King and Aces

Marc Miller, creator of Traveller, and one of the three founders of Game Designers' Workshop also attended Gamehole Con this year, as he does most years. I first met Marc many years ago, at the Origins Game Fair in 1991, which was, I believe, the last time the con was held in my hometown of Baltimore. I was a member of a Traveller fan organization called the History of the Imperium Working Group (HIWG) and several of us present at the con wanted to pitch some ideas to GDW for (Mega)Traveller adventures and supplements. We wound up going out to dinner with Marc, Chuck Gannon, and the Japanese translators of Traveller. We didn't succeed in our quest, but I did have the chance to meet several wonderful people, including Marc, with whom I've stayed in contact over the years.

Marc held several panels, one of which was devoted to the history of GDW. Every person who arrived in the conference room was given a deck of cards Marc had printed through DriveThruRPG. He's a big fan of specialized decks of cards and often brings them for sale at conventions. The decks he gave us were devoted to the topic of the panel. The face cards all featured important people in the history of the company, like Marc Miller, Loren Wiseman, and Frank Chadwick, while the number cards all featured games it had published, like Traveller, Twilight: 2000, or Space: 1889 (along with lots of wargames, of course). 

During the panel, Marc would go around the room, point to someone and ask them to draw a card randomly from the deck they'd been given. After doing so, the person would then read what was on the card and Marc will talk for a while about the person or game in question. In this way, the cards provided some focus for the discussion rather than relying solely on audience questions. Another benefit is that light was often shed on individuals or games that might otherwise not get discussed, like Chaco, a wargame about the 1932–1936 war between Bolivia and Paraguay. The game is one of Miller's earliest designs and was created, in part, as an educational tool to teach about South American history.

All the panels at Gamehole Con were too short – only an hour. They were all held in the same room, with a new one starting every hour on the hour, all day, every day. That meant that there was often a rush toward the end of each panel that caused a fair bit of disruption, as overzealous gamers tried to enter an ongoing panel before it was actually ended. I would have much preferred fewer, longer panels, so that we could luxuriate a bit in the stories and memories of the guests. 

In the case of Marc Miller, he has so many stories. He's now 77 years old and has been involved in the hobbies of wargaming and roleplaying for more than half a century. Yet, his memory is incredibly sharp and, with age, I think he's acquired a perspective that's refreshing in its humility. He talked a lot about how, as in the case of TSR, no one really knew what they were doing at GDW. They were making it all up as they went, having fun as they explored new ideas and took chances on making them reality. Some ideas were better than others and some approaches worked, but they learned a lot from each project, whether it proved a success or a failure. Marc expressed several times how blessed he'd been to have had the career he had, making games and making people happy. 

Not a bad legacy, eh?

Jump Dimming

Perhaps unsurprisingly, I don't like flying. I'm not afraid of flying; I just don't enjoy almost anything about the experience of it. However, to get to Madison, Wisconsin for Gamehole Con, I needed to take two planes – there are no direct flights from Toronto – and then, to return home, I needed to take two more. All four flights were fairly short (less than an hour), so I didn't spend much time on any of the aircraft. However, during one of the flights, the lights were dimmed just before landing. This is apparently for safety reasons having to do with ensuring the passengers' eyes are acclimated to low light in the event of an emergency at nighttime, or so I recently read.

To show how thoroughly my brain has been colonized by roleplaying games, my immediate thought, upon seeing the lights dimmed, was of Traveller. In the Third Imperium setting, there's a practice known as jump dimming. What happens is that a pilot dims the interior and exterior lights of his starship for about two minutes before entering jumpspace. During the early days of jump travel, a starship needed every joule of energy to power its computers and jump drives in order to create a stable jump field. That's no longer the case – if it ever was, since it's considered a superstition within the setting – but the practice persists among Vilani pilots, even thousands of years later.

I always thought it was a cool bit of setting detail, the kind of thing that helps bring the Third Imperium alive and distinguishes it from other science fiction settings. I especially liked it because it's described as being a superstition and that's the kind of thing that should exist, even in a sci-fi setting, and yet I rarerly see such things. Instead, most science fiction settings are rather dull and antiseptic, completely ignoring the way that human beings (and, presumably, other intelligent species) attempt to make sense of the universe by imposing on it an order and rationality that isn't always in evidence (and may indeed not even exist). So, score another one for Traveller. 

Except that jump dimming is a contrivance created for an adventure. Back in 1986, in the waning days of classic Traveller, before the publication of MegaTraveller, there was a licensed Traveller fanzine called The Travellers' Digest – more on that later this week – that I started reading in high school. Issue #4 includes an adventure called "The Gold of Zurrian" that take place entirely aboard a starship. During the two-minute period when the ship's lights are dimmed in preparation for jump, one of the passengers aboard is murdered. Solving her murder while in jumpspace forms the bulk of the scenario and the superstition of jump dimming was invented solely to provide cover for the murderer to do his dirty work.

The fact that jump dimming didn't exist prior to the publication of issue #4 of The Travellers' Digest does nothing to lessen my appreciation for this bit of worldbuilding. Indeed, I actually think that knowing its origins increases my appreciation for it. The writers at Digest Group Publications succeeded in creating something that felt completely plausible within the context of the Third Imperium setting, even though its ultimate origin was utilitarian: how to have a murder take place aboard a starship without being seen. In the years since, jump dimming has become an accepted, if minor, part of the Third Imperium setting. I doubt many players even know its origins or care.

I won't go so far as to say that something like jump dimming could only have come about in a roleplaying game, but I do think that RPGs frequently punch well above their weight when it comes to good ideas like this. This is especially true in games that are played regularly. Referees need to create all sorts of things in response to player actions or to set things up for a particular kind of in-game situation. I know I've done it countless times and I doubt I'm alone in this regard. To that end, if you've come up with something through play that then "ascended" to become a fixture of a game setting, I'd love to know about it in the comments. 

The History of TSR

L to R: Mike Mearls, Jeff Grubb, Ed Greenwood, Steve Winter, David Cook

While I was at Gamehole Con, I attended several panels featuring luminaries of the hobby. One of the best dealt with the history of TSR from the late 1970s through its purchase by Wizards of the Coast. Mike Mearls served as its moderator, but the real attraction were the panelists: Jeff Grubb, Ed Greenwood, Steve Winter, and David "Zeb" Cook. They're all depicted in the photograph above, taken by a friend of mine who also attended the panel. Despite my avowed dislike of smart phones, the ability to snap easily photos is something I regret not having. I met so many wonderful people, both famous and otherwise, that I regret I could take photos to commemorate the occasion. As I get older, I suspect that having such mementoes would be helpful in recalling places I'd gone and things I'd done. Oh, well!

