While my group and I have been concentrating on the D&D Next Playtest, we could hardly ignore the interweb hype about Goodman Games' addition to the old new school rpg movement. I will not comment on the presentation, artwork and game materials of this excellent game. Much has been said by many other commentators about the book, almost all overwhelmingly positive. The net is full of glowing accounts of how it looks and how it reads. I have the deluxe black and gold version of the book that shipped with an additional free adventure, and it is certainly a great piece of gaming literature. Everything about it is very good. But role-playing games are ultimately judged on how they play, not how they look. Before getting the book I did several web searches for play experiences to hear from players and referees how the game worked in practice. Weirdly enough, there weren't that many. Sure, there were some excellent videos. I recommend Wintersome's excellent two part video at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NOjJMuUo7BY. But the reports of actual play were few and far between.
We have now played the game. I have run three funnel sessions of Sailors on the Starless Sea. As promised it was carnage. The players have enjoyed it. Let me say at the outset that DCC plays smoothly and easily. The learning curve for experienced gamers was almost non-existent. Overall we have had a very positive experience of the game, but I have two points to make. I have to raise them in the interests of balance because its difficult to find any negative comments about the game.
The first has to do with the game's tone. The author is very clear. This is for people who like "Appendix N" fantasy literature. OK, that's me. I am target market group. The game makes use of randomness to make the experience wild, weird and often out of control for the characters. This is also very cool because it takes the game in unexpected directions. But while tables (and the game abounds with them) are cool for throwing up interesting stuff, they also have another effect. Results of character actions become hard coded to the thematic material contained in the tables. What I mean is that in-game outcomes (which are often derived from table results) all follow the same fantasy theme of wild, out of control events, often with, extra-planar or otherworldly entities behind them. Is this "Appendix N"? In my opinion, No. Its Michael Moorcock, with possible hints of Zelazny and Vance. I appreciate fully the gratitude expressed by JG to all the authors he lists and also the influences of those authors on his own views of literature, many of which I probably share, but I don't think DCC is a game that allows the creation of stories across the gamut of Appendix N. The main reason for this are the spell tables, which form a large portion of the book, and which contain much of the game's thematic material. These, together with the mercurial magic, corruption tables and the alignment system, give the game its flavour. And yes, you can house rule your own flavour, but that's a bit like rewriting the book. Don't get me wrong, I love the flavour. I love Elric and Hawkmoon, but IMHO it would be difficult to run a Tolkien-type game using the DCC rules.
The second point relates to the 0-Level character generation system. For those unfamiliar with the system, you generate a few 0-level characters very quickly and run many of them through a start-up adventure called a "funnel" which kills most of them, but something strange happens to the few that survive. They develop a shared game story, they gain a lot of wealth through attrition and they reach the elusive first level where they choose a character class and become fully-fledged adventurers. This is a good system but it feels somewhat reactionary to me. By this I mean it is pitched as an admonition to min/maxers. More charitably it is an explanation to gamers who came up through D&D 3e and 3.5, that, contrary to what they may have learned from those games, their character's abilities are irrelevant. DCC does this by making players grow to like the poor hapless sods they play and appreciating all their heroics as exactly that, heroic. It also uses a very flat bonus/penalty to Ability Score ratio (flatter than D&D) which gives mechanical assistance to the idea.
What's wrong with this lesson? Nothing unless it doesn't need to be learned. My group is middle-aged. They are going to hate me for saying it; and they have played many games. Most of them are experienced players who don't optimise. They play all sorts of characters good and bad and most role-play the hell out of it. So maybe, the character gen system is a little patronising.
OK, that's the best I could do to come up with negative comments about DCC. Its an excellent game that reminds me of the first games of AD&D I played, but with a smoother interface, a fantastic spell system which I cannot believe has not been implemented before and all the interesting randomness to send the characters to hell and back. In other words Two-thumbs up. Is it perfect? No. It is, in my view, thematically limited, but the theme it does exceptionally is one that I love and I know many other gamers the world over love it too.
I Attempt to Disbelieve
A Gamer struggling to answer the question "Is this a game?"
A Gamer struggling to answer the question "Is this a game?"
Herein lives an attempt to grapple with issues of game design, play and comparison, focusing on table-top role-playing games. Subjective criteria include 16 years professional practice as a lawyer, a somewhat contrary personality (I have been told) and a healthy measure of cynicism towards dogmatic positions.
"... For a book, once it is printed and published, becomes individual. It is by its publication as decisively severed from its author as in parturition a child is cut off from its parent. The book 'means' thereafter, perforce,—both grammatically and actually,—whatever meaning this or that reader gets out of it." — James Branch Cabell
Herein lives an attempt to grapple with issues of game design, play and comparison, focusing on table-top role-playing games. Subjective criteria include 16 years professional practice as a lawyer, a somewhat contrary personality (I have been told) and a healthy measure of cynicism towards dogmatic positions.
