The Articles of Dragon: "The Lovecraftian Mythos in Dungeons & Dragons"

In honor of The Shadow over August, I thought I'd do something a little different with my weekly "The Articles of Dragon" series. Instead of continuing to highlight articles that I remember or that made a strong impression on me – good or bad – from my youth, I'm instead going to spend this month focusing on Dragon articles that touch upon H.P. Lovecraft, his Cthulhu Mythos, or related topics. Interestingly, nearly all these articles come from before I was even involved in the hobby, let alone reading Dragon regularly. While I can't say for certain why that might be, I have a theory that I'll discuss later in this post.

The "From the Sorcerer's Scroll" column is nowadays associated with Gary Gygax, but its first three appearances (starting with issue #11 in December 1977) were penned by Rob Kuntz. Furthermore, the second of these initial columns, entitled "The Lovecraftian Mythos in Dungeons & Dragons," is, in fact, largely the work of J. Eric Holmes with additions by Kuntz. In his brief introduction to the article, Kuntz explains that the material is intended to be "compatible with Dungeons & Dragons Supplement IV 'Gods, Demigods & Heroes'." It's also meant to satisfy both "Lovecraft enthusiasts" and those "not familiar with the Cthulhu cycle."

From the beginning, it's immediately clear that, despite its title, much of what follows in the article is not authentically Lovecraftian but owes more to August Derleth's idiosyncratic interpretation of HPL's work. For example:

The Great Old Ones of the Cthulhu Mythos are completely evil and often times chaotic. They were banished or sealed away by the Elder Gods.  

Now is not the time to relitigate the case of Lovecraft v. Derleth, which is a much more complex and nuanced discussion than many people, myself included, have often made it out to be. However, I bring this up simply to provide context for what follows. In February 1978, when issue #12 of Dragon appeared, Lovecraft scholarship was, much like that of Robert E. Howard, still in very much in its infancy, with the popular conceptions of both writers and their literary output still very much in the thrall of pasticheurs like Derleth, L. Sprague de Camp, Lin Carter, etc. With that in mind, we can look at the article itself.

Holmes describes "only Lovecraft's major gods," namely, Azathoth, Cthulhu, Hastur, Nyarlathotep, Shub-Niggurath, Cthugha, Ithaqua, Yig, and Yog-Sothoth. These selections clearly show the influence of Derleth, who was very keen on Hastur, Ithaqua, and Cthugha, the last two of which were his own inventions. Each god is given an armor class, move, and hit points, along with magic, fighter, and psionic ability. I find these statistics really fascinating, as they're somewhat unimpressive by the standards of later editions of D&D, but were considered exceptionally powerful by the standards of OD&D, for which they were written. Cthulhu, for example, has only AC 2 and 200hp and fights like a 15th-level fighter.

Also described in the article are Byakhee, Deep Ones, the Great Race, the Old Ones, Mi-Go, and Shaggoths [sic]. They're described in the same way as the gods, using the same game statsistics. What I found interesting here is that Holmes suggests the Byakhee are more potent opponents than the Shoggoths, something my post-Call of Cthulhu brain wouldn't have concluded. From the vantage point of the present, that's what makes this article so fascinating: it's an artifact from a time before Chaosium's RPG was published and helped to popularize not just Lovecraft's creations but a particular interpretation of them. This article is an alternate presentation of those creations and, even if I disagree with parts of it, I appreciate its uniqueness.

Obviously, this article was published before 1980's Deities & Demigods, whose early printings included a different presentation of the Cthulhu Mythos. As a kid, my copy of the book was one of the later printings that didn't include this chapter (or that of Moorcock's Melnibonéan Mythos) and indeed I didn't even notice its absence until I was in college. My roommate had a copy of one of the early printings and I was flabbergasted when I saw its extra chapters. The saga of the inclusion and removal of the Cthulhu and Melnibonéan material from the DDG is well known, I think, so I won't repeat it here. However, I wonder if it left a sufficiently bad taste in TSR's mouth that Dragon would thereafter include almost no Lovecraft-related material in its pages for years after the event.

Boot Hill Introduction (Part I)

One of the (many) fascinating things about Boot Hill is that its presentation is quite different from TSR's other RPGs of similar vintage, like Dungeons & Dragons or Gamma World. Consider what the introduction to the 1979 second edition has to say on the matter:

BOOT HILL is designed to function as a game in two ways – as a set of rules for man-to-man gunfighting action, and as an outline guide for setting up quasi-historical or fictional role-playing campaigns for an ongoing series of events. Although in the first context alone BOOT HILL will provide many hours of exciting action, it is in the latter way that the game fully reveals all its enjoyable possibilities – as player characters pursue their individual goals and interact with each other in a continuing game situation. With a good mix of interesting players and a competent gamemaster/referee there will certainly be no lack of action – as sheep ranchers and cattlemen pursue outlaws and rustlers, unscrupulous businessmen expand their holdings, hostile Indians threaten and much more.

This is an important paragraph. The most immediate statement of note here is that Boot Hill is intended to be used in two ways, first as a traditional RPG focused on a small group of characters and second as a vehicle for campaign play in which characters and groups of characters contend with one another. Equally notable, in my opinion, is the statement that Boot Hill "fully reveals" itself through campaign play, which is a statement I fully endorse. 

The introduction continues:

Players will find that, once learned, the mechanics of play for BOOT HILL will be easily handled. This means that tabletop games can be played with a minimum of trouble and preparation, either with a referee or without.

Pay close attention to that last prepositional clause: either with a referee or without. If one is only familiar with the way RPGs are typically played today, that's got to be something of a shock.

The larger campaign games will require a gamemaster. This individual is not a player himself, but rather functions as a moderator of all the game activity – from devising the details of the setting and campaign situation and the player characters' part within it, to moderating and overseeing all game action (not only that which is to occur on the tabletop, but also the considerable pursuits and intrigues which go on "behind the scenes"). No more than an average knowledge of the "Old West" is needed, since the game is designed to be flexible and can be set up as desired with the information and suggestions given in this booklet. If the game is set up and conducted in a way which will be challenging and enjoyable to the players (as well as interesting to the referee), then it will be a success.

Reading this, I find myself reminded of Diplomacy, a game that was very popular with many early roleplayers, including Gary Gygax. An aspect of what makes Diplomacy unique is that there is a "roleplaying" element to it, in that each player acts as a diplomat for a European nation in the early 20th century and engages in public and secret negotiations with the other player diplomats with the goal of advancing his nation's interests and the expense of the others. Diplomacy is, to use contemporary parlance, a PVP game in which a player can only succeed at the expense of others. 

I won't go so far as to claim that Diplomacy is the hidden key to understanding how many campaigns were played in the early days of the hobby, but I nevertheless do believe that it's an oft-forgotten part of the context out of which roleplaying games evolved. As near as I can tell, early campaigns were freewheeling, chaotic affairs in which players often pitted themselves against one another and campaign events were just as likely to be the results of this player-versus-player struggle as referee-created situations. The early history of Gygax's Greyhawk campaign is instructive here, in which Rob Kuntz's fighter, Robilar, frequently acted in his own self-interest and against those of other player characters in the campaign. 

