Literature Review: "Ill Met in Lankhmar" (1970)

Happy Holidays!

This week, in honor of Fritz Leiber's birthday on December 24th, I wanted to discuss one of the most famous stories by the man who literally coined the phrase "Swords & Sorcery", "Ill Met in Lankhmar":

Winner of both the Hugo and Nebula awards for Best Novella, "Ill Met in Lankhmar" is a prequel to more than thirty years of stories about the adventurous duo.  It is filled with Leiber's trademark twists and turns and shows off his economical yet witty style.  There's humor in his tongue-in-cheek tone and his world building is excellent, as the city of Lankhmar comes to life in these pages.

This ripping yarn  reveals "[t]he second and decisive meeting of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser," two of the most famous figures in Swords & Sorcery.  One dark night, two members of the Thieves' Guild steal some valuable jewels but are, in turn, bushwhacked by a pair of independent operators, Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser.  After getting really drunk, the new soul mates (there's a clear bromance brewing) decide to behead Krovas, Grandmaster of the Thieves' Guild, at the behest of their girlfriends, despite Krovas being one of the most powerful mortals in the world.

Of course, it all goes horribly wrong.

I really wanted to like this story but I couldn't get past that we are meant to treat Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser as heroes, when they are not nice guys.  Setting aside that they are murderhobos (all they do in kill people and take their stuff), the adventurous duo exhibit some sociopathy in this story, including the murder of a helpless child.  Plus, there's the fact that Fafhrd is a deadbeat dad who abandoned his baby mama for some girl he randomly meets.

However, Leiber glosses all this over in the interest of presenting them positively.

Given Leiber's influence on the development of Dungeons & Dragons (see Appendix N of the AD&D Dungeon Master's Guide), another point that should have been in the story's favor is how much it reads like an RPG session.

Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser meet randomly when they are independently trying to rob the robbers.  There's no real reason why they should trust each other and form a party.  This is fine for an RPG but not so much for a story.

Further, there's the adventurous duo plan and disguises to infiltrate the Thieves' Guild.  Both are unbelievable and if there was any realism to "Ill Met in Lankhmar", Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser would have been immediately made, outed and executed.

If I was the DM, I would ask the players *REALLY* want to do this.  If they insisted, as an Old Schooler, I would let the dice fall where they may and then explain that the players need to roll up new characters.

RPG Design: Balancing Skills

This week, I wanted to discuss an important but sometimes underthought or overlooked issue for tabletop RPGs: Balancing Skills.  For purposes of this post, by "Balancing Skills," I'm referring to skills being balanced in terms of power/utility compared to each other.

In addition, by "Skills," I'm broadly referring to areas of a Player Character's expertise that can have an in-game effect.  This runs the gamut from swinging a sword to speaking a language to disarming a trap, etc.

You know, like nunchuck skills, bowhunting skills, computer hacking skills...

Every role-playing game has a skill system, whether or not it's expressly set forth in the rules set.  For example, in older editions of Dungeons & Dragons, skills are mostly subsumed into other parts of the rules (e.g., THAC0, ability scores, class features, etc.) or else hand waved and house ruled.  So, a PC's maximum number of languages and retainers are determined by Intelligence and Charisma, respectively.  Or, since there's no negotiation skill, the DM will often simply role-play a situation or ask the PC to make a roll against their Charisma score or some other target number (e.g., 1 in 6, 2 in 6, etc.).  It helps that D&D has a robust set of ability scores that, when doubled as skills, can cover many situations.

On the other hand, there are skill-based games such as GURPS, where the primary mechanic (success rolls) usually ends up as a skill check in actual play.  Unsurprisingly, skills usually take an outsized importance in classless games.  This is also often true in Stat + Skill systems, such as Exalted.

Problems arise when the designers to not think through their skill system.  Ideally, designers should consider both 1) Breadth and 2) Usage of skills so that a the value of a particular skill is roughly balanced against the others.

In terms of "Breadth," I'm referring to how broad is a particular skill's expertise.  For example, in Exalted, Melee covers proficiency in *ALL* weapons, making it an extremely broad skill.

By contrast, Call of Cthulhu divides up being sneaky into:

Conceal (Allows the visual covering up, secreting, or masking of an object or objects, perhaps with debris, cloth, or other intervening or illusion-promoting materials, perhaps by making a secret panel or false compartment, or perhaps by repainting or otherwise changing an item's characteristics to escape detection.)

Hide (As opposed to Conceal, Hide concerns the individual user's ability to escape detection in an unprepared position. Use this skill only in a pursuit situation, or when under surveillance or patrol.)

and

Sneak (The art of moving quietly, without alerting those who might hear. Used in combination with Hide, the investigator makes a single D100 roll, the result of which is matched against the investigator's percentages in both skills. Use this combination when silent movement is necessary.)

As a consequence, this division in CoC makes each individual skill weak and also makes it difficult to be a expert rogue.


A game's design should not only consider the general applicability of a skill, but also its Usage.  In terms of Usage, I'm referring to how often a skill is used in actual play.  Specific usage may vary due to genre or a group's play style, but usually some skills are used often and some skills are used rarely.

If a skill's Usage is relatively high, the designer should consider reducing it's Breadth.  Additionally, a game should have enough skills of sufficient Breadth to cover foreseeable situations of reasonable Usage.  So, for example, it's probably overkill for a typical fantasy game to include a skill for elephant riding.

In addition, the foregoing assumes that each skill costs the same number of skill points to purchase.  It's possible to balance by varying costs, using skill specialities, skill groups, etc.  However, as modern design tends toward greatly simplicity, I will stick with the assumption.


A notorious example of a game with a problematic skill system is Rifts:

There are over one hundred skills in Rifts, with gaps, overkill and redundancy.  Some are very narrow and not likely to ever be used in actual play (e.g., Boat Building).  Some skills should be combined (e.g., Automobile and Truck). Some skills overlap completely with another to make the other irrelevant (e.g., Concealment and Palming).

On the other hand, there's no Negotiation skill.

It doesn't help that there's no actual explanation of how to resolve non-combat skills.  The skills are rated by percentage, so presumably the player must make a d100 roll, but this is never expressly stated.