"... For a book, once it is printed and published, becomes individual. It is by its publication as decisively severed from its author as in parturition a child is cut off from its parent. The book 'means' thereafter, perforce,—both grammatically and actually,—whatever meaning this or that reader gets out of it." — James Branch Cabell
Friday, 7 June 2013
Monday, 29 April 2013
The Turning of the Worm - Where are we with RPGs?
I am currently runnning a game of D&D Next and reading the Dungeon Crawl Classics Rules. Reading the
Dungeon Crawl Classics Rules and thinking about D&D and my group's last session has
rendered me philosophical about the culture of role-playing games and the way it haschanged over the years. I am interested in assessing where this "new" breed of game comes from and where it is headed.
D&D
Next and DCC are attempts to bring "old school" gaming to a modern world. As
someone who played "old-school" many years ago, and having now played the one
and read the other I reckon they are doing it right. But what really is the
difference? I think the difference lies in what equates to success in the game.
It seems to me that in the old games success meant Survival, whereas in
the newer version of D&D Success meant Accumulation.
A
comparative analysis of the versions of D&D over the years shown very clear
trends. The game became less dangerous for the characters. This is reflected in
the rules for death and dying. With each iteration it became harder for
characters to die. Also eroded, slowly at first, but then in great jumps were
the so-called "save or die" effects. Character death came to be seen by the
game's writers and publishers as something that would turn players off the game,
and therefore a bad thing. Of course, character death also interrupted the
other stream, which was gaining momentum through the versions, the character's
ability to accumulate. Accumulation refers not only to material goods, the
number of which are available to a character has also grown steadily. It also
refers to the accumulation of skills, powers, ability score buffs, feats, gold
and magical enhancements. A character's effectiveness came to be measured by the
number of options available to him, through the accumulation of all these
things. Characters have become commoditized. There may be many different
sociological and psychological reasons for this, but there is also an obvious
commercial reason. Commoditizing the game provides an almost unlimited
opportunity for sales (or so it would seem). The more "options" there are the more books are needed to
contain those options. This can be seen in the almost countless versions of
additional books available for the D&D and Pathfinder games and the
proliferation of so-called "Splat Books". One of the problems caused by this
proliferation is that it perpetuates a falsity about the game itself. The
untruth is that unless something is contained in a book or a rule somewhere, your
character cannot do it. This is fundamentally wrong and bad for
the hobby. This false representation will be particularly damaging to a new
player picking up a role-playing game for the first time, but it is negative
effects are not limited to novices. I am an experienced gamer and I am just as
guilty of falling for it. Perhaps more guilty because I have proselytized the
changes to newer and more commoditized versions of the game within my own gaming
group.
The
commoditizing of the game is like the branches of a tree, breeding greater
option complexity all the time. This also increases the potential for
combinations that the game's producers did not consider and unforeseen synergies
between distant option commodities. This process reached its height with D&D
3.5 and continues strongly in Pathfinder. Thus were born a breed of gamers known
as the "min/maxers" who studied these things for uber powerful combos and broken
options to exploit. This became so bad that the game's creator decided there was
a problem. But they misidentified the problem either because they had lost
track of the essence of the game or because they knew they were too far along a
path of commoditization from which there was not turning back. The problem, they
opined, was a lack of Balance. The game
would be protected from the assaults of the hordes of the min/maxing munchkins
if balance could be achieved. This meant that no single option could be more
powerful than another. This great balancing exercise resulted in 4e.
Unfortunately the effect was simply to make the vast commodity options more
bland and similar to each other.
Another
harmful effect of commoditizing player options has been rules bloat. Players
gained vast lists of abilities, many of which needed rules to support them. One
of the worst effects has been a power shift from the DM to the players. The
rules have gradually neutered the DM, leaving him boxed in by text and unable to
express himself and to create the type of fantasy adventure story that the game
was intended for in the first place. Players too have not been immune, while
their power to control the outcomes of events had increased, the rules have
hampered them too. Their creative abilities to effect the collaborative
adventure story have also been caged by rules and
options.
Why I
personally went along with this process is a bit of a mystery to me. Maybe I too
was just another victim of a gradual shift in perceptions in modern society, or
maybe I'm just a sucker for a box of shiny sweets. Anyway, the charm spell that
I was under has been lifted, and I see with new eyes. (This metaphor seems to have been grafted unconsciously onto my current campaign in which eyes and blindness have become a very prominent theme)
Dungeon
Crawl Classics takes a more aggressive approach to those who read the rules and
want to play. Not having any sentimental or commercial ties to the later D&D
version before 5e, it makes no attempt to promote their validity. The game
forces players into an "old-school" mindset my impressing on them immediately
that survival is the victory. Each player begins with two to four 0-level "mooks
"on their first adventure, ominously referred to as a "funnel". In a funnel
mortality rates are massive, and as the characters have almost no skills or
abilities and less than 5 hit points they die in their droves. But the game does
a clever thing it makes players root for one or more of their hapless goons,
with terrible Ability scores. Also, to overcome challenges the players have to
use more than the commodities available to the characters. They have to use
ingenuity, role-playing and team work, mixed with a healthy dose of luck. Sounds
like D&D to me. And what happens to the few who survive the funnel? Well,
they come out with a few commodities scavenged from the corpses of their fallen
comrades, a scar or two and tales of adventure, daring and excitement. They also
have something else, a bond with the player controlling them who then selects
their class and all the trappings normally associated with a first level
character. Clever.
