Flamesong Returns

M.A.R. Barker's second novel of Tékumel, Flamesong, is available once again, in both paperback and Kindle formats. Of the two Tékumel novels originally published by DAW in the 1980s, Flamesong is by far the more accessible to readers familiar with "traditional" fantasy adventure tales, making it a good entry point for newcomers to the setting. The Tékumel Foundation very kindly asked me to write the foreword to this re-release, which I was happy to do. If all goes well, we'll see new releases of Professor Barker's other three Tékumel novels in the near future.  

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?  

Grognard's Grimoire: Teteku

(Much of my writing time these days is devoted to The Vaults of sha-Arthan, the science fantasy setting of my next campaign. While my focus has been on a draft of certain sections to give to prospective players, I've also been working on detailing the starting locales of the setting itself, including the native wildlife. Here's one such animal.) 

Teteku (Scaled Strider)

Standing between 6 and 8 feet tall at the shoulder, teteku are reptilian creatures with long, slender necks and gracile heads. These creatures walk on two muscular hind limbs, forelimbs being mostly useless outside of mating displays. Wild teteku roam in herds across all five continents of sha-Arthan, while domesticated breeds have played important roles in most societies, both human and non-human, since at least the First Cycle, if not longer.

Riding Teteku

Bred for swiftness, these teteku can survive on a purely vegetarian diet, such as krutha-grass or ulevanma-weeds.

AC 6 [13], HD 2 (9hp), Att 1 × bite (1d6), THAC0 18 [+1], MV 240’ (80’), SV D12 V13 P14 B15 S16 (1), ML 7, XP 20, NA 0 (0), TT None

• Beast of burden: Carry up to 40 STR worth of items unencumbered; up to 70 STR at half speed.
• Domesticated: Not encountered in the wild.

War Teteku

Bred for strength and ferocity in battle, these teteku are adapted for short bursts of speed rather than long-distance riding. Some breeds of war teteku, such as the Ga’andrin yanenka, are carnivorous, but most retain herbivorous ways.

AC 6 [13], HD 3 (13hp), Att 1 × bite (1d8), THAC0 17 [+2], MV 120’ (40’), SV D12 V13 P14 B15 S16 (2), ML 9, XP 35, NA 0 (0), TT None

• Beast of burden: Carry up to 35 STR worth of items unencumbered; up to 70 STR at half speed.
• Charge: When not in melee. Requires a clear run of at least 20 yards. Rider’s lance inflicts double damage. Teteku cannot attack when charging.
• Domesticated: Not encountered in the wild.
• Melee: When in melee, both rider and teteku can attack.

Wild Teteku

Adapted to run at high speed, these teteku still exist in large numbers on the continents of Alakun-Tenu and Beyash (and in smaller numbers elsewhere).

AC 6 [13], HD 2 (9hp), Att 1 × bite (1d4), THAC0 18 [+1], MV 240’ (80’), SV D12 V13 P14 B15 S16 (1), ML 7, XP 20, NA 0 (1d10 × 10), TT None

• Stampede: Herds of 20 or more can trample those in their path. 3-in-4 chance each round. +4 to human-sized or smaller creatures. 1D20 damage.
• Taming: Wild teteku can be trained as mounts (riding teteku).

My Precious

Ralph Bakshi's 1978 animated film, The Lord of the Rings, is a strange beast. That's understandable, given the immense undertaking of adapting such a complex novel. From what I gather, the film was financially successful and Bakshi fully intended to make a second part to conclude the story, but, for a variety of reasons, United Artists decided against going ahead with it. Instead, fans had to make do with the 1980 Rankin/Bass TV movie The Return of the King (which is itself a very strange thing, though for very different reasons).

Despite this, there's plenty of evidence that either Bakshi or UA initially had high hopes for The Lord of the Rings. I make this assertion because there was a surprisingly large amount of merchandise released to promote it, including a line of action figures from Knickerbocker Toys. 

I didn't see the movie until sometime in the mid-1980s, after it had been released on VHS. However, I came across the figures – or, rather, one of them – while on vacation in the summer of 1979. This was a few months before I'd encounter D&D for the first time and before I'd even read Tolkien's works. The figure in question is the one pictured above – Gollum. Now, by this point, I had seen the 1977 Rankin/Bass TV movie version of The Hobbit, but I don't think I connected it to The Lord of the Rings. Even assuming I had, I was still baffled by the figure, as he looked nothing like the way Gollum was portrayed by Rankin/Bass (not that I'm defending that portrayal, mind you). Still, there was something intriguing about this emaciated little hunk of plastic and I bought it (very inexpensively, since the store where I found it sold lots of remaindered items at steep discounts).