TV Review: "Korgoth of Barbaria" (2006)

[NB- this post is a slightly revised version of one that I published earlier]

This week, I wanted to give a shout out to a show that might have challenged "Berserk" (1997) as arguably the greatest Swords & Sorcery TV series of all time, "Korgoth of Barbaria":

A great "What if?", "Korgoth of Barbaria" was a pilot episode created by Aaron Springer and produced by Cartoon Network for Adult Swim.    This ripping yarn cranks the amps up to 11 as our eponymous hero (clearly inspired by Conan the Barbarian) carves a red path through a post-apocalyptic future Earth (clearly inspired, at least in part, by the classic cartoon Thundarr the Barbarian), in a orgy of death, sex and more death.  However, rather than grim dark, the show always has a sense of humor.

"The Great Cities have risen and fallen. Civilization's grip on mankind has grown weak and arthritic. Dark forces seek to renew forgotten covenants, and primordial beasts reclaim the wilderness. Out of the frozen north, a man emerges - a man of a barbaric age, whose merciless savagery may be the only key to his survival. They call him Korgoth!"

This show is metal, and I'm not just talking about the hard rock intro and soundtrack.  The violence is copious and WAY over the top.  The men are various shades of ugly, while the women are all lovely, voluptuous and highly sexualized.  Pretty much every frame of "Korgoth of Barbaria" could have been ripped from the pages of Métal Hurlant (known in America as Heavy Metal Magazine).  Korgoth's world is grim, violent, dirty and sexy, sometimes all at once:

"Korgoth of Barbaria" deftly veers between homage and parody.  On the one hand, the story works fine as a ripping Sword & Sorcery yarn, where the Conan-esque protagonist cleaves his way through mooks and monsters, beds a lusty wench and battles an evil sorcerer.  On the other hand, the show, as the tongue-in-cheek title suggests, also is clearly having a fun time in the process.  For example:

Scrotus: You! You will regret what you have done this day. I will make you regret ever being born! You're going to wish you'd never left your mother's womb, where it was warm, and safe, and wet. I'm going to show you pain you never knew existed. You're going to see a whole new spectrum of pain, like a rainbow!  

Hargon: You tell 'em Scrotus! [screams as Korgoth crushes his head some more]  

Scrotus: But! This rainbow...is not just like any other rainbow, it's… [gets interrupted by Korgoth ripping his skin off]

The production values, writing and direction for this show were great.  Diedrich Bader's gravelly voice is perfect as the titular character, bringing just the right amounts of world weariness, wit, menace and humor.  It's a madcap thrill ride where the viewer never knows what to expect- "They're riding giant pigeons?"

Despite critical acclaim and strong fan support, Cartoon Network reversed its decision to pick up Korgoth of Barbaria and canceled the show after only the pilot episode.  Apparently, it was too expensive to continue.

So, we can only imagine what might have been.  Still, any fan of Sword & Sorcery would do themselves a disservice if they didn't take a look at this fun and funny modern take on the genre.

RPG Game Play: Social Contracts

As the year draws to a close, this week, I wanted to talk about an important, but sometimes overlooked, part of any game: a Social Contract.

If you've got some good people to play with and a good game to play, your first instinct is probably want to just jump into it.  And, most times, there's no problem.  However, what happens when people have a misunderstanding or when someone starts acting in a way that others feel is inappropriate?

For example, what if someone's favorite character dies due to an unlucky roll?  Or, what if someone keeps showing up late to the game?

As insurance against these awkward or problematic moments, it's often a good idea to put a "social contract" in place, usually before play begins.  The Google defines "social contract" as

"an implicit agreement among the members of a society to cooperate for social benefits"

A role-playing group, like any other society, operates under certain mutually agreed upon rules.  For RPG groups, these rules cover both in character behavior (e.g., no PvP) and out of character behavior (e.g., no smoking or drinking).  People usually assume that everyone will use common sense (e.g., no cheating).  And yet, even reasonable people may differ over what seems, to them, as "common sense".  What happens when what's assumed to be mutually agreed upon is, in fact, not?

As you might imagine, it's often beneficial to make sure that everyone is on the same page in terms of expectations.  The degree to which a social contract needs to be explicit will vary from group to group.  It's not usually necessary to have a particularly high level of specificity, but it's often valuable to address areas that are likely to be contentious.

The easiest way to handle the handle is to let someone (typically the Game Master) set the rules for the group and to arbitrate situations.  This is the Old School method.

If all else fails, remember the old saw "no gaming is better than bad gaming". 

Gamebook Review: "Flight from the Dark" (1984)

A couple months ago, I discussed the seminal Choose Your Own Adventure (CYOA) series of gamebooks.  In the wake of CYOA's success and the concurrent success of tabletop role-playing (most notably Dungeons & Dragons), it is unsurprising that folks would start to blend the two, publishing gamebooks with light RPG mechanics.  Today, I wanted to look at the first entry of one of the best of these hybrids, "Flight from the Dark" by Joe Dever:

In "Flight from the Dark," the reader plays the titular protagonist of the Lone Wolf series who, at this point, is an initiate and the sole survivor of the Kai monastery following a successful surprise attack by their archenemies, the Darklords.  However, the Darklords have just gotten started and Lone Wolf must race against his enemies to reach the capital in time to warn the King of the impeding danger.

"Flight from the Dark" is the first book in the Lone Wolf series, which as of today has twenty-nine books.  This probably makes the Lone Wolf series the oldest continuous gamebook, as well as perhaps the longest continuous novel with a single protagonist.

Like other pieces of interactive fiction, the Lone Wolf books are written from a second-person point of view, in present tense, which immediately puts the reader into a roleplaying mindset.  In addition, unlike CYOA (which are purely narrative), the Lone Wolf series also features very simple RPG mechanics that are clearly influenced by Dungeons & Dragons, as noted by the author in the forward:

"While working in Los Angeles in 1977 [Joe Dever] discovered a then little-known game called ‘Dungeons & Dragons’. Although the game was in its infancy, Joe at once realised its huge potential and began designing his own role-playing games along similar conceptual lines. These first games were to form the basis of a fantasy world called Magnamund, which later became the setting for the Lone Wolf books."