DCC also
stresses survival in the way it awards experience. Characters gain between two
and five experience points for each encounter they survive. Any encounter,
whether it be a social encounter, a battle or just a trap. I think thats clever.
The game has other old-school elements but thats for another
time.
Both games
are, in my view, a breath of fresh air, or rather old air that has a familiar
and well-loved odour. I am really enjoying playing 5e as I believe it gets back
to what these sorts of games should be about.
Monday, 7 January 2013
Detours are Always Better
For over a year now, since my interest was
piqued in the history of roleplaying games, in addition to trying to write a
book on the subject, I have also been trying to bolster my collection of old
D&D books. I consider my throwing out of my 1st and 2nd
AD&D materials some years ago before I realised the value (nostalgic and
commercial) the old stuff would acquire, to be one of my most miserable errors. So I am often on the lookout for old
D&D stuff, but over the holidays I discovered that some of the coolest
D&D moments occur at times and in places where you least expect them.
The family took a road trip this holiday to
a part of the country known as the Eastern Cape. The quickest and straightest route back to Cape Town
where we live follows almost exclusively a national road known as the N2
highway. This year however, massive bush fires aided by soaring temperatures and
fanned by high winds forced the closure of the N2 on the day we were to return.
An alternative route was needed. We decided on a new way home along a scenic
road known as the R62. The route takes the traveller through an area of
scrubland and mountains known as the “Little Karoo”. Its not as good a road as the N2 but the scenery is often breath-taking
and desolate and punctuated by small interesting towns and villages offering coffee
shops, curios and wine tasting to weary drivers and passengers.
After several hours of driving we chose a
town with a population of less than ten thousand people, and a random coffee
shop (The Blue Cow, if you’re ever in Barrydale) and stopped for a rest and a
bite to eat. Not only was the food and drink excellent, the hospitality was
warm as the sun that beat down on the veranda on which we sat overlooking the
khoi pond. The owner informed us that there was a used book seller next door
and so I took the opportunity to wander off and browse.
The bookshop was a wooden hut in which
loose fitting, colourful clothes and incense were also for sale. When it came to books it
was well stocked, both inside and out, with the works neatly and, with the
exception of one book, accurately categorised. As I walked past the “Esoterica”
section my eye fell immediately upon an almost pristine copy of the Second
Edition AD&D Player’s Handbook. I know it’s not the Brown Box or an orange
version of the Palace of the Silver Princess, but it’s one of the books I owned
and threw away and I had to have it. I did the transaction as quickly as I
could all the while attempting not to alert the alternatively dressed lady who
ran the shop to the ridiculously low price for which it was on offer.
She asked me whether I was aware of what
was in the book and I politely said that I had once owned it and was glad to
find another copy. She was very friendly but seemed to be waiting to talk to me
as I looked through the other sections with my new acquisition clutched firmly under
one arm. Once the three other customers in the shop had left she sidled over to
me. Placing one hand on my arm and looking me straight in the eye she whispered
furtively “I must warn you, not all of the spells work”. I was at a loss for
words and could only respond that I knew that and that it didn’t change my mind.
Then she went on with her business obviously assured in her own mind that she
was not guilty of any significant misrepresentation. I couldn’t stop chuckling as
I made my way back to table where I drank a magnificent cappuchino while paging
through the familiar pages of black text and blue artwork.
It amazing to me that so many events out of
my control, conspired to place a copy of the book in my hands. Detours are a
wonderful thing. I sincerely suggest you take them whenever you get a chance.
We had a great holiday but the trip back and the saga of the PHB were a
highlight, a silver piece that will remain in the belt pouch of my memory for a
very long time.
We had almost made it home before it struck
me that I had missed the most golden of opportunities. Maybe one day I will
pack my 2e PHB, travel that road again, stop in that small town, go to the same
coffee shop and ask the nice lady with the crystal around her neck to mark ,in
my copy, the spells that actually do work.
When I told the story to a
friend and fellow D&D player he thought about my account and then said
confidently “Magic Missile……. Definitely Magic Missile ”. He’s probably right.
Tuesday, 6 November 2012
D&D Next and an Unexpected Outcome
I have been taking part in the D&D Next Playtest with great interest and growing excitement. I have been running a game for my regular group and devouring the new playtest materials as they get amended and released. As a game geek I have to remind myself not to become carried away with the big box of sweets (as I did when 4e was released), but to be a good playtester and actually test. I find with any rpg products there are two decent criteria: 1) Does it make playing the game easier and more fun? 2) Does it stimulate my imagination, and add something I hadn't thought of.
