Greenwood Replies

As I expected, my post yesterday on Ed Greenwood generated a lot of very divergent responses, with some people agreeing wholeheartedly with my assertion that the spirit that gave birth to the Realms is broadly in tune with old school principles and others disagreeing just as vehemently. For myself, I think it's important to distinguish between what the Realms -- and, to a certain extent, Greenwood's writing itself -- has become under the stewardship of TSR and WotC and where it started.

That's why I think it's important to look at Ed's early articles in Dragon. Greenwood's first published article is in issue 30 (October 1979) -- solidly within the Golden Age -- when the magazine still retained the definite article in its masthead. Even now, people's memories of the content and style of those articles is colored by his later work, after the publication of the Forgotten Realms Campaign Set in 1987. The vast majority of his early work is not in fact written in the voice of Elminster and some of his best don't include Elminster as a character at all. It's true that many of his articles include a brief introduction based on the premise that Elminster frequently visits our world via planar magic, during which time Greenwood wheedles information out of the old sage by plying him with exotic drinks, such as piña coladas and Mountain Dew. But these introductions are generally short and a careful reading of them shows that the original portrayal of Elminster is somewhat different than that of his later works, by which time the popularity of the character grew to the point where, like others before him, he does indeed become a "Mary Sue." I think it also bears mentioning that the entire premise behind these articles and indeed of the Forgotten Realms themselves is one rooted in pulp fantasy: a parallel world with multiple connections to our own reality. Those roots have largely been abandoned over the years, but they're there and I see that as evidence of Greenwood's knowledge and appreciation for the literary sources of our hobby.

None of this excuses the excesses in which the Realms has reveled, but not all of that can be laid at the feet of Greenwood. The amount of control he exerts over the published Realms is, I am certain, overstated. Had he the degree of authority typically imputed to him, the published Realms would be far more risqué and bawdy, for example, something that both TSR and WotC have, to varying degrees, toned down to make it more acceptable to Middle American mores. I personally find the true Greenwoodian Realms a mite more prurient than I like, but, again, I don't think one can reasonably argue that prurience isn't an old school (or pulp fantasy) tradition.

Likewise, the fact that the Realms is not a place that Robert E. Howard or Fritz Leiber would have written is not a knock against its consonance with the old school. I can't imagine REH creating Blackmoor or Tékumel or Arduin either, but every one of those settings meets my criteria for an old school sandbox. The Realms is idiosyncratic and not always in ways I find congenial, but that's exactly why I regard it so highly. In its original conception, it was a work of unique personal vision by a man steeped in pulp fantasy. It's not a world I'd have created but that's to the good.

Certainly Ed has aided and abetted some of the trends I dislike in the hobby, but then so did Gary Gygax. The difference, I think, is that Ed has never really been in the driver's seat. Mostly he's just enjoying the ride, being a perfectly charming passenger ready to assist with directions when asked. That doesn't exculpate him from his participation in much I disdain, but it does provide some much-needed context. I'd much more happily play in an Ed-run Realms campaign than I would in, say, a Keith Baker-run Eberron campaign and it's not just because Ed is a peerless raconteur. It's because Ed gets D&D; he's not out to change it or make it "cool." He also gets pulp fantasy and knows its history. He may not share all my particular obsessions and concerns, but I trust him to understand them.

I'm not arguing that he's a standard bearer of the old school in 2009 by any means. I do think it's disingenuous, though, to claim that the guy who wrote rules for firearms in D&D, gave advice on the use of gates and how to build your own pantheon, and described the denizens of the Nine Hells, among many other wonderful things, didn't graduate from the old school. He may have picked up a few unfortunate affectations as he went to "study abroad," but that happens to the best of us. He's one of the Greats of this hobby and will always have my respect and affection.

Regular Service Resumes

I totally forgot that today was Wednesday and thus didn't write the next installment of my weekly adventure module retrospectives. Silly me.

Expect one to appear tomorrow instead.

In Praise of Ed Greenwood

Whereas I think many of the criticisms directed toward Larry Elmore in old school circles are completely justified, I can't say the same for those directed at another favorite grognard whipping boy, Ed Greenwood. Leaving aside the fact that Ed is one of the most charming, affable, and genuinely charismatic people I've ever had the pleasure to meet -- indeed I don't believe I ever really understood what charisma was until I spoke with Ed one-on-one a few years ago -- I think a lot of the venom directed toward him has more to do with the way TSR and Wizards of the Coast have developed and marketed the fabulously old school Forgotten Realms setting over the years than with anything Ed himself has done or written.