The panel was jam-packed with lots of charming anecdotes of the panelists' time working for TSR, either directly, as in the case of Grubb, Winter, and Cook, or as a freelancer, as in the case of Greenwood. Indeed, one interesting story hinges on the fact that Ed Greenwood was never actually employed by TSR, except on a contract basis, even though many people falsely assume that he did (owing to how often his name appeared on TSR products). Ed recalled that he would often spend a week or so after GenCon each year, hanging around the TSR offices so that he could help plan the next year's release of Forgotten Realms products. 

While present in Lake Geneva, Greenwood was often asked by the staff designers and editors to act as their go-between with the dreaded Lorraine Williams, who ran the company after the ouster of Gary Gygax in 1986. According to Ed, Williams would always use the elevator to reach her office rather than the stairs. He would lay in wait near the elevator until she appeared and then get in the elevator with her. Once the elevator's doors had closed, he'd tell her something that needed saying but that none of the salaried employees could dare to say. Williams would listen and then ask Greenwood, "Do you work for me?" He'd emphatically reply, "No," and she'd reply, "I see," the implication being that, if he had been so employed, he no longer would have been. Williams sounds like she was a real piece of work.

Equally interesting was the fact that TSR Hobbies rarely knew what it was doing. The company survived and prospered largely due to just how popular Dungeons & Dragons was. TSR could afford to lurch from one decision to the next without any real plan, because D&D sold very well and TSR's creative staff did a good job of making products that gamers wanted. This lack of planning extended to the company's annual product schedule, many of whose products began simply as titles intended to fill an empty spot rather than anything more detailed. Cook mentioned a couple of humorous examples of this – the Expert-level module, The War Rafts of Kron and the Oriental Adventures scenario, Mad Monkey vs. The Dragon Claw. He came up with both titles, but it fell to the writers ultimately assigned to them to determine exactly what those title meant.

Another topic of discussion was why TSR produced so few products for the World of Greyhawk line. Apparently, it's a popular conspiracy theory among some fans that TSR hated Greyhawk or that there was an intention to slight Gygax's campaign setting. That's not true at all. There were many proposed Greyhawk products over the years that never saw the light of day. What prevented their being developed was Gygax himself. Since he was Greyhawk's creator, he had to sign off on any proposals for the game world. He was often too busy to do so in a timely manner and, as a consequence, these products were among the first to be cut from the schedule (during the annual "St. Valentine's Day Massacre," when, each February, the release schedule was adjusted and certain products were eliminated).

At the other end of the spectrum, the panelists also spoke very fondly of their days working for TSR, as well as the other editors, artists, writers, and designers with whom they worked. Lake Geneva is a small place and, based on the stories they told, very few people in town really understood what TSR Hobbies did, let alone played RPGs. Consequently, the creative staff became more than just colleagues: they were friends, too. I have to say that, more than anything else they said, this fact really touched me. I'm so happy to know that, despite all they had to put up with, they still look back on their days at the company – and at each other – with obvious affection. I've talked before about my own youthful attachment to TSR, so hearing that people who worked felt similarly does my heart good.

Sadly, the panel was only an hour long. I could easily have listened to the panelists talk for two or three times as long about their days at TSR and never gotten bored. Fortunately, Gamehole Con is a small enough con that it was very easy to find and approach these fine gentlemen on my own and chat with them a while about these and related topics. It's one of the best things about GHC – one of many – and I am so happy to have gone this year. I'm already looking forward to October 2025, so I can return.

Gaming with Allen Hammack

I played in several RPG sessions while at Gamehole Con this year. Though I enjoyed them all – and will eventually discuss each in turn – the one I most immediately want to talk about is The Ghost Tower of Inverness, refereed by its original author, Allen Hammack. The AD&D module was published in 1980, having been used before that as a tournament scenario for Winter Con VIII in late 1979. Like many tournament scenarios, this one is rather contrived in its set-up and features a funhouse dungeon filled with all manner of puzzles, trick, and traps. 

For the purposes of this post, I don't have a lot to say about the scenario itself, since it's old and probably quite well-known to most readers of this blog. Instead, what most interests me and that I think is most worthy of attention is the way Mr Hammack ran it at the table during the con. Bear in mind that Hammack was employed by TSR Hobbies between 1978 and 1982, where he worked as a writer, designer, and editor, primarily on the AD&D. I mention this to provide some context to what follows.

The module is designed for five pre-generated characters, all human – a fighter, a cleric, a magic-user, a thief, and a monk. I played the cleric, Zinethar the Wise, who was 9th level and, oddly, had slightly more hit points than the fighter. The module assumes that all the characters with the exception of the monk are condemned criminals who are offered the opportunity to escape imprisonment by undertaking a dangerous mission for the Duke of Urnst (in the World of Greyhawk), namely, the recovery of the Soul Gem from the titular Ghost Tower. I knew none of the other four players prior to play, so we had to learn to work together to succeed.

Mr Hammack is an older gentleman. I have no idea his actual age, but I suspect he's probably in his late 60s or early 70s at least. Despite this, his mind is very sharp, especially when it comes to the AD&D rules. More than once during the four hours we were at his table, a player asked a question about how, say, a spell functioned. Before someone could find the appropriate page in the Players Handbook, Hammack recalled the relevant information – and correctly. After a while, we learned to trust his memory over our ability to flip pages quickly. I bring all this up, because it supports my long-held contention that hobbies like roleplaying are good for the health of your brain. 

Given how well he remembered the rules of AD&D, another question that came up was how strict Mr Hammack would be in applying them. He chuckled and said that he was generally quite flexible about doing so, with a couple of exceptions. Going back to spells, Hammack explained that he is often loose with spell durations but he was more rigid about areas of effect. Likewise, he noted that he was loose with encumbrance, unless he felt a player was trying to take advantage of a situation. He then told a terrific story about how he and other AD&D players of his acquaintance would use 3×5 index cards for character sheets, with stats being written on the front and equipment on the back. Anything you could fit on the back of an index card – in legible writing – would probably not bring encumbrance penalties into effect. 

Mr Hammack's overall approach to rules was governed by common sense. He clearly knew the rules and was prepared to apply them when he felt it necessary or appropriate, but he never felt bound by them. Indeed, he could be talked out of applying them by a good argument from a player, as he was on at least one occasion. At the same time, Hammack was also quite clear that his decision was final. Once he'd made a decision and considered any input from the players, there was no further arguing of the point. That he was fair and judicious probably explains why no one argued with his final decisions – that we were all middle-aged men, not children probably helped, too. I found the whole experience quite refreshing, to be honest.

I should note that, despite his extensive knowledge of AD&D rules, Mr Hammack was not above introducing house rules into play. For example, there were many occasions when he asked us to roll under a character's ability score to determine if our characters succeeded at some action or other. Likewise, he made use of a simple critical hit/fumble mechanic that's definitely not something Gary Gygax would ever have approved of. The mechanic worked fine in play and even contributed to a number of fun moments, which was exactly what we all hoped for.