This seems to be the kind of play that the introduction to Boot Hill is advocating and that the game was designed to facilitate. In my next post, I'll take a closer look at a later section of the introduction, which provides additional detail about how campaign play of this sort was envisaged.

Boot Hill Credits

I've been re-reading the second edition of Boot Hill recently. There's a lot in it that I'd forgotten and that I think worthy of comment, but I'll save that for an upcoming post. For now, I simply want to draw attention to the game's credits. In addition to crediting the game's designers, editors, and artists, it also lists the names of its playtesters, along with the characters they played. For anyone interested in the history of the hobby, it's fascinating stuff:

Jim "Gatling Gun" Ward (Julio Diego Garcia)
Mike "Hellfire & Brimstone" Carr (Dwayne De Truthe, and the Douglas Gang)
Rob "Shoot 'Em Up" Kuntz (The Moonwaltz Kid)
"Dastardly Dave" Megarry (Dastardly Dave Slade)
Dave Arneson (Ben Cartwheel of The Ponderous Ranch)
Gary "I Own It All" Gygax (Mr. G)
Terry "Hotshot" Kuntz (Mason Dix)
Tim "Elect Me!" Kask (Tim McCall)
Ernie "Scatter Gun" Gygax (Ernie Sloan)
Brian "Buckshot" Blume (The Referee)

The list is a veritable who's who of the early days of TSR Hobbies, which I suppose shouldn't really be a surprise, since this edition was released in 1979. The player nicknames are quite amusing and I suspect they relate to events from the campaign. 

Appendix D of Boot Hill includes a list of fictional non-player characters, many of whose names match those listed in parentheses above, suggesting they're the names of player characters. This list includes not only these characters' names but also their game statistics and profession. For example, Mr. G, Gary Gygax's character, is described as a "rancher." That probably explains the "I Own It All" nickname above. Meanwhile, Mike Carr's character, Dwayne De Truthe, is a preacher and Tim Kask's Tim McCall is a saloon keeper and gamber (and presumably a would-be politician).

I absolutely adore lists like this. Frankly, I wish we knew more about the play of early RPG campaigns by people who'd eventually go on to make an impact on the hobby. I wish, for example, that I had a similar list for the Traveller campaigns played by the GDW crew. Perhaps I'll have to press Marc Miller about this when I see him at Gamehole Con this October.

From the Sorceror's [sic] Scroll

Way back in issue #11 of Dragon (December 1977), a new column appeared entitled "From the Sorcerer's Scroll." This was the image that accompanied the first appearance of the column.

The first three columns were penned by Rob Kuntz. With issue #14 (May 1978), Gary Gygax took over the column and a new image accompanied it.

Interestingly, the table of contents to issue #14 includes this:

In case the image above is too small to read, the title of Gygax's column is called "Sorceror's [sic] Scroll." That's a misspelling, albeit a very common one. In the next issue, the table of contents spells the word "sorcerer" correctly. However, in issue #18 (September 1978), the misspelling returns – before being fixed again in issue #19 (October 1978). However, the misspelling returns again in issue #23 (March 1979) and remains. The situation gets worse in issue #30 (October 1979), when the column gets new art.

Unlike the previous two bits of accompanying art, which spelled sorcerer correctly even when the table of contents was in error, the appearance of new art enshrines the misspelling permanently. You can even see it in the next iteration of the column's art, from issue #68 (December 1982).

I'm admittedly a stickler for correct spelling, so maybe I'm more sensitive to this sort of thing than are most people. Even so, "sorceror" is a pretty egregious misspelling, all the more so when it's clear that someone working on Dragon knew the correct spelling and would make adjustments to the table of contents when he saw the error. Interestingly, the magic-user level title of "sorcerer" is consistently spelled correctly throughout the history of Dungeons & Dragons, even in OD&D, which is notorious for its misspellings, typos, and other orthographical blunders. This makes me wonder what was going in the editorial offices of Dragon.

In Defense of Evil Characters

Having last week come to the defense of the murderhobo, I thought I'd go one step further this week by doing something similar for outright evil characters. That's because, for as long as I've played Dungeons & Dragons, I've never considered the possibility of playing such characters illegitimate. None of the editions of the game I encountered in the first few years after I entered the hobby – in order: Holmes Basic, AD&D, or Moldvay Basic – forbids characters from being evil (though the matter is a little complicated in the latter case, since there is no explicitly "evil" alignment). Indeed, all three versions of the game are quite clear that a player character can be of any alignment, including evil ones. 

Likewise, Holmes states that at least one class – thieves – are "not truly good," while AD&D goes further, claiming that "most thieves tend toward evil." Assassins engage in an activity that Gary Gygax memorably described as "the antithesis of weal," hence their outright restriction to evil alignment. Monks have a very limited range of alignments, but Lawful Evil is among them. Bards are almost as restricted in their alignment options, yet they too can be evil. Only druids, paladins, and rangers are forbidden from being evil by the rules, suggesting that the possibility of a player choosing to play an evil cleric or fighter is in no way beyond the pale. 

Of course, it's one thing to see the possibility of evil characters as legitimate and another to see it as desirable. In the early days, I tended to transfer Moldvay's perspective about Chaotic characters to evil ones more broadly: they don't play well with others. For the most part, my friends shared this perspective. I cannot recall anyone of my neighborhood buddies wanting to play an evil character, let alone actually doing so. Like me, they'd come to D&D as relatively innocent boys who looked to the heroes of mythology and literature for inspiration in generating our earliest characters.  Few, if any, of these characters were evil either in thought or deed and our own characters reflected this.

However, as I mentioned in my post about murderhobos, a number of the protagonists of the pulp fantasy stories that served as the inspiration of Gary Gygax in his personal conception of the game were, at best, morally ambiguous and, in a few cases, evil by the standards of D&D's alignment system. That this is the case is made unmistakable in, for example, the write-up of Elric in Deities & Demigods, which judges him Chaotic Evil in alignment. One can certainly argue the fine details of that or similar judgments, but there's no denying that there's a strong tradition of pulp fantasy characters whose exploits include a lot of morally dubious actions.

Beyond that, one need only take a look at the play of the earliest Dungeons & Dragons campaigns. Blackmoor, the birthplace of D&D, featured at least one significant evil player character – Sir Fang, a fighter-turned-vampire whose depredations proved so frightful to the other characters in that campaign that the cleric class was created to stand against him. Meanwhile, one of the most successful characters in Gygax's Greyhawk campaign was Robilar, played by Rob Kuntz. Robilar was not unique in this regard. A quick look at The Rogues Gallery reveals a number of evil-aligned player characters among TSR's writers and designers. If you look at the pregenerated characters for use with modules like Expedition to the Barrier Peaks and Dwellers of the Forbidden City, you'll find several also have evil alignments.

The weight of all this evidence was still insufficient to turn me into a defender of evil characters, except in the narrowest sense. Yes, the rules allow for evil characters, but that didn't mean I had to like it. What ultimately changed my mind was when, many years after I first played D&D, I participated in several sessions that featured an evil character. He was a Neutral Evil psionicist/thief – this was in the days of 2e – and he made himself very useful to his companions by both his skills and his knowledge. I never completely trusted him, but there was no denying that he filled a niche in the party and that his presence helped us succeed when we might otherwise have not. It helped, too, that he was well roleplayed as a charming, if not at all trustworthy, rascal. 