I was bored and decided to try an expreiment. I had the latest D&D Next materials and decided to create a character randomly. Not random stat generation, that was a set array, but random character choices. Firstly, race and class. Dwarven Cleric! For those who know me, it will come as no surprise that I almost stopped then and there. In the twenty-five odd years I have been playing RPGs I have probably played one dwarf. I just dont want to play them. I like Gimli (Tolkien's as well as John Rhys-Davies') as much as the next person. I just dont have any desire to play one. When it comes to Clerics, I've never played one. I've run many games where Clerics have featured and had a great time doing it, but, for some reason, I never want to play one. So, the gods of fate thrusting a bearded spell/mace guy in my face was disappointing. But I have always had an otherwise streak to I decided to spit in the face of destiny and, resisting the urge to fudge towards more appealing archetypes like Wizard and Rogue, I trudged ahead.
The next random choice was Hill Dwarf (as opposed to Mountain Dwarf). Whatever. Then things started to get interesting. Next random selection was deity choice...The Trickster. In my mind the deity that floats to the top is the Norse god of Mischief, so I chose Loki. With the trickster came some intersting additional weapon choices and the Sneak Skill, Spells: Sanctuary and Minor Illusion (Wizard) and the ability to become invisible. Things were getting interesting.
Background Choice was also random and I got "Guild Thief", together with skills: Balance, Disable Device and Search. He now knew Thieves Cant and possessed a set of thieves tools in a pair of breeches with a secret pocket. I was starting to get a mental picture. This dwarf had an umipressive beard, shaved head and wore a badly stained brown leather skullcap.
Next up ....Specialty, randomly selected, was.....Ambush Specialist (too good to be true!) This came with the Improved Initiative Feat, perfect for a guy with 10 Dex.
I went with a handaxe wielder (throwing and striking) to optimse the Dwarven Weapon ability. More imaginative input. He wore a sprig of Holly on the front of his tunic (Loki's Holy Symbol) He had a habit of continually scratching under his skull cap. His name is Ulli Stonecradle.
When he was finished I realised what had happened. I had made a dwarf, but not a Tolkien dwarf as I always imagined the race in a D&D game, but a dwarf from the world of C.S. Lewis or the Brothers Grimm, a dark character, difficult to pin down and equally difficult to be friends with. I had never even considered playing this kind of dwarf in a game of D&D. I am not even a big fan of the second dwarf trope in fiction, but I know one thing, I cant wait to play Ulli Stonecradle.
I haven't played him yet, but, in this instance, (and in a rather surprising way) the D&D Playtest rules passed both of the tests I set for them. The character creation process was smooth, relatively easy and effective. But it also took me down a path I had not considered and opened up a new gaming avenue for me that I had not considered until I delved into the material.
I was bored and decided to try an expreiment. I had the latest D&D Next materials and decided to create a character randomly. Not random stat generation, that was a set array, but random character choices. Firstly, race and class. Dwarven Cleric! For those who know me, it will come as no surprise that I almost stopped then and there. In the twenty-five odd years I have been playing RPGs I have probably played one dwarf. I just dont want to play them. I like Gimli (Tolkien's as well as John Rhys-Davies') as much as the next person. I just dont have any desire to play one. When it comes to Clerics, I've never played one. I've run many games where Clerics have featured and had a great time doing it, but, for some reason, I never want to play one. So, the gods of fate thrusting a bearded spell/mace guy in my face was disappointing. But I have always had an otherwise streak to I decided to spit in the face of destiny and, resisting the urge to fudge towards more appealing archetypes like Wizard and Rogue, I trudged ahead.
The next random choice was Hill Dwarf (as opposed to Mountain Dwarf). Whatever. Then things started to get interesting. Next random selection was deity choice...The Trickster. In my mind the deity that floats to the top is the Norse god of Mischief, so I chose Loki. With the trickster came some intersting additional weapon choices and the Sneak Skill, Spells: Sanctuary and Minor Illusion (Wizard) and the ability to become invisible. Things were getting interesting.
Background Choice was also random and I got "Guild Thief", together with skills: Balance, Disable Device and Search. He now knew Thieves Cant and possessed a set of thieves tools in a pair of breeches with a secret pocket. I was starting to get a mental picture. This dwarf had an umipressive beard, shaved head and wore a badly stained brown leather skullcap.
Next up ....Specialty, randomly selected, was.....Ambush Specialist (too good to be true!) This came with the Improved Initiative Feat, perfect for a guy with 10 Dex.
I went with a handaxe wielder (throwing and striking) to optimse the Dwarven Weapon ability. More imaginative input. He wore a sprig of Holly on the front of his tunic (Loki's Holy Symbol) He had a habit of continually scratching under his skull cap. His name is Ulli Stonecradle.
