The Articles of Dragon: "Giants in the Earth"

 As I pen more posts for this series, you'll notice that many of its entries are themselves about series of articles from the pages of Dragon. I could offer a lot of explanations for this, but the simplest, I suppose, is that, with series, you know what you're getting. In theory, if you like one entry in the series, you will probably enjoy those that follow. Series provide a foundation on which to build and a format to follow that makes them attractive to both writers and readers – that's the reason this blog has so many series of its own.

Issue #59 (March 1982) introduced me to a new series of Dragon articles. Entitled "Giants in the Earth," this was an irregular feature devoted to presenting famous characters from fantasy (and occasionally science fiction) literature in terms of Dungeons & Dragons game mechanics. This particular issue included write-ups for five different characters – Poul Anderson's Sir Roger de Tourneville (by Roger E. Moore), L. Sprague de Camp and Fletcher Pratt's Harold Shea (by David Cook), Alexei Panshin's Anthony Villiers (by Andrew Dewar), Clifford Simak's Mark Cornwall and Sniveley (both by Roger E. Moore). 

At the time I first saw this article, I think I was only familiar with Sir Roger de Tourneville, having already read The High Crusade. The others were completely unknown to me and, in the case of the Simak characters, I'm embarrassed to admit, still are. Nevertheless, I found the piece fascinating for several reasons. First, almost from the moment I started playing D&D, I began to think about how best to stat up characters from myth, legend, and books. Seeing how "professional" writers did so held my interest. Second, many of the entries – even the science fiction ones! – included suggestions on introducing these characters into an ongoing D&D campaign, an idea I'd never considered before. Finally, the entries served to introduce me to authors and books I might otherwise never have encountered, just as Appendix N and Moldvay's "Inspirational Source Material" section had done.

That last one is of particular importance to me, especially nowadays, as the inspirations for fantasy roleplaying shift away from books of all kinds and more toward movies and video games. With the benefit of hindsight, one of the things that's very obvious is how much more literary fantasy was in my youth. Arguably, that's because, until comparatively recently, fantasy hadn't much penetrated the mainstream and thus there were few other ready sources for the genre. If you were interested in wizards and dragons and magic swords, books were all you had, whereas today we have a greater number of options available to us. Perhaps – and maybe I'm just being an old man again – I detect a difference in kind between the literary fantasies I grew up reading (and that inspired the founders of the hobby) and the pop culture stuff we see today.

The irony of my being introduced to "Giants in the Earth" through this issue is that it's one of the last ones published in Dragon. Though I'd eventually see some of the earlier installments, the vast majority of them were long out of my reach, their having been published long before I started playing RPGs, let alone reading the magazine. Even so, the few that I did read served the useful purpose of broadening my knowledge of fantasy and science fiction, as well as acquainting me with characters and writers who would, in time, become lifelong companions. 

A (Very) Partial Pictorial History of Trolls

It's well known that, in populating the bestiary of Dungeons & Dragons, Arneson and Gygax regularly looked beyond mythology and folklore for inspiration. Such is obviously the case with the troll, which borrows heavily from the monster's description in Poul Anderson's Three Hearts and Three Lions right down to its green color and ability to regenerate. Unlike many of the other monsters we've looked at in this series, the troll's appearance is remarkably consistent during the TSR era of D&D. Despite the large number of artists who've drawn this horrid creature, nearly all of them seem to be using its initial appearance in 1977's Monster Manual as a guide.

In point of fact, the troll appears twice in the MM, both times drawn by Dave Sutherland. The first is on the cover:

Perhaps because it's likely the first time I ever saw a D&D troll, I've always been quite fond of this particular illustration of it. The interior of the book gives us this second depiction:

This second piece is unusual in that it depicts the same monster from two angles, like a model sheet. I can't think of any other monsters drawn this way in the Monster Manual. 

During the same year, Minifigs produced a figure of a troll that looks almost identical to that of Sutherland's illustration (unless the inspiration goes in the other direction). In any case, the troll's primary physical characteristics seem to be its tall, lanky body; tooth-filled mouth, long nose, black, deep-set eyes, and bristly black hair atop its elongated head. 

The next year, 1978, sees quite a large number of troll illustrations, starting with this one by Dave Trampier, which appeared in module G3, Hall of the Fire Giant King:

Though Tramp's style is quite different from Sutherland's, his trolls nevertheless look identical. Speaking of Sutherland, here's another one by him, this time from module D1, Descent into the Depths of the Earth, about which I've posted before, because it's a favorite of mine.

What a terrific piece! Not only is it a great battle scene, featuring men in historical armor fighting a band of trolls, it also includes possibly the only depiction of the severed body parts of a troll fighting independently. It's such a signature element of the monster that I'm surprised there are no other such depictions (you'll tell me if I'm wrong in the comments).

Tramp returns for this fun illustration from the Players Handbook:

1980 brings us more trolls, starting with a Grenadier Models miniature that looks very much like the Sutherland original:

Then there's this one by Jeff Dee, appearing in the Arthurian Heroes section of Deities & Demigods: 

1981's Fiend Folio introduces us to several new troll variants. Though they are different sub-species, you can still see a "family resemblance," starting with this giant troll by Russ Nicholson:

Then there's the giant, two-headed troll, another illustration by Dee:

At the dawn of the Second Edition era, Jim Holloway provides this image of a troll for the Monstrous Compendium. Despite its small alterations to the template late down in 1977, this is still very recognizable as the same creature Sutherland originally drew.

Finally, there's Tony DiTerlizzi's take from the Monstrous Manual, which is – again – just a variation on Sutherland's. There's a reason why I continue to argue that Dave Sutherland is perhaps the single most important and influential artist in the game's history. 

So, what have I missed? Are there any notably different takes on trolls during the TSR era? Or do they all follow in Sutherland's footsteps as these do?

Pulp Fantasy Gallery: Three Hearts and Three Lions

Poul Anderson's 1961 novel, Three Hearts and Three Lions (originally released in two parts in the September and October 1953 issues of The Magazine of Science Fiction and Fantasy) is one of the most influential fantasy tales ever written, though I imagine very few fantasy fans under the age of 50 have read it. Michael Moorcock, for example, thought very highly of it, borrowing its conception of the eternal war of Law versus Chaos for his Elric stories, which in turn influenced countless other authors. Among those was Gary Gygax, whose conception of alignment in Dungeons & Dragons – itself a remarkably influential fantasy text – derives equally from Moorock and Anderson, hence the inclusion of both authors in Appendix N to his Dungeon Masters Guide.

