Building a Better Thief (Part I)

When people wish to parody the old school community, if they're not making fun of our discussions about dice, they often turn to our discussions about the unsuitability of the thief instead. I suppose that was inevitable, given how bizarre it is to many gamers even to consider kicking the thief from the clubhouse. They likely don't realize that, for a brief time, there was no such thing as a thief, because, as I've said before, every character was a thief. And given that the thief was formally introduced to the world a little over a year after OD&D was released, it's not at all unreasonable to say that the class has been around long enough to be classified as a venerable tradition.

I have a hard time disagreeing with that, since one of my guiding principles, higher even than fidelity to pulp fantasy, is that D&D is always right. By that I mean that, before considering changing, let alone removing, some element of the game that's been around for decades, look carefully at why this element was introduced in the first place and consider just as carefully what a change might do to the gameplay of D&D. Basically, "D&D is always right" is a reminder that, though the game may look haphazardly constructed, there is a logic behind it, a logic that you really have to understand and respect before you can start monkeying around with its internal organs.

As he so often does, Philotomy sums up the case against the thief as follows:

The Thief class is not part of the original three OD&D books, but was added in Supplement I. Weak in combat and casting no spells, the main feature of the class is its special skills like climbing sheer walls, finding and disarming traps, moving without making a sound, hiding in shadows, executing surprise backstabs, et cetera. Over time, I've come to prefer the game without the Thief class (i.e. using only the original three classes). The role the thief usually plays (scout/sneaky-guy) is easily filled by the other classes; everyone can attempt to be stealthy, search for traps, et cetera. Also, without the Thief and his special abilities, these activities are often performed by the player describing how he goes about it, rather than rolling against a skill, which I think is a lot of fun.

I'm largely in agreement with Philotomy's assessments, but I've nevertheless been reading Greyhawk's description of the thief very carefully, as well as the Holmes rules, looking for insights that might help me "rebuild" the thief into something that's simultaneously true to the archetype that many now (rightly) consider a staple of D&D while still taking into account the (valid) criticisms many cite against the thief.

I have noticed a couple of interesting things. First, the OD&D thief, unlike his AD&D descendant, has no ability to find traps. Or rather, he is no better at finding traps than any other character class, who use the standard "rules" for doing so (i.e. player deduction). Now, I did know that this was the case and it makes sense, given that several people, Gary Gygax chief among them, have noted that the thief owes its origin to the desire for a "dungeon bomb specialist" class, who was better at removing traps than other characters. Second, in OD&D -- again, AD&D differs in this regard -- a thief's ability to hear noise uses the same game mechanics as the standard rules describe in The Underworld & Wilderness Adventures: a D6 roll. Holmes further explains that "The thief's ability to hear noise at closed doors, secret panels, etc. is rolled on a six-sided die like anyone else, but his ability improves as he advances in experience." (emphasis mine) Indeed, until a thief reaches third level, he is no better at hearing noise than is any other character.

Taken together, these two things might point the way toward making the thief more palatable to me. Some have suggested in the past, Philotomy among them, that it might be best to view a thief's abilities as extraordinary in nature -- being able to climb sheer surfaces rather than ordinary walls, for example (which is exactly how Moldvay does it). Taken this way, the thief's abilities are more akin to a magic-user's spellcasting; they're "powers." While there's nothing wrong with that approach, it doesn't appeal to me, both because I don't think the mechanics for the class, as presented in Supplement I, support it and also because it's the first step on the path to turning the thief into the ridiculous ninja he becomes in the WotC editions.

To rehabilitate the thief in a way that's in keeping with its origins, both in Greyhawk and in pulp fantasy, I would much prefer to treat the abilities of the class more like the combat abilities of the fighting men -- ordinary abilities at which the class excels compared to other classes. The difficulty, though, is finding a way to do that without fostering the inevitable diminishment of the ability of other classes to attempt -- and succeed at -- those same tasks. I'm not yet certain that it's possible to do that, but I am exploring that avenue and will discuss it at greater length in future posts on this topic over the coming days.

Pulp Fantasy Audio Books

Check out this site, which includes, among many others, Abraham Merritt's The Moon Pool as an audio book.

Enjoy!

Retrospective: Dragons of Despair

Let's cut to the chase: I don't hate this module.

I do, however, hate the shift in adventure design -- and Dungeons & Dragons itself -- that it heralded. When it was released in 1984, Dragons of Despair was a revelation to me and, I suspect, many other gamers. We'd already seen glimpses of the coming paradigm shift in earlier work by Tracy Hickman, such as "The Desert of Desolation" series and, of course, Ravenloft, but neither of those precursors was as ambitious or as ultimately successful as was the Dragonlance series of modules.

