Not Your Father's PHB

And so we reach the end of my retrospective about the covers of the D&D Players Handbook with this entry. Before diving in to talk specifically about the cover of the 4e version, a prediction: this entry will receive even more comments than my entry on the 2e PHB. Why do I say that? Well, I've looked at the stats for this blog and it's pretty widely read, with traffic coming a bunch of other gaming forums and blogs. When I restrict myself to musing about old school stuff exclusively, the comments are (generally) sober and considered and written by fellow grognards and those who understand the old school way. When I veer off into newer games, especially when I speak critically of them and their approach, I get even more visitors and even more comments, many of them not so sober or considered and often not written by grognards or those who understand our perspective. This happened once before rather spectacularly and I had to restrict comments only to registered users. That hasn't stopped trolling from time to time, but it certainly has slowed the deluge.

Now I'm tackling the brand spanking new 4e PHB and I don't think I'm ruining anyone's anticipation by saying upfront that I dislike its art and graphic design a great deal, not to mention the game itself. Passions regarding 4e are running very high at the moment and, as others have noted, you can scarcely voice a negative opinion about the game without its fans descending upon you to teach you the error of your ways. I would frankly be amazed if I don't get several such fans posting here, but perhaps I flatter myself in thinking anyone cares about my opinion. To such people, let me say now: I don't hate 4e -- and I certainly don't hate 4e fans. I'm actually almost at the point where I don't care much about 4e at all, except insofar as it pertains to my continuing researches into the history and traditions of roleplaying games. Almost.

What I do hate, though, and what I do not wish to see in my comments is the suggestion that, because I don't want to play 4e and think it has little to nothing to do with the game Gygax and Arneson created almost 35 years ago, I'm some kind of mental defective or an old fogey living out my midlife crisis by returning to OD&D. Play those cards and your comments will be deleted and I'll do my level best to ensure you never post here again on any topic. I don't go around to the forums and blogs of 4e fans and make a spectacle of myself, because I believe in common courtesy and respect. I expect the same behavior here. Disagree with me if you wish, but stay on topic and don't resort to insults, invective, or dime store psychologizing when doing so. Capisce?

And now the cover to the 4e Player's Handbook


I don't loathe it the same way I loathe the 2.5e PHB, but that's small praise. Illustrated by Wayne Reynolds, the piece is a good approximation of everything I hate about modern fantasy. First, there are the focus characters themselves. The one on the left is a dragonborn, presumably a fighter, wearing ludicrous (though not spiky -- a blessing) armor and wielding an equally ludicrous sword right out of Final Fantasy or perhaps Exalted. I don't actually have a huge problem with the dragonborn in theory; a draconic PC race seems a natural evolution of D&D tropes. However, I do object to their being on the cover of the PHB, as it suggests to me that WotC wishes to make the race a highlight of 4e rather than one option among many. It's another nail in the coffin of pulp fantasy. The figure on the right is your typical "powerful" female figure, which is geekspeak for "attractive and possibly bisexual woman who for some reason is inexplicably attracted to dorks like me." While her eye liner recalls the female magic-user on the cover of the Moldvay Basic set (and even now I know at least one 4e fan out there is claiming that it's a loving homage to that 1981 cover), her pose reminds me of the barbarian on the 2.5e PHB, which is to say, really absurd.

I give big props to Reynolds for the fact that the scene takes place in an underground location of some sort, complete with stalactites. This is essential in my opinion, so bonus points here. I also like the fact that, besides the two central figures, we also see that they have companions. In the background, shrouded somewhat in mist, you can see their buddies, a dwarf and an elf (or is it an eladrin). D&D is not a game about lone heroes, but adventuring parties. So, again, props to Reynolds for showing this. Of course, if you look at the dwarf and the elfladrin, you notice something. Judging by his gear, the dwarf looks like he's probably a fighter, just like the dragonborn. And the pointy-eared guy? Staff in hand and dressed in a robe -- he must be a wizard, just like Eye Liner Chick. Call me paranoid -- no, don't -- but it looks to me as if the piece is almost saying, "See those lamers back in the shadows? Sure, you can play those guys if you want, but wouldn't you rather be one of the cool and/or sexy kids?"