 

I thought about the Gollum figure the other day while I was doing some cleaning and came across a few other mementos of my childhood. I no longer own the Gollum figure – Crom knows what became of it – but thinking of it briefly transported me back to the very end of the 1970s, in the final days of my pre-Dungeons & Dragons innocence, when "fantasy" was a chaotic, undifferentiated mass of weird stuff without any clear explanation or context. Looking back, it was a heady time for my imagination and I'd give a lot to be able to revisit it, if only for a brief time. 

Remembering Norman Bean

On this day in 1875, Edgar Rice Burroughs was born in Chicago, Illinois. Much like H.P. Lovecraft, whose birthday was less than two weeks ago, Burroughs is one of the oft-forgotten founders of contemporary fantasy and science fiction. His tales of John Carter of Mars, in particular, have exercised an enormous influence on subsequent portrayals not only of the Red Planet but of interplanetary adventure more generally. Carter and the abilities he possesses while on Barsoom was one of the models for the creation of Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster's Superman. And, as I never tire of telling anyone will listen, Barsoom was also a key inspiration for the creation of Dungeons & Dragons. Between Superman and D&D, there can be little question that the lasting impact of Burroughs's stories and ideas on contemporary popular culture is immense – not a bad legacy!

Many later creators have expressed their admiration for Burroughs and the debt they owed to him, starting with Ray Bradbury, himself the author of many influential stories, who once said that "Burroughs … probably changed more destinies than any other writer in American history." George Lucas claimed that "my entire world changed when I was given the Warlord of Mars at the age of 8. I got onto Edgar Rice Burroughs … and the curtain went up. . . There was the universe and stars and comets and what-not, and I was never the same afterwards.” Lucas was far from the only one to feel that way and we have the imagination of Edgar Rice Burroughs to thank for that.

Retrospective: Villains and Vigilantes

II've never been a huge fan of superheroes. As a kid, I liked them well enough, but my interest in them paled in comparison to fantasy or (especially) science fiction. This was true even of the few comics I read in my youth (like Marvel's The Micronauts – don't judge me). Consequently, once I got into roleplaying games, I was in no hurry to seek out superhero RPGs and, in fact, didn't play one until 1982. Even then, my interest was fleeting and limited, which is why I don't think I was all that aware of the existence of any games in this genre beyond Champions. 

That's not entirely true. I was aware of the existence of Villains and Vigilantes, thanks to a series of interesting advertisements in the pages of Dragon. If I remember correctly, the ads features full character write-ups, complete with game stats and a portrait by Jeff Dee, whose art I knew well from D&D. Intriguing though they were, I never sought out V&V nor did I ever meet anyone else who played it. I don't believe I ever laid eyes on the game until sometime in the 1990s/

That's a shame, because Villains and Vigilantes is not only the second superhero RPG ever published (the first being Superhero 2044) but also includes a number of unique features that set it apart from other games in the same genre. Written by Jeff Dee and Jack Herman and first published by Fantasy Games Unlimited in 1979, V&V clearly owes a lot to Dungeons & Dragons. For example, V&V uses the full set of polyhedral dice, has levels, alignment (Good and Evil), and basic characteristics rated between 3 and 18. In addition, like Gamma World's mutations, super powers are determined by means of a series of random rolls rather than player choice. 

Most significantly, the basic assumption of V&V is that the characters are "duplicates of the players themselves with the addition of superpowers." The game goes on to say, "It has been our experience that playing oneself in V & V is definitely more enjoyable than creating an entirely random character." That's right: in Villains and Vigilantes, you play yourself as a superhero. How's that for a premise? Of course, reading that right after I'd noted that super powers are determined randomly no doubt makes one wonder what is meant by "an entirely random character." This is another way in which V&V differs from other superhero RPGs. Remember that basic characteristics are rated between 3 and 18? Those ratings are not randomly rolled. Instead, each player gives himself a rating based his own estimation of his abilities. Furthermore, the rules counsel the GM to "allow players the benefit of the doubt" when it comes to making these judgments, though it also notes that very high and very low scores are "extremely rare."