There are two stats in Lone Wolf, Combat Skill and Hit Points... I mean "Endurance" Points:

Combat consists of comparing the opponents' Combat Skills, using a random number generator, and referencing the result on the appropriately named Combat Results Table.  Rinse and repeat until Lone Wolf or his foe(s) are dead, hopefully the latter.

One can also see on the Action Chart above that the reader must select five of the Kai Disciplines in the first book.  Not only does this provide customization and re-readability (i.e., a reader's play though can be different with each reading), but also a basis advancement, since the reader may add one additional Discipline after each of the first five books (the later books use a different but similar system).  This also provides incentive to read the books in the correct order.

In terms of structure, the Lone Wolf books use a set of narrative bottlenecks, with a series of branching paths between each bottleneck.  This structure works better with the light RPG mechanics than a purely narrative approach, since some paths may be more optimal for a particular PC than another one.

In also must be said that many of the books feature the excellent and distinctive artwork of Gary Chalk:

As a millennial gift, Messr Dever generously allowed Project Aon to publish the Lone Wolf books online for free!  So, there's no excuse not to read them.

RPG Design: Linear Fighters, Quadratic Wizards

This week, I'd like to take a look at another infamous design issue that haunts Dungeons & Dragons and similar games: Linear Fighters, Quadratic Wizards.

Linear Fighters, Quadratic Wizards refers to the fact that, in D&D, Fighters' skills and abilities improve at a largely linear rate, whereas Wizards improve much faster.  The reason for the latter is because Wizards' powers (as primarily encapsulated by their spells) increase simultaneously along multiple axes: not only to they get more spells but also the effectiveness of any given spell (e.g., damage output, range, etc.) tends to also increase as the Wizard levels up.

For example, let's take a look at a common Level 1 spell in AD&D:

Magic Missile (Evocation)

Level: 1     Components: V, S    Range: 6" + 1"/level     Casting Time: 1 segment    Duration: Special     Saving Throw: None    Area of Effect: One or more creatures in a 10 square foot area 

Explanation/Description: Use of the Magic Missile spell creates one or more magical missiles which dart forth from the magic-user's fingertip and unerringly strike their target. Each missile does 2 to 5 hit points (d4+1) of damage. If the magic-user has multiple missile capability, he or she can have them strike a single target creature or several creatures, as desired. For each level of experience of the magic-user, the range of his or her Magic Missile extends 1" beyond the 6" base range. For every 2 levels of experience, the magic-user gains an additional missile, i.e. 2 at 3rd level, 3 at 5th level, 4 at 7th level, etc.

So, a 5th level Magic-User casting Magic Missile has a tripled damage output and a range that's nearly doubled compared to a 1st level Magic-User, not to mention that he can cast Magic Missile four times per day compared to a 1st level Magic-User's one time.

Meanwhile, the AD&D Fighter has also improved over four levels (e.g., THAC0, weapon proficiencies, etc.) but not to the same extent (i.e., he isn't hitting three times as hard or making four attacks per round).  And difference between the two classes only becomes more pronounced over time as each spell continues to become more powerful and as the Wizard picks up more spell slots.

Furthermore, the spells themselves are unbalanced in the spell levels.  For example, Wish (a 9th level) is far more than nine times more powerful than any 1st level spell.

The net effect is that the Wizard will pass the Fighter in mid-level play and far outstrip the latter in high-level play.

Linear Fighters, Quadratic Wizards is an issue specific to Dungeons & Dragons because of the magic system, most notably because of casting speed and versatility of spells (i.e., D&D Wizards are quick casting generalists).  For example, if spells took hours to cast or if Wizards needed to choose between limited selections of spells, their power would be sharply scaled backward.

In addition, 3e exacerbated the issue by changing the assumed default play style: in older editions, it is assumed that once PCs reach name level (usually around 9th level), play will shift to domain management (i.e., the PCs will transition from itinerant adventurers to rulers).  Thus, the ever more powerful spells of magic-users will be balanced by the fighter's ever larger armies.


In terms of Sorcery & Steel, my rules set, I've taken a two fold approach to Linear Fighters, Quadratic Wizards:

• Remove gamist restrictions on magic items

Just like I removed the gamist restrictions on weapons and armor, all classes can use all magic items.  Thus, in actual play, it matters less that the Wizard can cast Lightning Bolt if the Fighter has a Wand of  Lightning Bolts.

• Turn wizards into glass cannons

By giving wizards a clear Achilles' heel, namely significantly less hit points than in standard AD&D, the two classes remain relatively balanced since the Wizard never outgrows a dependence upon the Fighter as a meat shield.


Finally, I would be remiss without including this notable (and hilarious) example of the trope:

Video Game Review: "Zork" (1977)

This week, I wanted to give a shout out to a legendary game that is both one of the pioneers of interactive fiction AND that also ranks as one of the greatest computer games ever!

You are likely to be eaten by a grue.

A seminal computer game, in Zork, the player takes a nameless but intrepid adventurer down into the twisty and confusing realm of the Great Underground Empire in search of loot.  Sound familiar?

Zork allows someone to singlehandedly play an Old School Dungeons & Dragons-esque text adventure.  Unsurprisingly, winning requires using your head and a bit of luck to overcome terrible monsters and difficult puzzles.  Roughly contemporaneous with the Choose Your Own Adventure  (CYOA) gamebooks, this game was also an amazing and groundbreaking piece of interactive fiction that created its own genre.  As with CYOA, Zork is written from a second-person point of view, in present tense, creating an inherent role-playing element.

Aside from the clear influence of Dungeons & Dragons, there's also hints of Tolkien (e.g., the elvish sword that glows when danger is nearby), Jack Vance and classical mythology.  While there were no graphics, Zork's minimal yet intelligent and witty prose brought the game to life with the power of the player's imagination, as with any good book (or tabletop RPG):

Zork (an MIT nonsense word that's slang for an unfinished program) was written between 1977 and 1979 by Tim Anderson, Marc Blank, Bruce Daniels, and Dave Lebling, members of the MIT Dynamic Modelling Group.  Inspired by Colossal Cave Adventure (1976), the first adventure computer game, and using the same conversational and humorous tone and dungeon crawling format, Zork was a significant step forward in terms of technology, story and gameplay.