Dungeons & Dragons again gets a new logo, once more with a dragon as the ampersand, but I don't mind this one. I certainly like it much better than the 3e logo, which succeeded at the difficult task of simultaneously looking too professional and too amateurish at the same time. The new logo has no such ambiguity; it's a slick, professional brand-identifying logo. I feel dirty for liking it, but I do. Whoever designed that logo did a fine job in my opinion. I'm far less happy about the subtitle to the book "Arcane, Divine, and Martial Heroes." Leaving aside my issue with the inappropriateness of the word "heroes," the very fact that the PHB is admitting to its limited scope rubs me the wrong way. The 4e PHB is clearly intended to have supplements. Sure, most RPGs over the years have had supplements, but, until the late 80s anyway, they at least made some show of being complete from the get-go. We already know the 4e business plan involves new PHBs, DMGs, and Monster Manuals every year, on the model of card game expansions. Call me old fashioned -- wait, don't -- but I don't like to be reminded right upfront that your company plans to milk me with a stream of supplements until you hit the reset button and start it all over again.

The 4e Player's Handbook also has an illustration on the back cover by Rob Alexander. It depicts a floating castle but isn't connected in any way to the front cover illustration. I don't really have much to say about it, except that it's a bit too high fantasy for my tastes, recalling the Dragonlance modules of old. Perhaps that's intentional, given the continued popularity of that setting. In any case, I will say that I do appreciate that there is back cover art at all rather than just promotional text.

Despite all of the foregoing, I'd like to say that I think the 4e cover actually succeeds in doing what it sets out to do: sell the new D&D. My reading of 4e -- yes, I have read it; no, I won't be reviewing it formally -- is that it's an entirely new game, one that's about as strongly connected to OD&D as just about any random fantasy game produced in the last decade is or, in other words, not very much at all. 4e, of course, has the D&D brand name and access to a few bits and bobs of exclusive IP (like beholders and mind flayers and -- paging the estate of A.E. Van Vogt -- displacer beasts), but it simply doesn't feel any more like Gary's game than does Exalted or Final Fantasy or, yes, World of Warcraft. I don't mean that as a criticism exactly. I have come to see that, for the vast majority of fantasy fans nowadays, the traditions of pulp fantasy mean nothing. If they know Conan at all, it's through the execrable Schwarzenegger movies rather than through the works of Howard and Fafhrd is just an unpronounceable name rather than an icon of the genre.

Given that, it makes a certain amount of sense to reinvent the franchise -- D&D Extreme! -- rather than to stay true to hoary old tropes and archetypes. But no reinvention, however good, will ever be D&D to me. It may be good in its own right and indeed may even be better in some sense than its theoretical inspiration; I'm simply in no position to judge one way or the other. I can only say that, for me, D&D has never been just a rules set. To me, D&D is a love letter to pulp fantasy and to the spirit of reckless creativity seen in the wargames hobby of the late 60s and early 70s. It's of a certain time and place, even if that time and place can still be enjoyed today. I'm not of the opinion that all ideas are infinitely malleable and can be "updated" or made more "relevant" without destroying their essences.

D&D is such an idea. For a book dedicated to the memory of the Dungeon Master, I doubt a single polysyllable of High Gygaxian verbiage remains between the covers of the 4e PHB, let alone the spirit that animated them. This is D&D only in the most equivocal, corporate sense. I haven't yet played the game, though I hope to, but I think it unlikely my opinion on this particular point will change. I have no problem with the existence of new fantasy RPGs. Heck, I wrote a couple of supplements for Exalted and I appreciate its take on the genre. But Exalted doesn't claim to be D&D or an inheritor of the Gygaxian mantle. It's a different game and knows it. 4e doesn't seem to realize it's a different game entirely. Reading the PHB, I kept wanting to shake someone and say, "Get your own damned game."