When he was finished I realised what had happened. I had made a dwarf, but not a Tolkien dwarf as I always imagined the race in a D&D game, but a dwarf from the world of C.S. Lewis or the Brothers Grimm, a dark character, difficult to pin down and equally difficult to be friends with. I had never even considered playing this kind of dwarf in a game of D&D. I am not even a big fan of the second dwarf trope in fiction, but I know one thing, I cant wait to play Ulli Stonecradle.
I haven't played him yet, but, in this instance, (and in a rather surprising way) the D&D Playtest rules passed both of the tests I set for them. The character creation process was smooth, relatively easy and effective. But it also took me down a path I had not considered and opened up a new gaming avenue for me that I had not considered until I delved into the material.
Thursday, 13 September 2012
Level 1: The Man with The Briefcase full of Pamphlets
The dark
dangerous forest is still there, my friends. Beyond the space of the astronauts
and the astronomers, beyond the dark, tangled regions of Freudian and Jungian
psychiatry, beyond the dubious psi-realms of Dr. Rhine, beyond the areas
policed by the commissars and priests and motivations-research men, far, far
beyond the mad, beat, half-hysterical laughter... the utterly unknown still is
and the eerie and ghostly lurk, as much wrapped in mystery as ever.
Fritz
Lieber
While the sixties saw a
burgeoning of new writing talent in the realms of fantasy such as the
anarchistic Michael Moorcock (in many different guises), the intricate
melancholy of Ursula K. LeGuin, and Anne McCaffrey and the gritty panache of
Fritz Lieber, it was also to the old fantasy staples that the young American
readers and authors turned. They turned to Tolkien, a man who had created a
world so concrete, and so multi-layered that it presented itself as an entirely
plausible alternative mythology. They turned to Robert E. Howard, a man who
chose gunshot suicide at the age of thirty and who never left the town of Cross
Plains, Texas. Yet, Howard had written the pulp treasure trove of stories about
Conan the Cimmerian, so vast in its scope and so untethered to the world Howard
himself inhabited, that cynics still attribute his collection of works more to
schizophrenia than to imaginative genius. Whatever its pathology, the readers
in the sixties did not doubt its genius. They turned to double entendre of the
allegory of C.S. Lewis, the dark, unapologetic gothic of Mervyn Peake and
psychological horror of H.P. Lovecraft. Even when it came to these established
authors, the sixties readers were reading with a new appreciation for the
imaginative and for the sudden legitimacy that the imaginative seemed to have
achieved.
Science Fiction (if it is
possible to distinguish it from fantasy writing) also saw an explosion in its
readership during the sixties. This “new wave” movement had its own impetus
brought by the birth of the idea that technology, was not a taboo field of
exercise for the human imagination, as well as the radical political views of
many of its writers. Writers like Moorcock, Frank Herbert, Arthur C. Clarke and
Robert A. Heinlen were consumed by avid fans, and clubs and appreciation
societies began to spring up, many at institutions of higher learning. But
these modern sci-fi writers shared the limelight with the post-war work of
authors like Edgar Rice Burroughs, Jack Vance and Ray Bradbury.
While there may have been subtle
differences in the influences that brought them to the fore in the mind of the
consumers of “escapist” literature, it must be remembered that fantasy and
sci-fi, started to enjoy a popularity fuelled by the same passions on the part
of the readers of both types of story. The distinction between the two genres
was a later development, in the minds of readers and in the meeting schedules
of publishing company directors. In 1965 most “fantasy” readers consumed as
much Asimov as they did Tolkien. Indeed, writers in the sixties, like Moorcock
moved without a second thought between what would later be known as the twin
branches of fantasy and sci-fi, in their writing.
With the rise in popularity of
the genre, it began to have cross-appeal in various other areas of society.
Fantasy literature fans were spreading out, and their ideas on the role of the
imagination, were beginning to permeate different social spheres. Much of this
cross-pollination was seamless and natural, but in certain serendipitous cases
it resulted in polarisation between members of different social cliques. In
some extreme cases, the combination of the fantasy literature genre with
another eclectic interest group would have entirely unforeseen creative
results. Some of these results could possibly have been predicted, but still
others were entirely unforeseeable, despite attempts by various individuals in
later years, to claim that they had not only predicted, but planned them.
The social interest group and
hobby that were about to collide with the rise of imaginative literature, was
the rather closed, stuffy, pseudo-academic world of miniature wargaming. The
unexpected by-product of this alchemical commixing would be the first example
of an entirely new form of pastime, the role-playing game. Its name would be
Dungeons & Dragons. While the game’s history is solidly rooted in the world
of wargaming, no investigation of the roots and history of the game, can ignore
the over-arching influence of the new passion for fantasy and science fiction
writing that was sweeping the United States in the mid to late sixties. It was
the rennaissance of fantasy literature that provided the fertile soil in which
the seeds of an brand new idea would germinate.