The game proved hugely popular over ARPANET (the precursor to the Internet) and a professor encouraged the co-authors to offer the game to the general public.  The original program was so large that it was split into three games for the commercial release:  Zork I: The Great Underground Empire, Zork II: The Wizard of Frobozz, and Zork III: The Dungeon Master.

The Zork series went on to become some of the top selling computer games of the 1980s!

Without mincing words, Zork is quintessential Old School: a challenging game, there's no hand holding and the player needs to use their brains and to carefully read the text to spot clues.  One wrong move can produce an instadeath.  Old School!

In addition, the terrain is complex and there is no automapping function- back in the day, you had to use paper to figure out by hand where the heck you were!  Old School!

Moreover, just like an Old School RPG, there are no limits to what the player can attempt.  Experimentation is implicitly encouraged and is sometimes the best path to finding the solution.  Old School!

This game isn't for everyone but if you are looking for a classic dungeon crawler that will test your mind six ways to Sunday, "Zork" might be right for you.

RPG Design: Vancian Magic

This week, I wanted to discuss a hallmark of Dungeons & Dragons, Vancian Magic.  The phrase refers to the distinctive magic system created by the late Hugo Award winning author Jack Vance, first and most famously used in his Dying Earth series:

In Dying Earth, spells are complex formulae that must be memorized beforehand and that instantly produce a specific result.  Furthermore, a wizard is only able to memorize a limited number of formulae, and, once cast, the formulae is erased from the wizard's mind (which is why Vancian Magic is also called "fire and forget magic").  As illustrated in the story "Mazirian the Magician":

"They would be poignant corrosive spells, of such a nature that one would daunt the brain of an ordinary man and two render him mad. Mazirian, by dint of stringent exercise, could encompass four of the most formidable, or six of the lesser spells.

...

Mazirian made a selection from his books and with great effort forced five spells upon his brain

...

The mesmeric spell had been expended, and he had none other in his brain."

In effect, spells become limited resources, such as torches and arrows.

This system is unlike magic in many other fantasy works, where sorcery is often slow and ritualistic or innate or just unexplained.  However, Vancian Magic works well for Dungeons & Dragons, with its wargaming roots and resource management aspect, where Magic-Users often function as mobile artillery and spells serve as ammo.

Of course, Dungeons & Dragons doesn't adopt Vance-style wizards wholly, since the latter use swords (gasp!).

Personally, I like Vancian Magic in D&D: it's distinctive and flavorful, easy to understand, internally coherent and very old school (at least at lower levels) since it forces players to think about how to maximize limited spells, as well as how Magic-Users can contribute to the party outside of just wielding magic (e.g., torch bearer, interpreter, investigator, etc.).

Certainly, there are more flexible and equally creative RPG magic systems, such as Ars Magica's, and Vancian Magic certainly doesn't fit all genres or play styles.  However, Vancian Magic does fit D&D-style games and D&D-type campaigns.

There's also the mini-game of picking spells and guessing what might be useful.  This is a bug for some people, but a feature for me since it's also very old school.  Pick the wrong spells for the adventure and it might be time to roll a new character!

However, for my rules set, Sorcery & Steel, I decided to use spell points rather than Vancian Magic.  One reason for this was as a part of reducing demand on the GM's bandwidth.  Specifically, I've eliminated look up tables such as this:

Another reason for using spell points rather than Vancian Magic is because I wanted a magic system that was more internally balanced.  For example, in 1e AD&D, while Sleep and Push are both Level 1 spells, it is hard to argue that they are equally powerful.

At the beginning of this post, I said Vancian Magic is a hallmark of Dungeons & Dragons.  By "hallmark",  I mean that, IMHO, a rules set that doesn't use Vancian Magic is no longer in the orbit of D&D.

That's why, when I replaced Vancian Magic with spell points, I stopped referring to my project as AD&D house rules and, instead, as a new rules set.

Music Review: "Don't Worry, We'll Be Watching You" (2011)

Happy Halloween!  In honor of All Hallows' Eve, I wanted to give a shout out to perhaps the creepiest music video I've even seen, "Don't Worry, We'll Be Watching You":

"Just do as we say"

This wonderfully hypnotic and melodic yet super creepy song is the brainchild of Gotye (a pronunciation respelling of "Gauthier", the French cognate of Gotye's given Dutch name "Wouter"), a Grammy winning Australian-Belgian multi-instrumentalist and singer-songwriter.  Known for his creative and unusual compositions, Gotye taps into his dark side with this unsettlingly yet catchy song.

Adding tremendously to the sinister atmosphere of the video are the visuals which were animated and directed by Greg Sharp and Ivan Dixon at the animation studio Rubber House.  They remind me of weirdly experimental music videos from the 1980s, like "Self Control" (1984) by Laura Branigan.

In addition, the cult in "Don't Worry, We'll Be Watching You" therein are pretty much poster children for your typical evil cult.  Also, the bit where the true face of the cult is (literally) revealed sends chills down my spine.

In fact, this video should be watched for inspiration by Keepers before running a session of Call of Cthulhu!

RPG Design: Alignment (Part III)

Over the past month, I've been discussing arguably the hottest mess of all RPG topics, Alignment.  I covered the development of TSR-brand Alignment, how other RPGs chose not follow TSR's lead and how TSR-brand Alignment (which is supposedly objective) is in fact highly subjective.  In addition, as previously mentioned, there's a clear tension between Alignment and other parts of the D&D rules set (e.g., GP=XP).

Alignment does have some small value by providing introductory players a guidepost in terms of how to role-play their characters.  However, most players quickly grasp the basic concepts of role-playing and move beyond this point.

Moreover, Alignment, as narrowly defined by Gygax, usually raises more issues in actual play than it solves. For example, when the party has both "good" and "evil" characters, intraparty conflict is likely. While intraparty conflict has existed since the beginning of the hobby, not every group enjoys PvP.