In sum, I had a great time at Allen Hammack's table. He was a charming, knowledgeable, and imaginative Dungeon Master and he made me appreciate how good a module The Ghost Tower of Inverness actually is. I consider myself very lucky to have played with him at Gamehole Con this year.

Unplugged

I am a Luddite. 

I know it's common for people to joke that they're technophobes, but I'm the real deal. I'm not merely a slow adopter of technology; I'm actively hostile towards many forms of tech, especially those whose function intrudes upon our everyday lives. Consequently, I do not now nor have I ever owned a mobile phone of any kind, including a smart phone, which I unironically believe is one of the most damnable pieces of technology man has ever conceived. 

Once I left my home last week for Gamehole Con in Madison, Wisconsin, I was effectively incommunicado. Without a phone, no one, not even my family, could reach me. I made prior arrangements with friends to meet me at the airport. However, if my flight were delayed or, as it turned out, arrived twenty minutes early, there was no way to inform them of this fact. The likelihood that there'd be some sort of schedule change either going to or coming back from the convention were high, since I had connecting flights both ways. That I encountered no airline problems was something of a minor miracle.

Of course, until about a quarter-century ago, most people didn't own mobile phones at all and they nevertheless traveled across the globe. Our current era of interconnectedness and instant availability is an aberration in historical terms, but most of us have become intensely accustomed to it, to the point that we can't even imagine anything different than our present circumstances. I know that, before the con, at least a couple of acquaintances asked me to hit them up on Discord when I arrived, so we could coordinate a time and a place to meet. Lacking the means to do that, we had to make do with more primitive means of meeting up. Fortunately, Gamehole Con is small enough that finding someone isn't that hard, if you're sufficiently motivated.

Of course, my friends all have smart phones, so I could simply borrow theirs to quickly check my email or Discord messages. In fact, I tried to do so. I say "tried," because, when I made the attempt, Discord noticed I was doing so from a location different from my usual one. To log in, I'd need to enter a code sent to my email address to confirm my identity. Alas, getting into my email proved similarly difficult, as Gmail, too, recognized I was not in my usual location and would only allow me to use it if I sent it a code that it had sent to my backup email address. Guess what happened next? That's right: an endless circle of dual factor authentication I could not circumvent by any means. 

Similarly, when I checked in at the con to collect my badge, I expected I'd also be given physical tickets for my various events, as I had in the past. Nope! I'm not sure when Gamehole Con transitioned to virtual tickets – it must have been sometime after 2018, when I last attended – but, whenever it was, I was now expected to make use of a smart phone to demonstrate my having paid and signed up for my events. I was able to rectify this with the organizers, who took pity upon me and printed out some tickets for me to carry around. However, the fact remains that Gamehole Con, like almost everything these days, simply takes it for granted that I must, of course, have a smart phone.

What's fascinating is that nearly everyone I encountered who learned of my lack of a phone expressed wistful admiration of me. "I wish I could do that!" or some variation of it were common statements. And the truth is that there are many benefits to not having a phone, especially at a convention. For instance, I was never once distracted by calls or notifications, as were too many people, even during games. I was free to focus on the matter at hand. When I was distracted, it was by something happening nearby in the real world, like the hoots and hollers of a nearby table, as a player rolled well (or badly) or as a man dressed as an orc and carrying a large ax walked by. I got to experience Gamehole Con unfiltered, unmediated by anything but my own senses. It was wonderful.

That's why I went to the convention, after all: to be present. I don't want to sound like some New Age guru spouting off platitudes about mindfulness, but I do think we too often miss out on valuable interactions and experiences because we're distracted by the ever-present allure of technology. The number of people I saw at the con sitting down and scrolling through their social media accounts was larger than I'd have liked it to have been (though far less than what I saw in airports or on planes – yikes!). I was in a unique position not to have the option to do this. I had no choice but to be present and aware of everything that was happening around me – and I believe I had a better time because of it.

Additionally, I was completely cut off from the news, whether local, national, international, or even just the news of our shared hobby. I fight against the notion that ignorance is bliss, but I can't that having no knowledge of what was going on in the world beyond what I could see and hear right in front me was a welcome respite, one that enabled me to enjoy myself more fully than I might otherwise have. I was at Gamehole Con to play some RPGs and hang out with friends, both old and new. Focusing on anything else would have been a distraction. Why would I want that?

Thoughts on Gamehole Con 2024 (Prologue)

As I've explained before, I first attended Gamehole Con in 2017 – my first convention since GenCon 2001 (unless one counts OSRCon). I enjoyed the experience enough to go back in 2018. I intended to do so again in 2019 until a run-in with a car at a crosswalk interceded. I also intended to return in 2020, but Fate once more prevented my doing so. By 2021, my nascent habit of attending GHC had been broken and I didn't seriously consider going once more until this year, thanks in no small part to the stated intention of a couple players in my Twilight: 2000 campaign to do so. 

That was the push I needed and I am grateful for it, because I had a blast at the con. Perhaps my favorite part was seeing people in the flesh. Though I've refereed the House of Worms campaign for nine and a half years now, I've met fewer than half of my players in person. Don't misunderstand me: I consider all my online players my friends and am deeply grateful for them and the time they spend with me, but hanging out and gaming at the same table together just feels right and good in ways that simply can't be replicated in a virtual space. Gamehole Con demonstrated this truth again and again.

Among the people I got to hang out and/or roll some dice with whose names you might recognize were:

• David "Zeb" Cook: Former TSR designer. 
• Jeff Grubb: Former TSR designer whom I first met years ago.
• Allen Hammack: Former TSR designer, who refereed me and four others in his classic AD&D modules, The Ghost Tower of Inverness (about which I'll have much more to say later).
• Jason Hobbs: Host of the Hobbs & Friends and Random Screed podcasts.
• Mike Mearls: Former WotC designer, now working with Chaosium. He refereed me and several others in a fun RuneQuest adventure scenario.
• Marc Miller: Creator of my favorite roleplaying game, Traveller, and one the nicest, most gracious people I know in the hobby – a true gentleman.
• Travis Miller: Fellow blogger, whose Grumpy Wizard site is devoted to sword-and-sorcery literature and old school gaming.
• Victor Raymond: An old and dear friend of mine, as well as my co-host on the Halls of Blue Illumination podcast.
• Seth Skorkowsky: Youtuber and author, who played the most awesome Yelmalio cultist in a RuneQuest session. 
• Steve Winter: Former TSR and WotC designer.
• Ronin Wong: Actor and fellow lover of Holmes Basic. 

There were undoubtedly others whose names I have forgotten – most importantly the wonderful people with whom I played AD&D, Hyperborea, and RuneQuest. They were the reason I went to Gamehole Con. I wanted to be with real, living people, unmediated by technology. I wanted to be able to see them, hear them, and touch them directly with my own senses. At one point, early in the con, I was out for lunch at a local bar with two of the players in my Twilight: 2000 campaign and I was immediately struck by how weird it was to hear their voices without wearing a headset and to see their faces without looking at a screen. Of course, that's not weird at all; it only seemed so because I'd spent so much of the last decade gaming online rather than across a table. Maybe that needs to change.