Consisting of fourteen modules published over two years, the DL adventures chronicled -- and that is the right word -- the exploits of a group of pre-generated heroes as they attempted to battle the forces of evil that arose in the aftermath of an apocalypse that left the world of Krynn bereft not just of hope but of the power of the gods themselves. Along the way, these heroes acquire not only experience and power but also a variety of plot complications that propel them into the heights of fantasy melodrama that left many gamers begging for more. Whether they knew it or not, Dragonlance was exactly what a sizable portion of the D&D-buying public wanted and these modules were among the most successful ever made by TSR.

I fell under the sway of Dragonlance too, but the magic of these modules wasn't all-encompassing. Even at the time, I chafed at the pregenerated characters and their predefined relationships and story arcs. I also found the world of Krynn a bit too "twee," as our UK friends might say. So, I chucked the setting and the characters and transported the core of the adventures to a world of my own construction, using characters of my players' own devising. Thus, there was no Tanis Half-Elven or Tasslehoff Burrfoot in my Dragonlance -- indeed they were no kender at all (or tinker gnomes, for that matter). There were characters in my campaign that were somewhat like their Dragonlance counterparts, but that was inevitable, given that Hickman drew on the same fantasy archetypes as my players. The main difference, as I recall it, was that my players -- then, as now -- tended to create somewhat more morally ambiguous characters than those first appearing in Dragons of Despair. This worked rather well, since the cleric of the party (he had no spells, as per Dragonlance canon) was something of a con man and snake oil salesman. That he should become the first true cleric in a generation -- and the cleric of the goddess of healing, no less -- made for some great roleplaying. Indeed, watching what was, in many ways, a rather typical D&D adventuring party slowly become heroes in spite of themselves was one of the primary joys of my ill-fated experiment with Dragonlance.

And that's a terrible shame, because I think, in principle, that Dragonlance could have been one of the most amazing things ever attempted with Dungeons & Dragons. It could have been a glorious framework for the creation of a grand epic involving your characters in your campaign world rather than an exercise in heavy-handed auctorial fiat. My own Dragonlance campaign eventually died, because, as more modules were released, it became ever more clear that each character had a plot arc that the modules simply assumed would be accepted, even when that arc involved the death of said character. That made it increasingly hard for me to adapt the rest of the module material, however much I liked it (and liked it I did in several cases). After a while, it didn't feel like we were playing D&D anymore so much as acting out a fantasy novel that someone else had written.

Of course, that's exactly what Dragonlance was and it's the reason I talk such smack about it. I don't think the idea of Dragonlance is a bad one -- far from it. I do, however, think the implementation of it by TSR was exceedingly poor and fostered and encouraged many baleful trends in the hobby. Had this series included more -- any! -- tool kit material to help the referee adapt it to his own campaign and players, I'd probably still be a Dragonlance fan today. I know, in hindsight, that what I wanted could never have happened in 1984. Heck, I'm not convinced it could even happen in 2008, given both gamer tastes and the difficulty in producing what would essentially be a customizable series of campaign aids rather than an "epic in a box."

Still, a guy can dream, can't he?

The Secret of My Success

I've often heard it postulated that the reason adventure paths have become so popular is because many gamers are older and thus lack the time they once had in their younger, more carefree days to allow their campaigns to "grow" a story organically. Thus, adventure paths and similar products give them a "story in a box" that let's them cut through all the "boring bits" they no longer have time for and dive right into what they consider the best part of a campaign: the stories that percolate to the surface through play.

Contrary to conventional wisdom, I'm not opposed to the idea of "story" in a RPG campaign. I happen to believe that the presence of story is where a campaign lives or dies. What I object to -- and what has become the assumption over the last 20+ years -- is that story is something others give you through their products. It's something professionals plot out, write up, and then add pretty pictures to so they can charge you $19.99 for an adventure you can only use once. I see this as the problem nowadays, not "story" as such. At the same time, I recognize that many gamers don't have a lot of time to plan out grand campaign arcs with which their players can interact. That's why I'm offering up the secret of my own success as a referee: make it up as you go along.

Years ago, I ran a campaign that took as its starting point a succession crisis/civil war in a good-aligned country. I decided that, for the civil war to work, I needed to wipe out the entire royal family in one feel swoop, leaving only distant -- and unsuitable -- relations still alive. I did this through the use of a gigantic sphere of annihilation that leveled the palace and effectively decapitated the government of the country, leaving the high nobles, merchant lords, and opportunists scrambling for a way to make the most of the situation. This was the starting point of the campaign, the kick-off that got the ball into play and formed the backdrop for all my subsequent adventures about the players' efforts to restore unity and peace to the kingdom.