Ultimately, that's what convinced me that an evil character could be fun: good roleplaying. Here was a completely disreputable character, a liar and a cheat, whose actions were always self-interested – but he was played so well and so enjoyably that I almost forgot he was evil. Eventually, the character had the opportunity to betray his comrades to his benefit and he took it. The betrayal left us in a bit of a bind and, while my character was certainly angry, I was not. The character acted as he ought to have, given his alignment. If anyone is to be blamed, it's the rest of us for taking on such a character, knowing as we did that he was evil. But, as I said, he was charming, so fun, that we let our guard down and paid the price for it.

That may seem an odd defense of evil characters. From my perspective, though, it's the strongest one I can offer: sometimes it's fun. Roleplaying games are a form of escapism, something I consider very important, especially nowadays. Having a creative outlet for our baser instincts is, in my opinion, just as vital as having one where we can behave heroically. Sometimes we want to be Galahad and sometimes we want to be Cugel the Clever. I don't see either one as inherently better than the other. While my preference remains for less morally compromised characters, I can easily see the fun in evil characters. Arguably, many of the characters in my House of Worms campaign would be considered evil in D&D terms, so it's not as if the playstyle is completely outside my taste. I've also long harbored a desire to a referee a D&D campaign in which all the characters are members of a Thieves' Guild. In such a campaign, I suspect the vast majority of the characters would be evil, or at least non-good.

I'd love to know of your experiences playing or playing with evil characters. Is it enjoyable? Is it something you'd recommend? What are the advantages and drawbacks of this kind of game? It's a topic that I think deserves greater examination.

How Common Were Long Campaigns?

A topic that I think is worthy of further discussion is the extent to which the contemporary "old school" RPG scene is characterized by varying degrees of hyper-correction to the real and imagined excesses of the subsequent (post-1990 or thereabouts) hobby. For the moment, I want to focus on one area where this hyper-correction might exist: long campaigns. I say "might," because I honestly don't know the extent to which lengthy, multi-year campaigns were all that commonplace in the past, even among the founders of the hobby. Certainly, if you read things like the AD&D Dungeon Masters Guide, such campaigns were clearly the ideal, at least in some quarters, but what about the reality? Just how common were long campaigns of the sort that I've been extolling for the last few years on this blog?

By most accounts, the earliest version of what would come to be called the Blackmoor campaign appeared sometime in late 1970 or early 1971. Over the course of the next four to five years, Dave Arneson continued to referee adventures set in Blackmoor, with a rotating roster of players (and characters), though there seems to have been a significant amount of continuity during that time period. Gary Gygax's Greyhawk campaign began sometime in 1972 and continued to be played, off and on, throughout the remainder of the decade, again with a rotating roster of players. Then there's Greg Stafford's Dragon Pass campaign and Steve Perrin's one in Prax, not to mention whatever Marc Miller and the GDW crew were doing in the Spinward Marches.

How many of the foregoing were "long" campaigns in the way we've been talking about them lately? Much depends, I suppose, on how you define both terms. For myself, a "campaign" is a continuous series of adventures/sessions in a fictional setting with a regular, if not necessarily static, set of players. I'm sure people could quibble with almost every aspect of my definition, especially since many of the foundational campaigns of the hobby might not qualify under its terms. Likewise, my definition, for all its specificity, is silent on questions as basic as whether a campaign with multiple referees – like the Greyhawk campaign that was eventually co-refereed by Rob Kuntz – is one campaign or two. Then, there's the Ship of Theseus question of how many of the elements of a campaign's beginning must persist over time for it to qualify as the "same" campaign, to say nothing of what constitutes "long." Is length determined by the calendar, the number of sessions, or the time spent playing?

I think these are all important questions, even if we can't easily agree on the answers. Simply asking them is, in my opinion, a good way to fumble toward a better understanding of this hobby, its parameters, and its history. For example, M.A.R. Barker's Thursday night Tékumel campaign would seem to be a paradigmatic example of a long campaign, lasting as it did, with many of the same players, from the late '70s into the 21st century. Though there are no doubt other examples of similarly long-running campaigns, the "Thursday Night Group" is quite likely the highest profile one of which I know. Its longevity and degree of continuity surpasses that of anything Arneson, Gygax, Stafford, or any of the other founders have the hobby ever achieved. That's no small accomplishment, but is it in any way representative of what a long campaign is or should be?

There's also the question of what RPG players in the wider world beyond were doing. How many of them were involved in long campaigns? Depending on how you want to look at it, I was part of either the second or third wave of roleplayers, entering the hobby at the very end of 1979 and beginning serious play of RPGs in early 1980. My friends and I were young – I would have been 10 years old at the time – and, while we knew older, more experienced gamers and were influenced by them, we mostly forged our own paths. For the most part, that path did not include long campaigns. Instead, we flitted from game to game, playing D&D intensely for a month or two, then doing the same with Gamma World or Traveller or Call of Cthulhu, before returning to D&D or whatever other game caught or fancy at the time.

I doubt we were alone in this sort of behavior and I suspect that, as the RPG industry grew, producing ever more games, our behavior was much more widespread than sticking with one game devotedly for years on end. That's not to say we never played a single game for long stretches of time and to the exclusion of others – we did – but these were exceptions rather than the rule, at least until I attended college. Indeed, it was only with adulthood that I succeeded in refereeing a multi-year campaign with the same players and their characters. All the long campaigns I can recall have occurred after I was in my 20s and I sometimes wonder if the level of attentiveness necessary to maintain campaigns of this sort is only possible after a certain age.

So, how common were long campaigns in the past? I wish I knew, if only because I think it's important to understand the history of the hobby as it was rather than as we wish it were. 

Retrospective: Greyhawk

After more than 300 posts in this series, it's often difficult to come up with an appropriately interesting subject for each week's Retrospective. As a general rule, I try to stick to RPG products published before 1989 or thereabouts, since that marks the beginning of D&D's Bronze Age and a sea change within the larger hobby. I likewise try to stick to RPG products I owned and/or used at the table, or that were at least important to me in some way, though I've often broken this rule over the years. Ultimately, my point is that choosing a product to discuss each week is more of a chore than one might suppose.

In thinking about what to write this week, I eventually realized that, while Original Dungeons & Dragons has always been a staple of this blog, I'd somehow never written specifically about its very first supplement, 1975's Greyhawk. I'd referenced Greyhawk innumerable times, of course, but I'd never given it a proper Retrospective-style treatment. This is an egregious oversight on my part, not simply because of how important Supplement I is to the history of D&D, but also because I've given both Eldritch Wizardry and Gods, Demigods & Heroes this kind of attention, which seems unfair.