I left the convention incredibly energized and enthusiastic about this hobby of ours. Lots of ideas and plans – some of them no doubt harebrained – began to percolate in my brain. I'll be talking more about some of them in the days to come. Others I'll keep to myself for a while, since I can't be certain that they'll ever come to fruition (or indeed if they could). What I do know is that I am so glad I decided to return to Gamehole Con after too long an absence. I'm pretty sure I'll be making this an annual pilgrimage. I may also add another con to my schedule next year, too, perhaps GaryCon or North Texas RPG Con, depending on scheduling. If anyone has any thoughts or recommendations about either of them, I'd love to hear them.

More specific posts about my adventures in Madison, Wisconsin will follow in subsequent posts throughout the week.

Return

I am now safely returned to my lair, after spending a delightful five days in Madison, Wisconsin at Gamehole Con. I have a lot to share about my time there and the many fellow gamers, both well-known and otherwise, whom I met. Regular posting will resume later today or, more likely, tomorrow, as I'm still recuperating from my travels. 

Off to GHC

As I mentioned previously, I will be attending Gamehole Con this year. I leave for Madison, Wisconsin today and will return on Sunday. It's been several years since I was last at GHC and am looking forward to it, even though I absolutely loathe airline travel. There are quite a few people whom I'm keen to see in the flesh again and I'm sure I'll make the acquaintance many more over the course of the next few days. For the duration of my travels, I'll likely be offline, so I won't be able to answer emails or approve comments on the blog. I likewise won't have any new posts until a day or two after I return, since I'll likely be tired (though not, I hope, afflicted with the dreaded con crud). 

Until then!

The Articles of Dragon: "Languages Rules Leave Lots of Room"

Issue #66 of Dragon (October 1982) includes several different articles related to fantasy languages and their use in Dungeons & Dragons adventures and campaigns. While not all of them are good, several are – or at least are interesting enough that I still remember them after all these years, which is why I'll be devoting a few more posts to them, including today's. The first of these interesting language articles is A.D. Rogan's "Language Rules Leave Lots of Room for Creativity in Your Campaign." It's not the most inspired title by any means, nor does it really convey much about its content. Nevertheless, it does, in my opinion, raise some good questions about languages in (A)D&D and provides some intriguing answers to them.

The first thing one needs to know about this article is it's primarily concerned with linguistics, specifically the connections between languages, their degree of mutual intelligibility, and what sort of information a given language is capable of conveying. That probably sounds hopelessly nerdy, even within the context of RPGs, and it probably is. For a kid like me, who was deeply interested in foreign languages and their development, this was catnip. Add in that Rogan's article includes language trees showing how he imagines some of the demihuman, humanoid, and monster languages relate to one another (and, in some cases, to human languages), I found it really enjoyable.

Consider this language tree, which I hope is at least somewhat legible:

Here, Rogan makes connections between Middle Elfin and the languages of elven subspecies, woodland and fairy creatures, and even the secret language of the Druids. As I said above, it's hopelessly nerdy stuff, but simply looking at this language tree tells me a lot about the author's own fantasy setting. Ultimately, that's what makes the article so remarkable: it illustrates how something as specific as languages and their interrelationships can help to define a fantasy setting. 

Of course, Rogan doesn't limit himself to examining language trees, cool as I found that as a kid. He also devotes quite a lot of time to looking at what the AD&D rules say or imply about languages, literacy, and similar questions. As it turns out, the rules say quite a lot about these topics, though rarely in a cohesive way. That makes sense, since most of the comments are scattered across multiple books, written over the course of several years. Further, these comments are usually, like so much in Dungeons & Dragons, ad hoc rules put together to deal with specific problems, like how many languages can a character speak and so forth. Rogan attempts to make sense of them all, or at least raise questions for each referee to consider as he makes his own fantasy setting.

Naturally, I don't agree with all of Rogan's answers. For example, he assumes that members of the monk class must be illiterate, because they are unable to make use of scrolls and lack the thief's read languages ability. That's a defensible, if odd, extrapolation of the AD&D rules and one I don't share. However, it is, in my view, a good illustration of the kinds of things a referee might want to consider as he tackles the question of languages and literacy in his campaign setting, especially if that setting is an original one of his own creation. This article is, therefore, a useful one with a lot of recommend it. As I've said a couple of times already, I thought pretty highly of it in my youth and found, in re-reading it, that it still holds up reasonably well.

Our Toughest Challenge Ever

As if to prove my point, last week's Dark Sun posts have generated a lot of interest, not to mention comments, which I appreciate. Here's another ad for the setting, this time from issue #173 of Dragon (September 1991), the same issue as the Brom cover I previously highlighted.

Looking at this advertisement, I have several thoughts:

• It's important to remember TSR's D&D novels were very successful for the company, so it's no surprise that the release of the Dark Sun boxed set would also see the release of a novel at the same time, in this case Verdant Passage by Troy Denning. Though I never read any of them, there would eventually be thirteen novels published for Dark Sun during the TSR era.
• Speaking of TSR, is that not the logo at the bottom right the ugliest the company ever had?
• Once again, we see this ad emphasizes that Dark Sun is "the toughest AD&D game campaign ever published." I can't help but wonder what this is about. Was there a perception at the time that TSR's other settings, like Dragonlance or the Forgotten Realms, were "easy" or otherwise inadequate to the tastes of AD&D fans? My recollection, albeit from more than three decades ago, was that the 2e era was concerned far more with "story" and similar things, so I wouldn't have expected much clamor for a "challenging" setting. Perhaps that's the explanation? Could it have been that there some segment of the game's fans who felt the game had strayed too much from its roots and wanted a setting where death was ever-present? I wish I knew.

Wulfwald Bundle of Holding

Most people who read this blog are probably already familiar with the Bundle of Holding, which offers limited-time sales of tabletop RPGs in PDF form at bargain prices, with a portion of the revenue going to various charities. It's a great way to take a chance on a game or game line that interests you without having to blow a huge amount of money to do so. I've made use of it a few times myself and have never regretted it.

That's why I wanted to draw your attention to a new one that I think many readers will appreciate: Wulfwald. It's a low-fantasy, old school RPG inspired by Anglo-Saxon myths and legends. I bought a print copy of the game a couple of weeks ago and love it. I'm in the midst of writing a review for it, which I hope to have finished before I leave for Gamehole Con next week. However, the sale only runs until October 17 and I wanted to alert everyone to it now, in the event I don't complete that review before I depart.