4e's only been out a month. With time, I'm sure it'll become just another fantasy RPG in my mind, but then that's what it is.

Speaking of Old D&D Campaigns

Here's a scan of a small section of a much larger map I did for my old campaign world of Emaindor.
I drew -- and colored! -- this by hand when I was 13 or 14, so that puts its origin in 1984 or thereabouts. I'd been playing in a version of the same setting for several years prior to that (as well as in a Greyhawk-based campaign). I can't quite recall why I used graph paper instead of hex paper, but I suspect it's because I didn't have hex paper larger enough to cover the vast amount of terrain I wanted to draw.

You will note I was very fond both of calligraphy and of imaginary languages. I created several of them (Cynda, Emânic, Otrenska, and Rathwynnic, derived from Dutch, Welsh, Swedish, and Old English, respectively) with simple grammars and extensive vocabulary lists. I found that even the silliest names sounded much cooler if they were translated into a language no one natively understood.

The setting itself was a weird mishmash of things, but was primarily a medieval Europe knock-off, albeit one that mix and matched cultures and time periods. I had a Frenchified Roman/Byzantine Empire analog, for example, and an Arthurian/Celtic bunch standing in for the Germans. Now that I think on it, there were a lot of Arthurian elements to the setting, because, let's face it, King Arthur is heroic and tragic in a way that appeals to teenage boys (and old men, ironically enough). Despite being an AD&D world, it was even more strongly human-dominated than you'd expect. There were no halflings and few gnomes. Dwarves were reclusive but present and elves were reclusive to the point of xenophobia. Most of my adventures were political or investigative in nature, a tendency of mine that hasn't changed much in 20+ years.

A few years ago, I had a professional cartographer do a rendition of these maps and it was really cool to see that. I'll dig around on my computer to see if I can find them again. I won't say I prefer my amateur versions, because I'm not sure I do, but I still have a lot of pride in them. I spent untold hours drawing them and carefully placing the towns and cities and sites and naming them all. It was a labor of love and pretty well illustrates why I still love this hobby after so many years.

Pig Faced Orcs

I decided to be stupidly indulgent and bought myself a bunch of old school orcs from Otherworld Miniatures. I'm suffering mightily from a wave of nostalgia about some of my old D&D campaigns (about which I'll write in due course) and these orcs just spoke to me. I'm not sure exactly when I learned to understand Orcish, but then you pick up a lot of weird knowledge after gaming for nearly 30 years.

A New Beginning

In 1996, TSR was unable to pay its printer, meaning that, if something were not done, Dungeons & Dragons would go out of print for the first time in 22 years. For nearly six months in late 1996 and early 1997, TSR released no new products in any of its many game lines. Even publication of Dragon and Dungeon magazines ceased for time. For all intents and purposes, it was a gamer Apocalypse.

On April 10, 1997, Wizards of the Coast of Renton, Washington acquired TSR and its properties, saving D&D from extinction. However, it was clear that the game had suffered both creatively and financially during the latter days of TSR. WotC decided that the best course of action was to release a new edition of the game -- a fresh start to herald a new beginning for the venerable fantasy RPG. That new beginning happened in August 2000, with the release of Third Edition. "Advanced" was dropped from the title, but it was clear that 3e was primarily a successor to Gygax's AD&D line begun in 1977 rather than the D&D line inaugurated by Tom Moldvay in 1981 (or earlier, depending on where you wish to draw your lines of creative demarcation).

A new beginning required a new look and 3e's graphic design was very different both from 1e and from 2e. The Player's Handbook, shown below, sports a faux "tome" cover, lacking a cover illustration at all. The clear intention here was to make the PHB (and all the other 3e books) look as if they were gilded, jewel-encrusted librams of great value.


In 2003, the infamous v.3.5 revision was released, with a slight variation on the original 3e cover. My friends called it the "super pimp" edition, because the faux gilding and jewel-work was even more prominent and elaborate.


