Also from Dragon #48 (April 1981) is the write-up below, written by Lawrence J. Schick and illustrated by Jeff Dee. Of particular interest is that Schick references elements of the original "Known World" setting that he co-created with the late Tom Moldvay in the mid-1970s (and that would later be incorporated into the D&D Expert Rulebook published in the same year as this article).
With the advent of a new month, I got the idea of looking back at Dragon magazine's April Fools' Day issues to see if I could find anything particularly noteworthy. Issue #48 (April 1981) included an insert entitled issue #48½ filled with numerous humorous articles. Also included was the following comic.
There is in the land of Mnar a vast still lake that is fed by no stream and out of which no stream flows. Ten thousand years ago there stood by its shore the mighty city of Sarnath, but Sarnath stands there no more.
As I read it, "The Doom That Came to Sarnath" is a myth or legend coming down to us from the distant past, as Lovecraft implies immediately thereafter:
It is told that in the immemorial years when the world was young, before ever the men of Sarnath came to the land of Mnar, another city stood beside the lake; the grey stone city of Ib, which was old as the lake itself, and peopled with beings not pleasing to behold.
The story is filled with phrases like "when the world was young" that suggest to me at least that the reader isn't to understand the tale he tells as taking place in an imaginary or dream land but instead in the ancient and forgotten past of our own world, though, as we shall soon see, the matter is not cut and dried. Regardless, Lovecraft establishes that the beings of Ib were "in hue as green as the lake and the mists that rise above it" and "they had bulging eyes, pouting, flabby lips, and curious ears, and were without voice." One of the reasons I chose the cover above is because it features Gallardo's interpretation of what the beings of Ib looked like.
In time, men to the land of Mnar and founded the city of Sarnath. They marveled at the sight of the beings Ib.
But with their marvelling was mixed hate, for they thought it not meet that beings of such aspect should walk about the world of men at dusk. Nor did they like the strange sculptures upon the grey monoliths of Ib, for those sculptures were terrible with great antiquity. Why the beings and the sculptures lingered so late in the world, even until the coming of men, none can tell; unless it was because the land of Mnar is very still, and remote from most other lands both of waking and of dream.
The hatred of the men of Sarnath grew and, in time, resulted in a war in which all of the beings of Ib were slain and their "queer bodies [pushed] into the lake with long spears, because they did not wish to touch them." The men of Sarnath likewise toppled the monoliths of Ib and cast them into the lake. The only evidence of Ib the men kept was
the sea-green stone idol chiselled in the likeness of Bokrug, the water-lizard. This the young warriors took back with them to Sarnath as a symbol of conquest over the old gods and beings of Ib, and a sign of leadership in Mnar.
The men placed the idol in one of their own temples, but, on the following night,
a terrible thing must have happened, for weird lights were seen over the lake, and in the morning the people found the idol gone, and the high-priest Taran-Ish lying dead, as from some fear unspeakable. And before he died, Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite with coarse shaky strokes the sign of DOOM.
The story's titular doom does not come quickly and Lovecraft spends the remainder of the story describing the next thousand years of Sarnath's history, as it grows in power – and pride – within the land of Mnar, eventually becoming the capital of a mighty empire founded on hate and greed. Lovecraft presents these facts in a way that seemingly implies admiration of Sarnath and its glory, but it soon becomes clear that this is a mask for condemnation of its excesses and, by the end, Sarnath and its people pay the price for their past sins.
To call "The Doom That Came to Sarnath" a morality tale is probably simplistic. At the same time, Lovecraft is not at all subtle in his connecting the destruction of Ib with the later doom that befalls Sarnath. In any case, the story is luxuriously written, redolent with adjective-laden description that reminds a bit of Clark Ashton Smith, though utterly lacking in his black humor. Its almost Biblical rhythms and cadences practically demand that the story be read aloud. In the grand scheme of things, it's one of Lovecraft's minor works but it's nevertheless a successful one for which I have a strange affection.
(The following is an excerpt from the current draft of the rules for my Secrets of sha-Arthan science fantasy setting. I typically only share excerpts like this with my patrons, but, in this case, I thought it might benefit from a wider audience. In addition, I think the ideas in this draft might be of value even to those without any interest in sha-Arthan.)
In sha-Arthan, alignment represents one’s loyalty to a person, organization, religion, realm, or philosophy. An alignment thus represents what a character values in life. Choosing an alignment is entirely optional; no character is required to have an alignment. However, there can be benefits that make aligning oneself attractive, just as there can be drawbacks that make it less so. Consequently, a character may have no alignment, preferring to be a free spirit or lone wolf, or he may change his alignment as he goes through life.
A newly generated character begins with no more than one alignment. He may eventually have up to three alignments at one time but no more. In general, a character can discard an alignment at any time, but may only gain a new one after attaining a new level, though, as with many things, the referee is the final arbiter of these matters.