For only $5.95, you get all five rulebooks in PDF form, along with an electronic black-and-white regional map of the game world drawn by the late, great Russ Nicholson. At that price, I think it's more than worth it and I highly recommend it to anyone fascinated by early medieval Britain.

The Darkest Shadows

Whatever one's feelings about the setting itself, Gerald Brom's artwork for Dark Sun was truly stunning. Take, for example, this piece which appeared on the cover of issue #173 of Dragon (September 1991), one month before the formal release of the boxed set. The issue featured a number of different articles intended to introduce Athas to the magazine's readers, but, for me, this cover image probably did more to sell me on Dark Sun than did any of those articles.

Character Trees

I hadn't intended to devote so many posts to Dark Sun, but they've proven quite popular and have generated a lot of discussion, so I thought I'd do a few more that I think have a wider relevance for fans of old school roleplaying games. In its advertising, TSR frequently described the world of Athas as AD&D's "toughest challenge ever." This train of thought can found throughout the boxed set's rulebook as well, such as this paragraph:

This paragraph appears under the section header "Character Trees," which continues:

Since it's been so long since I last read Dark Sun, I'd completely forgotten about the existence of character trees. When I re-read this section, I immediately thought of Goodman Games's Dungeon Crawl Classics Role Playing Game and its "character funnel." 

For those of you unfamiliar with a character funnel, it's an adventure for DCC RPG in which each player generates four 0-level characters to throw at its dangers. At the conclusion of the adventure, the player chooses which of these four – assuming any survived – to elevate to level 1 and become his player character. DCC is dangerous, even for characters of levels 1 and above; it's especially dangerous for level 0 characters. Consequently, many of them die during the course of a funnel and it's not at all uncommon for a player to have to generate a second (or third ...) set of four characters to get through the funnel with one still alive at the end. 

I've played through several funnels and they're a lot of fun. They're a great way to introduce new players to Dungeon Crawl Classics – not just its game mechanics but also its embracing of randomness as a gateway for unexpected fun. The other thing I really like about funnels is that I never know which of my four level 0 characters is going to be the one that makes it out alive. Often, it's the one I least expect, which I find delightful. Left to my own devices, I tend to fall into the same old ruts when it comes to generating a new character. Leaving the final decision to Fate breaks me free of that.

Now, Dark Sun's character tree concept is actually quite different from DCC's character funnel, but I nevertheless wondered if maybe there'd be some influence. The character tree is intended to provide players with a source of back-up characters whose levels are not too far below those of their current characters. This is a concern because the world of Athas is a dangerous one, player characters will die often. Since no one wants to replace a higher-level character with a 1st-level one, having three others as part of a tree is insurance against that. 

A player in Dark Sun may only play one character in his tree at a time. The other three are inactive and may only be activated between adventures, upon the death of the current character, or – rarely – during an adventure. Only the current characters gains experience points. However, upon the current character's gaining a level, one of the other three characters in the tree also goes up a level as well. This happens every time any played character in the tree advances. Ideally, the player will be swapping between characters, thereby ensuring that most of them are within a level or two of each other. Even if he doesn't, at least one of them should be fairly close to the level of his current character, thereby obviating the need to generate a new level 1 character.

I think there's something to the idea of a character tree, though it's really only needed if the referee is a stickler about requiring that a new character enter the campaign at level 1 without exception. It's been my experience that most referees are fairly flexible about this, though strict, by-the-book AD&D, even in the 2e era, discourages this practice. I've generally been more inclined to let replacement characters begin at or close to the average level of the remaining ones, but maybe I'm too lenient. I'd be curious to hear others' opinions about this, especially if they're based on experience born of play in a campaign.

The Dawn of a New World

Here's another teaser advertisement for Dark Sun, from Dragon #172 (August 1991) – a month before the formal release of the game. What stands out to me about this ad is that it calls the setting AD&D's "toughest challenge ever" or some variation thereof. This makes me wonder more about the genesis of the setting within TSR and what segment of the game's audience the company was hoping to attract.

A Drama of Unparalleled Heroics Unfolds

The second teaser advertisement for Dark Sun, this one appearing in issue #171 of Dragon (July 1991).

Coming This Fall ....

From issue #170 of Dragon (June 1991), the first of several teaser advertisements for the Dark Sun campaign setting.

Retrospective: Dark Sun

Having devoted last week's Retrospective post to The Complete Psionics Handbook, my thoughts inevitably turned to 1991's Dark Sun campaign setting – a setting specifically created to provide a place for Second Edition AD&D fans to make full use of the game's new psionics rules without having to worry about the potentially adverse effects these psychic powers might have on, say, the Forgotten Realms or the World of Greyhawk. 

Designed by Timothy B. Brown and Troy Denning, Dark Sun was presented as "a world ravaged by sorcery" and "the most challenging AD&D game world yet." This new setting took inspiration from both the post-apocalyptic and Dying Earth sub-genres, with a dash of Burroughsian sword-and-planet for good measure. Dark Sun was thus a significant departure from the vanilla fantasy of traditional D&D and AD&D. This departure wasn't just in terms of its content, but also its presentation, making ample use of the dark, edgy art of Gerald Brom and Thomas Baxa, two relative newcomers to TSR's stable of artists, who, together, created an esthetic for Dark Sun that clearly differentiated it from everything the company had previously done. 

Like all of TSR's settings for Second Edition, Dark Sun was released in a large, boxed set, filled to the brim with gaming materials. The two main components of the set were 96-page softcover books. The first of these, entitled simply "Rules Booklet," presented new and altered AD&D rules for use with the setting. The second, "The Wanderer's Journal," was an in-character presentation of the "arid and bleak" world of Athas, which is "beset by political strife and monstrous abominations, where life is grim and short." Also included was a 16-page booklet, "A Little Knowledge," which consists mostly of a short story but also includes details of an adventure. The adventure proper is presented in two small 24-page, spiralbound flip books, one of which has illustrations to show players, like those in Tomb of Horrors or Expedition to the Barrier Peaks. Also included are poster maps of the city-state of Tyr and the region in which it's situated, known as the Tablelands.

Before getting on to the actual content of the boxed set, I'd like to say a little more about its presentation. Dark Sun is an impressive package. I remember when I got copy of it, being quite taken aback not only by how much was included in the set, but also by the unique format it took. This was particularly true in the case of the flipbooks, something I'd never seen previously in an AD&D product (or indeed any RPG product that I can recall). I suspect that they were intended as something of an experiment by TSR, one that carried over into most of the adventures subsequently published for the setting. I never really warmed to this format, which was in my experience quite unwieldy, which is one of the reasons I didn't buy any of those adventures. I'll get to the other reason shortly.