I was (and am) a huge fan of Poul Anderson's science fiction stories, particularly those featuring the character of Dominic Flandry, but I don't think I picked up any of his fantasy stories until sometime after I'd already started playing D&D. When I finally did so, I think it was The High Crusade that initially most impressed me. In the years since, my appreciation for Three Hearts and Three Lions has eclipsed it, especially as I came to understand its importance to the subsequent history of fantasy.

The first book edition appeared in 1961 as a hardcover from Doubleday and featured a fairly obvious cover image, though its artist is notable – Edward Gorey:

The following year, in 1962, Avon released the book in paperback, with a cover illustration by Richard Powers. This was, I believe, the edition I first encountered almost two decades later:

In 1970, Avon re-released the book with a new cover by Jeff Jones:

Just a few years later, in 1974, Sphere released a UK paperback. Patrick Woodroffe provided this cover illustration:

Later, in 1978, Berkeley released a new paperback edition, this time with art by Wayne Barlowe. 

There was a special Doubleday hardcover edition released in 1983 and made available to members of the Science Fiction Book Club. Susan Collins is the cover artist.

Rounding out the '80s is another paperback edition from Ace, this time with a cover by Carl Lundgren.

White Dwarf: Issue #57

Issue #57 of White Dwarf (September 1984) features a cover by an artist credited only as Tweddell. The image is certainly an eye-catching one that, for me at least, evokes some of the pre-vanilla strains of fantasy that flourished prior to the 1980s. Perhaps it's the weird mounts of the two warriors that does, I don't know. In any case, I find myself strangely fond of this particular cover, more so than I would have expected. 

Ian Livingstone's editorial uses Games Workshop's release of its Judge Dredd and Doctor Who games as an opportunity to ponder the matter of licensed RPGs. He wonders why there are now so many games based on pre-existing characters and settings when Dungeons & Dragons, a generic and open-ended game without a direct media antecedent, remains the best-selling RPG. The matter of roleplaying games based on media properties is something I've thought a lot about over the years and re-reading Livingstone's brief comments on the matter have brought them to mind again. I may need to write a post about it in the coming days, if only to attempt to organize my own inchoate thoughts on the subject.

 "Mind over Matter" by Todd E. Sundsted tackles the ins and outs of psionics in AD&D and other fantasy RPGs. By and large, the article's intended as advice to the referee and, on that level, is fine if uninspired. Dave Langford's "Critical Mass" is the usual collection of snarky reviews mixed with occasional praise, with the latter being heaped on Frederik Pohl's Heechee Rendezvous and Gordon Dickson's Lord Dorsai. Langford also takes the opportunity to tie his reviews into roleplaying games, when he uses the "Neanderthal ethics" of E.E. Smith's Subspace Encounter as a springboard for discussing the "moral bias" of adventure scenarios. He doesn't dwell on the topic at any length, however. His intent seems merely to have been to get referees (and players) to consider the matter rather than simply ignore it.

"Open Box" starts with a quartet of (mostly negative) reviews of Mayfair Role Aids releases: Elves (3 out of 10), Dwarves (3 out of 10), Dark Folk (3 out of 10), and Wizards (6 out of 10). While there's no question that most Role Aids books weren't very good, I can't help but feel the reviewer, Robert Dale, is being unduly harsh here. Much more positively reviewed is The Traveller Adventure, which receives a well-deserved 9 out of 10. Powers & Perils, a game whose mere existence continues to baffle me, is given a very generous 8 out of 10, largely, it seems, on the basis of how much of its contents might be adapted to other fantasy RPGs. Finally, James Bond 007 is given a mediocre 6 out of 10.

"Sky Rig" by Paul Ormston is a Traveller scenario with a classic set-up: the characters are tasked to investigate why contact was lost with an orbital refinery in a gas giant. It's a fun little adventure in an unusual locale and I made good use of it in my youth. "For the Blood is the Life" by Dave Morris offers up an alternative to the traditional Gloranthan vampire in the form of the vampyr (and demi-vampyr). Morris's complaint is that, mechanically, there's no good reason for Gloranthan vampires to drain blood, which he considers an important part of the lore of the creature, hence the alternative version he offers, whose continued existence depends on blood. 

The second article in the "Night's Dark Agents" series by Chris Elliott and Richard Edwards provides game mechanics for better integrating ninjas AD&D, RuneQuest, and, believe it or not, Bushido. Once again, I note how quintessentially 1980s it is to have an article like this in a gaming magazine. "The Life of a Retired Wizard" by Lewis Pulsipher is a consideration of what magic-users, whatever their level, might do with themselves after they stop adventuring. Though short, it's a thoughtful article whose intent seems to be to encourage referees to give some thought to the question of how magic works and is used in his setting. 

Part 2 of "The Sunfire's Heart" AD&D adventure by Peter Emery is as good as the first part. The scenario has some excellent maps and challenging encounters, as well as some delightfully old school elements, such as riddles that provide clues to the adventurers. This month's "Thrud the Barbarian" introduces readers to Eric of Bonémaloné and his demon sword Stoatbringer, while "Gobbledigook" and "The Travellers" continue to chug along somewhat less memorably. "The Staurni" by Andy Slack presents a version of the aliens from Poul Anderson's The Star Fox for use with Traveller. 

"Majipoor Monsters" by Graham Drysdale details seven monsters for D&D drawn from the works of Robert Silverberg. Having never read Lord Valentine's Castle and its follow-ups, I can't really speak to the fidelity of these write-ups. "Racy Bases" by Gary Chalk and Joe Dever looks at how to improve the bases of miniature figures. I found the article oddly compelling, even though I've never been much of a miniatures user (let alone painter). "Words of Wisdom" by Kiel Stephens concludes the issue with some thoughts on a handful of new and unusual ways to make use of D&D spells, such as using levitate as an attack against an unwilling target or magic mouth as an alarm.

There's a lot to like about this issue of White Dwarf – or so I thought when I first read it all those decades ago. Even now, I think both "Sky Rig" and "The Sunfire's Heart" are well done and could easily imagine making use of them in a fantasy or science fiction RPG I were refereeing. That's more than I can say about many issues of this or any other gaming magazine I've owned over the years.

