Two Years

Ernest Gary Gygax
(July 27, 1938 - March 4, 2008)

Conan Villain Cast?

Joseph Bloch has pointed me toward a report that actor Stephen Lang has been offered the role of the main villain in the upcoming Conan film. What's interesting about this story is not who they've potentially cast as the main villain but that the villain remains this "Khalar Singh" character, one of the more questionable elements from the story treatments we've seen thus far, for reasons men more erudite than I have explained. This suggests that, whatever work the script doctors are doing, it's not a significant revision that brings the film more in line with Howard's vision of the Hyborian Age.

Ah well.

Latest Thiefly Thoughts

In the nearly two years I've been writing this blog, a lot of (virtual) ink has been spilled about the thief class and its suitability in old school D&D. On a largely theoretical level, I've been more or less firmly committed to the "Just Say No to Thieves" camp, seeing the class as an unnecessary interloper whose presence lays the groundwork for a number of later unhappy developments. But theory that doesn't work in practice is bad theory and, as I've discovered over the course of the Dwimmermount campaign, the notion that the thief class is a priori bad is mistaken, or at least it is often mistaken.

Brother Candor employs a cynical, pipe-smoking woman named Gaztea, whom he hired in Adamas primarily as an information gatherer. However, she's also technically a Supplement I-style thief, which I allowed as an experiment to see whether her presence would affect the game in any significant way. Well, Gaztea has affected the game but not in any of the ways I worried she might. For one, low-level thief abilities are pretty hit or miss, with the exception of climbing walls. Second, Brother Candor and the other characters rely on Gaztea far more for her social skills, which is to say, her underworld connections in Adamas, than they do for her skills in picking locks or finding traps (She's also, of late, taken up the study of ancient Thulian and alchemy, but that's another story).

In many months of play, none of the things I feared about thieves ever came to pass. A big part of that, I think, is because I'm aware of the potential pitfalls and have done a good job of avoiding them. Equally important is that my players, especially Brother Candor's player, keep Gaztea's abilities in the proper perspective. They have the right frame of mind and don't see thief skills as an excuse for non-thieves not to try "thiefly" things. Indeed, I'd venture to say that Brother Candor, Dordagdonar, and Vladimir all spend more time finding and removing traps, for example, than Gaztea ever does.

The example of Gaztea is a good reminder to me of that eternal truth: the play's the thing. I can muster 1001 cogent arguments against the thief class from a theoretical perspective, but none of them are worth anything if, in actual play, the thief class manages to avoid all the dire consequences I "knew" would transpire. My experience also serves as a reminder on the design side of things as well: don't design rules with bad players in mind. Any rule, no matter how well written, can and will be abused by players looking to find a way to take advantage of a situation. I think many (though not all, by many means) of the arguments against the thief class arise from a fear of abuse by players or even referees and, while one should be aware of such things, I think it a grave mistake to make decisions based largely on how a rule could be abused.

In the Dwimmermount campaign, despite my skepticism, the thief class is working, so I'm going to continue to allow it, not just for NPCs but for any future PCs as well. Obviously, every referee must make a determination for his own campaign based on his own experiences, so I don't mean to suggest my stance ought to be universally adopted. Still, I have to admit to some small joy in discovering my long-held skepticism was misplaced in this particular case.

A Tale from the Dark Side

So, last weekend, while we were playing our Dwimmermount campaign (I'll post full details of the latest session in a couple of days), my 10 year-old daughter, who plays Iriadessa, the teenage magic-user, decided that her character wanted "a pet owl," which she then clarified as "a familiar." Now, there are no explicit rules for this in OD&D, but, as it happens, I had just received my copy of Goblinoid Games's awesome Advanced Edition Companion the other day and it included the 1st-level spell Summon Familiar, which seemed to nicely meet the reasonable desire my daughter had for her character. While the characters were in Adamas resupplying, I allowed her to purchase and learn the spell and to then use it in order to summon an owl, which she called Eveningstar.

Looking back on it, I don't regret simply plucking Summon Familiar out of the AEC and dropping it into my game. One of the many great things about the AEC is how seamlessly it works with non-advanced versions of D&D. It really does a superb job of providing the flavor and texture of AD&D without all fiddly bits that most of us never used anyway. Still, I won't deny that there's a part of me -- a small part, admittedly -- that feels as if I "wimped out" by dealing with my daughter's request by simply opening up a rulebook and pulling out a spell rather than coming up with something on my own, as I've done many times in the past.