Athas itself is a very imaginative and engaging setting – sort of a cross between Barsoom and Zothique. As presented in "The Wanderer's Journal," the world's history is fragmentary at best. All that is certain is that present-day Athas is a shadow of its former self, its land ravaged by sorcery run amok and littered with the ruins of happier, more sophisticated times. Now, Athasian civilization is centered around scattered city-states, each ruled by an immortal sorcerer-king, who protects his subjects from the dangers of the wasteland in return for utter obedience. The sorcerer-kings also war amongst themselves, each attempting to expand his control of the Tablelands at the expense of his rivals, while various factions within and without attempt to take advantage of the situation. 

Though intended for use with AD&D 2e, Dark Sun makes many changes to the standard rules and assumptions of the game. Though all of the usual AD&D races are available, many are changed significantly, like the halflings, who are wild, feral beings reputed to engage in cannibalism. Joining them are new races, like muls (half-human/half-dwarf hybrids bred for their hardiness), half-giants, and thri-kreen. Character classes are similarly affected, with all being changed (or outright disallowed, like the paladin) in some way. Wizards, for example, must decide whether to increase their power by employing defiling magic that destroys the environment – the reason Athas is now barren – while clerics serve not gods, which don't exist in this setting, but the elemental forces of nature. 

Psionics also play a major role in Athas, with psionicists being common throughout the setting's population. Most intelligent beings – and many unintelligent ones, like monsters – are able to wield the powers of the mind. Psionics is, in many ways, more important in Dark Sun than is magic, though both have their place. In fact, magic and psionics can be employed together and it's explained that the sorcerer-kings owe their power and immortality to being able to wield both. "The Wanderer's Journal" suggests in various places that the relationship between magic and psionics played some sort of role in the ancient apocalypse that laid waste to Athas, thereby setting up a mystery that would be explored in later supplements and adventures.

This is where, in my opinion, Dark Sun faltered. The adventures produced for it all centered around major events within the setting, like the slave revolt that overthrows the sorcerer-king of Tyr and establishes it as a free city. Later adventures build upon these events, further changing and altering the setting as Big Things happen in accordance with a plan established by TSR. This isn't an inherently terrible way of developing a setting, though it's not my preference. However, what made it frustrating was that many of the setting's big events, like the aforementioned defeat of the sorcerer-king, are the result of actions by named NPCs, not the player characters. Furthermore, some of these events even happen in the pages of tie-in novels rather than adventures – a testament, I suppose, of just how popular and lucrative AD&D novels were in those days.

It's a pity, because Dark Sun is a genuinely imaginative and unique take on fantasy. Athas is a great setting, one with lots of possibilities for adventure, as well as a style and feel that differs from everything else that TSR was producing at the time. I was blown away by Dark Sun when I first bought it and really wanted to run a campaign with it. That never happened, for many reasons, but a big one was that I worried that TSR would, through its adventures or novels, derail whatever it was I had in mind with their event-driven releases. To be fair, the company did the same to the Forgotten Realms as well, but the Realms had the benefit of being standard fantasy and thus there was little need for any official guidance on how to use it. Athas, being new and different, would have benefited immensely from some better adventure material to aid referees looking to make use of the setting.

This is why Dark Sun will always be, for me, "the one that got away" – a fantasy setting that could have been fantastic and groundbreaking but instead never really achieved its full potential. A shame!

The Articles of Dragon: "Thieves' Cant: A Primer"

A great weakness of mine is constructed languages. While I can't say for certain – there's always the possibility that something else is to blame – I think it's quite likely that Appendices E and F of The Lord of the Rings planted the seeds of this lifelong fascination. I spent an inordinate amount of time reading those sections at the back of The Return of the King, especially the pages that displayed the Tengwar and the Angerthas. Likewise, when I got hold of The Silmarillion, I paid special attention to its appendix about Quenya and Sindarin names. Along with an old Random House Dictionary of the English Language, whose inside covers had diagrams of the evolution of Latin script, these books pretty much ensured I'd be a conlang nerd for the rest of my life. 

Consequently, I always took great interest in language-related articles in Dragon or other RPG periodicals. Issue #66 (October 1982) featured several of these, all of which left a lasting impression on me. The first, which I'll discuss in this post, was ""Thieves' Cant: A primer for the language of larceny" by Aurelio Locsin. It's a fairly short article that is presented as a document from a fantasy setting detailing the grammar and vocabulary of Thieves' Cant, the secret language of thieves from Dungeons & Dragons. 

Now, Thieves' Cant had, prior to this point, never, so far as I know, been described at any length in any D&D product. The AD&D Players Handbook merely calls it thieves' "own language" and says nothing more about it. I suspect it was on this basis that Locsin formed his ideas about how to approach creating a Thieves' Cant language for use with the game. He wanted to come up with something that had all the features of a "real" language – nouns, pronouns, modifiers, verbs and tenses, etc. – while still being simple enough that it didn't require a degree in linguistics to understand, let alone make use of it.

Of course, that's the crux of it: how were you supposed to use Thieves' Cant? What was its purpose? The article itself, as I said, is short and is presented in a detached, quasi-academic way, as if written by a scholar or linguist from within a fantasy setting, who's now sharing this secret language with the reader. There's, therefore, not even a sidebar or bit of boxed text hinting at how players or Dungeon Masters might make use of this constructed language in their adventures or campaigns. Instead, it's simply described, complete with a section in the center of the magazine that's supposed to be removed and then cut and folded to produce a 32-page two-way pocket dictionary of the language.

Another equally frustrating issue with the article is its very basis. Locsin's vision of Thieves' Cant is of an actual language, with its own distinct grammar and vocabulary, just as Elvish or Orcish would have their own distinct elements. This seems completely wrongheaded to me. Historically, thieves, criminals, and other outcasts have had their own unique ways of communicating with one another – you know, a cant or jargon that's known primarily by other members of group in question. There are innumerable examples of this in the real world and very few of them were created from the ground up by inventing a new grammar and vocabulary. It seems highly unlikely that Thieves' Cant would be an exception.

As I recall, the reaction to this article, both in the letters column of future issues and in later articles about languages in D&D, was not positive. I can't say that I disagree with those reactions. Re-reading the article in preparation for writing this post reminded me of just how weird and ultimately useless it is. I hate saying that, because it's clear Locsin put some effort into inventing the grammar and vocabulary, but I'm still left wondering why? What did he think would be done with the language? Heck, what did he do with the language in his own campaigns? Had he written about that, even a little, it might well have improved the article's utility. As it is, "Thieves' Cant: A primer for the language of larceny" is just an oddity and nothing more.

Fortunately, I have better things to say about this issue's other articles about language.

Brotherly Love Bulletin

From issue #66 of Dragon (October 1982) comes this full-page advertisement for Gangbusters. I haven't played the game in decades, but it was a favorite of mine for a couple of years after its original release back in 1982. Though I haven't (yet) done so, I occasionally get the hankering to pull it off the shelf and play it again. It's a fun little RPG with a lot to recommend it. 