The Forgotten Realms an old school setting? And a fabulous one at that? Surely I must be off my rocker, right? Not at all.

People often forget, buried under two decades of Realms products, that the setting was originally a very minimalistic one, with only two areas -- Waterdeep and the Dales -- having any degree of detail. The rest of the Realms was sketchy at best, being primarily a collection of names used as color for the imaginary histories and lore Ed would spin for the benefit of his players. Those two detailed areas, born out of actual play, are quintessentially old school: a fantasy metropolis conveniently located near a sprawling underground labyrinth and a collection of rural communities beset by enemies on all sides. I will grant that Greenwood's Waterdeep is no Lankhmar or even Greyhawk. I dare say it's a distinctively Canadian fantasy city, where the tension comes not from trying to eke out an existence in a thoroughly corrupt environment but from trying to hold back the forces of corruption against all odds. The Dales, on the other hand, are classically old school, being isolated, parochial, and largely dependent on the self-interest of adventurers for their defense.

But what of all the grand plots and uber-NPCs? Surely they aren't old school. Surely not, but then the Realms as originally conceived wasn't so saturated with either of them. Most of the "Realms shattering events" that people now associate with the setting were the inventions of TSR and WotC, more interested in selling New York Times best-selling novels than gaming products. The "Time of Troubles" that ushered in the Second Edition era, for example, while based in part on an idea Greenwood put forward in an early Dragon article, was in most respects antithetical to his take on the setting, given that he conceives of the gods as largely distant, mysterious, and beyond human ken, communicating through dreams, cryptic statements, and enigmatic oracles rather than bestriding the earth like colossi. If one reads Greenwood's Dragon articles from the Golden (and even Silver) Age, you quickly see that his adventures were local affairs, driven by player choice and more in tune with Gygaxian naturalism than the tenets of the Hickman Revolution. (Which isn't to say that Greenwood doesn't have his own distinctive "voice" by any means) The much-reviled uber-NPCs, such as Elminster, are another example of where Greenwood's original approach has been bypassed by a less subtle one designed to build and support a brand rather than a sandbox style campaign setting.

Ed is a natural storyteller, with the uncanny ability to spin an engaging tale without missing a beat. Much like Professor M.A.R. Barker, creator of Empire of the Petal Throne, does with Tékumel, Greenwood understands the Realms on such an intimate level that he can create new "lore" at the drop of a hat. It's not that he's already worked it all out in advance. Rather, it's that he knows what makes the Realms the Realms and so, when asked to provide information on some obscure person, event, or location, he can do so convincingly. He's frankly a game company's dream come true, particularly when it comes to having to find some way to justify the changes it wants to introduce to sell a new novel series.

I recommend to anyone who doubts Greenwood's old school credentials to read some of his old articles from Dragon. I fell in love with the Realms through those articles and I was ecstatic when TSR published a Forgotten Realms boxed set in 1987, at the tail end of the 1e era. Though the seeds of the setting's eventual bloat were obvious even in that green box, I loved it nonetheless and grow ever more convinced that it was in fact a near-masterpiece of a campaign setting. The success of the Realms novels, starting with The Crystal Shard in 1988, more or less doomed the setting to its current state, but Ed is hardly to blame for that. I dream of a day when he might be able to reclaim the setting and scrape off the carbuncles of brand-building, but, much like imagining a world with a purely Gygaxian World of Greyhawk, it simply isn't to be.

A pity, because it could have been glorious.

An Old School Urban Legend

The fellow to the right is, of course, Yeenoghu, demon prince of gnolls and lord of ghouls, as illustrated by David C. Sutherland III in the AD&D Monster Manual. I used to find the illustration rather creepy as a younger man. There's something mildly unnerving about the stiffness of its pose that, far from a source of derision for me, as it is for many who don't like Sutherland's work, actually heightened its effectiveness. Yeenoghu does look mildly goofy, but in a way that reminds me he's not just another monster but something wholly "unnatural."

In any case, I once heard a story about the creation of Yeenoghu by Gary Gygax. The story goes that players in the Greyhawk campaign, having run afoul of one too many demon lords and archdevils whom they accidentally summoned by speaking their names aloud, got into the practice of using circumlocutions to avoid repeating past mistakes. One such circumlocution was "You-Know-Who." After a while of doing this, Gary sprang Yeenoghu on his players, on the assumption that his name sounded enough like the phrase that he might answer by traveling to the Prime Material Plane.