Alignment can also produce shocking results during actual play.  For example, it is under this aegis that I've seen more than a few very experienced gamers who believe in Alignment as RAW argue that since, in the official D&D universe, there are whole species that are irredeemably evil, behavior that would otherwise be labelled sociopathic is not only justified, but to be encouraged.  The most (in)famous example of this is murdering children of "evil" species in the name of "good".  Even in the source literature, I'm pretty certain that Aragorn, or any other ostensibly "good" character, would never murder defenseless kids, even it they grew up to be villains.  However, you know who did?

In addition, on more than one occasion, I've seen supposedly "good" characters perform acts that most people would consider "evil", merely for convenience, such as murdering unarmed prisoners.

Furthermore, the whole notion that entire species are irredeemably evil is problematic.  For one, if everyone has a TSR-brand Alignment, the logical consequence is that there's no free will.

My rules set, Sorcery & Steel, follows the majority of Old School games and simply leaves in-game morality up to in-game play.


One might argue, "What's the big deal?  It's all just make believe!"

I would certainly concede that no imaginary creatures are actually harmed whilst playing RPGs, nor am I making any kind of moral panic argument.  Certainly, one can play an evil character if they choose.  However, being actually evil while calling yourself "good" it breaks verisimilitude for me.

From a Doylist point of view, in my humble opinion, Alignment mostly exists to justify the Murderhoboism in Dungeons & Dragons and those games to which it is a close antecedent.  In other words, it exists to paper over the fact that PCs in those games are incentivized to be mass murderers as a result of how experience is awarded.

Literature Review: "A Wizard of Earthsea" (1968)

This week, I wanted to give a shout out to a work that is both one of greatest fantasy novels AND one of greatest young adult novels, Ursula K. LeGuin's "A Wizard of Earthsea."

The first entry in the Earthsea Cycle, "A Wizard of Earthsea" is the origin story of Ged, the titular character and perhaps the greatest magician of all time in Earthsea.  However, this tale is set long before he becomes dragonlord and Archmage and the reader follows Ged, also known as Sparrowhawk, from simple village child through his training at wizard school on the island of Roke up to his stunning victory against a fearsome creature of undeath.

What starts off as a coming of age story turns into an epic quest that spans a good chunk of this brilliantly realized and wonderfully original fantasy world that reflects the author's clear love of history and anthropology.  Just her innovative system of magic is a great achievement in and of itself.  Indeed, LeGuin pulls off a scale of world building that many consider rivals Tolkien's Middle Earth and Herbert's Dune.  Except she does it in a mere novella!

However, although LeGuin does a marvelous job of creating a rich background and history to Earthsea, what's even more impressive is that she tells a fundamentally human tale of ambition, pride, childish foibles, courage and maturity.  It is easy for a reader to see a bit of themselves in both Ged's missteps and triumphs.

Although widely regarded as a classic of young-adult literature, LeGuin writes with a sophistication that challenges anyone and infuses the text with poetic wit and sensibility.  For example:

“It is no secret. All power is one in source and end, I think. Years and distances, stars and candles, water and wind and wizardry, the craft in a man's hand and the wisdom in a tree's root: they all arise together. My name, and yours, and the true name of the sun, or a spring of water, or an unborn child, all are syllables of the great word that is very slowly spoken by the shining of the stars. There is no other power. No other name.”  

Here the author herself reads from part of the book and discusses a bit of the impetus behind it (forward to 10:55 in the video):

We shall not speak of the horrific Sci Fi channel adaptation.

RPG Design: Alignment (Part II)

Two weeks ago, I covered the genesis and early development of arguably the most controversial of all role-playing topics, Alignment.  Starting from cosmic teams with "Alignment languages", TSR-brand Alignment then expressly baked morality into the rules set and encouraged GMs to penalize PC behavior that was, in the opinion of the GM, "out of Alignment."

In the official D&D universe by 1977, Good, Evil, Chaos, Law and Neutrality are "objective" and definite (e.g., they can be determined via magic)... and a Player's failure to adhere to a GM's subjective interpretation of an ostensibly "objective" belief system could be severely punished.  Consequently, it is not surprising that Alignment has been a disputatious subject ever since.

By contrast, many other contemporary Old School games, such as Tunnels & Trolls (1975), Traveller (1977) and RuneQuest (1978), do not have any kind of officially defined and/or rules enforced in-game morality.

However, things were about to get weirder for TSR-brand Alignment.

In the same year that Holmes Basic Dungeons & Dragons (1977) was released, TSR also started releasing the first of the three core books of 1st edition Advanced Dungeons & Dragons, the second of which  (The Player's Handbook (1978)) featured an even more complex Alignment scheme than Holmes Basic:

With the exception of 4th edition, this nine-fold system has mostly remained in place for Dungeons & Dragons ever since.

Beyond merely adding four more Alignments (Lawful Neutral, Neutral Good, Neutral Evil and Chaotic Neutral), Gygax further raises the stakes by stressing in PHB that, according to him, Alignment are meant to be mostly set in stone:

"Changing Alignment:

While involuntary change of alignment is quite possible, it is very difficult for a character to voluntarily switch from one to another, except within limited areas. Evil alignment can be varied along the like axis. The neutral character can opt for some more specific alignment. Your referee will probably require certain stringent sacrifices and appropriate acts - possibly a quest, as well - for any other voluntary alignment change. In fact, even axial change within evil or good, or radial movement from neutrality may require strong proofs of various sorts.

Further voluntary change will be even more difficult. Changing back to a forsaken alignment is next to impossible on a voluntary basis. Even involuntary drift will bring the necessity of great penance."

More so than Holmes, Gygax pushed the ideas that 1) in-game morality could be objectively defined and 2) failure to meet these standards should be punished.