No one should think I'm beating myself up over this, because I'm not. I don't regret my decision, as I said. But the decision has gotten me to thinking: when should I go with a "canned" answer to an in-game problem/question and when should I make up the answer on my own? This is particularly relevant right now, because, as I've admitted many times before, I'm very fond of AD&D. Even though I'm using OD&D in Dwimmermount, I am regularly tempted to start adding bits and bobs from AD&D in order to restore some of the Gygaxian flavor I associate so strongly with D&D, a process made all the more easy with the publication of the Advanced Edition Companion, a book I can't gush about enough.

At present my feeling is that, when I don't really care about a particular game/setting element, I'll just grab an "old standby" and run with it rather than waste unnecessary time trying to be "original." On the other hand, when I do care about something, I'll go my own way. A good case in point are paladins, which, as I imagine them, are somewhat different than their AD&D forebears and thus deserve their own presentation. On the other hand, if I ever felt the need to include illusionists in the campaign, I'd probably just use the one in the AEC and be done with it, since I don't have (at present) any strong opinions about the class that demand an original approach. Since I don't like every element of AD&D, I'm sticking with "OD&D plus" for the foreseeable future, since it better reflects the way I play the game and doesn't set up any expectations in my players about what I will include or how things "ought" to work.

Retrospective: Dungeoneer's Survival Guide

If the Silver Age had a paradigmatic book, 1986's Dungeoneer's Survival Guide is a good candidate. Despite its name, the DSG wasn't really all that focused on "dungeons" in the traditional sense. Rather, its subject matter was subterranean locales, specifically caves and cave complexes -- the "wilderness" beneath the surface of the world. A better name would have been the Spelunker's Survival Guide, but I admit that it doesn't exactly roll off the tongue. The DSG is also notable for having first introduced the term "Underdark" to D&D, which has proven remarkably resilient, surviving both as an appellation and as a concept virtually unchanged through multiple editions of the game, a feat even the Outer Planes have not managed.

Dungeoneer's Survival Guide covers a lot of ground, offering up an overview of the many obstacles adventurers might encounter underground, along with rules for adjudicating them. So, we're treated to discussions of cave-ins, subterranean waterways (and flooding), poisonous gas, vulcanism, oxygen deprivation, and more. These discussions all go a long way toward bringing the Underdark to life as a physical environment rather than as merely a backdrop against which to battle the drow or mind flayers. The Underdark itself is thus the biggest "monster" of them all and the DSG does an excellent job of making all these details seem integral to the creation of a challenging subterranean adventure.

When this was released, I was entranced by it. I very quickly became an advocate of the DSG and attempted to employ it in my home campaign. Being a fan of Verne and Burroughs, the visions author Doug Niles conjured up of the Underdark were difficult to resist -- a perfect antidote for a young man tired of "boring old dungeons" and looking for new and exciting ways to challenge his players in subterranean locales. In practice, all the detail and advice Niles provided was easily forgotten, however, because it (mostly) got in the way. Nice as it was to know, for example, how long a character could hold his breath or leap across a chasm, never mind the effects of underground lava flows, it was just too much for me and proved quite dispensable in play.

I still adored the book, which was fun to read and quite inspirational, but very little of its contents ever found a permanent home in my game. The exception, of course, was non-weapon proficiencies, which eventually became an integral part of AD&D. Though originally introduced in Oriental Adventures, it was in the DSG (and its 1986 twin, the Wilderness Survival Guide) that concept really took hold. Again, at the time, I thought non-weapon proficiencies were brilliant and added much needed depth to characters. In retrospect, I can see that they were a well-intentioned mistake that laid the groundwork for many of the worst excesses of 2e. But I wasn't alone in my love for them, which is why, despite their optional status in the Zeb Cook-edited Players Handbook, I never met a single player or referee who did not use them and lean increasingly on them for adjudicating almost any non-combat action in the game.

Dungeoneer's Survival Guide is also notable for popularizing another indulgence of the Silver Age: isometric maps. The DSG promoted this style of "3-D" mapping as the best way to represent the complexities of subterranean environments. And, again, I won't deny that I was much impressed with them. These maps really were beautiful to behold and did seem to make it easier to design "realistic" underworlds, with multiple elevations and the like. As with much of the Silver Age, though, functionality was sacrificed in the name of esthetics. Nice as isometric maps are to look at, they're much less useful in actual play, not to mention much more time consuming to produce than traditional orthographic maps. Nevertheless, TSR regularly used isometric maps in their products during this period.