Though there are levels, there are no character classes. Instead, each level represents an experience point threshold – starting at 2000 and increasing roughly geometrically thereafter – that grants the player a choice of ways for his character to improve, generally in the form of bonuses to characteristics and combat skills. All characters also gain points in Charisma with level, representing growing fame and recognition. V&V doesn't include any clear means of gaining new powers or improving those one already possesses, which is generally fine by me, as it's pretty uncommon for superheroes to change significantly in that respect over time. Combat is, at base, fairly straightforward, consisting of a roll against a target number to succeed. However, that target number of determined by recourse to a chart that cross-references attack and defense powers and then modified in many ways. Ultimately, it's no harder than D&D combat, but it's got many more modifiers to consider.

Villains and Vigilantes is very much an old school RPG in that it doesn't include extensive rules for most situations, instead offering only advice and trusting the GM to demonstrate good judgment. I personally have no problem with this, but I am sure it won't be satisfying to me many people, especially those more accustomed to games like Champions. Indeed, I'd say that the biggest way that V&V differs from most other superhero RPGs is that it's not "effects based" in terms of powers, which is to say, powers are not easily customizable to taste. I think this, more than any of its other peculiarities, probably hampered the popularity of the game, especially after the release of Champions. Ironically, I see this as a plus rather than a drawback, but then I generally prefer much simpler systems for any genre.

White Dwarf: Issue #7

Issue #7 of White Dwarf (June/July 1978) represents something of a milestone for the British gaming periodical. Firstly, it marks the start of the second year of its publication. Secondly, it's the first issue to feature a full-color cover (by the ever-amazing John Blanche). In his opening editorial, Ian Livingstone draws the reader's attention to both of these facts – facts he believes serve as "a reminder to traditional wargamers that we (i.e. roleplayers) are a serious part of the hobby and not just a weird, temporary deviation from it." As ever, I find such comments very strange, but then I was never a wargamer (take a drink), nor did I much care about their opinion of what seemed to me to be a related but wholly separate hobby. Mind you, I was a 10 year-old child when I discovered D&D rather than an adult like Livingstone, so I suppose I can be forgiven for not understanding his seemingly interminable concern about the reputation of roleplaying in wargaming circles. If nothing else, it's a reminder that the past truly is another country.

The issue begins with an article written by Ed Simbalist entitled "Feudal Economics in Chivalry & Sorcery." It's an interesting enough piece, especially for those who want to more "realistically" model the economics of the European Middle Ages in their campaign settings. More interesting than its content, though, is the fact that it's penned by one of the creators of C&S. If nothing else, Simbalist's appearance in WD's pages show that, after only a year of publication, it had already begun to attract significant attention on the other side of the Atlantic. "Fiend Factory" offers up nine new monsters for D&D, several of which would later appear in the Fiend Folio. None of those featured could be called "classics," even by the odd standards of the Fiend Folio, though a handful deserve comment. The first is the Rover, based on the bouncing ball from The Prisoner. The second is the Gluey, which was renamed the Adherer in its published FF form. Finally, there's the Squonk, based on the legendary monster of northern Pennsylvania, which the text calls "more of a pet than a monster; perhaps the female D&Ders would take more to this beast than the hard-headed males."

The "Letters" column is notable for one letter, commenting on Roger Musson's article in issue #6. I reproduce it here in its entirety.

One of these days, I'll need to collect together as many Gary Gygax quotes as I can find regarding the matters of "realism" and "heroism" in D&D to see how consistent his position on the matter remained over the years. For now, I'll simply say that, as he often does, Gygax speaks here in such an argumentative and disingenuous fashion that, even if one were inclined to agree with his points (which I mostly do), he makes it hard to do so, lest one be seen as similarly intemperate. I can't help but wonder how different the history of the hobby might have been if the younger Gygax had possessed even a small portion of the equanimity his older self possessed.

John T. Sapienza's "Carrying Capacity" offers a short and relatively simple new encumbrance system that uses a character's Strength to determine what percentage of his body weight he can carry in equipment and treasure. Meanwhile, Brian Asbury provides Part III of his "Asbury System" for experience. This time, he gives readers the means to determine the XP value of magic weapons and armor, based on their types (sword, mace, chain, plate, etc.), bonuses, and other abilities. I can see no obvious problem with his system as such, only that it seems like more trouble than it's worth, especially when the Dungeon Masters Guide already does the work for the referee (though, to be fair, at the time of publication of this issue, the DMG was still more than a year in the future).

