Another One Bites the Dust

WizKids, pioneer in the field of collectible miniatures games, is closing its doors, effective immediately. I don't think this is really a surprise, coming as it does, hot on the heels of the news that WotC was canceling the D&D minis game. As I suspected when Steve Jackson Games announced the changing of Pyramid's format, the hobby games industry is headed for some rough times. This won't be the last announcement of this sort we hear, mark my words.

The Moral Structure of D&D

Good and Evil: Basically stated, the tenets of good are human rights, or in the case of AD&D, creature rights. Each creature is entitled to life, relative freedom, and the prospect of happiness. Cruelty and suffering are undesirable. Evil, on the other hand, does not concern itself with rights or happiness; purpose is the determinant.

--Gary Gygax, Advanced Dungeons & Dragons Dungeon Masters Guide (1979)

I'd been intending to talk briefly about the underlying morality of Dungeons & Dragons, because I'd mentioned it as part of critique of Carcosa in Part 4 of my review. There I said that D&D is "built on a remarkably traditionalist moral structure." I fully expected that that line would raise hackles in some quarters and so it did. Geoffrey McKinney objects, saying:

I must admit to seeing no such things, whether in the D&D game or in its supplements. What is there in the OD&D game + supplements to prevent the PCs from being chaotic worshippers of Set, slaying and tormenting innocents, etc? What is there in a WWII miniatures wargame preventing players from playing the Axis powers? What is there in either case preventing such players from succeeding in their aims? I see no strictures on chaotic characters in D&D. Each type of playing piece has its own strengths and weaknesses, but I do not see that the game is weighted one way or the other. Neither do I see strictures or even admonitions to ensure that Law prevails over Chaos. Indeed, I think such things would cause the game to be less fun.

I find this a strange objection, because my point was not that D&D in any way prevents a player from creating and portraying an evil character; that's clearly not the case. When I said that the game is built on a remarkably traditionalist moral structure, I had in mind quotes like the one from the DMG above. That quote makes it clear that moral relativism has no place in D&D. Good and evil are very clearly defined and certain actions, such as treating creatures as means rather than ends, are always and without question evil.

The consequence of these objective definitions of good and evil is not that players are -- or even should be -- limited in their choice of alignment for their characters. Rather, it's that the text of the game itself does not support the notion that evil actions are in any way right, correct, or otherwise commendable -- quite the contrary! This is important for two reasons. First, it's useful as a reminder to players that, for example, torturing orc captives isn't appropriate behavior for supposedly good characters. Second, it's useful for when outsiders come along and read the books and erroneously think the game promotes murder and mayhem (among other things).

My concern with Carcosa is that its alignment system provides no means in-game to be able to say that the followers of Chaos, the servants of the Great Old Ones, are in fact evil and thus morally reprehensible. One might be able to infer this, given the likely reaction most people have to the idea of human sacrifice, but that inference is undercut, as I noted in my review, by the book's statement that all behaviors, "including the most noble and altruistic," can be found among adherents of all alignments. If true, if being Chaotically-aligned, which is defined in Carcosa as being a servant of the Great Old Ones, is in no way objectively wrong, then one could then reasonably suppose that the actions of Chaotics, up to and including human sacrifice, are not wrong, merely undesirable to the human sacrificed.

That may not seem like an important to thing to some and I grant that. However, I think it does put Carcosa at odds with the moral structure implicit in OD&D and explicit in AD&D, where moral evil is the realm of inhuman monsters and those men and women who choose to make themselves similarly inhuman by their actions.

Pulp Fantasy Gallery: Dwellers in the Mirage

First serialized in 1932, Dwellers in the Mirage is a fantasy novel by Abraham Merritt. The novel tells the story of an explorer named Lief Langdon who discovers a lost valley in Alaska, whose inhabitants believe him to be the reincarnation of a long-lost hero, Dwayanu. There's a cult dedicated to a Cthulhu-like entity -- he's even octopoid -- that demands human sacrifice and not one but two beautiful women whose affections Langdon must choose between. It's a terrific, if uneven novel, and it's not hard to see why Gygax found it (among several other Merritt works) to be so enjoyable.

(I find it interesting to note that a great many of the books and stories Gygax acknowledged as influencing D&D were in fact "lost world" tales, in which a modern day hero stumbles upon some throwback to an earlier, more magical era. I'm not quite sure what this says, honestly, but some thoughts are percolating in the back of my brain nonetheless. Perhaps I'll make a post about it later.)