The Avalon Game Company was a
small entity that began manufacturing boardgames in 1954, with the release of a
game called “Tactics”. The company was the brainchild of Charles S. Roberts. It
had a rocky financial history and went through several name changes eventually
calling itself Avalon Hill until 1998 when it was purchased by Hasbro games.
The company tried to put out a new boardgame every year during the sixties and
seventies. Avalon Hill produced many games, but its first real off-the-shelf
success was “Gettysburg”, a tactical board game which simulated the famous
battle of the American Civil War. It was the first board-based wargame premised
on a historical battle. The effect of the game’s release was to expose young
consumers of fairly simple family board games,
to new world of military simulations. It was by no means an easy game to
pick up and play, but compared to the complex rules for the more traditional
wargames that existed at the time, its sixteen page rule book, was a model of
simplicity. Unfortunately “clarity” was never a tag that could be attached to
the Gettysburg rules.
It is in all likelihood
anecdotal, but the number of pioneers of the D&D game who cite Gettysburg
as the game which started their interest in wargaming, is so significant one
wonders whether Avalon Hill should not feature more centrally as a credited
influence in the creation of what would, fifteen years later emerge as the
first role-playing game.
When Gettysburg was released,
wargames were not unheard of. They had existed for years, and had been written
about by no less than H.G. Wells who had created a whimsical set of game rules
in his “Little Wars” published in 1913. There was “Stratego”, the modern form
of a French game called “L’attaque” which appeared and was sold in France as
early 1910. And of course wargaming was common practice in military forces
around the world, going back centuries. In the years following World War II,
battles of that era were not considered a fitting topic for a family game. By
the sixties, younger enthusiasts, who had not experienced the horrors of the
war first hand, had begun to take an interest in the battles of that war and other
wars, as the subject of games. Prior to this, American table-top wargamers were
generally history scholars whose endeavours were aimed at recapturing famous
military conquests, for purposes of re-enactment and study. Gettysburg went
straight to the growing more prosaic general audience accustomed to simpler
boardgames such as Monopoly and Risk, and showed them that complexity and
greater level of strategic planning didn’t kill boardgames. On the contrary,
they could make them more fun.
After Gettysburg several other
military boardgames were created, several by Avalon Hill. Boardgames needed
game pieces, and when it came to historical wargming, the pieces would become a
hobby in themselves. In 1955 Jack Scruby began making moulds in his shop in
California, casting and selling metal figurines for use in tabletop gaming.
Scruby perceived the growing interest in wargames as a pastime and in the
collection of metal soldiers that could be used to play those games. In 1957 he
convened the first wargming convention in California and began publishing a
quarterly periodical catering for the needs of military miniature gamers,
called “War Game Digest”. The growth of Scruby’s sales and the reach of his
periodicals reflected the steady growth of the industry as military wargaming
adopted its new audience. No longer the sole domain of historians and military
officers, wargaming began to attract gamers of all ages, but it was in schools
and, in particular universities, that the hobby began to catch hold. By 1960
most U.S. universities had wargaming societies and clubs, that were well
attended and well-organised.
Across the United States
wargamers would face each other across makeshift battlefields, with piles of
books representing higher ground, strips of cloth as rivers, and various
coloured pieces of paper, material or scrap to signify different types of
terrain. More ambitious and artistically inclined gamers made lifelike models
of their own, including detailed towns and fortifications. The games they
played were often recreations of famous battles from human history, but the fun
lay in the fact that now, Custer could win, Acre may not fall to the Turks and
the plains of Megiddo may resound to the ringing of a different victory
trumpet. It was a history of which a whole lot of questions could be asked, and
it peaked the imagination. But there had to be a winner. While it was fun,
imaginative and interesting, it was also a contest.
There were a few commercial
ventures in the area of wargaming but the hobby suffered from a serious
drawback (or, from the point of view of Dungeons and Dragons, an advantage) in
that its rules were not codified. The main categories of game were: Ancients,
Napoleonic, American Civil War and World War II. Each of these genres required
different rules systems to run effectively, and a set of rules that worked for
one might be hopelessly inefficient for another. To make matters more
fractured, certain clubs and societies specialised in game play from a certain
era. The result was an extremely haphazard system where new rules were
constantly being tried, exchanged, plagiarised and adapted by gamers across the
country. With companies like Avalon Hill producing only a game a year, gamers
had to take the laws of the game into their own hands. They began to innovate.
They modified, borrowed, and improvised rules, and in some cases, created their
own. Military wargamers were improvisers par excellence.
In 1962 a book was released by
Joseph Morschauser entitled “How to Play Wargames in Miniature”. It claimed to
be a guide for the would-be wargamer and included advice on game play as well
as collecting and painting miniatures. The need to continually strive for a
“more realistic” set of rules to cover a particular genre of gaming, also lead
to much debate and discussion within specific groups, and between groups
themselves.