I'm going to take liberties and treat the 3e and v.3.5 covers as a single cover for the purposes of the present discussion. The differences between them are more of degree than of kind. Both have the same basic appearance and attempt to evoke the same feel from viewers. More to the point, I'm not sure the few differences are enough to justify two separate entries, so I hope I can be forgiven this one indulgence.

I'm really of two minds about these covers. On the one hand, they're rather garish and more than a little silly. In general, I'm not at all fond of faux antique veneers. At their best, they make you wonder why you should choose a faux antique when you can just as easily get a real one. At their worst, they come off as kitschy and the 3e PHB covers certainly do veer toward kitsch. On the other hand, I can completely understand the thought processes that lead WotC to choose this as the cover design for the books. They wanted covers that made D&D "special" again and that conjured up images of spell books and grimoires.

This was, after all, the relaunch of the first RPG ever created and I have no doubt that WotC wanted to give the game not just some spit and polish, but also a look that expressed something of what D&D meant to them and to the hobby. WotC may have been richer than God thanks to the success of Magic: The Gathering, but their experience as a RPG publisher was limited and certainly not anywhere near as successful as even TSR had been in its dying days. Thus, the 3e covers, goofy as they definitely are, were likely born out of love and respect for the game they had inherited and no small amount of awe at what they were undertaking. The WotC of 1999 and 2000 was simply a different beast from the one that emerged in later years, or so it seems to me. They may have hit it big, but they were still gamers, through and through, and they were geeked to high heaven to be captaining the hobby's flagship.

So, for me, the 3e era covers are a wash. I don't hate them but neither do I love them. The faux tome concept was silly even when Ars Magica did it back in its own third edition. Nevertheless, there's a certain rough charm to it; these covers are the kinds of things a twelve year-old would, in his naive enthusiasm for the game, think were really cool. I have a hard time faulting WotC for giving in to such enthusiasm themselves, even if there should have been an adult somewhere telling their art department that this probably wasn't the best look for the game.

A few sour notes before closing. Both covers have the new Dungeons & Dragons logo and, not only is the logo rather uninspired, it also seems to me to yet more evidence of the treatment of the game as primarily a brand rather than an entertainment. This approach is not unique to WotC, so I don't mean to single them out. However, in light of their eventual acquisition by Hasbro, it is nevertheless ominous. Both covers also have the words "Core Rulebook I" and that too bothers me. As it turns out, I don't believe any 3e books other than the Big Three ever used the words "core rulebook" to describe themselves (though I could be wrong), but it set the stage for what would reach full flower with 4e: the serialization of the D&D rules and the elevation of supplementary material to necessary components for playing the game.

Good Grief

Anyone know where this piece of art is from?

Is it perhaps from the Player's Handbook II? I accidentally stumbled upon it while looking for cover images of the 3e and v.3.5 PHBs to use in today's entry on those two covers (yes, I'm doing both at once, because they differ so little in appearance that I didn't think they deserved separate entries).

In any case, I can't say I'm too fond of this illustration. Aside from being a particularly poor example of the "wall of action" style, its ham-fisted execution strikes me as paradigmatic of the iconoclasm-cloaked-as-respect-for-the-past that WotC excels at these days. I mean, if I were an artist and my mandate was to paint a picture that encapsulated "this ain't your father's D&D," this is how I'd do it.

REVIEW: Eldritch Weirdness, Book One

Welcome to Eldritch Weirdness, the first booklet of Options and Resources for the Swords & Wizardry game, containing 30 optional spells to inspire your imagination. All these spells are described in the S&W format, so they’re less detailed and more open-ended than you’ll find in most fantasy role-playing games. One spell, “Infuse,” is so open-ended it’s got no discernable game purpose at all, unless you add something somewhere. Like everything else in Swords & Wizardry, you’ve got the basics: now go and imagine the hell out of it.

So begins Matt Finch's Eldritch Weirdness, Book One, the first supplement to his OD&D retro-clone Swords & Wizardry. That opening paragraph sets the tone, not just for the five pages of arcane spells that follow, but also for the whole of the S&W project. "Imagine the hell out of it" is a brilliant summation of this minimalist retro-clone that both respects the roots of the hobby and points the way toward the future.