From the vantage point of 2023, nearly a half-century after its initial publication, it's likely impossible to appreciate just how significant the appearance of Greyhawk was at the time. Most of its additions to OD&D, from paladins and thieves to new spells, magic items, and monsters, were all later incorporated into the much more widely read Advanced Dungeons & Dragons rules. Consequently, a reader coming to Supplement I for the first time might mistakenly fail to see what the big deal was about this 68-page digest-sized booklet. Yet, in many very real ways, this is the volume that transformed OD&D into the game that most of us recognize today, even those playing editions that wouldn't be released until the 21st century.

How could it not? At 68 pages long, Greyhawk is more than half the length of all three volumes of OD&D. The sheer bulk of the new material more or less guaranteed that any adoption of it would change both the character and complexity of the campaign in which it's used. In his foreword, Gary Gygax – then the humble "Tactical Studies Rules Editor" – agrees, noting that "what is herein adds immeasurably to the existing game." Greyhawk, he later explains, includes "new rules, additions to existing rules, and suggested changes." This is true, as far as it goes, since each section of the supplement carries a parenthetical notation, such as "(Additions and Changes)" or "(Corrections and Additions)." However, the overall thrust of the supplement is one of supersession, with the new material being more than simply suggestions the individual referee can either adopt or not, as he sees fit. 

Even if that was not the intention, that seems to have been how Greyhawk was widely received at the time of its publication. It is my understanding – and those older than I, who remember those days, can correct me if I am mistaken – that most referees gleefully incorporated the new material into their campaigns without much complaint. After all, they'd already been adding their creations and those of others, too, so why wouldn't they accept the latest word from OD&D's own publisher? Indeed, the cynic in me can't help but wonder if Greyhawk was published so that TSR could get out in front of the torrent of content for D&D being created by someone other than themselves. 

As I stated at the start of this post, Supplement I forever changed the face of D&D. For one, it presented two new character classes, a new race (half-elves), and new options for multiclassing by non-humans that further muddled the question of the "right" way to interpret OD&D's notoriously unclear rules about elves. For another, it expanded the mechanical utility of ability scores and changed the way hit dice and hit point accumulation worked. All of this alone would have been sufficient to make OD&D + Greyhawk a very different game than OD&D alone, but Greyhawk offers up even more game changers, like the new experience point awards for defeating monsters. The new system is much less generous than OD&D original system, which the text of Greyhawk dubs "ridiculous." There's also the alternate weapon (and monster) damage system and an early version of AD&D's weapon vs AC table.

Then, there are the new spells, with their expanded level ranges. Magic-users now have spells have up to 9th level and clerics up to 7th, where before they were limited to 6th and 5th respectively. Among the new spells introduced in this supplement are many mainstays of the game, like magic missile, web, and silence, 15' radius, as well as many more higher-level spells, like the various power words and resurrection. The cumulative effect of all of this is to raise the power and utility of spellcasters, something that remained true for decades afterwards.

The new monsters include numerous D&D hallmarks, like beholders, umber hulks, and gelatinous cubes, not to mention the Queen of Chaotic Dragons (not yet named Tiamat, however). The list of new magic items is similarly filled with things people now associate strongly with the game, like vorpal blades, bracers of defense, portable holes, and decks of many things. Like the new spells, these additions greatly expand the scope of the game in myriad ways. They also contributed to D&D's growing distinctiveness as a thing unto itself rather than just the random mishmash of ideas and concepts liberally swiped from mythology, folklore, comic books, and pulp fantasy.

I cannot state strongly enough how important the publication of Greyhawk was to the history of Dungeons & Dragons. I'd go so far as to say that no supplement published has ever had as wide-ranging and profound an effect on the game's identity or its content. For good and for ill, the Dungeons & Dragons that exists today, both as a game and as a brand, was born in Greyhawk.

Random Roll: DDG, p. 11

In a change of pace, I thought it might be interesting to take a look at a section from AD&D's Deities & Deimgods. On page 11 of that book, there's a section entitled "Divine Ascension," which I recall attracted a lot of attention among players I knew in my youth. 

As study of the various mythologies will show, it is remotely possible for mortals to ascend into the ranks of the divine. However, there are certain requirements that must be fulfilled before such a thing could happen.

While I suppose it's possible that the players interested in seeing their characters ascend to godhood did so in imitation of Greco-Roman style apotheosis, I suspect the vast majority of them did so for far less historically-grounded reasons.

First, the character in question must have advanced to an experience level that is significantly above and beyond the average level of adventure-type characters in the general campaign. (This includes all such non-player types as military leaders, royal magic-users, etc.) For example, if the average level of characters in a campaign, both player and non-player, is around 5th level, then a candidate for ascension should be something like 9th or 10th level. If the average level is something like 15th level, then a character would have to be in the realm of 25th–30th level!

Given the overall premise – divine ascension – this seems reasonable. The fact that it specifies level ranges is surprisingly practical. That those levels are scaled to the average level of the campaign is fascinating.

Second, his or her ability scores must have been raised through some world-shaking magic to be on par with the lesser demigods. (Should such an act be lightly considered, remember that a wish spell is the most powerful magic that mankind can control, and such an average increase in abilities would literally take the power of dozens of wishes! Each use of that spell weakens the caster and ages him 3 years into the bargain, so they are not easy to come by.)  

A quick perusal of the demigods described in the DDG suggests that even the "lesser" ones have multiple – if not all – ability scores above 18, usually in the 20–22 range  Given that, this second requirement is particularly onerous and, in any reasonably run AD&D campaign, probably completely out of reach of most player characters. 

Third, the personage must have a body of sincere worshipers, people convinced of his or her divinity die to their witnessing of and/or belief in the mighty deeds and miracles which he or she has performed (and continues to perform). These must be genuine worshipers, honest in their adoration or propitiation of the person.

Again, this seems reasonable, though, in a world in which magic is, if not commonplace, a well-established and widely known thing, what constitutes a "miracle?" "Mighty deeds" are probably easier to quantify, though these too are probably defined in a relative fashion. 

Fourth, the person in question must be and have been a faithful and true follower of his or her alignment and patron deity. It is certain that any deviation will have been noted by the divine powers.

The most notable thing about this last requirement is the implication that being "a faithful and true follower" of one's alignment is not the same thing as being such of one's patron deity. The relationship between alignment, the Outer Planes, and the gods in AD&D is a vast topic with no clear answers, so I won't delve into it here. However, I do want to draw attention to it, since I think there are some rich possibilities to mine.

If all of the above conditions have been met, and the character has fulfilled a sufficient number of divine quests, then the character's deity may choose to invest the person with a certain amount of divine power, and bring the character into the ranks of the god's celestial (or infernal) servants.

"Divine quests?" Are these the same as the mighty deeds and miracles mentioned earlier or something else entirely? I assume the latter, though the text is not clear.

This process of ascension usually involves a great glowing beam of light and celestial fanfare, or (in the case of transmigrating to the lower planes), a blotting of the sun, thunder and lightning, and the disappearance of the character in a great smoky explosion.

Perhaps it's just me, but I find the description of ascension rather tacky.

Characters thus taken into the realms of the gods will serve their patron as minor functionaries and messengers. After several centuries of superior service and gradual advancement, exceptional servants may be awarded the status of demigod, which includes have an earthly priesthood and the ability to grant spells (up to 5th level) to the demigod's clerics. 