In a time before cellular phones
and the internet, this meant groups getting in touch with each other by post.
It also meant that gamers needed to physically get together with each other in
order to share ideas and rule sets. Thus, Scruby and others had seen the need
to organise such gatherings.
In 1964, when the Beatles’ “Can’t
Buy Me Love” hit number one on the U.S. music charts, and the Gemini Space
Probe was launched, David Wesely was nineteen years old and already a fan of
wargaming. He was born on 15 March 1945. His first experience of wargaming had
come when he played “Gettysburg” at the age of 13. That year he joined a small
group that was centered in Twin Cities area of Minnesota (encompassing the
cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul). It was called the Midwest Military
Simulation Association (MMSA) and had been founded by Ray Allard, a well-known
amateur historian and historical re-enactor, on 18 April 1964. The first
meeting was attended by Allard, then 54, Dr. William Musing, Loren Johnson, Ron
Lauraunt, Winston Sandeen, all in their thirties, and Allard’s son, Ray Jnr,
and Wesely who were teenagers. The membership of the group grew by word of
mouth, and new members such as Don Nicholson joined. The group soon included several students because, in addition to
advertising for members in “The General” and “Strategy & Tactics”
magazines, they also ran welcome tables at the Universities of Minnesota and
St. Paul. There was some degree of polarisation between the older members who
enjoyed collecting, modelling and painting on the one hand, and the younger
members who preferred the gaming itself.
The group began to get together
in that year and would grow to membership of around thirty by 1968. Wesely was
an improviser who, together with other members of the group, was constantly
trying to write a better set of rules to regulate their historical battles that
would grow continually more complex and ambitious. In 1966 Nicholson discovered
a book in the library of the University of Minnesota entitled “Strategos, the
American Game of War” by Lieutenant C.A.L. Totten. Totten is pictured here.
Published in 1880, it was a thick
three hundred and forty-two page tome which sought to present itself as the
training manual for wargaming for the U.S. Army. When Nicholson revealed this
book to the group, it greatly increased the level of complexity that Wesely and
others added to their games, even though they realised that this complexity was
so unwieldy that they could never incorporate all the rules it suggested.
Still, Wesely and his fellow table-top generals attempted to do it. But, as
many game designers would find in the years that followed, the uncertainty
caused by home-grown and varied rules systems, led to disputes and complicated
debates which would often stop the game in its tracks or cause it to proceed so
slowly that it may as well have stopped.
One of Wesely’s gaming friends,
and part of his inner circle, was a young Dave Arneson. He was still at school
when he joined the MMSA. Arneson was extremely well-read particularly when it
came to fantasy and science-fiction. He became an active member and produced a
newsletter containing the battle reports of the group’s Napoleonic games and games
of the board game, “Diplomacy”. David Lance Arneson was born in Hennepin
County, Minnesota on 1 October 1947. Arneson was eighteen years old when he
joined Wesely’s group. He had been playing wargames since 1958. His first, it should no longer be a surprise
to find out, was Avalon Hill’s Gettysburg. Arneson was a plump young man who
wore glasses. He had a quiet manner and an infectious laugh. He was also an
avid gamer who, like Wesely did not mind the idea that the rules for wargames
should be as realistic as possible, even if that involved high levels of
complexity.
Arnseon had a keen interest in
history and in particular, the history of human conflict. He compiled
incredibly detailed notes, from a historical perspective, of the costs of
military equipment throughout various periods in history. Arneson was known
amongst his friends for being able to determine the cost of building a troop
ship, or any other ship for that matter, in 1887, and to provide the amount in
pounds sterling.
While reading Totten’s book
Wesely noticed that in addition to the standard six-sided dice that was used in
most wargames, the author also called for the used of a twelve sided
“tee-to-tum”. Wesely had no idea what this was but guessed it was an object
that had twelve sides and incorrectly assumed that it resembled one of the five
regular polyhedra that he had learned about in science class when he was at
school and which had been discovered by the Pythagorean School of Alexandria.
So Wesely ordered a set from Edmund Scientific’s school supplies catalogue, for
the whopping sum of $ 6.00, well beyond the budget of most young gamers. The
set he received included plastic polyhedra with four, six, eight, twelve and
twenty facets respectively, each facet numbered. Of these Wesely used the
twelve sided shape as a dice, to use with Totten’s probability tables. He also
found the twenty-sided polyhedra useful for generating percentages. The four,
six and eight sided shapes Wesely opined to be useless. The main dice used in
his wargames continued to be the six-sided standard, available at local stores
for a far more reasonable 5 cents.
By 1966 Wesely and other members
of the group had begun to become concerned with the amount of bickering,
disagreement and unhappiness that a lack of clear rules was beginning to cause
during a night’s gaming which was supposed, after all, to be an evening of fun.
In his book Totten had suggested that a referee be used, preferably of a
superior officer, to regulate the wargame, resolve disputes and make decisions
which would be binding on the players and would keep the game flowing.