How does S&W do this? For one, the entirety of its text is Open Game Content, meaning that anyone, including publishers, can use as little or as much of its text as they wish in their own products without the need for a special license or permissions. S&W also has its own "compatibility-statement license," which allows you to indicate that your games or products are compatible with S&W. Secondly, its text is a very close approximation of OD&D and some of its supplementary materials, including a fair degree of "elbow room" when it comes to adjudicating many game mechanics. There are differences, of course, some of which, such as the Hit Dice conventions -- I favor D6 for all classes and for monsters -- bring the game a fair bit closer to AD&D than I would like, but they are easily fixed. Indeed, the real genius of S&W is that its core rules are intended to be easily edited and then printed out, so each referee can make the game his own. Likewise, the rules are light enough that they can expanded in numerous directions without having to worry about the entire mechanical edifice crashing down on you.

But this post is a review of Eldritch Weirdness, not Swords & Wizardy. The 8-page PDF consists of a cover, five pages of text describing 30 arcane spells, and two pages devoted to the Open Game License. The entire package sells for $1.50. Let me state at the outset that I love the cover page. The very title itself recalls Supplement III to OD&D, Eldritch Wizardry, and font chosen for it (which it shares with the S&W logo) is a legible blackletter script that sets the perfect tone. The cover also features a black and white illustration by the author that depicts a robed and cueball-headed wizard conjuring with the aid of a crystal ball. It's a very nice image that recalls the best old school art, while not being imitative of any of it. The style and content is original yet evocative. I'd like to see more art done in this fashion.

The meat of the book itself is 30 optional arcane (i.e. magic-user) spells, from ball of ice to word of IOUN. As you would expect from magic spells of the old school, their effects are often quirky and sometimes even without immediately obvious use. The spell infuse mentioned in the quote above "infuses liquids (usually prepared ones) with magical propensities and potentials. It does not, in and of itself, create potions." What does that mean? I can think of several answers, but Eldritch Weirdness canonizes none of them, instead leaving it to the referee to decide for his own campaign. Another spell, called Omar's mistake, causes the caster to demonstrate numerous strange and unusual traits and qualities at once, some beneficial -- members of the opposite sex have a 1% chance to be affected as if by a charm spell -- and some not -- the caster may feel compelled to steal shiny objects. Why would anyone cast this spell? That's for each magic-user to decide should he learn it. And so on.

Eldritch Weirdness was thus aptly named; it's filled with lots of odd, slightly off-kilter magic that makes you scratch your head a wonder, "Why?" It's the perfect antidote for the overly mechanized, honed to a fine sheen approach we've seen in more recent edition of D&D, where randomness, judgment calls, and whimsy are frowned upon. I simply could not help being inspired by this book, which is remarkable both because it's so short and because, after nearly 30 years of gaming, I thought I'd seen it all. It's rare when you come across a work of imagination that makes you sit up and take notice. Eldritch Weirdness does just that and I heartily recommend it for anyone who wants to see a new product that shows what old school is all about.

Final Score: 5 out of 5 polearms

v.2.5 PHB

In 1995, just two years before it would be acquired by Wizards of the Coast, TSR released revised editions of the 2nd Edition rulebooks, in addition to a series of "Option" books (three for players and one for the DM). In recent years, it's been fashionable to refer to these as v.2.5, mimicking the computerese v.3.5 revision title used in 2003. These revised rulebooks featured a new logo, graphic design, and artwork. I never owned the revisions in any form, so their actual content remains a gaping hole in my D&D knowledge. My understanding is that the text was minimally altered from the original 2e release in 1989, with the bulk of the changes coming in the Option books, some of which presaged the direction D&D would take in Third Edition five years later.