In the final analysis, Dungeoneer's Survival Guide was a brilliant failure and emblematic of many of the trends I eventually came to dislike about the direction of AD&D in the later years of TSR. It was -- and is, I'd still contend -- an inspirational book, one whose text often conveys the beauty and wonder and horror of subterranean locales so well. As a rulebook, though, it's less than ideal, simultaneously being too nitpicky and too easily cast aside. And its intention of adding new depths (no pun intended) to both the physical environment of adventures and to adventurers themselves was another nail in the coffin of the Old Ways. It's a pity, because, despite it all, I still have a fondness for this book, even though its publication was another step down a path whose ultimate destination I strongly dislike these days.

Continuity and Tradition, Part V

In a comment on my recent post about the upcoming Conan film, Charles Rice makes an interesting point:

Conan ... has really been a more popular fictional universe, more akin to characters like Sherlock Holmes, Dracula, Batman or Superman.

Many authors and artists have interpreted the character, and many of those interpretations have taken root in the general consciousness.

When printing Howard's stories, I think all that stuff (de Camp, Lin Carter, Frazetta, Roy Thomas) should be kept at bay.

When making a movie, I think it needs to be considered, because a certain percentage of the audience will only know Conan from those other sources. [Italics mine - JDM]

Charles's point is interesting on several levels. I actually agree that a great many people, perhaps even the vast majority of them, don't know the real Conan. They've never read a word of REH and probably never will. To them, "Conan the Barbarian" -- a moniker I have come to dislike rather strongly -- is, effectively (or literally, in some cases), a comic book character brought to life by a succession of bodybuilders-turned-actors.

What's ironic is that, whenever an author's work is popularized by Hollywood, criticisms of the liberties taken with the source material are often dismissed by claiming that "by getting X out into public consciousness, it'll draw people back to the original," the implication seemingly that the original material is incapable of succeeding on its own merits or, less strongly, that it's somehow unsuitable to popular tastes. If this line of thinking ever actually bore fruit -- and I welcome examples to the contrary -- I might be willing to stomach it. But, from where I'm sitting, every time Howard (or any other author) gets bastardized under cover of "this will draw people back to the Real Thing," it only reinforces popular misconceptions and makes it that much more difficult for the genuine article ever to enter the popular imagination. Conan is Exhibit A in just the kind of miscommunication I was talking about last week. Who is Conan? I'd wager that a large percentage of the English-speaking world "knows" Conan, who, as Charles rightly notes is now a pop-cultural icon like Sherlock Holmes or Dracula, but is that really Conan? Or is it, as I would contend, a caricature of Howard's creation, a mere shade of a far more complex literary creation that deserves to be better known and appreciated in its own right?

What's so frustrating about this new Conan movie is that it's being made after a generation-long critical re-evaluation of Robert E. Howard as a writer, culminating in his short stories being canonized by Penguin Classics and included in a collection of fantastic tales published by the prestigious Library of America. Freed from the shackles of pastiche (thanks in no small part to the pioneering work of none other than Karl Edward Wagner), Conan -- and his creator -- have finally come into their own, being judged for what they truly are rather than for what others claimed that they are. Conan is not so strange a character nor his adventures so esoteric that they could not be faithfully adapted to film -- or at least more faithfully than we've seen to date. Why, in this day and age, when Howard's writings are more well regarded and critically appraised than ever, must the shadow of L. Sprague de Camp still fall over the Cimmerian?

If asking for a film in which Conan is recognizably the character created by Robert E. Howard and whose plot is drawn substantially from an actual story in which the character appears is "way too high a bar," as Charles suggests, is it any wonder that I'm so down on Hollywood these days?

Grognard's Grimoire: Quintelemental

The material in the quote box below is hereby designated Open Game Content via the Open Game License.

While the sublunary world is made up of four primary elements, scholars know that there is in fact a fifth element -- ether -- which fills the void between the worlds and fuels the empyrean stars. In its natural state, ether is a subtle, luminiferous gas, but, under Ioun's influence, it solidifies into a silvery-black liquid known as azoth. The supernatural beings composed entirely of ether are known by Men as quintelementals and are the most powerful of all elemental beings. Only those who retain the knowledge of Eldritch magic (or posses one of their magical devices) may conjure a quintelemental, which explains their rarity in the present age.