The bit about demigods being able to grant spells of up to 5th level is an interesting expansion/clarification of a section in the Dungeon Masters Guide that talks about the acquisition of clerical spells.

Naturally, ascension to divinity effectively removes the character from the general campaign, as the person will become a non-player member of the DM's pantheon.  

I think this final sentence pretty well sums up the general tenor of this section: yes, it's possible for a character to ascend to godhood, but it's really hard to do and, in the end, your character becomes an NPC who might, in a few centuries be recognized by mortals for his divinity. In short: why bother?  

Not to Be

In the past, I've written about D&D products that were announced or referenced but that, for whatever reason, never came to pass. While reading issue #55 of Dragon (November 1981), I came across references to some more (and some of the same) in Gary Gygax's "From the Sorceror's [sic] Scroll" column.

Of the five projects listed here, arguably only one – regular World of Greyhawk information via Dragon columns – was ever realized. TSR did release a City of Greyhawk boxed set in 1989, but I don't believe it bears much connection to the city from Gygax's campaign, having been written by Doug Niles, Carl Sargent, and Rik Rose. Likewise, we never saw any "smaller-scale maps of important areas of the Flanaess," unless you count some of the material included in Greyhawk modules from the late '80s and early '90s. Again, how much Gygaxian material any of these modules contain is likely tiny. This column is the first time I'd ever seen reference to "miniatures rules for large-scale battles between the states of Oerth" and I'm intrigued by the concept.

The last project mentioned, concerning the Greyhawk Castle and dungeons, is the most interesting. The fact that this project never saw much progress is well known and a source of much consternation from those of us interested in the earliest megadungeons of the hobby. Rather than simply give vent to my bitterness on this topic once more, I'd like to focus instead on Gygax's parenthetical comments about dungeon design. He says:

As with most extensive dungeon complexes, much is developed and kept in the head due to actual play, and some areas are so difficult as to be impossible for those not used to our DM style.

This is a very remarkable statement and one that rings true with my own experience. Mega or "tent pole" dungeons are in a constant state of flux, owing to the activities of the various factions that inhabit them, not to mention the actions of the player characters. Consequently, when refereeing a dungeon of this sort, it's often easiest to keep a very loose key rather than a more detailed one of the sort that works best for a published product. The process of converting Gygax's sketchy written material and mental notes into something fit for sale would no doubt have been an onerous one and I'm not at all surprised it never came to pass.

Rob Kuntz News

Yesterday, I received the following announcement:

The announcement contains links to two of the parties involved: TLB Games and Legends of Roleplaying, whose sites provide additional information about their products and plans for the future. Of particular interest to me are the references to Kuntz's Kalibruhn setting and his megadungeon, Castle El Raja Key, both of which are among the earliest examples of their kind in the history of the hobby. I believe it to be a tragedy that neither the Castle Blackmoor nor the Castle Greyhawk dungeons have ever been made available in a published form (the same goes for M.A.R. Barker's Jakállan underworld, though that, at least, in still a possibility in the future), so the prospect of seeing more of Kuntz's own early work is to be celebrated. 

When Does D&D Take Place?

No, I haven't gone insane. Yes, I realize that's a very odd question, but I think it's a question worth exploring.

When Dungeons & Dragons was released in 1974, it billed itself  as "Rules for Fantastic Medieval Wargames Campaigns." Gary Gygax elaborates a bit on this matter in his foreword, when he talks about the Castle and Crusade Society, the chapter of the International Federation of Wargaming formed by himself and Rob Kuntz in 1970. Among other things, the C&C Society served as a testbed for the miniatures rules that would eventually become Chainmail, itself one of the foundations on which the published version of D&D was built. He adds:

While the C&C Society is no longer, its spirit lives on, and we believe that all wargamers who are interested in the medieval, not just fantasy buffs, will enjoy playing DUNGEONS & DRAGONS.

So, at the start, Gygax in some way saw D&D as a "medieval" game, though precisely what "medieval" means is unclear. Looking at Chainmail, one sees that "medieval" covers a very broad swath of history, since the troop types include Saxons (6th–9th centuries), Normans (10th–15th centuries), Landsknechts (15th–17th centuries), and Condottiere (14th–17th centuries), among many others. Further, it's worth noting that Gygax quickly concedes that D&D "need not be restricted to the medieval," but, in so conceding, he is implying that "fantastic-medieval wargame play" is normative, or at least expected. 

The rules of OD&D themselves provide few clues as to what "medieval" means, since their details are both vague and inclusive. One could look at its list of "basic equipment" and attempt to draw historical conclusions, I suppose. The presence of, for example, plate mail armor might imply a late medieval (15th century) setting, but it's far from certain. In the discussion of clerics, there's a reference to "Turcopole-type" horsed crossbowmen that might imply a different time period (11th–12th centuries), that of the early Crusades. Again, though, it's far from definitive and one might well say it's evidence of the fruitlessness of this line of questioning.

I'm sympathetic to that point of view, if only because I don't think that Gygax ever intended Dungeons & Dragons to be a historical simulation. "These rules are strictly fantasy," he famously explained and all his most explicit references to the game's inspirations are works of fantasy literature, not history texts. Given that, what's the point of this exercise? For me, the point is simply gaining a better understanding of the original game's unstated assumptions so as to understand OD&D better. My intention is not to limit the scope of what's acceptable – something Gygax himself rejected, as noted above – but rather to see if there's anything we can learn about the game's characteristics and idiosyncrasies that might be rooted in its tacit historical antecedents. 

I remember thinking, upon reading Gygax's last published works, particularly those related to Castle Zagyg, that he had begun to embrace a very late medieval or even early modern vision of fantasy gaming. This made sense on multiple levels, given both his well-known fascination with exotic polearms, many of which did not appear on the scene until the late Middle Ages, and the fact that "adventuring" as an occupation is more plausible in a post-medieval world filled with rootless freemen and mercenaries. In fact, I have a recollection of Gygax's having admitted, in one of his many Q&A threads, that, were he to have written D&D at a later time rather than in the early 1970s, he'd have drawn more heavily from early modern history rather than the medieval. Unfortunately, I can't find the quote and might well have imagined it. 

Regardless, I think there's value in pondering the extent to which Dungeons & Dragons (and fantasy RPGs more generally) are in any sense "medieval" and what, if anything, that means for the worlds in which they are set. 

Huge Ruined Piles

Men & Magic, Volume I of original Dungeons & Dragons, in a section entitled "Preparation for the Campaign," rather famously describes a dungeon as a

"huge ruined pile, a vast castle built by generations of mad wizards and insane geniuses".

The quote is a popular one in the OSR and for good reason: it's incredibly evocative. Reading it, I find myself thinking of an immense, crumbling Gothic structure, perched precariously on some mountaintop and sprawling across its slopes. In this, I've likely been influenced by the cover illustration to OD&D's Supplement II: Blackmoor.