Pulp Science Fiction Library: Hunters of the Sky Cave

Recently, one of the players in my House of Worms campaign offered to referee Traveller for myself and several others. Since Traveller likely remains my favorite roleplaying game of all time, I jumped at the chance to participate. This will be the first time I've ever used the Mongoose Traveller rules, so I'm looking forward to seeing how they differ from the classic GDW rules I've nearly always used in the past (the exception being GURPS Traveller, which I last played more than twenty years ago – my goodness, how time flies!). 

Anytime I start thinking about Traveller and its Third Imperium setting, my mind inevitably drifts toward the science fiction authors and stories that inspired them. Standing alongside the Dumarest of Terra series by E.C. Tubb is the Flandry saga of Poul Anderson, the earliest stories of which first appeared in the 1950s, but were collected and anthologized throughout the '60s, '70s, and '80s. That's how I first encountered them and I retain an inordinate fondness for the collections published by Ace with covers by the great Michael Whelan, like the one that accompanies this post.

The third of the Ace volumes, entitled Agent of the Terran Empire, included the story "Hunters of the Sky Cave," which was itself an expansion of an earlier short story originally published in 1959 under the title "A Handful of Stars" (and occasionally reprinted under yet another title, "We Claim These Stars!:). In terms of its writing, it's one of the earliest of Anderson's Flandry tales, though it takes place during the middle of the character's career as an agent of the faltering Terran Empire. Captain Sir Dominic Flandry is commonly described as a "science fiction James Bond" in that he's a debonair spy with an eye for the finer things in life, though his fans are quick to point out that he predates the first appearance of Bond by two years. 

At the start of "Hunters of the Sky Cave," Flandry is attending a feast and a ball thrown by Ruethen of the Long Hand, the Merseian ambassador to the Terran Empire. The Merseians are an alien species whose own expanding empire is a rival to that of the Terrans. The ball is thus an occasion for Flandry to gather intelligence on the Merseians – and attempt to seduce Diana Vinogradoff, Right Lady Guardian of the Mare Crisium, as part of "a thousand-credit bet with his friend," Ivar del Bruno, who insisted that the noblewoman "would never bestow her favors upon anyone under the rank of earl." This sort of behavior is typical of Flandry and is at least in part a consequence of his vocation, as he remarks to himself:

Terra has been rich for too long; we've grown old and content, no more high hazards for us. Whereas the Merseian Empire is fresh, vigorous, disciplined, dedicated, et tedious cetera. Personally, I enjoy decadence; but somebody has to hold off the Long Night for my own lifetime, and it looks as if I'm elected.

The eyebrows of Traveller aficionados should immediately arch at the reference to the Long Night, the collapse of interstellar civilization against which Flandry struggles vainly across his long career in service to the Empire. Marc Miller borrowed the name for the future history of the game's official setting to describe the period between the fall of the Second Imperium and the rise of the Third. 

In any case, Flandry never gets the chance to enjoy the company of Lady Diana. Instead, he's summoned to the office of Vice Admiral Fenross, his superior in Naval Intelligence, who tasks him with a mission to the planet Vixen. "A space fleet appeared several weeks ago and demanded that it yield to occupation," Fenross explained. The ships of the fleet "were of exotic type, and the race crewing them can't be identified." Fenross worries the unknown aliens occupying Vixen were secretly in alliance with the Merseians – which is why he intends to send Flandry to Vixen to find out what is actually going on and deal with it in any way he can.

To prepare for his mission, Fenross puts Flandry in touch with a Vixenite named Catherine Kittredge, who escaped the planet and headed for Terra with information about the invaders.

"They call themselves the Ardazirho, an' we gathered the ho was collective endin'. So we figure their planet is named Ardazir. Though I can't come near to pronouncin' it right."

Flandry took a stereopic from the pocket of his iridescent shirt. It had been snapped from hiding, during the ground battle. Against a background of ruined human homes crouched a single enemy soldier. Warrior? Acolyte? Unit? Armed, at least, and a killer of men.

Preconceptions always got in the way. Flandry's first thought had been Wolf! Now he realized that of course the Ardazirho was not lupine, didn't even look notably wolfish. Yet the impression lingered. He was not surprised when Catherin Kittredge said the aliens had gone into battle howling.

They were described as man-size bipeds, but digitigrade, which gave their feet almost the appearance of a dog's walking on its hind legs. The shoulders and arms were very humanoid, except that the thumbs were on the opposite side of the hands from mankind's. The head, arrogantly held on a powerful neck, was long and narrow for an intelligent animal, with a low forehead, most of the brain space behind the pointed ears. A black-nosed muzzle, not as sharp as a wolf's and yet somehow like it, jutted out of the face. Its lips were pulled back in a snarl, showing bluntly pointed fangs which suggested a flesh-eater turned omnivore. The eyes were oval, close set, and gray as sleet. Short thick fur covered the entire body, turning to a ruff at the throat; it was rusty red.

"Is this a uniform?" asked Flandry.

The girl leaned in close to see. The pictured Ardazirho wore a sort of kilt, in checkerboard squares of various hues. Flandry winced at the combinations: rose next to scarlet, a glaring crimson offensively between two delicate yellows. "Barbarians indeed," he muttered.

Once again, the connection to Traveller should be obvious, as the game's official setting includes a species of wolflike aliens known as the Vargr and whose fashion sense tends toward the garish by human standards. 

Of course, "Hunters of the Sky Cave" is much more interesting than as the source of inspiration for Traveller. Once Flandry gets to Vixen, he quickly discovers that there's more going on than anyone suspected and that, despite his own initial doubts, the invasion of the planet likely plays a role in the Merseians' ongoing attempts to undermine the stability of the Terran Empire. What follows then is a fast-paced and clever bit of space opera, filled with equal parts intrigue, derring-do, and, above all, interesting characters. Anderson excels at the latter, bringing surprising depth and complexity even to Flandry's antagonists, who are more than mere "barbarians." It's a great science fiction short story and well worth your time.

Pulp Fantasy Library: Witch of the Demon Seas

I frequently reflect on my own lack of industry, especially when compared to nearly all of the writers I discuss in my Pulp Fantasy Library posts. These energetic men and women cranked out exciting stories by the ream – so many, in fact, that they sometimes had to resort to using a variety of noms de plume to ensure the magazines would publish their submissions (many of which had policies, formal or informal, against the inclusion of more than one story by the same author in a single issue). 