Now, that probably sounds like a lot of work to pull off, but, in practice, it wasn't, because I had no idea who assassinated the royal family or why. Neither did I know who would wind up as the new king or queen or how he or she would gain the throne. I left the answers to all these questions up to random chance and the players' actions and, most importantly, inclinations. I knew who the major moves and shakers of the kingdom were and what their personalities were like. That made it easy for me to decide how they'd act during this crisis and they did so. How the players reacted to them and how they interpreted their actions and motives gave me the raw material from which I was able to craft what, in retrospect, looks like a coherent story but what was in fact a spectacular bit of misdirection on my part.

The end result was very satisfying and enjoyable; my players still talk about that campaign till this day, but the simple reality is that I had no idea the whys or wherefores of the assassination or the outcome of the succession crisis -- and that's what made it work. I wasn't imposing anything on the campaign except the initial starting point. The rest all arose through play. And because I had no grand plan, I could freely allow NPCs to die or the players to go off on weird tangents -- like when one kidnapped a nobleman, falsely believing him to have been on the conspiracy to kill the old king -- because, literally, anything was possible until the mass of slowly accumulated details made the identities of the assassins and the best candidate to become the new king clear. This was, if I may say so myself, an awesome campaign and I am very proud of how well it turned out in the end.

The only real drawbacks to this approach are that you must be able to think on your feet and you must know enough about your campaign setting to be able to construct NPCs and "facts" as required. I alleviated some of the latter by having a huge list of prepared names, descriptions, and personalities that I would use at random. That way, when the PCs met someone, he wasn't obviously generic-merchant-lord-who's-unimportant-to-the-plot but instead Maynoor Misrim, a tall distinguished gentleman who speaks with an imperious manner and walks with a slight limp. In short order, I had a huge cast of NPCs, any one of whom might be important, depending on how the PCs acted and how the dice would go.

In play, this approach took very little planning and I kept it going for months without much effort. I realize it's not for everyone, but I heartily recommend it nonetheless. Most of my best and most memorable campaigns ove the years have used this approach and I fully intend to use it again in my future ones as well.

Superior Scribbler

Brian Murphy, over at the excellent The Silver Key, has selected this blog as his pick for the Superior Scribbler Award. I'm always pleased and a little surprised when someone specifically speaks well of what I've done here. On some level, I believe I'm too eccentric a writer to have much appeal beyond a handful of likeminded people, so it's gratifying to learn that someone has enjoyed and appreciated my musings. Brian very kindly writes:

Grognardia is the premiere blog for fans of old school Dungeons and Dragons and its literary heritage. Author James Maliszewski offers brilliant analysis of the origins of the game and convincing explanation of why the older editions worked and continue to work, blowing up the myth that fans of AD&D and OD&D are simply stricken with an unhealthy nostalgia.

I can't say how much this made my day. Thanks, Brian.

Now, I have to pick five blogs to which I'd like to give the Superior Scribbler Award. This is hard, as there are so many good ones out there these days. To narrow it down somewhat, I'm going to limit my selections to those that have not yet received the Award to my knowledge. I'm sure I'll screw up and give it to one someone else has already honored, but so be it. I'm also going to limit myself to gaming-related blogs, because no one really cares what else I read online.

Bat in the Attic: Online home of Robert Conley, who is both a talented writer and cartographer -- and thus a source of great envy to me -- this blog is a sometimes-rambling but always engaging foray into the mind and gaming habits of an old schooler of superb pedigree. Rob and I actually have very different tastes when it comes to games, but I've never failed to find his posts interesting and thought-provoking despite this.

Greyhawk Grognard: Writing about all things Greyhawk, with occasional forays into assorted other topics, writer Joseph -- alas, I don't know his full name -- is a ready source both of knowledge and insight about the setting Gary Gygax created. I consider myself pretty well read on this topic, but Joseph shows that I still have much to learn.

The RPG Corner: Dave/Sirlarkins comes at old school gaming from a different background than I, which I consider a good thing. Every time I read this blog I am reminded that there are many different approaches to our common hobby and we all benefit from taking full advantage of them. It's an important thing for me to keep in mind and I'm very grateful to Dave for his role in helping me do just that.

The Society of Torch, Pole and Rope: Michael Curtis truly embodies the spirit of OD&D and the early hobby. His posts include many I consider instant classics, like the multi-part "The Dungeon Alphabet." Michael is positively brimming with ideas and is never afraid to reconsider long-held notions in the pursuit of fun.

Uhluht'c Awakens: The blog of Dan Proctor, creator of Labyrinth Lord and Mutant Future, though very sporadic in its posting, is nevertheless one of my favorites. Dan is simultaneously idealistic and clear-headed in his approach to old school gaming and never loses sight of the fact that these are games we're all so passionate about. I consider him one of the most astute creators in the old school community today.

