know their basic physical and mental parameters; their basic educational and physical development have already occurred, and further improvement can only take place through dedicated endeavor. Experience gained as the character travels and adventures is, in a very real sense, an increased ability to play the role which he or she has assumed.
This is a dramatic counterpoint to the approach of D&D or indeed almost any other roleplaying game, where regular mechanical improvement is, if not the entire point of the game, a major feature of it. Traveller, by contrast, largely eschews this; the "reward" of playing Traveller over time is "increased ability to play the role" the player has adopted. In other words, the player becomes more experienced rather than his character.
Note the distinction I made: regular mechanical improvement, by which I meant things like increased hit points, combat ability, saving throws, etc. Traveller provides little scope for that after character generation and yet, despite their absence, I can't recall a single complaint from anyone with whom I've played the game over the years. Certainly no one in my Riphaeus Sector campaign was aggrieved by this state of affairs. Of course, a lack of regular mechanical improvements is not the same thing as a lack of all improvements. Whenever I've played Traveller, the characters have improved, through the acquisition of better gear, greater knowledge, and more far-reaching influence. None of this is insignificant and, in fact, I would argue that most of these non-mechanical improvements ultimately have longer-lasting consequences (particularly in long campaigns).
This is certainly what I have observed in the House of Worms campaign. Though no player character has acquired any new hit points or spells in a very long time, I don't think anyone involved in the campaign would attempt to make the claim that his character hasn't improved with time. For example, the characters began, seven years ago, as minor scions of the mid-ranked House of Worms clan in the city of Sokátis. Through a combination of skill, cleverness, and dumb luck, they're now in positions of some power and influence within Tsolyánu. In addition, they've learned more about the world of Tékumel, knowledge that has served them well as they attempt to unravel the mysteries of Achgé Peninsula. As in my Traveller campaigns of old, not a single player has ever complained about his character's "lack of improvement."
Perhaps unsurprisingly, as I continue to work – albeit more slowly than I'd hoped – on The Secrets of sha-Arthan, the question of the mechanical improvement of characters is something I'm pondering. Are character advancement rules even necessary? Do we simply include them in nearly every RPG simply because D&D did so in 1974? I haven't made up my mind on this matter, but, between a lifetime of playing Traveller and the last seven years of my House of Worms campaign, I'm seriously beginning to wonder about their presumed necessity. At the very least, I'm looking more closely at experience and advancement than I have until now, with an eye toward understanding their purpose and effect on gameplay. What can we learn from Traveller and might its approach not be a better one than the never-ending mechanical escalation of Dungeons & Dragons?
Dungeon Dragon Battle
For those of you into 3D printing, you might find this reproduction of the iconic Erol Otus cover to the 1981 Dungeons & Dragons Basic Set interesting. I know next to nothing about 3D printing – or painting for that matter – but it's hard not to be impressed by this!
Pulp Fantasy Library: Enchantress of Venus
The surface of the Red Sea closed without a ripple over Stark. There was a burst of crimson sparks, a momentary trail of flame going down like a drowned comet, and then—nothing.Stark dropped slowly downward through a strange world. There was no difficulty about breathing, as in a sea of water. The gases of the Red Sea support life quite well, and the creatures that dwell in it have almost normal lungs.Stark did not pay much attention at first, except to keep his balance automatically. He was still dazed from the blow, and he was raging with anger and pain.
Properly scientific or not, this is evocative stuff and a reminder of why Brackett made such a splash (no pun intended) in the world of pulp fantasy during the 1940s and '50s.
Emerging from the sea, Stark makes his way to Shuruun in search of Helvi. He is almost immediately recognized as a stranger by the locals, who confront him and appear ready to attack. Before this can occur, a white-haired Earthman named Larrabee calls out and invites him to drink with him. Larrabee, we soon learn, is a notorious thief who "got half a million credits out of the strong room of the Royal Venus." In the nine years since, he has holed up in Shuruun to avoid being found by the authorities. When Stark introduces himself, Larrabee mentions that he knows his name from a wanted poster as "some idiot that had led a native revolt somewhere in the Jovian Colonies—a big cold-eyed brute they referred to colorfully as the wild man from Mercury."
Stark is amused by this description of himself but soon shifts the conversation to local matters, in particular the whereabouts of Helvi. Larrabee claims not to have seen him and instead speaks of the Lhari, "the Lords of Shuruun," who are "always glad to meet strangers." Hearing this, Stark decides he to call on the Lhari to see if they might know something about Helvi. Along the way, he meets Zareth, the teenage daughter of Malthor, who'd been sent into Shuruun to find him and then lure him into an ambush outside the city. Then, he'd be handed over to "the Lost Ones," who dwell in the interior of the swamp and have an interest in strangers like Stark. Zareth doesn't follow through on her father's plans, though, because he beats her and she hates him. However, she has no interest in joining Stark in visiting the Lhari, who frighten her as much as her father.
If you're having difficulty keeping all these narrative threads – Malthor, the Lhari, the Lost Ones – straight in your head, that's understandable. Brackett throws a lot at her readers at the beginning of "The Enchantress of Venus" and its can be confusing at times. Fortunately, she's a very skilled writer and repays the patience and forbearance shown to her. By the time Stark enters the castle of the Lhari and meets them, in all their decadent glory, for the first time, that things begin to make a great deal more sense. In some ways, that's the real beginning of the novella and the action barrels along from that point until it reaches its ultimate, satisfying conclusion. It's a lot of fun to read and reminds me, in some ways, like many of Robert E. Howard's tales of Conan the Cimmerian: a "wild" outsider finds himself caught up in the machinations of several sinister factions and must find a way to extricate himself from their clutches. What's not to love?