"Molten Magic" provides photographs for eight different sets of miniature figures, including those by Ral Partha and Asgard. "Open Box," meanwhile, features reviews for The Warlord Game, The Thieves of Fortress Badabaskor, Bifrost Volume 1, Lords and Wizards, The Sorcerer's Cave, and Cosmic Encounter. There's also another installment of the "Kalgar" comic strip, which continues to do little for me. I find myself looking forward to the future, when other strips more familiar to me will appear, but those won't, I fear, appear for quite some time still.

Don Turnbull's "Lair of the Demon Queen" presents a "difficult but rewarding section" of his Greenlands Dungeon for the delectation of readers. The lair is a fairly small section of said dungeon but it's quite well thought out, with an elaborate trap that requires deciphering a poem (spoken by statues with magic mouths) to overcome. I simply adore rooms like this in dungeons and I'm ashamed when I consider how much more straightforward my own chambers tend to be these days. In my youth, I'd devote much thought to tricks and traps, not to mention riddles, rhymes, and other bits of fantasy nonsense intended to aid and befuddle the players. Reading this article reminded me of how far I've fallen in the years since. Perhaps I shall have to rectify this in my future work.

The issue ends with "Thoughts on the Proliferation of Magic Items in D&D" by none other than Gary Gygax. As one might expect, Gygax is very much opposed to what he calls "magic on the cheap," something he claims is quite common in "hobby publications" at the time. He suggests that, since D&D is "designed for a long period of active play," the referee would be wise to give out magic items sparingly and with an eye toward ensuring that the game remain challenging over time. He then offers many strategies for separating PCs from magic treasure so as to maintain the appropriate balance. Everything he says here comports with his writings on the subject elsewhere, but, as I commented earlier, his tone is condescendingly off-putting at times and I fear it might sometimes get in the way of what he intends to say (Physician, heal thyself).

Issue #7 of White Dwarf was, by and large, enjoyable to me. It's definitely step up in terms of presentation and quality over its immediate predecessors and it gives me hope that the upcoming issues will be equally enjoyable. 

Pulp Fantasy Library: Strange Eons

One of the dangers of reading an older work is failing to take into account the time in which it was written. By this I mean that it's very easy, from the vantage point of the future, to look at a book – or indeed any cultural artifact – produced in the past and misunderstand its purpose or simply fail to appreciate how it would have been viewed in its own time. For example, I recalled my parents talking about how funny the TV show, Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In, was. When I finally saw an episode of it, many years later, I couldn't fathom what they found so remarkable about it, in large part, I suspect, because I was watching it in the aftermath of its own pop cultural success, when its genuinely clever or original aspects had become so imitated and indeed commonplace that they failed to have any impact on me. 

I bring all this up as a prelude to discussing Robert Bloch's novel, Strange Eons. Originally published as a hardcover in 1978 and then, in 1979, as a paperback (the cover of the latter appearing here), the book opens with the following:

This book is dedicated to

HPL

who dedicated himself to

other outsiders and gave

to them a silver key.

Today, Robert Bloch is probably best known as the author of the 1959 novel, Psycho, on which the 1960 Alfred Hitchcock movie of the same name is based. For present purposes, we should remember that Bloch was a correspondent of H.P. Lovecraft, whose stories he devoured in the pages of Weird Tales. Starting at 1933, when Bloch was fifteen, he wrote regularly to Lovecraft, who not only offered him advice on the craft of writing but also introduced him to other members of his literary circle, such as Clark Ashton Smith and August Derleth. Bloch considered Lovecraft not just his mentor but his friend and was profoundly affected by HPL's death in 1937. In his acceptance speech upon receiving a lifetime achievement award at the First World Fantasy Awards in 1977, Bloch famously talked about this, saying:

"Part of me died with him, I guess, not only because he was not a god, he was mortal, that is true, but because he had so little recognition in his own lifetime. There were no novels or collections published, no great realization, even here in Providence, of what was lost."

This is the context in which one should understand Strange Eons. Bloch felt an immense debt to Lovecraft and his ideas, which, at the time this novel was published, were still not well known outside horror circles. This is in stark contrast to today, when Lovecraft is, if not exactly a household name, better known, his ideas and creations even more so. Strange Eons is, then, a labor of love intended to honor his deceased mentor and popularize some of his themes.