One might argue that Alignment is represented in SOME of the source literature (e.g, there are "good guys" and "bad guys" in LoTR).  However, the problem is that the line between "good guys" and "bad guys" is not clear in ALL the source literature.  Most notably, R.E. Howard's Conan the Barbarian is not a nice guy- he murders many, many innocent people, usually because of greed and/or because he's being aggro.  Due to authorial fiat, most of the Cimmerian's sociopathy occurs off-page.  When it occurs on-page, Conan's misdeeds are cast in the most sympathetic light possible.  For example, in The Frost-Giant's Daughter (1932), where our protagonist is clearly a would-be rapist:

"[Conan's] sword fell into the snow as he crushed her to him. Her lithe body bent backward as she fought with desperate frenzy in his iron arms. Her golden hair blew about his face, blinding him with its sheen; the feel of her slender body twisting in his mailed arms drove him to blinder madness. His strong fingers sank deep into her smooth flesh; and that flesh was cold as ice. It was as if he embraced not a woman of human flesh and blood, but a woman of flaming ice. She writhed her golden head aside, striving to avoid the fierce kisses that bruised her red lips.

"You are cold as the snows," he mumbled dazedly. "I will warm you with the fire in my own blood — "

With a scream and a desperate wrench she slipped from his arms, leaving her single gossamer garment in his grasp. She sprang back and faced him, her golden locks in wild disarray, her white bosom heaving, her beautiful eyes blazing with terror."

And, when mapping Conan's behavior on his ostensibly "objective" nine-fold Alignment system, instead of Chaotic Evil,  Gygax calls this guy "Chaotic Neutral (towards good)" in The Dragon #36.

Yeah.

History: Dave Arneson (1947-2009)

I would be remiss this week not to give a shout out to the person who provided the "Spark of Life" to tabletop role-playing:

The self-styled Cheeky Mage!

Born on October 1, 1947 in Hennepin County, Minnesota, Dave Arneson grew up with a lifelong love of games and gaming, joining the Midwest Military Simulation Association (MMSA) when he was in high school.  There, he met David Wesley and was introduced to the latter's Braunstein game scenario (1967), a proto-RPG that was a wargame first set in a fictional German town where players could act in non-military roles (e.g., town mayor, banker, university chancellor, etc.).  Inspired at least in part by Diplomacy (1959), Braunstein's open-ended rules allowed the players to attempt any action, with the results determined by a neutral referee.

These concepts influenced the development of Arneson's Blackmoor campaign, the direct precursor to Original Dungeons & Dragons (1974).  

In 1969, Arneson and some friends attended GenCon II, where he met Gary Gygax.  The two hit it off and collaborated first on Don't Give Up the Ship (1971), a Napoleonic naval wargame, and then OD&D.

After Tactical Studies Rules (TSR) was formed to publish OD&D, Arneson worked for the partnership and its successor, TSR, Inc., before leaving due to differences of opinion in 1976.

Later, when Gygax, in a highly incorrect interpretation of copyright law, attempted to avoid paying Arneson royalties by re-writing OD&D and removing Arneson's name from the front cover (the resulting work was 1st edition Advanced Dungeons & Dragons), the latter brought the first of five lawsuits against Gygax and TSR in 1979.

All of the lawsuits were settled to Arneson's satisfaction and then sealed with confidentiality agreements.

After OD&D, Arneson worked only sporadically on RPGs, most notably when he wrote up the Blackmoor setting for Judges Guild in The First Fantasy Campaign (1977) and when he returned to TSR for the "DA" (Dave Arneson) series of modules set in Blackmoor (1986–1987).  However, he mostly focused on areas of personal interest in his later years, as a business owner (Adventure Games) and as a teacher, first special education and then game design.

Still, any reasonable person would agree that the RPG hobby owes a considerable debt to Messr Arneson.  Beyond his specific design and mechanical innovations (e.g., dungeon crawling, campaign play, advancement (i.e., experience and leveling), etc.), Arneson was the one who had the clearest vision that a new role-playing tradition (parallel to murder mystery nights, comedy improv, etc.) was being created, rather than a mere incremental change to wargaming.

RPG Design: Alignment (Part I)

This week, I wanted to take a look at another venerable RPG can of worms: Alignment.

While the definition of "Alignment" in role-playing games is by no means settled, it usually boils down to some flavor of "personal belief system" for the PCs.  As one might expect, attempting to inject morality into role-playing has been and continues to be controversial and hotly debated!  Furthermore, it can lead to confusion and divisive behavior and/or results at the game table.

Like many topics in role-playing games, the story of Alignment begins with Original Dungeons & Dragons (1974), which states:

"Character Alignment, Including Various Monsters and Creatures: Before the game begins it is not only necessary to select a role, but it is also necessary to determine what stance the character will take - Law, Netrality[sic], or Chaos."

Unsurprisingly, the creatures in the Fantasy Supplement to Chainmail (1971), the miniatures war-game that provided much inspiration to OD&D, were similarly divided into "Law," "Neutral," and "Chaos."  OD&D's chart of creatures' Alignments that mostly follows Chainmail's chart.  Thus, given OD&D's wargaming roots (as well as the first adventures being dungeon crawls), it's easy to see why the designers thought in terms of competing teams or sides.

However, by 1974, OD&D went beyond a simple "shirts v. skins" approach and co-opted ideas from Poul Anderson and Michael Moorcock about cosmic scale "teams" of  primeval forces of Law and Chaos in a perpetual struggle.  This shows up most concretely in those wacky Alignment Languages:

"Law, Chaos and Neutrality also have common languages spoken by each respectively."

Alignment Languages were meant to be secret languages for these "cosmic" teams.  So, all Lawful dudes everywhere speak the same secret language because Reasons.

Even Gygax later acknowledged that this was a bridge too far:

"As D&D was being quantified and qualified by the publication of the supplemental rules booklets. I decided that Thieves' cant should not be the only secret language. Thus alignment languages come into play, the rational [sic] being they were akin to Hebrew for Jewish and Latin for Roman Catholic persons.

I have since regretted the addition, as the non-cleric user would have only a limited vocabulary, and little cound [sic] be conveyed or understoon [sic] by the use of an alignment language between non-clerical users."

In any event, if you like the literary foundations, the OD&D version of Alignment is fine, but I suspect many people simply ignored this forced narrative conceit.  Moreover, while  morality is not expressly set forth in Chainmail's proto-Alignment system, a moral element is more strongly implied in OD&D than in Chainmail, since creatures like unicorns are Lawful and creatures like vampires are Chaotic and after elves were moved to Lawful.