Carcosa Responses

Geoffrey McKinney has taken the time to make several posts occasioned by my recent four-part review of Carcosa. You can find Parts 1, 2, and 3 over on Geoffrey's blog. Part 3 in particular addresses certain points I made in my review with which he disagrees. I'd actually planned on making a post tomorrow about a similar topic to one of the questions Geoffrey raises, so I'll kill two birds with one stone by responding then and there. In the meantime, I'd suggest anyone who's interested in these matters to head over to the Carcosa blog and read the new posts. While I (obviously) disagree with certain things Geoffrey has said in reply (though not all of it), I'm very grateful for his thoughtful responses nonetheless.

Coming Attractions

Just to let you know: I have not one but interviews in the works to appear on this blog, both with individuals who've been connected to the hobby for quite some time. The first is Mike Mornard, a long-time player who enjoys the rare distinction of having been part of the campaigns of Dave Arneson, M.A.R. Barker, and Gary Gygax. The second is Bill Owen, co-founded of the inimitable Judges Guild with the late Bob Bledsaw.

Once both interviews are complete and in readable form, I'll post them here.

Hurrah!

Scott Driver has returned after too long an absence to his Wilderlands OD&D blog. Be sure to check it out.

Why Unearthed Arcana Sucked

With apologies to the K&K Alehouse thread that inspired this post.

Unearthed Arcana was published in 1985 and it's the last AD&D rulebook to bear the name of Gary Gygax on its front cover. It's also one of my least favorite of all AD&D books and reminder to me that perhaps it's just as well that Gary's version of 2e never came to pass. If UA is any indication, a Gygaxian 2e would have sold its birthright for bowl of pottage. It doesn't help matters that the book was poorly edited and riddled with errors that make many of its already bad ideas even worse.

I'll grant that there are some cool spells in this book, as well as some nifty magic items. Beyond that, though, I can't find a lot to like. What don't I like? Let's see.

Comeliness: A needless new ability score that undermined the value of Charisma and gave players yet another stat in which they felt they needed to have a high score.

Fortunately, UA obliges with even more ridiculous methods for rolling up you're character.

New Races: I didn't mind the expansion of class options for demihumans; some of the limitations in AD&D seemed nonsensical to me. I didn't even mind the raising of level limits in exceptional cases (though, again, it did contribute to the perceived need for high ability scores, a crime to which AD&D in general is prone). I'm come to think that level limits are a poor way to model humanocentrism, but I'm not a zealot on this point. However, UA contributed to the festishization of the drow that's now part and parcel of D&D. And don't even get me started on the svirfneblin ...

The Cavalier: I used to love this class in my foolish, younger days, but I eventually grew to hate every bit of it, from the way that it undermined the logic of the existing class system to the way it (again -- see a pattern?) contributed to the inflation of ability scores. The Cavalier also did violence to the paladin class by claiming it as its sub-class and that's a misstep I can't easily forgive.

The Barbarian: Another class that undermines the logic of the existing class system, the barbarian is worse than the cavalier because it's an incoherent class -- one part historical barbarian and one part Conan, with some additional oddities thrown in.

Thief-Acrobat: I don't hate this proto-prestige class as much as either the cavalier or babrbarian. I actually like it for the fact that its abilities are not things that an ordinary adventurer is likely to possess, thereby avoiding my issues with the thief. That said, it's a rather specialized class with limited appeal.

Weapon Specialization: Just say no. Overpowered and absurd, the entire system contributes to bonus inflation and lays the groundwork for much nonsense in future editions of the game.

Field Plate and Full Plate: Their implementation here is incoherent and makes a mockery any attempts to rationalize the Armor Class system fruitless.

Social Class Tables: I love random tables, as you know, but this goes too far.

Non-Human Deities: I'd like to go on record as hating this stuff (shocking, I know). Don't get me wrong: I am huge fan of Roger E. Moore and I thought his Demihuman "Point of View" series in Dragon was one of the best things ever published in the magazine. However, I dislike the canonization of his sample pantheons. Not only am I not a fan of "racial" gods, I also think that the addition of "D&D gods," which is to say, gods tied not to a specific campaign setting but to the game itself, is a bad precedent that has born evil fruit.

Art: It would have been nice if this book had had some.

All in all, it's a very weak book that, in retrospect, did more harm than good to the development of D&D. That it was also Gygax's swansong as far as rulebooks gives it a very melancholy feel for me. I know that's not really a knock against the book itself so much as a judgment on its place in the history of the game. Still, I can't help but feel that Unearthed Arcana was a huge mistake, both for TSR and for the direction of Dungeons & Dragons.