What's interesting is that both the Blackmoor and Greyhawk campaigns were centered around – and indeed named after – a castle (as was Rob Kuntz's El Raja Key). Despite that, it was the levels beneath those two castles that served as the focus of player character action rather than the castles proper. Castle Greyhawk did have an "upper works" (as did Castle Zagyg), but they did not occupy much of the player's attention, at least according to one account by James M. Ward. For Castle Blackmoor, we have a map of the surface levels of the castle, presented in Judges Guild's The First Fantasy Campaign, but they're sadly not very interesting – hardly a "huge ruined pile."

Speaking of Judges Guild, the 1977 module, Tegel Manor, is in some ways closer to this ideal, though, at only 250-ish rooms, it's probably too small to be called truly "sprawling" (though moreso than either Castle Amber or my own The Cursed Chateau). 

I've written before about "above ground" dungeons, but, in that case, I was thinking mostly of ruined cities on the model of Glorantha's Big Rubble, which is itself worthy of further discussion. However, my present musings are occasioned more by today's Pulp Fantasy Library entry. I now find myself thinking about immense, haunted castles – an unholy amalgam of Castle Dracula, Neuschwanstein, and the Winchester Mystery House, peopled with all manner of monsters and perhaps even the degenerate descendants of the original inhabitants á la H.P. Lovecraft's The Lurking Fear

It's funny really that "the dungeon," meaning an improbable warren of subterranean tunnels should become the default environment for adventuring in RPGs. On one level, it makes perfect sense, since dungeons, as conceived by roleplaying games, have no real world analog, thus freeing the referee to map them according to his own fancies. Mapping a castle, even an absurdly large and rambling one, might demand at least a little knowledge of the layout of such buildings and that can impede one's creativity. I've experienced a little of this myself, in detailing the surface ruins of Urheim, since it's meant to be a "real" fortified monastery where all of its buildings have a clear and logical purpose. 

That aside, I don't see any reason why a would-be designer of a massive castle "dungeon" need be limited by real world considerations. My references above to Neuschwanstein and the Winchester Mystery House were chosen specifically to highlight the legitimacy of whimsical, irrational, and downright deranged design choices. After all, if your huge ruled piles is the result of "generations of mad wizards and insane geniuses," why should its floorplan be bound by normal logic? 

I remain quite taken with Jason "Philotomy Jurament" Cone's notion of "the dungeon as mythic underworld," which I believe comports almost perfectly with OD&D's presentation of the game's play environment. But we need not be too literal when it comes to adopting this perspective. Properly presented, a sprawling, crumbling castle can be every bit an example of an underworld as any series of monster-infested tunnels. Indeed, if one looks at Gothic fiction from the late 18th through 19th centuries and beyond – fiction that has had a clear influence on fantasy roleplaying – cursed and haunted castles abound and entering them is often metaphorically akin to descending into Hades (consider Jonathan Harker's trip to Transylvania in Dracula, for instance).

Obviously, creating a dungeon of this sort will require some re-thinking of the traditional structure of levels and the difficulty associated thereto. Off the top of my head, I might suggest dividing the castle into wings, with certain certain wings being "low level" and others "high." Alternately – or even in conjunction with wings – one might instead opt for a vertical approach: as one ascends the castle's spires, it becomes more difficult. Another possibility is simply to dispense with such artificial notions and opt for a more "organic" one, where the challenge is independent of location and characters exploring the place must learn to be clever to avoid running into dangers beyond their present abilities. The possibilities are quite large and, were I a better cartographer, I might start work on my own huge ruined pile. Alas, my skills in this area are negligible, so it won't be happening anytime soon. One day ...

Elric in D&D

I've never been much of a fan of Deities & Demigods, though I owned it, of course. Why wouldn't I? I have always had decidedly completionist tendencies and being an unabashed TSR fanboy, there was no chance I wouldn't purchase this book as soon as I was able to do so. It's true I didn't get much use out of it, but I still proudly displayed it on my bookshelf, right next to the Monster Manual. 

One thing that always bugged me was the strange acknowledgement at the front of the book: "Special thanks are also given to Chaosium, Inc. for permission to use the material found in the Cthulhu Mythos and the Melnibonean Mythos." My copy of the book didn't include either of those mythoi and neither did the copies of any of my friends. I eventually learned from older gamers that the first printing of the book did include these chapters, but I could never find any evidence that it was true. In fact, it wasn't until college that could verify these stories; my roommate actually owned a copy of the legendary first printing and I finally beheld it with my own eyes.

These are the stats of Elric, as well as an illustration of him by Jeff Dee. Like so much in Deities & Demigods, I remember being struck by how powerful Elric is, not simply in terms of his ability scores but also his many classes and their levels. I never quite understood the logic of giving literary heroes so many classes, when such things were explicitly impossible under the AD&D rules. I remember, too, my puzzlement at assigning the Chaotic Evil alignment to Elric. He never struck me as evil himself. Most of the terrible things that happen in the stories are not due to his direct action, but I suppose that's a matter of interpretation.

More interesting to me were the stats for the sword Stormbringer.

Stormbringer was the ultimate magical sword in the mind of my friends and I. Forget Excalibur or Glamdring or Durendal, Stormbringer was what everyone wanted and fantasy roleplaying games have been filled with blatant rip-offs of the deadly runeblade for as long as I've been gaming. As you can see, Stormbringer is every bit as powerful as you'd imagine, putting Blackrazor to shame.

It's worth noting that the earlier Gods, Demigods & Heroes supplement for OD&D also included the Melnibonéan mythos, though I was somehow unaware of this fact until many years after I acquired a copy of the book. Interestingly, Elric's stats therein are quite similar in many respects, though, in keeping with the generally lower power level of OD&D, they are not quite as egregious. The same is true of the stats for Stormbringer. Looking at them now, I find myself reminded of why I generally prefer OD&D to AD&D: the power curve is less steep and more human. Even the mightiest of fictional characters translated into OD&D are a far cry from the absurdities they become in AD&D. This is a topic to which I shall return in future posts.

Black Blade News

Yesterday, Black Blade Publishing made the following announcement:

Black Blade Publishing is proud to announce an agreement with Robert J. Kuntz to publish his Lake Geneva Castle & Campaign™ (LGCC) dungeon levels. Jon Hershberger, President of Black Blade, said, “It is a privilege to publish these Lake Geneva Castle and Campaign™ dungeon levels in partnership with Rob Kuntz. Their historical value dating back to the origins of the RPG hobby is significant. Rob's distinctive adventure modules are very creative and serve as both challenging settings for veteran gamers and as inspiration for future game designers.”

The agreement includes the publication and distribution of:

• Six original Lake Geneva Castle dungeon levels, including The Machine Level, The Boreal Level, and four additional levels that feature such famous and infamous encounters as the Giants Pool Hall, the prototypical set-piece encounter for The Garden of the Plantmaster, and connections to several other planes of existence for off-world adventuring. Each dungeon level will be published upon completion by Mr. Kuntz, beginning this winter with The Machine Level, which will be 32 to 36 pages in length.
  
  
• .PDF editions of Kuntz’s out-of-print adventure modules CAS1 Cairn of the Skeleton King and CAS2 Tower of Blood, with additional titles to follow as their print runs sell through (including RJK1 Bottle City).
  