I always thought the story sounded plausible, since Gary loved puns and wordplay and was never one to give a sucker an even break. Eventually, I remembered the story and asked Gary about him and he told me it had no basis in fact, but was merely an urban legend. A pity, I thought.

(More posts later as time permits. Been busy the last couple of days and will likely be so for a little while longer)

Pulp Fantasy Library: The Fallible Fiend

(Given that, over the months since I began it, this series has become less about the art of pulp fantasy stories and more about the stories that influenced the development of early D&D, I have renamed it accordingly. I'll be going back and editing previous installments to match the new nomenclature in due course.)

I am always hesitant to claim that any single book provides the key to understanding Dungeons & Dragons. Even if I weren't, the 1973 L. Sprague de Camp novel The Fallible Fiend certainly isn't such a key. Nevertheless, I think it qualifies as a key, at least if you're interested in the specifically Gygaxian origins of the game, as I am. Reading it, one is hard pressed not to see why Gary singled it out by title from among all the tales set in the world of Novaria, a parallel world whose culture is a melange of classical and medieval influences and for which our Earth is its afterlife. Though clearly a pulp fantasy, The Fallible Fiend is also a satire, particularly of politics, both generally and of America. Consequently, like a lot of early fantasy that influenced the game, this novel remains connected to our world even when it's describing very otherworldly things.

The novel's plot concerns the picaresque travels of Zdim, the eponymous demon from the Twelfth Plane who is summoned to the Prime Plane to fulfill a contract with a human sorcerer by the name of Dr. Maldivius. Zdim not only has no interest in leaving his demonic realm for servitude, he's also very bad at being a servant, as he is literal-minded to a disturbing degree. After this flaw results in the death of Maldivius' apprentice, his contract is sold to a succession of new masters, each of whom finds Zdim's willingness to give them exactly what they ask for to be more trouble than its worth. As his contract is passed on, Zdim visits different lands and interacts with new people, allowing de Camp the opportunity to show off his wit and comment on the human condition. I wouldn't claim that any of the commentary is deeply insightful or original, but some of it still has bite, in part because it's not solely about the real world but also about the fictitious one of Novaria.

The Fallible Fiend is an important book in understanding the kind of world Gygax saw as a typical one for D&D. Novaria is a parallel Earth in that there are lots of obvious historical and cultural similarities, but they're echoes rather than mirror images, even twisted ones. Consequently, the geography is different, as are the nations. The flora and fauna are similar, but, again, not identical, with extinct species, not to mention fantastical ones, mixed in with the more mundane ones of our world. Magic exists and follows clear rules. There are gods who interact with human beings, just as there are demon planes from which such fiends may be summoned and bound into servitude. I found myself thinking of Greyhawk when I recall Novaria and I don't think that's an accident.

In all the discussions and arguments about which books and authors were most influential on D&D -- short answer: not Tolkien -- it's fascinating to me how often L. Sprague de Camp (and Fletcher Pratt) get overlooked. I grow ever more convinced that his stories played a very important role in the development of Gygax's conception of the game and his assumptions about how it would be played. De Camp was, after all, active as a writer over a long period of time, from Gary's youth all the way into the days of the pulp fantasy revival. I don't think it's a stretch to imagine that Gary retained a fondness for de Camp's work born in his younger days. Indeed, the evidence from things like Appendix N and early issues of The Dragon makes it very clear to me that he did hold de Camp in high regard and was strongly influenced by his ideas. Even from the brief summary of The Fallible Fiend I've given in this entry, I should think the connection is apparent.

I'm not yet ready to argue that de Camp's work is a Rosetta Stone for decrypting Gygaxian D&D. For one, as important as it is, I don't believe any single author held that place among Gary's influences. However, I think de Camp bears closer reading with an eye toward the question of what may have been an influence over the development of the game. I suspect we'll be surprised to find more there than has previously been supposed.

In Praise of Larry Elmore

This wasn't the first issue of Dragon I read (that honor goes to issue 56, I think), but it's one I remember buying very clearly and part of it is because of this cover by Larry Elmore. Looking at it now, 27 years later, I still like it a lot, even as I can clearly see within it the seeds of everything I'd eventually come to dislike about Elmore's art specifically and Silver Age D&D art in particular.