As I said, my knowledge of the 2e revisions is non-existent. I knew of their existence, as I was still gaming in 1995, but I'd pretty much dropped out of D&D entirely. I'd grown disgusted with the rules bloat, the proliferation of settings, and the general lack of focus the game line had at that point. I was a huge fan of Planescape, but, even at the time, I didn't think it worked well within the context of Dungeons & Dragons and the setting's development was too metaplot driven for my tastes. So I can't really comment on the whys and wherefores of v.2.5, though I'd assume it was a last ditch effort to remake D&D into something "modern," which is to say, able to compete with the latest fads in RPG design. Even before the revisions, 2e was clearly struggling to remake itself into a game that bore no resemblance, thematically and stylistically, if not mechanically, from the little game Gygax and Arneson birthed in 1974.

If that was the intention, the cover of the 2e revision didn't really do a good job of selling it either as something new and "relevant" or something connected to the history of the hobby.

I don't know if the image I've included with this entry really does justice to how awful this piece is, even on a technical level. Jeff Easley is once again the cover artist of the Players Handbook, providing us with what is very likely the worst of all PHB cover illustrations. About the only positive thing I can say about it is is that the barbarian's companions -- one with a bow drawn and one in a hooded cloak -- certainly don't look like members of Larry Elmore's Central Casting; they look scruffy and even sinister. The focal barbarian himself barely looks human, with his left arms twisted in a way that I'm not sure is even possible.

We do at least get a dungeon, so perhaps that's another positive thing I can say about the illustration. The barbarian obviously did really well on his Open Doors roll. The piece has a very "cinematic" air to it, "cinematic" being the latest jargon term for "horribly unrealistic." The planks of the door are all falling over in a nice fan around the barbarian, with just enough splinters flying about to show how strong he must have been to have broken down a metal-reinforced door. We see this door-breaking mid-action, as the pieces haven't yet hit the floor. There's also a strange implication of "light" emanating either from the barbarian's powerful blow comic book-style or perhaps from the corridor outside the chamber into which the barbarian is breaking. The problem with the latter interpretation is that the illumination of the corridor doesn't make this likely. Indeed, light in general is rather strangely used; I can't quite figure out where the light sources are in the picture, as there seem to be several conflicting ones, whose interplay should have produced a very different effect than the one we see. But it's my experience that "cinematic" artwork is all about looking good and not being plausible, so why worry about frivolous details like light sources?

The Advanced Dungeons & Dragons logo (as well as the TSR corporate one) is given a revamp, this time being about as bland as possible. Interestingly, the logo is placed beneath the title of the book rather than above it. That strikes me as peculiar, but then I know little of "branding" and other corproate marketing practices. The cover art is bounded by a frame, which is set on a solid black background. All the revised 2e books, as well as the Option books, were solid black in color. Placed side by side, there was a uniformity of appearance that I absolutely hated, but then 2e itself followed a similar practice for its hardcover volumes. One of the things that I still to this day love about the original AD&D books is how they look when sitting on my shelf. Each one is different and has its own unique look. Mind you, I'm of the opinion that art direction is a dirty word, at least in the way it's developed over the last few years. Modern RPGs are too slick and too uniform, with an emphasis on the look of "the line" that I abhor. The commoditization of esthetics in the name of marketing has no place in the hobby.

I find it very hard to say much more about this cover, because it's just awful. That it was released during a time when D&D, my first RPG, lost its appeal for me only makes it worse. The mid to late 90s was clearly a dark time for the game and the company that produced it. The game lacked direction and had no sense of its own history and origins. Had things turned out differently, there was a very good chance that Dungeons & Dragons would have died as an RPG entirely. As it turns out, that wasn't far from the truth but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Down at the Alehouse

I have regular misgivings about the Knights & Knaves Alehouse and certainly don't feel comfortable posting there, but I still read the forums with great alacrity. The Alehouse is among the best old school forums on the net, provided you have a strong constitution, which I guess I don't. However, it's one of Trent Foster's regular hang-outs and he's a true gurus of old school history and philosophy, so I check the place out on a regular basis nonetheless.

To illustrate my point, here are two really interesting threads I'll be keeping my eye on.