  
• The .pdf edition of the adventure module Ice Grave (originally published in Troll Magazine #1 in 1997), the proceeds from which Kuntz will use as a special fund to be awarded on a recurring basis to excellent up-and-coming RPG game designers.

Future publications will release the full scope of Kuntz’s massive original manuscript collection that spans the history of the development of the first fantasy role-playing game, as played in the Lake Geneva campaigns. These publications will primarily be issued in .pdf format, with select titles also targeted for in-print releases.

Robert J. Kuntz said, “Black Blade was my first choice as a publishing partner due to their commitment to producing high-quality, printed books. I can trust them to reproduce my manuscripts with the respect, fidelity and attention to detail that reflects their historical value and context.” Allan Grohe, co-founder, project manager and editor for Black Blade, will manage the Lake Geneva Castle & Campaign™ product line. Grohe said, “Rob Kuntz’s designs stand out across the history of RPG publishing for their originality in design and challenge to player skill. It’s a pleasure to continue my long-standing publishing relationship with Rob under the auspices of Black Blade.”

I'm guardedly optimistic about this announcement. As ever, a lot depends on whether these plans actually come to pass. In the short time I've been paying attention, there have been several other similar announcements of new material pertaining to the Lake Geneva campaign forthcoming from Mr Kuntz and they've all sputtered out after a release or two. If Black Blade can overcome this curse and get this stuff out there as promised, I'll be very pleased.

Open Friday: Three Castles Award

As some of you may be aware, Rob Kuntz conceived of a new award, the Three Castles Award (so named after Castles Blackmoor, Greyhawk, and El Raja Key -- yeah, I too think it's a bit much to insert one's own creation into such a pantheon too, even when, as in this case, there's certainly merit to the cause for doing so), which is intended to honor "designers of the highest merit for outstanding work in the industry of Role Playing Game design." You can read more specific details about the award here, including its submission guidelines.

According to those guidelines, gaming products -- meaning "RPG rules, settings, adventures, sourcebooks and/or combinations of these" -- published between October 1, 2009 and October 1, 2010 are eligible for consideration for the 2011 award. The submission window is between October 1 and December 31, 2010, meaning that we're just at the start of it now.

I'll admit that I personally find the scope of the award a bit too broad, since, theoretically, any RPG product could be submitted and win, but I also think that alternatives to awards like the Origins and ENnie Awards are a good thing. For today's question, though, I thought I'd ask: what products published within the aforementioned dates do you think are worthy of recognition by this award? If you had the ability to do so, which products would you submit for consideration?

Retrospective: Deities & Demigods

Like its OD&D predecessor, I have decidedly negative feelings about 1980's Deities & Demigods. Certainly my friends and I purchased and used this book when it was released. We weren't particularly discerning in those days; we bought nearly everything TSR produced for D&D and this was a hardcover volume -- "proof" positive that the DDG was an important volume. This is an attitude that Gary Gygax, in his foreword to the book, makes clear

DEITIES & DEMIGODS is an indispensable part of the whole of AD&D. Do not fall into the error of regarding it as a supplement. It is integral to Dungeon Mastering a true AD&D campaign. Experienced players will immediately concur with this evaluation, for they already know how important alignment is, how necessary the deity is to the cleric, and how interaction of the various alignments depends upon the entities which lead them. Those readers not well-grounded in ongoing campaigns must take my word for all this, although they will soon discover for themselves how crucial the deities of the campaign milieu are.

Looking back on it now, I can see so many problematic statements in the few lines of the foreword quoted above, but, back then, Gygax's words were law and if he said the DDG was "integral to Dungeon Mastering a true AD&D campaign," then it was so. Now, though, I see things somewhat differently. A "true AD&D campaign?" What do those words even mean? That it's impossible to play the game without the information contained in Deities & Demigods? Or is it that Gygax believes the notion of gods to be a foundational principle of the game?

Either position is, in retrospect, somewhat questionable. Not only is it possible to play even AD&D without recourse to the DDG, it's possible to play the game without gods at all. Moreover, the particular approach to the divine adopted in Deities & Demigods is by no means the only one. I've noted before that early gaming often evinced a rather different approach, but, even if one adopts a polytheistic model, there are other ways to portray the gods than as, for all intents and purposes, extraordinarily powerful "monsters."

Deities & Demigods is, in many respects, just another Monster Manual, filled with pages and pages of statistics, such as armor class, hit points, and attack forms. Despite the claims of the foreword, the book did little to impress upon me the importance of gods or their worship in AD&D, as the book provides only the most cursory information on the role of religion in the game, instead focusing on extending ability score modifier tables and elucidating the powers of gods of various ranks.

If I were to point out a single, fundamental flaw in the way Dungeons & Dragons has developed over the years, I'd say that it was its relentless drive to quantify everything. It's a flaw Deities & Demigods demonstrates time and again. A book detailing various historical and literary pantheons, along with information on including them in a campaign, is a great idea. But why include game stats for the gods at all? Why tell us that Ra has 400 hit points or that Mjolnir deals 10d10 damage? How does this information accord with Gygax's claims that the DDG lays out "how crucial the deities of the campaign milieu are?" In my experience, such details only fueled foolish arguments over which god was most powerful, not to mention dreams of marching on Mount Olympus to slay Zeus. What is so "integral" to the game about this?

Truth be told, I don't hate Deities & Demigods. I simply don't see it as anything more than a minor volume in the AD&D library, less significant even than Unearthed Arcana, which, for all its manifest faults, contained more unambiguously useful information to the game. I also think it contributed to the power creep to which D&D has always been prone, as well as being part of a reductionist "demystifying" approach to magic and the divine. As a younger person, I enjoyed reading the book, since it included gods and mythologies with which I wasn't familiar. I didn't get much direct use out of it, however, since I'd created my own religions and didn't see any need to provide stats for divine beings. That's an opinion I still share, even though it runs counter to the trajectory the game followed and that seems to have appealed to many of its players.

PPP Announces Dungeon Sets

Rob Kuntz's Pied Piper Publishing is getting ready to publish a new product line called Dungeon Sets, the first two examples of which will be available on November 15. The products are, according to their description, "un-keyed, color maps with integration notes and a comprehensive legend that are presented as a contiguous, and exacting, dungeon setting." Basically, they're a series of maps to aid referees in creating their own megadungeons and designed with that purpose in mind. I'll admit that sounds intriguing to me, since I hate making my own maps -- and lack the skill to do so anyway -- and I regularly swipe maps from a variety of sources to use as inspiration for my own efforts.

Much more intriguing, though, is Kuntz's mention that future product in the line will be "a treatise—an in depth essay—on dungeon-crafting in its many facets should be of interest, so we are gathering notes to add to my already 10,000+ word MS which describes the creation of Greyhawk™ Castle, Castle El Raja Key and Maure Castle™. This historical and instructive treatise will cover the beginnings of this honored endeavor and track some of the changes that have taken effect with the modernization of the game." That sounds almost like the kind of product that could answer some of the problems I noted in my Schrödinger's Dungeon post. A lot will depend, of course, on just how the treatise is structured and what it contains, but, in principle, I like the idea of such a product. It's that one I'll be keeping my eye on.