But that's not the purpose of this post. I'm writing this to give credit where it's due. Larry Elmore catches a lot of flak on this blog, some of it unjustly. I know I tend to forget that he started his tenure at TSR during the Golden Age and that there's a reason he was so highly regarded back in the day: he's a very a talented artist.

I was perusing back issues of Dragon from 1982 to 1984 and Elmore makes his appearance in many of them. His work back then shows a clarity and precision that was unique and nicely embodied the esthetic of the Silver Age, when "fantastic realism" was the style of the day. His figures looked real, as did the clothing they wore, the weapons they carried, and the environments they inhabited. He evoked an impression of "groundedness" that contrasted powerfully with the fever dream phantasmagoria of Otus and the dark density of Trampier, both of whom were examplars of an age that was passing, while Elmore was the spirit of the transition between Gold and Silver.

I don't think it's fair to blame Elmore for the subject matter he was asked to illustrate as a staff artist. Though I forever associate him with Dragonlance, it's not as if he created that series or was responsible for the direction it took. Likewise, I can hardly blame the man for producing more of the kind of art that gamers so clearly enjoyed. Much like Wayne Reynolds, another artist regularly singled out for the failings of his art directors, Elmore has often produced memorable and evocative pieces that really capture the spirit of this game we all love. I have no doubt his artwork, even the pieces I don't much like, did a lot to bring plenty of people into the hobby. Frankly, that's something worth praising and I need to do more of that.

Silver Age Obsessions

Issue 88 of Dragon was released in August 1984, which puts it outside what I generally consider the Golden Age. The cover art, as you can see, is by Jim Holloway. I'll admit to having an inexplicable soft spot for his work -- probably having to do with fond memories of Paranoia -- but I think it's fair to say that that the presence of his artwork is a pretty good indicator that you're looking at an artifact from a period outside the period I regard as the hobby's apex, but perhaps only barely. Call it the Silver Age.

One of the fascinating things about the Silver Age -- indeed of many Silver Ages -- is that it was heavily focused on commenting upon and embellishing the works of the Golden Age. This is very evident in the pages of Dragon from the period, which, if looked at today, would no doubt seem unduly obsessed with minutiae, such as a "realistic" method of calculating a character's height and weight based on his ability scores or determining how far a character could jump up or across based on the same. "Realism" was a watchword of the Silver Age. Indeed, I recall an exhaustive review of the then-new Rolemaster series which reviewed the game primarily on the basis of how realistic it was.

This concern about realism is why issue 88 could, for example, boast not one but two different articles on the physics of falling damage (and a further article on the subject by Gygax himself a few issues later). To some, arguing over whether falling 40 feet causes 4d6 damage or 10d6 damage might seem like needless nitpicking and, on some level, it is. What it really is, in my opinion, is two things. First, it's a consequence of the maturity of D&D. The game had been out for 10 years by this point and was so firmly established in its essentials that all that was left to do was gild the lily, so to speak. In short, there's a hint of decadence even amidst the enormous creativity of the Silver Age (and there was a lot of creativity, as I'll discuss in a future post).

The second thing that the obsession with realism indicates is how unquestioned Gygaxian naturalism had become in the game. Most gamers at the time simply accepted that the rules of the game were intended to simulate a reality, albeit a fantastic one. Consequently, the more closely the rules modeled that reality, the "better" they were, which is why you see lots of arguing back and forth over the best way to do so. There were, to my recollection anyway, comparatively few voices arguing that D&D shouldn't be as realistic as possible within the constraints of the magical world it portrays. This is something even the Hickman Revolution didn't seek to overthrow, as it was a largely unquestioned pillar of what D&D -- what a roleplaying game -- was supposed to be (superhero games are something of an exception and, I think, one of the primary gateways through which non-simulationist approaches gained greater popularity).

Naturalism thus reached its height during the Silver Age and, on reflection, I realize that, coming to the hobby as I did during the late Golden Age, I didn't see the transition between the two ages as clearly as I do now. Moreover, the dominance of naturalism was not a foregone conclusion during the Golden Age. One need only look at things like Arduin or even Blackmoor to find plenty of examples of non-naturalistic approaches to gaming during the early days. But naturalism is what Gygax, through TSR, raised to the level of dogma and it's what informed my own contnued conception of what D&D is and how it ought to be played. It's clearer to me now that this approach wasn't the only one, even within D&D, prior to the end of the Silver Age. However, it was the favored one and, for good or for ill, it's (until recently anyway) been a core part of the way the game has been played and published. It's certainly my preferred style, which probably explains my general dislike for more "wahoo" approaches.