Sadly, Strange Eons is not a very good novel. It is, after a fashion, an intermittently enjoyable one, but it's not one of Bloch's best efforts and, even as an attempt at pulpy popularization of Lovecraftian ideas, it's nothing special. Partly, I think, it's because Bloch indulges in one of the more tired conceits associated with post-Lovecraft Lovecraftian fiction: that HPL's stories were true – or at least based on true events. Bloch wasn't the first (or, sadly, the last) author to make use of this notion, but it's always struck me as equal parts lazy and absurd. It's true that one of the foundations of Lovecraftian cosmic horror is its attempted realism, the suggestion that the events its stories describe occur in our rational, scientific world rather than in some fantasy fairyland. However, that's a far cry from claiming that those same events are, literally, real. I realize that not everyone is as bothered by this conceit as I, but the fact remains that I am and I think this undermines the plot of Strange Eons.

The novel is divided into three sections, all of which ultimately relate to one another and the central mystery of the novel. The first section concerns an art collector named Albert Keith, who comes upon a bizarre painting that turns out to be the painting from "Pickman's Model." Keith has never heard of this story but his friend, Simon Waverly, has and he tells him all about it. Naturally, Keith doesn't believe in ghouls, let alone the idea that an obscure pulp writer from the Depression had written a story about this very painting he'd just purchased. This leads to a disagreement between the two men, a disagreement that reiterates my points above about the nature of this novel.

"Then there's only one answer. The work was an artist's homage, a sincere tribute. The painting was inspired by Lovecraft's story."

"Suppose it was the other way around." Waverly spoke slowly, softly. "Suppose Lovecraft's story was inspired by the painting?"

Over time, Keith starts to become more convinced that there's something to Waverly's hypothesis, as the two of them become embroiled in the activities of a secretive group who want the painting and are willing to go to any length to acquire it, including murder. Or multiple murders, as it turns out, with many of them staged in such a way as to evoke the events of other stories by Lovecraft, such as "The Lurking Fear." As Keith slowly comes round to Waverly's way of thinking, this affords Bloch the chance to hold forth on Lovecraft's life, personality, interest, and the subject of his stories – all things most readers today would know well but that a reader in 1978 might not. The result is forced and clunky, however affectionately meant, and it slows down the pacing of the first section considerably.

The second section is the longest and takes place six months after the first one and focuses on Kay Keith, Albert's ex-wife, who works as a model. She gets an offer to do some work for the Starry Wisdom Temple, which has now established itself in Los Angeles. The Temple is led by a Reverend Nye, a dark-skinned man with a strange accent Kay can't place. If that sounds ridiculous, it is, even in context, and it only becomes more so as Bloch once again launches into long disquisitions on Lovecraft's life, the Cthulhu Mythos, and innumerable 1970s pop occultism themes, like ancient astronauts, pyramid power, and the like. Section three takes place thirty years in the future and concerns the events leading up to the coming of Cthulhu and the end of the world. 

As I said, Strange Eons is not a good novel by most definitions but it does evince a lurid glee that some might nevertheless find appealing. Even so, I find it hard to speak badly of it, because it's very clear that Robert Bloch wrote it out of respect and admiration for H.P. Lovecraft, to whom, even four decades after his death, he owed a great debt. He no doubt intended Strange Eons as a gateway drug for those who hadn't yet encountered the work of his master, which, in 1978, would have been a great many people indeed. I find that genuinely praiseworthy; it's just a pity the novel doesn't live up to its high goal.

Jack the Clever

I honestly can't recall the first time I saw the adjective "Vancian" used to describe the magic system of Dungeons & Dragons. It might have been in the pages of Dragon, but I can't be certain. Wherever it was, I was initially baffled by it, because I didn't read any of Vance's work until after I had started playing RPGs. When I first picked it up, I associated D&D with Robert E. Howard's Hyborian Age, Fritz Leiber's Nehwon, and J.R.R. Tolkien's Middle-earth. The influence of any one of these authors on the game seemed so much more obvious to me at the time, but Jack Vance? Who was he?

Fortunately for my literary education, I eventually picked up a copy of Cugel's Saga and soon fell in love with its arresting combination of "high" vocabulary, picaresque adventures, and wondrous setting. Vance was an unexpected surprise to me at the time. I'd read several authors whose works contained elements I'd also found in Vance – such as Clark Ashton Smith's penchant for archaisms – but I'd never found them all in those of a single author before. So impressed was I that I immediately sought out first its follow-up, The Eyes of the Overworld and then The Dying Earth, both of which likewise impressed me, sending me on a quest to read everything by Vance I could get my hands on.