Winners are expected to post the rules of the Award as follows:

• Each Superior Scribbler must in turn pass The Award on to 5 most-deserving Bloggy Friends.
• Each Superior Scribbler must link to the author & the name of the blog from whom he/she has received The Award.
• Each Superior Scribbler must display The Award on his/her blog, and link to this post, which explains The Award.
• Each Blogger who wins The Superior Scribbler Award must visit this post and add his/her name to the Mr. Linky List (scroll down). That way, we’ll be able to keep up-to-date on everyone who receives This Prestigious Honor!
• Each Superior Scribbler must post these rules on his/her blog.

Greatest Adventures Redux

Over at Examiner.com, Daniel Nations offers up his choices for the Top 10 D&D modules of all time and even references my recent post on Castle Amber. I personally can't get enough of these kinds of lists, if only because they engender a lot of valuable discussion about D&D as it is played rather than as it is on an abstract level. Believe me, I love abstraction as much as the next guy, but, at the end of the day, D&D is a game and what matters most is what happens at the game table as you're gathered there with your friends.

Nifty

For all your vocabulary building needs, here's an online search tool for the works of Jack Vance.

Thanks to Max Davenport for the heads-up!

Sword Spirits

One of the many interesting wrinkles implied in OD&D is that all magic swords possess an alignment and have the possibility of intelligence and special powers above and beyond the bonuses they provide when wielded in combat. Given that no subsequent version of D&D follows this interpretation, I'm not as convinced as some that it was intended. Rather, I think it's implied that magic swords alone may possess alignment, intelligence, and special powers, but, as is often the case in the three little brown books, the text is written haphazardly, thereby leaving it open to individual choice as to how to read it.

I have no problem with this particular interpretation and I think, like limiting the use of magic swords solely to fighting men, it adds some nice flavor to OD&D campaigns that employ it. I've been kicking around the idea of adopting it in my next campaign precisely for this reason. As I've explained before, neither magic nor Nature is personified, the former simply being a feature of the universe and the latter being the "stuff" from which the universe coalesced (there is no Creator in my current cosmology).

Interactions between magic, Nature, Chaos, and the gods (at least some of which owe their own existence to a process similar to the way the universe formed) has given rise to a variety of elemental beings, not all of which are as insensate and uncaring as Nature itself. I'm currently toying with the notion that the process of metalworking, which involves (to some degree) the interaction of all four elements inadvertently gave rise to a "fifth elemental" -- spirits that are sometimes drawn into crafted objects, endowing them with magical powers and, in many cases, allow the spirit to exercise its own intelligence and will.

The hows and whys of the process I prefer to keep strange and mysterious, including why it is that these metal spirits seem to manifest most fully only when drawn into swords -- thus giving rise to their more common name: "sword spirits." But I very much like the idea that the fashioning of magic weapons isn't simply a matter of a magic-user deciding to do so by following some hoary formula that always results in a sword +1, +2 vs. lycanthropes. I want magic weapons to be, on some level, accidental in their origins, something beyond the ken of men, elves, and even dwarves (who were probably the first to notice the phenomenon). It makes magic swords special and a little bit dangerous and that's a good thing.

Pulp Fantasy Gallery: The Broken Sword

First published in 1954 -- and, portentously, re-published in 1971 as part of the Lin Carter-edited Ballantine Adult Fantasy series -- The Broken Sword is one of a handful of novels that can lay claim to being the most significant influences on Gary Gygax and, thus, Dungeons & Dragons. The Broken Sword is set during the age of the Vikings and describes the tragic lives of two people: a boy stolen by the elves and raised among them to handle the iron they themselves cannot and the changeling who takes his place. Each comes to hate the world in which they were raised, with terrible consequences. The Broken Sword is not a happy book, but it's extremely well-told and reminds one, not coincidentally, of the Norse sagas from which Anderson drew significant inspiration.

Personally, I find The Broken Sword interesting, because it provides a plausible alternate avenue for the treatment of elves and half-elves in D&D, particularly the latter. Given that half-elves first appear in Supplement I, a book that also introduces several other Anderson-inspired game rules (such as the paladin class), I don't think this is implausible. Anderson's elves share many characteristics with Tolkien's, but then both authors looked to Norse legends as their models. Anderson's elves are far more passionate and martial than are Tolkien's. They're also more alien and removed from the affairs of the mortal world of which they are not a part. I very much like their portrayal and my own interpretations of the race owe a lot to Anderson, much as I suspect Gygax's did as well.

A Guide to Old School Fun

Michael Curtis has written a terrific post on his blog entitled "With New Old Eyes" that really cuts to the heart of how to approach old school gaming in order to get the most out of it. Do yourself a favor and give it a read.