I bring this up because this is precisely what happened in the case of "Witch of the Demon Seas," which first appeared in the January 1951 issue of Planet Stories. Though credited to "A.A. Craig," the yarn is actually the handiwork of Poul Anderson, another of whose stories is featured in the same issue under his usual byline. Like many pulp fictioneers, Anderson had an incredible work ethic: sixteen of his short stories and novellas were published the same year as "Witch of the Demon Seas." It's difficult not to feel inadequate when faced with such a remarkable output.

Though nowadays Anderson is most remembered for his science fiction, notably his tales of Nicholas Van Rijn, David Falkayn, and, of course, Dominic Flandry, he was also an accomplished writer of fantasy. Three Hearts and Three Lions is perhaps the best known of his fantasies, at least for players of roleplaying games, but The Broken Sword is, in my opinion, equally worthy of admiration (both appear in Gary Gygax's Appendix N, for what it's worth). Pulp writers had to be omnivorous if they wanted to make a living at writing, hence the existence of stories, such as this one, that might broadly be described as "fantasy" (or perhaps sword-and-planet, which was the bread and butter of Planet Stories during its 71-issue run).

Regardless, "Witch of the Demon Seas" certainly takes place on another world, one whose surface is almost entirely covered by water. What civilization exists can be found on numerous island kingdoms, such as the Thalassocracy of Achaera, whose ruler is Khroman the Conqueror. Khroman is "a huge man, his hair and square-cut beard jet-black despite middle age, the strength of his warlike youth still in his powerful limbs." He's also honorable, which we learn early in the story, when he tells his advisor, Shorzon the Sorcerer, that he intends to treat his recently defeated enemy, the fair-haired pirate Corun, with respect, as he is "the bravest enemy Achaera ever had."

When Khroman interrogates him, Corun reveals much about his origins and the reasons for his turn to piracy. Come to think of it, the interrogation reveals a fair bit about Khroman as well.

Khroman stared at him in puzzlement. "But why did you ever do it?" he asked finally. "With your strength and skill and cunning, you could have gone far in Achaera. We take mercenaries from conquered provinces, you know. You could have gotten Achaeran citizenship in time."

"I was a prince of Conahur," said Corun slowly. "I saw my land invaded and my folk taken off as slaves. I saw my brothers hacked down at the battle of Lyrr, my sister taken as concubine by your admiral, my father hanged, my mother burned alive when they fired the old castle. They offered me amnesty because I was young and they wanted a figurehead. So I swore an oath of fealty to Achaera, and broke it the first chance I got. It was the only oath I ever broke, and still I am proud of it. I sailed with pirates until I was big enough to master my own ships. That is enough of an answer."

"It may be," said Khroman slowly. "You realize, of course, that the conquest of Conahur took place before I came to the throne? And that I certainly couldn't negate it, in view of the Thalassocrat's duty to his own country, and had to punish its incessant rebelliousness?"

"I don't hold anything against you yourself, Khroman," said Corun with a tired smile. "But I'd give my soul to the nether fires for the chance to pull your damned palace down around your ears!"

"I'm sorry it has to end this way," said the king. "You were a brave man. I'd like to drain many beakers of wine with you on the other side of death." He signed to the guards. "Take him away."

Upon hearing this, Shorzon takes an interest in Corun, for reasons that soon become clear. Together with his daughter, Chryseis, the story's titular witch, he visits the pirate in his solitary cell. The sorcerer then offers him "life, freedom—and the liberation of Conahur!" Naturally, Corun doubts the wizard's sincerity, but Chryseis, a remarkable beauty, reassures him, "You can help us with a project so immeasurably greater than your petty quarrels that anything you can ask in return will be as nothing. And you are the one man who can do so." 

"What do you want?"

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

"What is it?" he asked hoarsely.

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

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

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

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

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

"If you succeeded," argued Corun stubbornly, "why should you then let Conahur go?"

"Because power over Achaera is only a step to something too far beyond the petty goals of empire for you to imagine," said Shorzon bleakly. "You must decide now, man. If you refuse, you die."

This is the proverbial offer that one cannot refuse, so, with some trepidation, Corun agrees. Shorzon and Chryseis then lead him to a fully-crewed vessel that will take them to the Xanthi, a race of inimical fish-men with a history of warring against the other peoples of the world. The ship leaves Achaera – without the knowledge of Khroman, I might add! – on a quest whose ultimate objective, Corun suspects, is far from virtuous. For the moment, though, he does not care, as he only wishes "to live! To die, if he must, under the sky!"

"Witch of the Demon Sea" is a delightful romp, filled with monsters, magic, sorcery, and swordplay. The characters, starting with Corun himself, are somewhat archetypal, let us say, but Anderson tells the story with such energy and enthusiasm that I soon didn't care. The story is interesting, too, because it contains elements that could be described as "secret sci-fi," thereby further muddying the waters regarding how to classify this yarn. For myself, I prefer to classify it as "fun" and leave it at that.

Pulp Fantasy Library: Three Hearts and Three Lions

Appendix N includes just shy of thirty different authors whom Gary Gygax considered to have been "of particular inspiration" to him creating Dungeons & Dragons. Of these, Gygax singles out a handle for special mention: DeCamp & Pratt, Robert E. Howard, Fritz Leiber, Jack Vance, H.P. Lovecraft, and Merritt. I think it would be difficult for any fair-minded person to find fault with his selection of these authors; their direct influence on D&D (and on the wider fantasy genre) is undeniable. 

Nevertheless, there is one Appendix N author not listed among "the most direct influences upon AD&D" that I feel ought to be there – and, no, I'm not talking about J.R.R. Tolkien. That author is Poul Anderson, particularly with reference to his 1961 novel, Three Hearts and Three Lions. Anderson is generally seen as a science fiction author and understandably so, given his output in that genre, which might explain why he's often overlooked compared to Howard or Leiber or Vance when it comes to seminal D&D inspirations. If you look more closely at his fantasy works, however, I think it becomes harder to deny his direct influence on the game.

More than a decade ago, I wrote a very brief post about Three Hearts and Three Lions. While that post references many of the novel's major connections to Dungeons & Dragons, I thought it worthwhile to return to it at greater length in this post, focusing not just on those connections but on more of the details of its story. Like many older works of fantasy, starting with Edgar Rice Burroughs's A Princess of Mars, Three Hearts and Three Lions is presented as "true" account of the adventures of its protagonist, as told to the author of the book. In this case, the protagonist is a Danish engineer named Holger Carlsen, who had come to the United States as a university student sometime before World War II. Though enamored of America and intending to stay there, the invasion of his homeland by the Nazis in 1940 awakened in him a patriotic fervor that, within a year, resulted in his returning to Europe to join the resistance in Denmark. 