Below are a three examples of alignments suitable for newly generated characters. Additional alignments, including those a character might adopt as he acquires more power and influence, are described on pXX. In addition, the referee is encouraged to create new alignments, using those present in this book as models.
The Dran Jir Dynasty is one of about a dozen aristocratic families that have dwelt in da-Imer for centuries. Once possessed of great power, the coming of the Chomachto has diminished their influence, particularly since the King-Emperor abandoned the First City for his new capital at Tamas Tzora. Now, the Dran Jir look for ways to regain their status – such as the sending of their servants into the Vaults in search of artifacts of the Makers.
Requirements: Magically binding oneself to the Dran Jir as a kruva hijai (or “servant of the house”) in an ancient Ironian ritual.
Benefits: A character with this alignment gains the trust of the current head of the Dran Jir. He also gains limited access to dynastic resources and, more importantly, to an entrance to the Vaults unknown to the authorities of da-Imer.
Drawbacks: The binding ritual prevents the character from directly acting against the interests of the Dran Jir Dynasty or its members. Likewise, use of an unapproved entrance to the Vaults is a crime with potentially stiff penalties.
The philosophy known as the Light of Kulvu (see pXX) is an ancient one, whose Unquestionable Precepts animated the empire that bore its name. Those precepts survived the wreck of the empire and are now held by many who find them a sure guide to understanding reality and living in harmony with it.
Requirements: Public acceptance of the precepts of the philosophy as outlined in The Mirror of Virtue.
Benefits: A character with this alignment gains a +2 reaction bonus with those who share it. If the result is Friendly, the character may gain access to food, accommodations, or information from his fellow Kulvuans. This, in turn, may lead to alignment with a specific school within the philosophy (e.g. Bejandrai, Ruketsa, etc.), some of which offer additional benefits.
Drawbacks: Except in those few lands that proscribe the Light of Kulvu (e.g. Alakun-Tenu), there are generally few drawbacks to adopting this alignment.
Since King-Emperor Trelu vacated da-Imer, he placed its administration in the hands of a trusted viceroy. The current holder of that position, Tiaken Charsuna, is a very ambitious man in need of agents to further his own ends (which, some say, include the usurpation of the Solar Throne).
Requirements: Swearing a personal oath to the Viceroy of da-Imer in which the character agrees to undertake certain special tasks in the Vaults and the First City on his behalf whenever commanded to do so.
Benefits: A character with this alignment gains a reduced exit charge to any Vault Warrant (see pXX) to which he is a signatory. At levels 1–2, the charge is 15%; at levels 3–5, 10%; at levels 6+, it is waived entirely. In addition, the character may be able to obtain preferential treatment by viceregal guards and officials with da-Imer.
Drawbacks: Viceroy Tiaken is constantly scheming. A character aligned with him will often find himself entangled in all manner of stratagems – whether he wishes to become involved or not.
Last Summer, I presented one of the nonhuman species of sha-Arthan, the Chenot. Today, I'd like to present another, the Ga'andrin. They're one of the most common nonhumans in the setting, governing several significant realms, as well as many minor ones.
 |
| A ga'andrin by Zhu Bajie |
Ga’andrin (gah-ahn-DREEN) are a species of wiry, vaguely reptilian beings known for their aggression and fortitude. They stand about 5½’ tall and weigh 120 pounds. Ga’andrin are rivals and occasional allies of Man, ruling several realms of their own. They are redoubtable warriors whose legions are feared across sha-Arthan.
Owing to their unusual thought processes, Ga’andrin are immune to the adept disciplines ESP, suggestion, and telepathy. The immunity is natural and cannot be suspended, even by a Ga’andrin who wishes to do so. The immunity also applies to psychogenic devices that mimic the effects of these disciplines.
With sufficient room, Ga’andrin can leap up to 10’ forward, granting a +1 bonus to the first attack roll after the leap. If armed with an impaling weapon, the attack counts as a charge and deals double damage on a successful hit.
Ga’andrin believe that all living things generate an energy they call shaina p(shy-NAH), which they can sense. While most human sages scoff at such notions, it remains clear Ga’andrin can sense something, which enables them to detect living beings within 60’, even in total darkness. This shaina-sense makes Ga’andrin harder to surprise, reducing the chance to 1-in-6 under most circumstances.
Context is important here. The librarian's visit probably took place in the spring of 1978. At that time, no one had ever heard of a Choose Your Own Adventure book. That famous series didn't even come into existence until 1979, shortly before I first encountered the D&D Basic Set. Consequently, when the librarian described Sugarcane Island as a book in which I, the reader was the main character (or words to that effect), I was simultaneously baffled and intrigued. I'd never heard of a book like that and my eight year-old brain initially struggled to understand what he meant. It was only after he'd read a portion of it to us and allowed our class – by majority vote! – to decide which choices to make in the unfolding narrative that intrigue won out over bafflement. I had to read this book for myself.