Quintelemental
Number Appearing: 1 (1)
% in Lair: N/a
Alignment: Neutral
Movement: Fly 450' (150')
Armor Class: 2/0/-2
Hit Dice: 8/12/16
Attacks: see below
Damage: 1d8 or 2d8 or 3d8
Save: F8 or F12 or F16
Morale: 10
Hoard Class: None
XP: 2,070/3,600/4,200

For every hit die possessed by a quintelemental, it will have a diameter of ½' and be 2' high. For instance, a quintelemental summoned by a spell would be 32' high and have a 8' diameter. Their appearance is that of a barely visible cloud of silvery luminescence. Quintelementals surprise their opponents on a roll of 1-3 on 1d6, who suffer a -1 penalty on all attack rolls due to their nigh-invisibility. Casters of magic-user spells suffer an extra 1d8 points of damage from quintelementals.

A Glimmer of Hope for Conan?

Al Harron over The Cimmerian has given me small cause to hope that the upcoming Conan flick might not be completely without redeeming value. Photos have emerged of star Jason Momoa looking decidedly more Cimmerian than I had imagined possible. Give the man some blue contact lenses and bulk him up a little bit more and he might just look the part. Diehard Howardians will, quite rightly, point out a number of problems with Momoa's physiognomy as a match for Conan's, but, by my lights, even in these pictures he looks a lot closer to my mind's eye vision of the character than did Arnie.

Cheering as this is, the new film will live or die by its script and I've yet to seen any indications that the new film will be any more true to REH than its predecessors. Harron's post also notes that a second script doctor has been called in to rewrite the screenplay just weeks before shooting starts. That doesn't inspire a lot of confidence, but who knows? Perhaps the "rewrite" will prove to be more extensive than that and we might be saved from the worst nonsense that was in earlier drafts.

Time will tell.

REVIEW: Wheel of Evil

Wheel of Evil is the first of what I hope will be many adventure modules for Labyrinth Lord from Faster Monkey Games. Written by Jeff and Joel Sparks, this 16-page PDF product (with 2 pages of nicely drawn maps and 4 pages of handouts for players and the referee) is intended to challenge a party of 4-6 characters of levels 3-5, although helpful guidelines are provided for using the adventure with weaker or lower-level parties.

The PDF is attractively laid out, using two columns of text with clear headers and, where necessary, bullet points to draw attention to particular details. Art is sparse and (unless I'm mistaken) drawn from public domain sources, but, truthfully, the module is so easy on the eyes that I barely noticed the relative paucity of illustrations. The text itself is engagingly written, neither vapid nor overwrought, with dashes of Gygaxian flair that nevertheless avoid detracting from its overall clarity -- quite an achievement, in my opinion.

Wheel of Evil takes place in and around the town of Renneton, renowned for its fine cheeses, which are aged in caves in the nearby Sardo Hills. Unfortunately, just weeks before the cheese festival that brings Renneton much of its annual income, the cheese caves were attacked by a band of kobolds, who seemed intent on destroying the cheeses for reasons unknown. The townsfolk fought back, slaying some of their number, and forcing others deeper into the caves. Certain townsfolk disappeared and they are assumed slain or captured by the kobolds who remain alive.

The PCs are hired to investigate deeper into the caves, protecting the remaining cheeses, seeking out any Renneton survivors, and dealing with the marauding kobolds. The town is presently cash-poor and can pay the characters only in shares of the cheese harvest, thereby giving them a good reason to "behave responsibly" while venturing into the caves, as their bottom line is adversely affected if they destroy or allow to be destroyed too many of the cheeses aging within. In several places, the text specifically notes what actions might damage or destroy nearby cheeses and an accounting of these accidents will indeed decrease the reward the PCs earn at the adventure's completion.

Without spoiling the adventure, I will only say that -- of course -- things are not as they first appear and there's a danger far worse than mere kobolds lurking within the cheese caves. This turn of events is, I think, very well handled in Wheel of Evil, following a naturalistic logic that lays the groundwork for a terrific little adventure -- and an unexpected one at that. Wheel of Evil is in fact a good model for referees looking to create meaningful episodic adventures that avoid the twin dangers of Just Another Dungeon and an epic quest to save the world.

Wheel of Evil is both challenging and fun and it's full of clever inventiveness. It's one of the first adventures I've read since Death Frost Doom that made me consider ways I could include it in my Dwimmermount campaign in its entirety rather than as idea fodder. Even if I cannot do so, Wheel of Evil also includes a new spell and six new monsters I have a good mind to swipe. My only substantive complaint is the price. At $6.00 for the PDF, it seems slightly expensive to (apparently parsimonious) tastes, but I must concede that, given its quality, it bothers me less than it usually might. Wheel of Evil is an excellent adventure module and easily adaptable to most old school fantasy games and settings without much effort. As I stated at the beginning of this review, I hope we see more such products from Faster Monkey Games in the future, if Wheel of Evil is any indication of what's to come.