Carlsen fought in the resistance for a couple of years, evading capture and dealing significant blows to the Nazi war effort. In 1943, he helped Niels Bohr to escape to Sweden and, ultimately, to safety. This endeavor, however, brought him face to face with the Nazis, who shoot him in the head. He blacks out and awakens some time later in a place that is at once familiar but not. Like John Carter, Carlsen is naked, but it doesn't take him long to find some attire. An immense, friendly stallion (named Papillon, according to the engraving on his headstall) approached him, bearing medieval armor and weapons. The armor fits him perfectly – too perfectly – as if it were made specifically for him. His shield bears three hearts and three lions upon it, heraldry very similar to that of the coat of arms of Denmark, which has nine hearts and three lions. 

Carlsen is completely confused and begins to wonder if he is mad or dreaming. Over the course of the next several short chapters – the novel is arranged more or less as a series of vignettes – he comes to realize that, against all logic, he has somehow been transported to Denmark during the reign of Charlemagne. Even so, Carlsen is determined to find some way to return to the 20th century and enlists the aid of multiple magical beings to aid him in this. The first is Hugi the dwarf, but he is soon joined by Alianora the swanmay as well. From them, he learns much about the world to which he has been transported and it's this that is of great interest to players of D&D.

Holger got the idea that a perpetual struggle went on between primeval forces of Law and Chaos. No, not forces exactly. Modes of existence? A terrestrial reflection of the spiritual conflict between heaven and hell? In any case, humans were the chief agents on earth of Law, though most of them were so only unconsciously and some, witches and warlocks and evildoers, had sold out to Chaos. A few nonhuman beings also stood for Chaos. Ranged against them was almost the whole Middle World, which seemed to include realms like Faerie, Trollheim, and the Giants – an actual creation of Chaos. Wars among men, such as the long-drawn struggle between the Saracens and the Holy Empire, aided Chaos' under Law all men would live in peace and order and that liberty which only Law could give meaning. But this was so alien to Middle Worlders that they were forever working to prevent it and to extend their shadowy dominion.

This passage and others like it are the ultimate origins of Chainmail's alignment system, which, in turn, would become the basis for that in D&D. They're also, not coincidentally, the origins of Moorcock's own takes on Law versus Chaos from his Eternal Champion stories. Regardless of what one thinks about D&D's use of this idea, it's hard not to find Anderson's version quite compelling. Had D&D done a better job of grounding alignment in a larger, cosmic struggle, I suspect that many, if not most, of the objections to alignment in the game would evaporate (though gamers, being a querulous bunch, would still find ways to complain about it).

As the trio travel across medieval Denmark, they encounter all manner of fantastical creatures, such as elves, a giant, a dragon, and a werewolf. They also make the acquaintance of a Saracen named Carahue and a wizard called Martinus Trismegistus, both of whom provide them with aid. Throughout the story, Carlsen begins to have increasing flashes of memory. He remembers more and more about this fairytale Denmark, as if he'd been here before. In time, he realizes that he's in fact from this time and place originally and that he is in fact Holger Danske, the legendary Ogier le Danois of the Matter of France who was destined to return when Denmark most needed him. 

Three Hearts and Three Lions is a quick read, being about 150 pages in most editions. It's engagingly written and filled with lots of interesting characters and ideas. Aside from the aforementioned presentation of alignment and the swanmay, there's also the first instance of the regenerating troll in fantasy literature and Holger himself, who is a paladin both within the story and as the inspiration for the character class of the same name. There's much to enjoy here, both for fans of classic fantasy literature and archeologists of roleplaying. I wish more people were familiar with this novel.

Retrospective: Thieves' World

I've long had a fondness for Chaosium's boxed sets, starting with Call of Cthulhu, the first RPG from the company I ever owned. From there, it was all downhill: with the exception of RuneQuest, I soon became a dedicated collector of Chaosium's boxed sets. Among those I treasured the most was Thieves' World, based on the fantasy anthology series of the same name edited by Robert Lynn Asprin. 

The boxed set, first published in 1981, consisted of three books and a collection of maps depicting the city of Sanctuary. The first book, Players' Guide to Sanctuary, serves as an introduction to not just the whole set but also its setting. Kicking off the book are two essays by contributors to the literary anthology, starting with Asprin's "Full Circle," which was simultaneously published in issue #12 of Different Worlds. Following it is "Thud and Blunder," Poul Anderson's essay skewering the excesses of sword-and-sorcery literature and a call to produce better entries in the genre. Rounding out the first book are discussions of the city, its inhabitants, history, and gods, as well as an extensive glossary of names and terms unique to Sanctuary.

The Game Master's Guide to Sanctuary presents a variety of articles on how to use the boxed set in one's campaign. These articles discuss bribery and graft, law and order, and the gods (in greater detail). More immediately useful are the extensive encounter tables, each tied to one of the city's districts. Each district gets its own article, including a map that describes the most important locales. In some cases, there are also maps of individual buildings. Wrapping up this book is a map of the city's sewers.

Personalities of Sanctuary is the third and perhaps most interesting book in the set. Each of its chapters describes the most important inhabitants of Sanctuary in terms of a different roleplaying game's rules – Advanced Dungeons & Dragons (by Lawrence Schick), Adventures in Fantasy (by Dave Arneson and Richard Snider), Chivalry & Sorcery (by Wes Ives), DragonQuest (by Eric Goldberg), Dungeons & Dragons (by Steve Marsh), The Fantasy Trip (by Rudy Kraft), RuneQuest (by Steve Perrin), Tunnels & Trolls (by Ken St. Andre), and Traveller (by Marc Miller). The last one is notable, as Miller offers three different ways to integrate Thieves' World into Traveller's science fiction setting. The most interesting of these options is one that postulates that Sanctuary is a computer simulation created for entertainment – a kind of MMORPG for the citizens of the Third Imperium. Concluding the third book is a collection of scenario ideas.

There are three large maps included in Thieves' World: one depicting the whole city, another the Maze district, and the last one the underground areas of the same district. The maps are lovely, as is typical for Chaosium products from this era. 