More on Wargames

Here's another perspective on the present and future of wargames. It's also a few years old, but was written more recently than Greg Costikyan's article.

Thanks to Rob Kuntz for the link.

REVIEW: El Raja Key's Arcane Treasury

Fantasy has always embodied the spirit of impossibilities come to life and the ability to interact within a fictional strangeness, and sometimes, to even understand it. The freshness of mystery and suspense that that brings to the game can be readily manipulated by a competent DM, and so too can it be enhanced by uniqueness, whether self-created or borrowed from books meant to help with that.

I've touched on the topic of my disenchantment with magic items (no pun intended) in this blog before. To summarize: I think one of D&D's biggest flaws, one that's been amplified as the years -- and editions -- have dragged on, is the reduction of magic and magic items to an alternate technology, often of a very base sort. It's one thing to use a spell or item in a way that mimics a mundane technology. Anyone who's run a campaign long enough has seen clever players do such things and I don't (generally) have an issue with that. It's another thing entirely, though, to create spells or magic items whose sole purpose is to mimic mundane technology, which is to say, that have no other use other than to introduce some modern convenience into a fantasy world. Worse still are those spells and magic items whose sole purpose is to provide some mechanical benefit -- +2 to Armor Class or +10 to Stealth checks or whatever -- rather than the mechanical benefit arising out of another in-game purpose.

So it was with great interest that I purchased El Raja Key's Arcane Treasury from Pied Piper Publishing, because I felt pretty certain that one of its authors, Rob Kuntz, felt similarly about the matter. ERKAT is a 96-page perfect-bound volume that sells for $24.95, written by Kuntz and Eric N. Shook, whom Kuntz credits with "the majority of the design work" in his introduction. Its contents consist of an alphabetical listing of nearly 150 magic items. Unlike those described in Daemonic & Arcane, these items appear to be wholly original to this product, without any antecedents in the Greyhawk campaign. If I'm mistaken on this point, I think it's still safe to say that the majority of these items are wholly original and created for publication in ERKAT. In itself, this is no flaw, as I'll explain, but it may be a disappointment to some who assume that every Pied Piper Publishing release is based on material created for or used in the Lake Geneva campaign Rob Kuntz co-DMed with Gary Gygax. The impression I get is that ERKAT describes the kinds of magic items that might have appeared in the Greyhawk campaign, even if they never actually did so.

As I said, this is a departure from previous Pied Piper products, although it's not an entirely unwelcome one. Much as I crave more "historical" products, I actually think there's a great need for new material written in a way that's consonant with the "philosophy" behind the early days of the hobby. Kuntz's introduction makes it apparent that he not only understands that philosophy but believes it has a lot to offer the hobby even today. In that sense, ERKAT is what one might call a "neo-old school" product -- a terrible term, I know -- as it uses old school principles to present original material that's not explicitly an ape or a simulacrum of anything that's gone before. It's a bold approch and one of which I approve, even if the final result doesn't quite fulfill the promise I see in it.

Let me be clear, though: this is a very good product. It's certainly the most polished and "professional" product PPP has published to date. The writing is clear, the editing solid. The artwork, particularly Eric Bergeron's cover, is attractive and even evocative at times. This is a very well put together product and one that I hope is the first of many similarly well made products from PPP. More importantly, the ideas to be found with ERKAT's page are, for the most part, top notch. Most of the magic items described within are singular items. They're not the products of a magical assembly line, endlessly cranking out +1 swords to be deposited in treasure troves throughout the fantasy world. Instead, we're treated to unique items like The Escutcheon of the Gorgeous Maw, a shield with a ravenous mouth, and The Two-Faced Memorial Mace, a weapon whose efficacy reflects the religious standing of its wielder.

There are no "throwaway" items in ERKAT; you can tell from the sometimes lengthy descriptions that each one is the result of a kind of mad genius who understands the virtues of mystery, danger, and whimsy in the crafting of memorable magic items. I personally appreciate this, since my own talents in this area are meager. Reading through ERKAT, I had no trouble finding many items that I'd readily drop into my Dwimmermount campaign. There were also many items I'd never include and it's here, I think, that ERKAT falters at least a little. Items like D'Trampa's Magic Coach, a magically summonable taxi, for example, are a little too obviously "jokey" for my liking, though I readily concede that I tend a bit more toward the serious when it comes to how I run my campaign than do many old schoolers. Given the large number of items included in ERKAT, I don't think its authors can be faulted for including a few misses in with their many hits, however.

My main criticism of the book lies in its sometimes-wordy descriptions of its magic items. On some level, this is understandable. ERKAT has very few explicit mechanics in its descriptions and, even when it does, they're presented in an almost "impressionistic" way. That's not to say they never mention "2d6 damage" or "-3 penalty" or "for six rounds" at all, because they often do. Compared even to AD&D's magic item descriptions, though, those in ERKAT are notably lacking in "crunch," which necessitates being a bit wordier when it comes to elucidating their effects. I won't go so far as to say it was a "mistake" to adopt this approach. I do think, however, that it did a less than ideal job in highlighting the loose, free-wheeling nature of old school design and play. I'd have much preferred slightly more laconic entries, if only for compactness, never mind the implicit invitation to each referee to interpret the effects of these items as he sees fit in his own campaign. I'd say that James Mishler's many magic item descriptions come very close to my ideal, as do the descriptions in PPP's other product, Daemonic & Arcane.

In the end, though, despite my criticisms, this is an excellent book and represents a terrific step forward for Pied Piper Publishing, both in terms of presentation and content. While I hope PPP will continue to provide many more historical gaming products, I also look forward to seeing more original material from them. If it's as good as El Raja Key's Arcane Treasury, it will be very good indeed.

Presentation: 7 out of 10
Creativity: 9 out of 10
Utility: 8 out of 10

Buy This If: You're looking for a collection of unique magic items whose use is not always immediately apparent.
Don't Buy This If: You prefer magic items to be straightforward in their use and have lots of game mechanics attached to their functioning.

Selling Out

I knew my blog would pay off for me one day and so it has at long last. I've been invited to join a group blog hosted by Pied Piper Publishing. Called Lord of the Green Dragons, the blog is much more narrowly focused than Grognardia, being primarily about topics specifically related to PPP, its products, and the history of the Greyhawk campaign (AKA The Original Campaign). I'm sure that, given the large and diverse nature of the bloggers associated with it, including such luminaries as Joseph, the Greyhawk Grognard and Allan Grohe, as well as Rob Kuntz himself, this focus may shift a little bit over time, but, in the main, it'll till somewhat different fields of interest than I do here.

My regular posting on this blog won't be affected by my acceptance of this invitation. Grognardia remains my primary online home and you can expect my output to remain much as it has for nearly a year now. I'll eventually settle in to a schedule of regular posts at Lord of the Green Dragons, likely two or three times a week -- nowhere near as often as I post here. Likewise, my objectivity, such as it is, won't be compromised by my posting on a blog associated with an old school publisher. I hope I've already demonstrated that my opinions are my own and that won't change in the future. I'm far too stubborn to be "bought," although I encourage anyone with large sums of cash to try and prove me wrong.