Presentation: 7 out of 10
Creativity: 8 out of 10
Utility: 8 out of 10

Buy This If: You're looking for a quirky, cleverly written module to challenge characters of levels 3-5.
Don't Buy This If: You're not interested in very modular adventures or have no need of adventures in this level range.

Pulp Fantasy Library: The Beast of Averoigne

First appearing in the May 1933 issue of Weird Tales, Clark Ashton Smith's "The Beast of Averoigne" is, in many ways, very similar to another CAS-penned Averoigne tale, "The Colossus of Ylourgne," which appeared immediately after it in June 1933. Both stories concern themselves with a "man of science" whose superior knowledge enables him to deal with a dark threat that the ignorant, religion-besotted inhabitants of 14th century France simply cannot. What sets "The Beast of Averoigne" apart from its successor is that it might be called a science fiction tale rather than a fantasy one, for the titular Beast is not some demon from Hell or a necromantic abomination but an alien invader.

The short story is divided into three parts, each one told from the perspective of a different character. This structure allows Smith to demonstrate his skill in characterization, as each part is colored strongly by the personality and worldview of its narrator. The end result is quite interesting and, while not wholly satisfying as a tale in and of itself, is nevertheless a delight to read. CAS does a superb job in conjuring up the inhabitants of medieval Averoigne and much of the story's tension stems from the fact that the reader likely has a clearer sense of what is going on than do some of its narrators, who simply cannot comprehend the truth of it all.

The first narrator is Brother Gérôme, "the humblest monk of the Benedictine Abbey of Périgon," who tells of the "a strange evil that is still rampant, still unquelled," which may have come to Earth from a red comet.

The horror stood erect, rising to the height of a tall man, and it moved with the swaying of a great serpent, and its members undulated as if they were boneless. The round black head, having no visible ears or hair, was thrust forward on a neck of snakish length. Two eyes, small and lidless, glowing hotly as coals from a wizard's brazier, were set low and near together in the noseless face above the serrate gleaming of bat-like teeth.

Brother Gérôme tells of the Beast's depredations and of efforts to stop them, particularly prayer, whose efficacy proves insufficient, as is revealed in the next narrator's tale, that of Théophile, abbot of Périgon, in his letter to his niece. Frightened by the Beast's increasing boldness, Théophile turns to ever more extreme rituals and mortifications of his flesh in the hope that they might drive away the alien creature and save the lives of his brother monks, many of whom have fallen victim to it.

And I know not where the horror will end; for exorcisms and the sprinkling of holy water at all doors and windows have failed to prevent the intrusion of the Beast; and God and Christ and all the holy Saints are deaf to our prayers.

The story concludes with narration by Luc le Chaudronnier, an alchemist and sorcerer to whom the authority, secular and religious, turn for help when faith proves insufficient:

"You, Messire le Chaudronnier," said the marshal, "are reputed to know the arcanic arts of sorcery, and the spells that summon or dismiss evil demons and other spirits. Therefore, in dealing with this devil, it may be that you shall succeed where all others have failed. Not willingly do we employ you in the matter, since it is not seemly for the church and the law to ally themselves with wizardry. But the need is desperate, lest the demon should take other victims. In return for your aid, we can promise you a goodly reward of gold and a guarantee of lifelong immunity from all inquisition and prosecution which your doing might otherwise invite.

Luc agrees to help them, using his superior knowledge, which his contemporaries deem magic, to deal with the Beast and the terror it has unleashed on the province of Averoigne. He concludes the tale of his involvement by stating

Indeed, it were well that none should believe the story: for thin is the veil betwixt man and the godless deep. The skies are haunted by that which it were madness to know; and strange abominations pass evermore between earth and moon and athwart the galaxies. Unnamable [sic] things have come to us in alien horror and will come again. And the evil of the stars is not as the evil of earth.

It's a terrific ending, one that calls to mind both Lovecraft and the concluding line of the 1951 film, The Thing from Another World. I'm a big fan of the classic "alien invaders" story and placing such a story within a medieval setting only heightens its effectiveness in my opinion. As regular readers know, I'm increasingly fond of including literally otherworldly beings in my fantasy games, a fondness that has only increased since re-reading this Smith short story. It's worth a read if you've ever toyed with the idea of adding extraterrestrials to your fantasy campaigns.