I eventually was able to snag a copy of Sugarcane Island at the library, along with Deadwood City, another proto-CYOA book by the same author. The premise of Sugarcane Island is that the reader is an assistant to a scientist on an expedition to the Galapagos Islands made famous in the English-speaking world by the voyage of Charles Darwin aboard the HMS Beagle. The ship on which you are traveling encounters a bad storm during the night, resulting in your being washed overboard. When you wake up the next morning, you find yourself on the beach of a strange island, the only distinguishing feature being the sugarcane that grows nearby, hence the title of the book.
The "story" of Sugarcane Island is thus one first of survival – you must locate food, water, and shelter – and then of discovery and escape. Your choices determine where you go and what find on the island and that alone was intoxicating to me as a child. I'd never read a book that allowed me to decide where the protagonist went and what he did. That alone was enough to get me to read through it several times in the span of a single day, making different choices each time, trying to see what the "best" course of action was. That was the real appeal of Sugarcane Island for me: it was like a game.
Eventually, though, I found the limited choices and occasionally arbitrary nature of outcomes to be frustrating. The book's promise of open-endedness was somewhat illusory and it quickly became clear that Packard had decided in advance that there were "right" and "wrong" decisions. That's perfectly understandable, of course, given the inherent limitations of a printed book. Indeed, that's one of the difficulties of all Choose Your Own Adventure Books and their modern descendants, such as computer RPGs: there's simply no practical way to consider every possible choice. Sure, the author can include the most obvious choices and options and, for most readers, that's probably enough. But what if you want to do something unexpected or even downright weird? In that case, you're out of luck.
As I believe I've mentioned elsewhere, I was not a big reader of Choose Your Own Adventure books (aside from the excellent Fighting Fantasy books). To a great extent, this is simply a factor of history: most of the volumes released under that banner didn't come out until after the time I was already playing roleplaying games and they paled in comparison to the fun I had playing D&D or Gamma World. At the same time, it's not incorrect to say that Sugarcane Island paved the way for my eventual embrace of RPGs. In a very real sense, this book made me aware of a desire I didn't even know I had, namely, to determine the choices a protagonist makes in an unfolding story. That Sugarcane Island failed to satisfy that desire fully is no knock against it, which was (and is) a genuinely groundbreaking children's book. I'm very grateful to that nameless librarian who visited my school more than four decades ago. Without him, who knows whether I'd ever have become involved in this hobby that still gives me so much joy more than four decades later?
With the notable exception of RuneQuest, most fantasy roleplaying games have employed US customary or Imperial units (or some mix of the two). On the other hand, science fiction roleplaying games are (almost) unanimous in using the metric system. Now, sha-Arthan is a "secret sci-fi" setting, which is to say, it's presented as if it were a traditional fantasy setting, albeit a somewhat exotic one, but its foundations are science fictional. Thus, there are scientific – or at least pseudo-scientific – explanations for sorcery, monsters, magic items, and so on. Since it occupies a middle ground between fantasy and science fiction, what sort of units of measurement should it use?
This has been a topic of conversation among my patrons, where a vocal (and persuasive) minority suggested that I ought to consider creating unique units of measurement for the setting, both for flavor purposes and to aid in the running of the game. I must admit that I was immediately torn by this suggestion. It's certainly true that unique terms can help to better immerse one in an imaginary setting. However, they can also be alienating, especially when there are already lots of unique terms and names in use.
One possible way to bridge the gap between these two perspectives is to come up with terms that are both easily convertible to real world units and useful in play. For example, the six-mile hex is very popular among old school gamers and, while there are indeed some practical reasons for its popularity, it's still a somewhat arbitrary choice. But what if it weren't? What if, in sha-Arthan, there was a unit of measurement that corresponded to six miles (let's call it a meshal for argument's sake)? If that were the case, I could simply say that each hex on a map corresponds to one meshal and then explain how many meshals per day a group of adventurers can typically travel. In a similar fashion, if I adopt five-foot squares on interior maps, perhaps each of those squares is another type of unit (a dashur or "pace"). As I ponder this further, I realize that I could come up with other units to simplify the handling of encumbrance or whatever other "fiddly" details of fantasy gaming that are often cast aside because of the tedium of keeping track of them.
Of course, I might well be mistaken in this and that any theoretical gains made through the use of game-derived units is offset by the additional step of remembering just what a meshal or dashur represents. It's also possible that it's just this kind of world building that gets in the way of accessibility and one of my goals with sha-Arthan is to present an exotic science fantasy setting that isn't going to frighten people away by luxuriating in its own oddities.
I shall keep pondering.