800-lb. Gorilla

Last week's post, Pretenders to the Throne, was occasioned by my frustration about the fact that, in general, posts about Dungeons & Dragons tend to get more views and generate more comments than those about any other RPG. Now, on one level, that's just common sense. Not only is D&D the first and most well-known roleplaying game, but it's also been the most popular one for a half century now. No matter how many players of other games might despair of this fact, it's true. Dungeons & Dragons is and always has been the only roleplaying game whose name is recognizable outside our little hobby – or indeed inside some segments of it. In my experience, there are far more gamers who play only D&D than there are gamers who play a wide variety of them.

As commenter Rick noted the other day, that's the power of branding. By getting to publication first and by having a title that's both evocative and easy to say, Dungeons & Dragons has a number of advantages that make it uniquely well placed to be the leader of the pack. I remember some years ago, back when Hasbro first bought Wizards of the Coast, reading an article in some business magazine that the name Dungeons & Dragons was one of best known in the world, alongside things like Coca-Cola and Kleenex. While most people had no real sense of what D&D actually was – most, I think, believed it to be some kind of video game – they nevertheless had at least heard of D&D, something that could not be said about any other RPG, no matter how successful or celebrated it was within the hobby.

Being the most well-known is not, of course, an indication of quality, a point frequently made by partisans of different, less-known brands, both within and without our hobby. Anyone who prefers Pepsi to Coke or Burger King to McDonald's, to cite just two rather prosaic examples, probably feels this way. Believe me, I'm sympathetic to this point of view. As a fan of Traveller, for example, I wish the game were better known, appreciated, and played than it is at present, but, as the old saying goes, if wishes were credits, beggars wouldn't need to travel by low passage. I make this joke to illustrate my point about just how obscure RPGs other than D&D are, even within the hobby. How many of you reading this post knew what I was talking about? (There's no need to answer that.)

I love lots of roleplaying games. Last year, I did a two-part post about my ten favorites – and I have many more besides. But I know only too well that, if I were to write lots of posts to discussing, say, Pendragon or Gamma World, they'd be among my least read posts and certainly the least commented upon. As you all know, I've been refereeing an Empire of the Petal Throne campaign for the last nine and a half years and, despite that, my posts about that campaign and its setting of Tékumel don't receive a lot of attention or comment. Don't misunderstand me: I completely understand why that is the case. Neither Empire of the Petal Throne nor Tékumel are widely known even within the hobby, so why would I expect posts about them to generate much attention?

And that's really my point. I write so much about Dungeons & Dragons and its history here, because D&D is the single most widely known and played roleplaying game, even in 2024. Those of us who enjoy more than just D&D are very apt to claim that we're presently living in a Golden Age of Roleplaying, with more games and more variety of games than ever before. That might well be true by some metrics, but, on one significant metric – popularity – nothing much has changed. Dungeons & Dragons remains the game most people are playing and that most people, even those of you reading this blog, are interested in reading about. It's not for nothing that I use a version of Trampier's iconic demon idol in my masthead.

What does this all mean? Honestly, I'm not sure. Though it's not my favorite RPG, I still very much like D&D, so I don't think there's any chance I'll stop writing posts about the game and its history. However, my frustration with the fact that it's those posts, with a few exceptions, that tend to generate the most interest is very real. I don't like writing stuff that garners little or no interest. Who, after all, likes to feel as if he's shouting into the void? At the same time, I cannot expect most readers are going to be familiar with all the same obscure things that I am or that they'll share my interest in the same. To some extent, if one is going to write for public consumption, one must write what will attract the most readers and, in my case, that means posts about Dungeons & Dragons. 

C'est la vie. 

What's a Campaign? (Part II)

Yesterday, I pointed out a section in The Traveller Adventure that describes it as a campaign and then defines a campaign as "a complete set of adventures which provides a slowly unfolding drama to explore, investigate, and conquer." As I reflected on this, I was reminded that the subtitle for Shadows of Yog-Sothoth, the first stand-alone adventure for Chaosium's Call of Cthulhu, is "A Global Campaign to Save Mankind." So, what exactly is a campaign, at least in the view of Chaosium, circa 1982 (a year before the publication of The Traveller Adventure)?

The introduction to Shadows of Yog-Sothoth includes a "How to Use This Book" section that provides some insight into this matter, though, as we'll see, there are still complexities to be explored.

Shadows of Yog-Sothoth is divided into two main sections. The first part is a lengthy campaign of seven scenarios, from which the entire book takes its name. The second part is much shorter, and is a pair of bonus scenarios; unrelated to the first part, or to each other.

The first part of the book is meant to be played as a fully campaign, and those scenarios should be followed in the order that they are laid out in this book ...

As with The Traveller Adventure, we say a campaign as being defined as a collection of linked scenarios built around a common focus, in this case defeating the plans of "a sinister occult organization, led by the evil Lords of the Silver Twilight," as the introduction goes on to explain.

Speaking of the introduction, a later paragraph sheds some further light on the meaning of a campaign. After discussing how the campaign is structured – seven scenarios, each of which leads into the next one – it goes on to say:

If your particular mode of play is not suited to a series of linked adventures, such as this book consists of, the individual scenarios may certainly be played by themselves.

This sentence suggests that Call of Cthulhu has two "modes" of play: one based around individual scenarios and one based around "a series of linked adventures," which is to say, a campaign. Interestingly, the back cover of Shadows of Yog-Sothoth describes itself as a "scenario book for the CALL OF CTHULHU role-playing game. SHADOWS OF YOG-SOTHOTH is a seven-chapter tale of horror and suspense." Here, each integral scenario of the campaign is likened to a chapter, the whole – the campaign itself – being called a "tale of horror and suspense." 

Chapter VII of the second edition of Call of Cthulhu bears the title "How to Play the Game." Here, we once again see that a "campaign" is defined as being made of several scenarios that 

ought to be arranged like the branches of a tree. The players start out fooling around with the very tips and edges of the mythos, where there are dozens of myths, legends, clues, and adventures. As they gain knowledge and experience, the investigators will work their way inwards, where there are fewer happenings, of greater importance. At the center of the mythos reside the hideous Elder Gods in all their reality. The final goal of play may well be to save this planet and force the retreat of Cthulhu and other space beings. Becoming powerful to do that may take years.

Words like "scenarios," "adventures" and even "play" are used without precision. Are they all the same thing or are there fine distinctions between them? Where does a campaign fit into all this? That's why I find myself wondering whether anyone at Chaosium at the time had a clear sense of it themselves or whether we, in the present, are expecting a degree of clarity that no one at the time needed, let alone expected. Still, it's yet more grist for the mill as I delve more deeply into campaigns, their meaning, and how they were run during the first decade of the hobby.