I bring all this up because today is the 105th anniversary of the birth of John Holbrook Vance. Born in San Francisco in 1916, Vance led a remarkable life. During the Great Depression, he took up a variety of menial jobs to support himself and his mother, during which time he also attended university, eventually graduating in 1942. During World War II, he joined the Merchant Marine, an experience that led his lifelong love of sailing and the sea. Throughout this time, he made his first efforts at published writing in science fiction and fantasy, genres he had loved since he was a teenager. By the end of the 1940s, Vance started to achieve success as a writer, which encouraged him to devote himself to the craft fulltime. The rest, as they say, is history.

There's a great deal that could be said about Jack Vance and his influence on fantasy, science fiction, and the hobby of roleplaying. Rather than do that at this time, I will instead urge you to read one of his many stories. Whether you choose one of his Dying Earth tales, the Lyonesse trilogy, the Planet of Adventure series, or almost any other with his byline, you'll find joyful stories tinged with melancholy and wild, unpredictable imagination presented through singular prose. Vance is truly one of the Giants of fantasy fiction and he deserves to celebrated by all who appreciate superb writing and creativity. 

Happy Birthday, Mr Vance. 

Retrospective: Trouble Brewing

Gangbusters was a favorite RPG of mine in my youth, but I've long had the impression that not a lot of people took notice of it when it was released. That's too bad, because, in addition to its original boxed set being terrific on its own, TSR published a number of truly superb follow-up products to support it, most of them adventure scenarios. The one that wasn't a scenario was 1982's Trouble Brewing, written by none other than Tom Moldvay and, much like Murder in Harmony by Mark Acres, it made a lasting impression on me.

Trouble Brewing bills itself as a "special campaign supplement" and that's a very apt description, as we'll see. Like most TSR modules of its era, this one is a 32-page staple-bound booklet wrapped in a removable, four-sided, cardboard cover. Both the booklet and the cover are memorably illustrated by the late, great Jim Holloway, whose combination of realism and humor seems perfect for the module's subject matter. Jeff Easley also contributes a couple of pieces, but they are, sadly, not nearly so memorable. Oddly, the back panel of the cover features a collection of cut-out cars, trucks, and other vehicles for use with the street map included in the original boxed set. I never understood why TSR did this, since cutting up the cover is a poor option and, being color, the counters didn't photocopy well, given the technology of the era.

The bulk of the booklet consists of information on Lakefront City – the game's ersatz Chicago – and its most important inhabitants, complete with game statistics. While this might seem dull, it's not. Moldvay does a great job in giving all the characters, from the heads of the important criminal gangs to the local government and law enforcement right down to butchers and hardware store owners, a degree of individuality that's very helpful to a referee. Many of them even includes small details that could easily be turned to the creation of scenarios, like the fact that the widowed jeweler Saul Goldstein has secretly left his business to his employee, Fred Russell, in his will or that one of the waitresses at Velma's Restaurant is secretly the daughter of the second in command of the O'Connor Gang. Little of it is earthshattering or even particularly imaginative but it's helpful, especially to inexperienced referees looking to instill some life into their campaigns.

Another aspect of this section of the booklet that's worth pointing out is the fact that a great many of the character descriptions are of "average" citizens of Lakefront City rather than of "important" people, such as politicians or gangsters. This is very helpful in my experience, since it not only helps bring the setting to life but also gives the referee the tools he needs in the event the player characters wander into a barber shop or five-in-dime store unconnected with the current scenario. As someone who has struggled such matters in urban adventures, I recognize the value in books like this.

In addition to the details of Lakefront City itself, Trouble Brewing also includes an extensive campaign outline. This outline consists of a variety of scenarios intended for use with different types of characters, such as gangsters, law enforcement, even investigative reporters. Though each scenario can be played on its own, each forms part of a larger campaign scenario that deals with the brewing turf war between Al Tolino and Deanie O'Connor, as they vie with one another for control of the city's lucrative criminal enterprises. This is very useful to the referee on many levels, not least being that it affords players the opportunity to play out this campaign from a variety of different angles. This flexibility and open-endedness is to be commended in my opinion. I know I learned a lot from its presentation in my youth.

If I have a criticism of Trouble Brewing, it's that it's set in a fictional city rather than a real world one, but I fully understand why this was done. When I was younger, this bothered me a great deal, as I wanted to learn more about, say, Chicago or New York's gang wars during the 1920s. The advantage of a fictional locale is that there's no need for a great deal of research, nor is there any expectation that events will unfold just as they did in our world. Still, my preference, then and now, is for real history over imaginary history and it's one of the few qualms I have about what is otherwise a very well done and useful module for use with Gangbusters.