Thieves' World is an impressive boxed set and I deeply regret that I long ago got rid of mine in a moment of stupidity. I absolutely adore the idea of fantasy cities, particularly those of a shady, crime-ridden sort like Lankhmar or Sanctuary. That said, I can't deny that the set nevertheless has flaws, chief among them being the amount of space devoted to describing all the characters in so many different RPG systems. I'd much rather that the book had provided statistics for only two or three rules sets – D&D, RQ, and T&T maybe? – and then used the freed space to flesh out the city further or expand the scenario ideas instead. Of course, I'd have been even happier if this product had been a complete Thieves' World fantasy roleplaying game using Basic Role-Playing, but I can't really complain in the end. If  only I'd kept my copy … 

Imagine Magazine: Issue #23

Issue #23 of Imagine (February 1985) features a cover by Carl Critchlow of Thrud the Barbarian fame. As if that weren't enough to endear it to me, it also features Crusader great helm, something for which I've long had an inexplicable affection. The cover also boasts that this issue will highlight ghosts and so it does in an article by Chris Barlow entitled, naturally enough, "Ghosts." Much like last issue's article on vampires, this one seeks to expand the possibilities for ghosts. Unlike its predecessor, "Ghosts" includes no new mechanical options for these insubstantial undead, but instead devotes its three pages entirely to other options, such as appearance, actions, and origins, with an eye toward individualizing ghosts in this manner. I approve of this approach, which is buttressed with a follow-up AD&D scenario, "The Curse of Arivale," also by Barlow, dealing with an aristocrat's hall haunted by a variety of ghosts, including two new types – good stuff in my opinion.

This month's Pelinore article "The Big Wide World" expands beyond the City League to give readers an overview of the entire setting. A large scale map of the whole world is provided, along with information on geography and timekeeping. As described here, Pelinore is "a symbol of the central struggle of Opposites: Law and Chaos, Good and Evil, Beauty and Ugliness, Happiness and Misery." While most people in the setting are unaware of this cosmic struggle, it nevertheless colors everything that happens in it, though, as the article notes, "Harmony is the route to peace." I'm fascinated by this, since I've long felt that works best in Dungeons & Dragons when tied to a metaphysical battle á la Moorcock or Anderson. I'm curious to see if this idea is developed more in future articles. Accompanying this article is a single-page one by Venetia Lee describing the Basilisks, a criminal gang in the City League.

Paul Vernon's "Languages in AD&D Campaigns" is a fine, if broad, article on this subject. Its most interesting sections concern how languages can be used to establish facts about a campaign setting, as well as its musings on alignment languages. (I find it fascinating that so many Imagine articles take up the question of alignment and take it seriously, of which I approve. Makes me wonder why this was so.) "A Knight to Be King" by Chris Felton discusses the various ways a player character might acquire a royal title, including seizing it from an existing monarch. It's an interesting mix of advice and history, with some vague mechanical guidelines on how to handle the military conflicts that would inevitably follow any such seizure of power. Meanwhile, Carl Sargent's "The Multi-Character Campaign" discusses the pros and cons of a campaign where each player controls a "stable" of PCs of various classes and levels. I personally like this model of campaigning and have found that, if a campaign lasts long enough, it's almost inevitable that each player will have multiple characters. This has happened in my House of Worms Empire of the Petal Throne campaign, for example.

"The Shedu's Hall" by Matthew Parker is a D&D adventure set in Pelinore, which also centers around a hall haunted by a unique ghost. Roger Musson gives us "An Introduction to Board Wargaming," which is a very good sketch of this rather large subject. Most interesting, I think, is Musson's note toward the end that "wargames" need not be about wars or even military conflicts at all, which is absolutely true in my experience and probably explains why many contemporary wargames call themselves "historical simulations" or some variant thereof. "Getting In" by Paul Mason concerns itself with how one much become involved in the hobby of roleplaying, with an emphasis on the types of activities outside of playing at the table on might pursue, from fanzines to convention attendance.

This month's game reviews focus heavily on adventures "suitable for use with AD&D," such as those produced by Role Aids and Grenadier. There's also a very positive review of Chill and some Traveller supplements by FASA. "Fantasy Media" by Colin Greenland includes reviews of the movies Metropolis and Romancing the Stone, the latter film being one I'd completely forgotten existed until now. Roger Musson's "Stirge Corner" focuses on wilderness travel and its pitfalls, a topic in which I have a great deal of interest, having run several sandbox campaigns over the last decade. There are also new installments of "Rubic of Moggedon" and "The Phalanx" comics, though, as I repeatedly say, I've done little more than glance at them.

There's some good material in this month's issue, particularly the overview of Pelinore, but, overall, it's a much more middling issue than I had hoped. Mind you, as someone who's put out twelve issues of a fanzine, I understand very well how hard it can be to ensure that every issue is as good as, if not better than, the last. Still, I'm finding Imagine a good read overall and I look forward to future issues.

Pulp Fantasy Library: On Thud and Blunder

I'm firmly of the opinion that it's no mistake Dungeons & Dragons was published when it was. The late '60s saw a huge literary revival of pulp fantasy, thanks in no small part to the Ballantine Adult Fantasy series edited by Lin Carter, which kicked off in 1969. And one cannot deny the influence that the first authorized paperback editions of Tolkien's works (also published by Ballantine) had, when they appeared in 1965. This foundation having been laid down, the 1970s proved to be an extraordinarily fruitful period for fantasy literature of all sorts, much of it quite excellent. Of course, given the sheer volume of new fantasies being written during the '70s, it was inevitable that a significant portion of them would be, at best, mediocre and, at worst, execrable. This was particularly the case with regards to "heroic fantasy," the term then used to refer to what we nowadays call sword-and-sorcery tales -- the genre Robert E. Howard pioneered in the 1930s.

It's against this backdrop that Poul Anderson penned his famous essay "On Thud and Blunder," which first appeared in Andrew Offutt's anthology, Swords Against Darkness III, published in 1978. Anderson's essay is both a clear-headed skewering of the worst excesses of then-contemporary sword-and-sorcery stories and a call to arms to writers to do better in their own efforts. Anderson begins his essay with the following "excerpt" from the adventures of Gnorts the Barbarian:

With one stroke of his fifty-pound sword, Gnorts the Barbarian lopped off the head of Nialliv the Wizard. It flew through the air, still sneering, while Gnorts clove two royal guardsmen from vizor through breasplate to steel jockstrap. As he whirled to escape, an arrow glanced off his own chainmail. Then he was gone from the room, into the midnight city. Easily outrunning pursuit, he took a few sentries at the gate by surprise. For a moment, arms and legs hailed around him through showers of blood; then he had opened the gate and was free. A caravan of merchants, waiting to enter at dawn, was camped nearby. Seeing a magnificent stallion tethered, Gnorts released it, twisted the rope into a bridle, and rode it off bareback. After galloping several miles, he encountered a mounted patrol that challenged him. Immediately he plunged into the thick of the cavalrymen, swinging his blade right and left with deadly effect, rearing up his steed to bring its forefeet against one knight who dared to confront him directly. Then it was only to gallop onward. Winter winds lashed his body, attired in nothing more than a bearskin kilt, but he ignored the cold. Sunrise revealed the shore and his waiting longship. He knew the swift-sailing craft could bring him across five hundred leagues of monster-infested ocean in time for him to snatch the maiden princess Elamef away from evil Baron Rehcel while she remained a maiden — not that he intended to leave her in that condition … .