What was the first non-old school RPG? (Hint: Moldvay Basic is a strong contender)

Matt Finch is working on a Primer for Old School Gaming. Some really excellent stuff here. Little wonder that he's someone whose judgment and insights I've come to respect a great deal.

Very good stuff.

Interesting Observation

I've so far made three posts in my six-part series critiquing the covers of the Players Handbook and the one that has thus far elicited the most response, much of it dissenting from my own point of view, is today's entry discussing the AD&D 2nd Edition PHB. I'm honestly not surprised by this. In my experience, 2e was the first edition that the vast majority of still-playing D&D gamers played. It is, for them, what they think of when they think of "D&D." I think this is significant for a number of reasons, which I'll talk about in a future post. For now, though, I'll say only that I think anyone who discounts the existence of a gamer generation gap is either ignorant of history or trying to sell you something (or both -- I'm looking at you, WotC).

A New Look for the PHB

1989 saw the release of Advanced Dungeons & Dragons, 2nd Edition, the first revision of the AD&D line. The origins of 2e are multifarious. Gary Gygax, while still at TSR, indicated his intention to produce a new edition of the game, but he never had the opportunity to do so. He was ousted from the company in 1985 and shepherding the new edition fell to David "Zeb" Cook, who'd been at TSR for many years and had produced numerous classic adventures, such as The Isle of Dread (with Tom Moldvay) and Dwellers of the Forbidden City. By some accounts, 2e was published in order to sever the link between Gygax and D&D, much in the way that 1e itself may have been published in order to sever the link between Dave Arneson and D&D.

In any case, 2e was intended primarily to be a clean-up and rationalization of the original AD&D books. There was no apparent mandate that it be innovative and Cook worked hard by all accounts to make the new edition backward compatible with the previous one. By my lights, he largely succeeded on this score, although the incorporation of non-weapon proficiencies was a poor design decision, as was the elimination of classes such as the assassin and the monk and began the transformation of the thief into the rogue that would be finalized in 3e. Still, 2e, for all the little tweaks and changes it introduced, was, at least as presented in the Player's Handbook (the first time the apostrophe is used in the title, incidentally), about 80% identical to 1e, perhaps even more. One could easily pick up a 1e module or supplement and use it with 2e without the need for mechanical conversion.

In terms of feel, though, 2e was far removed from 1e, as is evidenced by the cover of the Player's Handbook, shown here:


The cover illustration is by Jeff Easley, the same artist who did the revision of the 1e PHB. The same logo is used, this time with the addition of the words "2nd Edition" and without the word "official" at the front.

Unlike the 1e revision cover, this cover has context, albeit a vague one. The heroic rider -- a warrior or knight of some sort -- is galloping astride his equally heroic steed through a canyon or mountain pass, followed by at least two companions, also on horseback. The overall thrust of the piece is dynamic; it's definitely not a static pose, but it is a pose nonetheless. The rider is looking directly at the viewer and he's holding his sword aloft, despite the lack of an obvious opponent. His companions are doing the same. Were they more clearly heading into battle, the presence of their swords wouldn't bother me so much, but seeing as they are traversing some rough terrain while mounted, one would think it more prudent to have both of their hands on the reins. The riders are attired in mostly plausible gear, although the focus character has a ridiculously winged helm. Again, the piece has at least a toehold in the past while pointing toward the future.

In many ways, I find this cover even more unsatisfactory than the 1e revision cover, which at least showed a wizard engaged in magical combat. The 2e cover says nothing about what D&D is about except in the most generic sense: it's a game of heroic sword-wielding guys boldly going off somewhere. I give it credit for illustrating more than one figure; D&D is, after all, about parties of adventurers, not lone wolves. But, overall, the cover simply conveys nothing at all. It has no flavor or feel. Indeed, I'd go so far as to say it is bland, evoking neither the grim and gritty sword & sorcery world of Trampier nor presaging the frenetic "wall of action" we see in the art of Wayne Reynolds.

Quite simply, this is a terrible cover and its flaws suggest to me a game that is unclear about its origins or purpose and that owes its existence to something other than creative expression.