Look on My Works, Ye Mighty

I haven't had a subscription to Pyramid in years and I haven't even attempted to play GURPS in even longer. Still, it's hard not take the news that, after 12 years online, Pyramid is becoming a monthly PDF release, as an ill omen for the hobby. Steve Jackson Games is one of the oldest and most well run companies in the industry. If even it can't turn a profit with its online edition of Pyramid, time must indeed be tough. I won't make any dire predictions based on this singular event. Still, it's shocking news to me and I expect it's not the only shocking news we'll hear from a big RPG manufacturer in the next 12-18 months.

REVIEW: Carcosa (Part 4 of 4)

I got into D&D in late 1979, just months after the disappearance of James Dallas Egbert III, which led to many an urban legend about kids being led astray by the game and into activities that resulted in their deaths. I remember the ludicrous Chick tract, Dark Dungeons, which first appeared in 1984. I also remember seeing Gary Gygax subject to the irresponsible yellow journalism of 60 Minutes in 1985. During those years, I attended both a Catholic elementary and high school, at which I regularly played Dungeons & Dragons and other RPGs with my classmates, often in the presence of priests, sisters, and other teachers. Only once in all those years did anyone ever assert that the game was in any way "Satanic" or unfit for being played by a good Catholic boy like me and the teacher who did so was widely recognized as a nut, particularly by the priests of my high school.

I am convinced that the reason why I never ran into any trouble as a result of playing D&D was because, if one took the time to read its rulebooks or to watch someone play the game, one would quick discover that, beneath it all, it's built on a remarkably traditionalist moral structure. That's not to say that all D&D characters are untarnished heroes. As I've argued at length in this blog, the game is in fact at its most coherent when the PCs are rogues (with or without hearts of gold). But the assumed roguishness of most characters doesn't banish the possibility of there being good or evil. Like the gunslingers of the best Westerns, the PCs are individuals who use barbaric methods to fight "barbarians" on behalf of a civilization that, by the barbaric nature of their own actions in its defense, they must be excluded from. This kind of tension can only exist in a world in which morality isn't treated as subjective or an agreed upon convenience.

It's here that I think Carcosa is most troubling to me. The book presents a barbaric, brutal world, one crying out for "good" barbarians to rise to the defense of a civilization in which they cannot take part. Unfortunately, the distinction between a good and a bad barbarian is largely meaningless in the setting the book describes. Morality is mostly arbitrary and relativistic and the primary check on immoral behavior is revulsion. I think, in a world as bleak as Carcosa, where the Great Old Ones and their servitors carry the day, there's a need for more than that -- some moral absolutes against which to judge the actions even of tarnished heroes doing what they think they must, no matter how unpleasant, to hold back the fall of night for just one more day.

Had the book been more clear on this rather crucial point, I suspect that many, though not all, of the criticisms directed toward it would have been rendered impotent. The only reason why the intemperate invective and over-the-top denunciations rang true is because -- and this applies equally to the expurgated and unexpurgated versions -- Carcosa presents a world in which morality has no meaning except as a lie agreed upon. I think, in this respect, the book is probably a truer presentation of Lovecraftian horror than even the much-beloved Call of Cthulhu, which has tempered the grim vision of its inspiration with slivers of hope. There is no hope on Carcosa, at least none that I could see. It's an uncompromisingly nihilstic world and I can't blame anyone who reacts negatively to it. Indeed, I suspect that at least some of the loathing Carcosa has generated is a reaction to this rather important aspect of its presentation.

That said, I find it hard to become incensed by the book. The almost-clinical way that McKinney treats sorcery and its rituals is not the approach of one who either condones or derives some perverse pleasure from describing its vile practices. I think McKinney was incredibly naive to have assumed that he could adopt such a clinical approach and not generate controversy. Even if we did not live in times such as we do, the anonymity and distance of the Internet make it all too easy to engage in high dudgeon about things of which we know little. I'd wager that not one of McKinney's fiercest critics has so much as read more than a couple of sentences from Carcosa and I think that's a shame -- a shame, because, despite it all, this is a powerful and original work of the imagination and it deserves to be discussed, both because of what it is in itself but also because of what it says about the current state of the old school renaissance.

What it says to me is that the old school community is, at this time, too insular and inbred for its long term health. I noted earlier that I felt Carcosa too closely imitated the format of OD&D and I think that's true. I believe McKinney might have presented his ideas more clearly had he not adopted the laconic style of the little brown books and its supplements. At the same time, I'm not sure the old school community really is interested in doing much more than rehashing the past, forever plowing the same creative fields.