As Anderson immediately admits, the above is "exaggerated" for effect "but, unfortunately, not much." Before moving on to the meat of his essay, he defends heroic fantasy literature as not "inherently inferior" to other kinds of literature, while at the same time recognizing that

every kind of writing is prone to special faults. For example, while no one expects heroic fantasy (hf) to be of ultimate psychological profundity, it is often simple to the point of being simplistic.

The purpose of "On Thud and Blunder," then, is to point out these "special faults" so that writers can avoid them in the future and thus ensure that fantasy literature lives up to its fullest potential. That's an admirable thing in my opinion, but it Anderson's essay is loaded with assumptions that don't always apply -- which is inevitable when you're dealing with fantasy. Anderson takes the tack that heroic fantasy takes place in a pre-industrial society based on historical Europe. That's often the case, but it isn't universally so (look at Tékumel, to cite just one obvious example), making some of his comments and suggestions less broadly pertinent than he might have assumed.

That said, he brings up a large number of good points, such as:

People who have experienced blackouts will tell you that a nighted city without the modern invention of lights is black. With walls shutting off most of the sky — especially along narrow medieval streets — it is far gloomier that any open field. You’d grope your way, unless you had a torch or lantern (and then you’d better have an armed guard). Furthermore, those lanes were open sewers; in many places, stepping stones went down the middle because of that. Despite sanitary measures, metropolitan streets as late as about 1900 were often uncrossable simply because of horse droppings. Graveyards stank too: one reason why incense was used in church services.

And:

The Church raises the subject of religion in general, which is little used in our field. Oh, yes, we may get a hero swearing by his particular gods and perhaps carrying through a small rite, equivalent to stroking a rabbit’s foot. We certainly got plenty of obscene ceremonies in honor of assorted toad-like beings. Both of these do have their historical counterparts. Nevertheless, it would be interesting to see an imaginary society which was pervaded by its faith, as many real ones have been.

These are but two small but valuable thoughts Anderson brings to bear in imagining an "improved" heroic fantasy genre, where verisimilitude is given a higher priority than it often is by writers of the genre. No doubt some will see in this essay a schoolmarmish attitude seeking to "take the fun out of" pulp fantasy by making it conform to a narrowly-conceived "reality," but I don't think that's what Anderson was attempting to do at all. Rather, he wanted writers to avoid sloppiness and to ground their stories of fantastical heroism in something more closely approximating a believable world, so as to make both the fantasy and the heroism shine all the brighter. Even if one disagrees with him and his observations, "On Thud and Blunder" is nevertheless and intriguing document from the second flowering of sword-and-sorcery literature and is worth reading for anyone interested in its history.

Comments on this post can be made here.

Pulp Fantasy Library: Witch of the Demon Seas

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you want?"

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

"What is it?" he asked hoarsely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pulp Fantasy Library: The Tale of Hauk

For reasons I've never quite been able to ascertain, Gary Gygax singles out the third volume of the Andrew J. Offutt-edited anthology series, Swords Against Darkness, for special mention in Appendix N to the Advanced Dungeons & Dragons Dungeon Masters Guide. This isn't to say that Swords Against Darkness III isn't worthy of inclusion -- it includes stories by Ramsey Campbell, Tanith Lee, and Manly Wade Wellman, not to mention Poul Anderson's essay "On Thud and Blunder," which ought to be enough to qualify it by almost any standard -- but I can't help but wonder what it was that made it so memorable to Gygax. I say this because the first volume, published in 1977, contains a similar lineup of authors and is, to my mind, just as good as (or at least no worse than) its successor.

A good case in point is Poul Anderson's "The Tale of Hauk," a short story based on Scandinavian legend. The titular hero, Hauk Geirolfsson, is a "chapman" -- a trader -- who has traveled far and wide beyond the northern lands of his birth. Hauk is often gone for years, visiting places and seeing things of which his people have never dreamed. Despite this, his father does not think especially well of him, seeing trading as no profession for a Norseman. At one point, a female friend of Hauk asks him about his manner of life.

"So you grow mighty as a chapman, Hauk," Alfhild teased. "Have you never gone in viking ... only once, only to please your father?"

"No," he answered gravely. " I fail to see what manliness lies in falling on those too weak to defend themselves. We traders must be stronger and more war-skilled than any who seek to plunder us." A thick branch of driftwood, bleached and hardened, lay nearby. Hauk picked it up and snapped it between his hands. Two other men would have had trouble doing that. It gladdened him to see Alfhild glow at the sight. "Nobody has tried us twice," he said.

Anderson thus makes it clear that, while Hauk is unlike others of his people, he is still a stout warrior and a brave one, too, having faced more than bandits in the course of his many travels. Geirolf, his father, is now an old man who can no longer go viking, as he once did. Embittered, angry, and fearing "straw-death" -- death in his bed rather than in battle -- he has taken to insulting and challenging all whom he meets, in hopes of rousing them to strike and kill him. He does this repeatedly to Hauk, but his son ignores his affronts.

While away on yet another journey, Hauk's father dies in his bed. Because of his manner of death, Geirolf cannot be buried in his ship, but is instead placed in an ordinary earthen grave. This does not sit well with his spirit, which rises as a "drow" and begins to wreak havoc on his people. When Hauk returns, his family and friends turn to him, assuming that, in his travels, he might have learned of a means to deal with such a threat. "I am no wizard," he replies. "If the gods themselves would not lay this ghost what can I do?" The remainder of the story deals with that question and how Hauk decides to answer it.