I'll be returning to this and related topics in future posts. There's a lot of history to mine here and I would like more time to do so.

Pulpier Magic

A few years ago, I was working on an abortive campaign setting I called "Second Creation." It was a high medieval "pre-apocalyptic" setting, which is to say that it was set about 20 years before what people in the setting widely believed would be the end of the world, according to the dominant interpretation of sacred scriptures. Events in the world seemed to bear out this interpretation, with evil on the rise, corruption rampant -- even within Mother Church -- and ominous signs and portents.

The whole setting was more an exercise in world building than anything else; I wanted to create an unambiguously monotheistic D&D setting, following through the implications of that metaphysics to its logical conclusions. One of the tweaks I made to magic was the notion that no created being, which is to say anyone but Father God, could bring something into existence from nothing. Neither could they create true life. Surprisingly, it didn't take a lot of effort to change D&D's spells into something that could accommodate these notions and the result was something fairly flavorful while still being recognizable as D&D.

In thinking about it recently, I realized that, by adopting the same principles, I could make D&D's magic system something more like the magic seen in pulp fantasy stories. To do that, you just need to get rid of some of the "whiz-bang" effects of magic and/or "rationalize" the way spells work. Take magic missile, for example. Suppose that, instead of conjuring missiles from thin air, the magic-user had to carry with him a supply of arrows or darts (or even daggers) that he tossed in the air as he cast the spell. The spell would still work as before, but it no requires "ammunition" to work. Certainly this makes it less handy than currently, but the addition of an ammo requirement isn't unduly onerous, given that the missiles strike unerringly for a decent amount of damage. The end result of this approach wouldn't change magic greatly, either mechanically or in terms of its effects, but it'd add a thin layer of chrome that'd keep spells grounded in "reality" and prevent them from being treated as super-powers.

Here are a few more ideas I had:

• Knock: Requires the use of a large blunt instrument, such as a cudgel or staff, which the magic-user then swings to open sealed doors, portals, etc.
  
• Light: Needs an existing flame or light source to draw upon in order to operate, but infuses it with magical potency that enables that flame or light to have the same effects as the spell.
• Shield: Requires a physical shield or shield-like item to function, which it temporally transforms into magical barrier as described in the spell.

Anyone else have some good ideas on how to extend this idea?

The Old Days

As I get older, my appreciation for In Search of the Unknown has been growing ever stronger. It was the first module I ever played -- it came packaged with my Holmes Basic set -- and I played the heck out of it with my friends. I've been re-reading it yet again (the second time since September, which shows how highly I regard it) and, in the midst of all the other thoughts and feelings it conjured up, I couldn't help but marvel at its illustrations. They're all by the late Dave Sutherland. I know it's commonplace to consider Sutherland vastly inferior to Dave Trampier and perhaps he is, but, for whatever reason, I find it hard not to like Sutherland's work. It has a clean, unpretentious quality to it that appeals to me. I consider DCS III and Tramp to be the twin esthetic pillars of the Golden Age.

One of the illustrations from module B1 that I just love is this one:

In many ways, it perfectly captures the nuances of old school D&D. Look at the scenery. There are fairy tale leprechauns around, as well as a valiant knight astride his steed as he charges past Cinderella's castle in the distance. Into the midst of this bucolic scene march a bunch of adventurers and their hirelings -- single file, no less! -- carrying bags, backpacks, and even a 10-foot pole. When did you last see a 10-foot pole in a RPG illustration? The magic-user is recognizable by his conical cap, complete with stars and moons, and the elf too has his requisite headgear.

This illustration is pure Sutherland: not high art but fun art and highly evocative of a time when adventurers looked like the excavation team that they were and didn't bat an eye at the lack of gender parity in their merry band. These guys look like characters from my old campaigns and, even now, this is how I envisage a bunch of D&D adventurers. Like Sutherland, they may not be cool, but they get the job done -- the ones who live anyway. We all know the guy up front and the elf are marked for death.

Happy New Year!

2009 marks the 35th anniversary of the publication of Dungeons & Dragons and the first year without the presence of its co-creator, Gary Gygax. Let's make it a year worth remembering.