Even more disappointing for me, I think, is how the controversy surrounding this book revealed how much old schoolers had forgotten about their own history. There are a handful of things in the unexpurgated version of Carcosa that turn my stomach, but the history of the hobby reveals many earlier products that include things as bad as these and yet I have seen no denunciations of them. I suspect that's because, in this one case, the oft-made criticism that old schoolers wear rose colored glasses when looking at the past is correct. If one were to take an honest look at the things gaming has sometimes coughed up in the pursuit of "verisimilitude," "genre emulation," or "grittiness," you'll find that Carcosa is not unique, never mind uniquely perverse.

All this said, I still wish that an unexpurgated version had never been released. I don't believe that the added detail -- about two pages worth of text in total -- makes the book "stronger," unless by that one means it strengthens the generally nihilistic tone of its setting. I'm just not sure why one would say (or want) such a thing, given that, even without those details, Carcosa is a nasty, brutish setting rather unlike anything ever before offered for D&D.

And that brings me to my final criticism of Carcosa: its claim to the subtitle "Supplement V." As McKinney would have it, Carcosa is the product of an alternate universe, one in which TSR published this book as a supplement to OD&D rather than ending the line and moving on to AD&D. I find this alternate universe implausible for a number of reasons, not least of which being that Carcosa could never have been published in the 70s and it's not primarily because of its content. In form, Carcosa has much more in common with 2e era boxed campaign settings than with OD&D supplements. Not only does it actually present a setting, something no OD&D supplement does, but it also replaces large chunks of the OD&D rules rather than merely providing additional options from which to choose.

Even more significant, I think, is that Carcosa demonstrates a sensibility alien to OD&D. Certainly it draws on many similar sources, but the specific inspirations from which it draws are ones that I have a very hard time imagining ever being attached to D&D, at least in "official" form. Carcosa is a product of very dark fantasy, far darker than the most significant influences on Gygax and Arneson and probably even far darker than almost any fantasy published before the 1990s. Except in its presentation and its self-identification, Carcosa just doesn't feel like an old school product to me, or perhaps it's truer to say that it's a very "postmodern" old school product. By this I mean only that it's a product that is in many ways a commentary on its inspirations as well as a product of them.

That's not a bad thing in and of itself and goodness knows the old school could use a kick in the pants to help it get beyond forever rehashing the "good ol' days." It's possible that, for all its flaws, Carcosa is a happy fall, an occasion for all of us involved in this community to consider what it is we like about the old school and what we think it has to offer us still in 2008. Having watched the reactions in various quarters, I think that, for many grognards, what they want is familiarity and nothing more. Again, that's not a bad thing in and of itself, but I don't think Carcosa can or should be faulted for being unfamiliar, for being willing to do something different than present yet another vanilla fantasy.

At the same time, the mere fact that Carcosa does something genuinely new and different is not enough to free it from criticism. There is, as I hope I have shown throughout this review, much to criticize about Carcosa, both in its content and its presentation. Yet, there is also much to praise. It's a strong but deeply flawed work and I'd like to think that Geoffrey McKinney might take to heart some of what has been said here (and elsewhere) and rework Carcosa into something that allows it to reach its fullest potential. He's already shown he listens, given that he produced an expurgated version, and I think that version makes plain that Carcosa loses nothing by being less explicit in the awfulness of sorcery. I also think that the book would benefit greatly by disentangling itself from OD&D. As written, Carcosa reminds me more of something like Empire of the Petal Throne or Arduin, which is to say, it's really its own game, despite some superficial connections to the OD&D from which it sprang.

On a personal note, I cannot conceive of ever using Carcosa as the basis for a roleplaying game campaign. It's much too bleak and amoral a setting for me and it's too far removed from the D&D traditions that I hold so dear. I am, however, glad to have had the opportunity to read the book, as it's given me the occasion to think carefully about a number of issues that have been swirling in the back of my mind over the last year or so. I haven't come to any conclusions about all of these issues just yet and I may never be able to do so. That I am thinking about them at all is partly due to Carcosa and I find it hard not to be grateful for that, at least. I hope the same is true of many others who have read this frustratingly creative work. I know that future posts to this blog, as well as future old school projects of mine, will benefit from ideas sparked in thinking about and critiquing Carcosa. Few products can say that -- even fewer published in the last 10 years.

Final Score: 3½ out of 5 polearms

Dungeon Alphabet

If you're not already reading Michael Curtis's The Society of Torch, Pole and Rope, you ought to be, especially for his recent entries about "The Dungeon Alphabet." He's already done A-E, F-J, K-O, and P-T and they're all excellent. It's great inspiration for anyone running or looking to run a megadungeon campaign.

Good stuff!