Pretenders to the Throne

Like most people involved in the hobby of roleplaying, Dungeons & Dragons was the first RPG I ever played. Furthermore, it's probably the RPG I've played the most over the decades, even though it's not my favorite. I do like it and would even go so far as to say that most versions of it are fun to play. This isn't a controversial opinion. Indeed, if history is any guide, most roleplayers feel similarly, because some version of Dungeons & Dragons has been the most popular, most played, and most profitable roleplaying game pretty much continuously since 1974. 

I say "pretty much," because there have been times and places when this was not case, but most of these instances have been unusual in one way or another. I was thinking about this topic for reasons I'll explain in an upcoming post, but my present point is that, with only a handful of exceptions, D&D has always been the King of Roleplaying Games. That was true in 1974 and it's still true in 2024. That's a truth that a lot of partisans of other RPGs don't like to hear. While I'm sympathetic to their feelings, I'm not going to pretend as if it's not the case that D&D's reign has not been a largely secure one.

There I go again with my quibbling adverbs – largely. I'm old enough to remember several moments in time when it seemed as if the fortunes of Dungeons & Dragons were on the downswing and another roleplaying game was on the ascent. Whether that was actually the case is another matter. For now, though, I'd simply like to focus on three occasions when it seemed to me – perhaps mistakenly – as if D&D was in danger of being pushed aside by a competitor. 

The first time was in the mid-80s, once I had become a subscriber to White Dwarf. One of the things I very quickly noticed was that the magazine frequently carried content for Chaosium's RuneQuest, then in its second edition. This was in stark contrast to Dragon magazine, the gaming periodical with which I was most familiar, which scarcely ever included articles, let alone adventures, for RQ. At that time, AD&D was in its late 1e doldrums, so I took the appearance of so much RuneQuest material in White Dwarf as evidence that its star was on the rise. I would eventually learn that this was mostly a British phenomenon, where RQ's popularity met or even exceeded that of D&D. So far as I know, this never extended to North America, but I still started contemplating the possibility that Dungeons & Dragons might one day be toppled from its position as King of the Hill. 

The next time I saw what I thought was a serious challenger to D&D was about a decade later, in the mid-1990s. That's when White Wolf's "World of Darkness" games were all the rage, particularly the first game in that line, Vampire: the Masquerade. While I didn't get into any of "World of Darkness" games until a few years later – I'd eventually even write for a few of them – I was nevertheless quite familiar with them, thanks in large part to friends who were regular players. What I learned from them was that Vampire and its companion games had proven popular with many people who'd otherwise not played RPGs. The "World of Darkness" was bringing in new players and those players were very devoted to it. It probably helped, too, that Dungeons & Dragons (and indeed TSR itself) was in the midst of another period of doldrums, which made White Wolf's offerings seem even more vital by comparison.

Finally, there was Paizo's Pathfinder Roleplaying Game. Pathfinder came out shortly after Wizards of the Coast announced that the next edition of Dungeons & Dragons – Fourth Edition – would not, unlike its immediate predecessor, being an "open" game. Instead, it would use a much more restrictive licensing scheme. Likewise, the new edition's rules would be rather different from those in 3e, making backward compatibility an issue. For a lot of fans of the Third Edition, this was dreadful news and Paizo saw an opportunity to serve them by producing its own version of 3e, which it called Pathfinder. Pathfinder proved quite successful and, for a brief time, appeared to have snatched the RPG crown from Dungeons & Dragons. Ultimately, that proved to have been an illusion, but that doesn't change the fact that, for a brief moment, I felt otherwise.

In the end, none of the aforementioned roleplaying games were truly successful in knocking D&D off its pedestal, at least not for long. In each case, the plausibility of this belief rested on the same thing: the perceived weakness of D&D. Whenever the current edition of Dungeons & Dragons was in its late, decadent phase, disenchantment with the direction of the game or the perception that it was on the wrong track made me feel that some other RPG might have a shot at the Throne of Gygax. That's not to say that none of these games enjoyed a genuine popularity boost when D&D was "weak." In the case of Vampire the Masquerade, I'm pretty sure it did enjoy a period of wild popularity and good sales and that might well have been true of Pathfinder, too (RuneQuest in the UK is more of an edge case). Yet, for all that, D&D always came roaring back, its place as the hobby's top dog secure for another decade or so. 

I can't predict the future, so if another roleplaying game will ever succeed in displacing Dungeons & Dragons, I have no idea. Judging by the past, however, it seems quite unlikely, which is why, for good or ill, in most people's minds, tabletop RPGs will always be synonymous with D&D.

What's a Campaign?

Before returning to Boot Hill and its section on campaigns, I wanted to share a few paragraphs from The Traveller Adventure that seem relevant to this larger discussion. At the very start of the book, in its introduction, we find this:

The Traveller Adventure is a vehicle to transport you and your friends on a journey into the far future. Together as Traveller players you will experience a small part of the vast, star-sprawling Imperium, its societies, cultures, and technology. Contained in these pages is an intricate and varied Traveller campaign [italics mine], a complete set of adventures which provides a slowly unfolding drama to explore, investigate, and conquer.

Take note of the use of the word "campaign" above, which is taken as a synonym for "a complete set of adventures."

This adventure is intended for use by a group of from 3 to 8 players. Fewer than three players will probably not provide enough variety and group interaction to make the game as much fun as it should be. More than eight players will present the referee with problems in control and may make it difficult for all players to participate fully. It is not necessary for all players to show up at every game session. Those who are absent will miss some of the fun, but the other players can be depended upon to manage the characters belonging to anyone not there for the evening.

Whereas the first paragraph used "campaign" as a synonym for a "set of adventures," the second one talks about "this adventure" in the singular. This makes me wonder if perhaps the author(s) were, either intentionally or unintentionally, conflating the words "adventure(s)," "campaign," and even "session." The other notable thing here is that the text suggests The Traveller Adventure is best played with no fewer than three players and no more than eight. This is, more or less, in keeping with Book 1 of the original 1977 edition that suggests that optimum "game size" is between three and ten players.

This campaign can span a great amount of time. Dedication and nightly Traveller sessions can probably finish the events in this book off in a little more than week, but a better course is to spend the time to enjoy the events and their ramifications. One of the enjoyable parts of Traveller is thinking about what is going on and then making plans in the intervals between game sessions. This campaign can be played in about six weeks of conveniently space sessions. Take the time to enjoy it.

Once again, we see the word "campaign" being used to describe the contents of The Traveller Adventure. Why? Book 1 describes a Traveller campaign thusly:

While the scenario is like a science fiction novel, the campaign is like a continuing S-F series, as the same characters continue to act together through a variety of situations.

Using this definition, The Traveller Adventure could indeed be called a campaign, but I must confess I find this usage idiosyncratic. However, as I've noted before, the meaning of "campaign" shifted over time and probably continues to do so. The Traveller Adventure appeared in 1983, nearly a decade after the inauguration of the hobby, so it's perhaps not that surprising that we might see such a shift in its text. Even so, I find myself wondering if there's more going on here.