When Gygax starts explicitly interjecting "objective morality" a couple years later and making Alignment more central to a D&D-esque fantasy setting, the concept really starts going off the rails.  In the February 1976 issue of Strategic Review, Gygax writes:

"Many questions continue to arise regarding what constitutes a “lawful” act, what sort of behavior is “chaotic”, what constituted an “evil” deed, and how certain behavior is “good”. There is considerable confusion in that most dungeon- masters construe the terms “chaotic” and “evil” to mean the same thing, just as they define “lawful” and “good” to mean the same. This is scarcely surprising considering the wording of the three original volumes of DUNGEONS & DRAGONS...In fact, had I the opportunity to do D&D over I would have made the whole business very much clearer by differentiating the four categories, and many chaotic creatures would be good, while many lawful creatures would be evil."

Eventually in the same article, Gygax sets forth a new five-fold alignment system:

This five-fold alignment system is adopted the next year in Holmes Basic D&D (1977):

Alignment is far more baked into the game system in Holmes Basic than OD&D.  For example, and here we find the first instance of the first instance of Know Alignment spells.

In addition, the stakes regarding Alignment are notably higher, since here we find the first instance of XP penalties for out of alignment gameplay in Holmes Basic.  Even in cases of honest misunderstanding or disagreement, the chance of problems, if you are playing the Rules As Written, have just increased notably.

So, for better or worse, Alignment is now a thing in D&D.  Are things about to get wonkier?  Stay tuned!

TV Review: "Berserk" (1997)

This week, I wanted to give a shout out to arguably the greatest Swords & Sorcery TV series of all time, "Berserk" (1997):

In this world, is the destiny of mankind controlled by some transcendental entity or law? Is it like the hand of God hovering above? At least it is true that man has no control; even over his own will.

And so begins this ripping yarn that masterfully combines an epic dark fantasy narrative, ridiculously awesome action and philosophical musings!  An adaptation of the best-selling manga with the same name, "Berserk" follows a young mercenary named Guts as he (literally) carves his way through a low fantasy world reminiscent of late medieval/early renaissance Europe.  This unfortunate place is plagued with constant warfare and endures a level of everyday violence and brutality that makes Westeros seem like Disneyland!

Confusingly, this anime starts with an episode in the manga's Black Swordsman arc then quickly shifts back to the manga's Golden Age arc, where Guts is recruited by the brilliant and charismatic leader of the Band of the Hawk mercenary group, Griffith.  The viewer follows the Band of the Hawk's rise to glory among various blood-soaked battlefields, while Griffith plays a devious and equally deadly game of political machinations.

In addition to enough blood and violence to trigger a moral panic, Beserk features an amazing soundtrack that, fittingly, highlights or underscores the narrative.  Furthermore, the narrative is filled with excellent character beats, such that even minor characters get some surprising depth.  This more than makes up for animation quality that is average, at best, for the time.

In the Golden Age arc, Guts and the Band of the Hawk face danger, betrayal and demonic shenangians at every turn.  Fortunately, Guts possesses effectively unlimited willpower, a zero [expletives] given attitude, and arguably the coolest sword of all time!  This sucker is so huge it makes a daiklave from Exalted look like a kid's toy!

Really, the only major flaw to "Berserk" (1997) is that it ends on an epic cliffhanger... which was addressed by the new series "Berserk" (2016) currently airing in Japan, that picks up immediately afterward!

RPG Design: The Cleric Class

Today, I wanted to give a shout out to perhaps the most poorly loved of the Core Four Classes of tabletop role-playing, the Cleric:

Although published along with the Fighting-Man and the Magic-User in Original Dungeons & Dragons (1974), the Cleric, unlike those two classes, did not have a clear antecedent in the Fantasy Supplement to the Chainmail miniatures wargame (1971).  And, unsurprisingly, there are no clear antecedents for the Cleric in Fantasy literature either.  Rather, this class began in Dave Arneson's Blackmoor campaign, where they filled several key roles in the party, most notably as a healer and as a counter to undead.

Despite being probably the most powerful class at lower and middle levels in older editions of Dungeons & Dragons, being something of a hybrid of the Fighting-Man and the Magic-User (reasonable melee combatant, decent caster plus the most generous XP table), there's often a reluctance by players to be "stuck" playing the party healer, since, in my experience, most players prefer to focus on their own character's exploits rather than being at the service of others (e.g., healbot).

Not helping the situation are the weapon restrictions that Gary Gygax added to the Cleric.  Since all weapons do the same damage in OD&D, these weapon restrictions are primarily in place to prevent Clerics from utilizing magic swords.  However, in later editions, it becomes a serious blow to the Cleric's general appeal.   These gamist restrictions are justified by some wildly inaccurate "history".

The Cleric's weapon restrictions in D&D are also defended in-game with some equally dubious "facts", namely that blunt weapons do not draw blood.  Now, if you whack someone with a baseball bat, chances are pretty good you'll start to see blood before too long.  Perhaps one might argue that "drawing blood" means cutting or piercing flesh, but that seems to me like a distinction without practical difference.

In any event, given the lack of clear antecedents, it is unsurprising that other rule sets take the general idea but focus on only part of the OD&D Cleric's remit, such as healing (e.g., White Mages from Final Fantasy) or religion (e.g., Runequest's deity specific approach).  Moreover, even D&D itself has moved away from the tropes it established, with newer editions shifting the Cleric's remit more toward leadership and by giving healing surges to everyone.

Another source of confusion is the Paladin (sub)class:

Like the Cleric, the Paladin is a heavily armed and armored holy warrior.  Unsurprisingly, the conceptual difference between the two is fuzzy.  Moreover, by having more in the asskicking department, it's hard not to argue that the Paladin stole a good bit of the Cleric's thunder.

So, for my rules set, Sorcery & Steel, I bring the Cleric back toward its Arnesonian roots and also blend in the best parts of the Paladin a single archetype: a soldier of faith who smites creatures of darkness and wields potent divine magic.