Poul Anderson is one of my favorite authors, so my judgment when it comes to his work is likely impaired. Nonetheless, I don't think I exaggerate when I say that "The Tale of Hauk" is one of his best short works of fantasy, not so much for its story -- though its story is quite compelling -- but for its use of language. Among Anderson's many interests was what English might sound like bereft of its non-Germanic word borrowings, culminating in his 1989 essay on atomic theory called "Uncleftish Beholding."  "The Tale of Hauk," though from an earlier date, was written in a similar vein and, rather than being whimsical, the style suits it perfectly, making it at once easily readable but also evocative of another time and place. As Offutt says in his own introduction to the piece:

If the language of this story isn't the way scholars think the tales of Scandinavia should be translated -- they're wrong. If you don't promptly fall in love with the language -- you're wrong.

That may be a bit strong of a sentiment, though only a bit. For myself, I adore the way Anderson tells this tale; his use of largely "Anglo-Saxon" words lends it a unique sound and rhythm that, along with its story of filial piety and a society in transition, makes it well worth a read.

Pulp Science Fiction Library: Tiger by the Tail

No, that's not a mistake in the title of this post. For the month of December, Pulp Fantasy Library has become Pulp Science Fiction Library, with a special emphasis on authors who have been particularly influential on me over the years. That's why I inaugurate this special feature with Poul Anderson's 1951 short story "Tiger by the Tail," which marks the first appearance of one of his most memorable characters, Captain Sir Dominic Flandry of the Imperial Naval Intelligence Corps. Flandry is often described as a "science fiction James Bond," which, while apt, is somewhat anachronistic, given that Ian Fleming wouldn't start writing Casino Royale until 1952 and the novel wouldn't appear in print until 1953. Similarly, the plot of "Tiger by the Tail" is sometimes described as "Yojimbo in space," which, again, is apt but anachronistic as Kurosawa's classic film appeared a decade after Anderson's short story.

"Tiger by the Tail" begins with Captain Flandry having been drugged and captured by unknown assailants. As Flandry regains consciousness and contemplates his predicament, he quickly comes to some conclusions about them:

They were barbarians, all right. But no tribe that he knew about.

That wasn’t too surprising, since the Terrestrial Empire and the half-dozen other civilized states in the known Galaxy ruled over several thousands of intelligent races and had some contact with nobody knew how many thousands more. Many of the others were, of course, still planet-bound, but quite a few tribes along the Imperial borders had mastered a lot of human technology without changing their fundamental outlook on things. Which is what comes of hiring barbarian mercenaries.

The peripheral tribes were still raiders, menaces to the border planets and merely nuisances to the Empire as a whole. Periodically they were bought off, or played off against each other—or the Empire might even send a punitive expedition out. But if one day a strong barbarian race under a strong leader should form a reliable coalition—then vae victis!

If the above passage makes Anderson's 31st century setting sound a bit like the late Roman Empire, there's a good reason for that. His stories of Flandry are about the interstellar spy's efforts to stave off "the Long Night," the Dark Age that will inevitably fall across civilized space should the tottering Terran Empire finally fall. Flandry knows he cannot stop the Long Night but he hopes he can delay it another generation or more -- or at least long enough not to have experience it himself. That's the overarching theme of all the tales of Flandry, which SF writer Theodore Cogswell elucidates eloquently in his introduction to a later collection of Anderson's Flandry stories.

The wildest adventures seem to come at two different stages in the life of a civilization. First the adventures come when the civilization is fresh, vigorous, and aggressively expanding. But there is also the time when the civilization is old, when it wants nothing but to be left in peace. Then the ruthless new peoples arise, beyond the imperial borders or even within them. It happened to Egypt, Persia, India, China, Greece, Rome. Someday it may happen to all Earth.

In those eras, someone must man the ramparts. He may be a Roman legionnaire, or he may be an intelligence agent of Terra’s empire among the stars. But he is always a lonely man. Sir Dominic, no grim and humorless professional hero, can crack a joke, hoist a bottle, or kiss a girl with the best of them. But he sees the barbarians pressing inward through the stellar marches. He sees the purpose of the powerful, nonhuman Merseian Empire—to end the uneasy peace with mankind by sweeping mankind aside. And he sees corruption and cowardice at home. If the Long Night is not to come in his own lifetime, if the things he cares about are to be saved, he must do what he can.

In "Tiger by the Tail," Flandry soon learns that his captors are an alien race called the Scothani, who'd somehow acquired sufficient technology to establish a little empire of their own, oppressing other aliens and impinging on the Empire's borders. Believing Flandry to be "another worthless younger son, given a high-paying sinecure so [he] can wear a fancy uniform and play soldier," the Scothani figured him an easy to target for kidnapping. And while they doubt his worth in the grand scheme of things, they still think him likely to know sufficient classified information to be useful and easily intimidated to hand over what he knows. Though on some level insulted by his "hosts'" estimation of his character and ability, Flandry nevertheless plays along. In doing so, he learns a great deal about not only the Scothians' culture, but also their politics, including rivalries within their leadership. It's through the keen understanding of the latter that the main plot of the short story unfolds -- and the comparisons to Yojimbo are made.

Compared to later Flandry stories, "Tiger by the Tail" is exceedingly pulpish. The Scothians, for example, are little more than Celtic/Nordic barbarians in space with a slightly inhuman skin color. They're a far cry from the more complex and believable aliens Anderson would create later in his career. Likewise, the plot, while exuberant, is a little unbelievable in the way that Flandry navigates it, even given his remarkable professional skills and personal talents. Despite that, there's something incredibly compelling about the idea of a man doing his level best to prop up a decadent and dying empire lest darkness fall across the galaxy. It's one I've always found very potent, even moreso as I get older. I guess it's no surprise, then, that most of my SF RPG campaigns over the years have employed it to one degree or another and that Thousand Suns includes it as a major pillar of its meta-setting.

Ares #16

Given all the recent discussion of Larry Elmore's artwork hereabouts, I was reminded of the cover he did for the Winter 1983 issue of Ares, which featured this illustration of English knights battling the alien Wersgorix from Poul Anderson's The High Crusade. This was an issue published after TSR had acquired SPI and includes a wargame (by David Cook) that re-enacts the events of Anderson's novel.

Also in the issue is an original short story by Poul Anderson that serves as a sequel to The High Crusade. What a different world 1983 was! When a story an author like Poul Anderson could not only be found in the pages of a gaming magazine but whose story assumed knowledge of a prior one. Mind you, that was not at all uncommon in the gaming magazines of my youth. Dragon regularly had short fiction in its pages, often by authors as distinguished Anderson, though, as I understand it, this practice largely ceased in the years after I stopped reading it, which, if true, is a shame.