Gamebook Review: "The Cave of Time" (1979)

This week, I wanted to give a shout out to the seminal "The Cave of Time" by Edward Packard, as well as the entire Choose Your Own Adventure (CYOA) gamebook series:

The above book cover should be familiar to a generation of readers who were children and young adults in the 1980s, when CYOA reached the peak of its popularity.  Much like Original Dungeons & Dragons popularized tabletop role-playing, CYOA popularized interactive fiction a few years later, where the reader took on the role of the protagonist and made choices that determined the direction and outcome of the story.  For example:

You are hiking in Snake Canyon when you find yourself lost in the strange, dimly lit Cave of Time. Gradually you can make out two passageways. One curves downward to the right; the other leads upward to the left. It occurs to you that the one leading down may go to the past and the one leading up may go to the future. Which way will you choose?

If you take the left branch, turn to page 20. If you take the right branch, turn to page 61. If you walk outside the cave, turn to page 21. Be careful! In the Cave of Time you might meet up with a hungry Tyrannosaurus Rex, or be lured aboard an alien spaceship!

Not only are *YOU* the protagonist, but *YOU* direct the narrative!  This was mind-blowing stuff for kids!

"The Cave of Time" was among the first CYOA that I read and it's a still classic, evoking both mystery and a sense of adventure.  Although listed as #1, "The Cave of Time" was preceded by Messr Packard's "Sugarcane Island," published by Vermont Crossroads Press as the "Adventures of You" series in 1976, but it *IS* the first work of interactive fiction for wide release.  

Consequently, CYOA spawned a wave of imitators, most of which were not nearly as well written or as engaging to read.

I would also be quite remiss if I didn't mention the wonderful and evocative illustrations by Paul Granger:

Messr Granger's pictures lend the story, by turns, whimsy, gravity and terror.  Great stuff!

Related to the last, CYOA is, of course, notorious for instadeaths and "The Cave of Time" is no exception:

"The Cave of Time" can be quite harsh with its instadeaths, as they can come with no hint of your impeding doom.  While that may be true to life, this is an instance where I think the gamebook is better served by verisimilitude instead.

RPG Design: "Old School” RPGs?

I have thrown around the term "Old School" on this blog several times and thought it might be useful to explain how I personally define the term in reference to tabletop role-playing games.   

If you think about it, the term "Old School" is a reactionary one (git offa ma lawn, danggumit!) and, unsurprisingly, different people react to be different things and in different ways.  Moreover, in the role-playing game context, even things that were common "back in the day" weren't necessarily present at every gaming table.  So, if you ask a dozen people what "Old School tabletop role-playing games" means to them, you will likely get a dozen different answers.

That's all well and good.

For purposes of this blog, in the role-playing game context, "Old School" refers to a type of gameplay that was common in the 1970s and 1980s and which I still use today at my table.  Most notably:

• GM rulings are emphasized over the Rules As Written
• Player Skill is emphasized over Character Skill
• Combat as War is emphasized over Combat as Sport

Taking these one at a time:

• GM rulings are emphasized over the Rules As Written

When I write "GM rulings are emphasized over the Rules As Written," I don't necessarily mean a rules lite system or a game that allows the story to dominate play, rather than mechanics.  Rather, I mean that the GM serves as "referee" or "judge" (to resurrect a couple more traditional terms), to make fair and impartial decisions.

Sometimes the GM makes a judgment call when there is a gap or an ambiguity in the rules, as sometimes is the case with older editions of Dungeons & Dragons.  However, sometimes that also means he ignores or overrules the Rules As Written.

• Player Skill is emphasized over Character Skill

When I write "Player Skill," I mean a Player's outside the box thinking.  For example, in a recent session at my table, the party needed to identify a demon with powerful visual glamours that were undetectable.  However, they knew that demons are allergic to wrought iron, so they put on wrought iron rings and shook hands until they found someone who reacted abnormally and, thus, uncovered the demon.

However, in many newer games, I find that the emphasis is on what the character can do, particularly in systems with lengthy character generation.  For example, how I approach games like Pathfinder and Exalted is different (e.g., often my first instinct is to look at the character sheet to see what I have that might be applicable to a situation).

• Combat as War is emphasized over Combat as Sport

By "Combat as War" and "Combat as Sport," I am referring to terminology developed several years ago to refer to differing play styles.

In the former, there's an "anything goes" mentality and individual encounters are not necessarily balanced or "fair".  Rather, the GM presents a situation and the players decide what to do (combat is not a foregone conclusion).

In the latter, there are clear rules to encourage fair fights and an explicit goal for the GM is to present balanced encounters (combat is often a foregone conclusion).  Sometimes, this is expressly baked into the rules set (e.g., newer editions of D&Ds' Challenge Rating (CR) and Difficulty Class (DC)).

A (in)famous type of Combat as War scenario is Fantasy F*ckin' Vietnam:

[I]t was supposed to signify the dead-at-any-moment life of old school dungeoneering. The kind of play where you inched along the corridor, 10-foot pole in hand probing every foot of the floor, walls, and ceiling for traps. The kind of play where losing a limb prying open the lid of a chest was as quick as a death by an arrow from your flank. It was the gaming mirror of then still-fresh cultural memory of the stress, paranoia, and grittiness of the Vietnam War. 

Another notable difference between the play styles is Combat as Sport, with its emphasis on balance, reflects the tendency of newer games to shy away from character death.

The possibility of character death, however, is a necessary baked in assumption of Combat as War.  Indeed, this is an often overlooked an aspect of the play style (i.e., that war is dangerous, deadly and unpredictable).  Combat as War is not just about planning and developing asymmetric advantages to stack a fight in your favor.  Sometimes your best option is to run away or otherwise not fight at all (Of course, you have to have a GM that's not into railroading and willing to come up with new material on the fly).

Furthermore, there's an assumption in Old School play that bad things can and do happen to PCs.  By this, I mean that, while the GM shouldn't be out to get the PCs or otherwise antagonistic, the players aren't going to have their hands held and the dice will fall where they may.

The prototypical examples of "Old School" RPGs are, of course, older editions of Dungeons & Dragons:

In fact, for some people,  "Old School" = "older editions of Dungeons & Dragons" or "Old School" = "Old School Renaissance (OSR)".

However, personally, I take a more expansive view.  The reason that I lump games like Traveller and GURPS with older editions of D&D into "Old School" is that my play style basically the same between them.

YMMV, of course.