This idea struck a chord with
Wesely, Arneson and others in the group and they began to experiment with
referees during their games. Initially there was some confusion as to the
referee’s function. Some group members, of the argumentative type, were not
happy to have referees because they felt they were biased and at the same time
did not want to be the referee because this meant they would not be able to
play the game. A few players left the group rather than submit to the whims of
a referee.
When it came to the role of the
referee Totten once again came to the aid of Wesely’s gaming group. He had
suggested in his book that the referee, in addition to being an impartial
arbitrator to settle disputes between the players and assist them in the
massively complicated calculations that were part and parcel of Totten’s
system, could take on another, far more interesting role. He would also be
responsible for supplying the players with intelligence received by their
armies from civilians and providing random, chance events that would take place
during the game (of which the players were not initially aware). The referee
could create and plan the scenario that would be the context for the battle,
rather than have the players simply recreate a historical scenario. Unlike in
other games the referee would have “knowledge” of the scenario that the players
did not have. He would keep this knowledge secret and divulge it to the players
once their actions were such that their commanders would become privy to that
knowledge. So, if a field seemed perfectly crossable on foot by infantry, it
may be that the referee would keep a note to himself, which stated that the
field was in fact marshy and difficult to cross. A wily commander might receive
the more accurate intelligence when he resolved to question some of the local
farmers whereas a less astute general might find it out for the first time when
his light infantry division attempted to charge across the field and capture
the gun emplacement on the other side.
So, Totten’s referee could add a
level of interest and fun to the battle. Although referees were commonly used,
this extended role was not the norm in wargaming during the sixties. If the
advice in this 1880’s tract were to be followed the imaginative powers of the
referee would become a telling factor in a wargame. Wesely and members of his
group also had the foresight to see just how much fun this could be. As they
began to take it in turns to act as referee, in this sense, they began to find
that the fun elements that Totten’s rules added, offset the frustration of not
being able to play as one of the combatants. A smaller more imaginatively
inclined group of four, which included Wesely himself, found that they enjoyed
the imaginative elements enough that they preferred to referee rather than to
play. Another member of the four was a Dave Arneson.
By 1967 Arneson was refereeing
full-time within the MMSA group. Many of the younger members would collect at
Arneson’s house for evenings of pure wargaming. What is more, he had created
what was described as a “campaign”. This was a linked series of battles and
interposed events over which he presided as referee, in the Totten sense. A
campaign, with the help of the referee, allowed for diplomatic engagement
between players and, in addition, allowed for more than two players to take
part in the game. The referee could therefore present the players with
strategic questions that went far broader than the battlefield decisions they
would make in a single battle scenario.
Another game option that both
Wesley and Arneson began exploring was the idea of multiple player games where
each player had a different set of objectives and some of these were not
mutually exclusive.
In one such example the group
played a campaign, referreed by Arneson, reflecting the entire Napoleonic grand
theatre, with each player representing a different European state. They were
all given budgets based on the cost calculations sourced by Arneson, with which
to construct armies and navies. Then the negotiation started. This process led
the gamers to a realisation concerning the nature of historical events that had
not struck them before. The process taught them that many of the great
decisions made by leaders were made based on the personal relationships between
those leaders, more than simply on factors of political and military
expediency. However, a game of this nature had a drawback that Arneson soon
discovered. The more the game went on the larger the amounts of information
that he would receive from players on an almost daily basis. The game began to
take up all of Arneson’s time. The realisation dawned on him that he had become
a full-time referee.
Wesely too continued to push the
limits of gaming. In 1967 he refereed a game representing the battle of
Bladensburg for Washington D.C. in 1814 between the British forces and the
local American coalition forces. In an effort to reflect that difficulties that
has beset the American forces, and possibly led to their defeat, Wesely allowed
fourteen players into the game, some of them playing a single character such as
a specific commanding officer, who could effectively countermand the orders of
some of the other American commanders. Twelve people ran the American coalition
forces and only two the British forces. The game was a fun experiment and
Wesely felt that it had worked well. His next experiment was even more
ambitious.
Faced with a larger group than
usual that were due to arrive at his parents’ house for their regular gaming
session, Wesely decided to try something that he had wanted to do for a while
to further investigate the idea of multiple players with multiple military
objectives. He called it “Braunstein”. It was a German town commanding a
strategic position at a bridge over the Braunwasser River. He set up a twelve
by six foot tabletop with models, terrain and buildings and waited for people
to arrive. The table that he used is pictured in the magazine photo above. As
people began arriving he briefed them each individually as to their roles
during the upcoming game. The first guest was told that he was a captain in the
French Lancers and that he had been sent to the town in disguise without his
unit, to reconnoitre the area. The next
guest was told he was the head of the Prussian Jaegers unit that would be sent
to reinforce the town of Braunstein, but that he had arrived before the troops.
The next player was the mayor of Braunstein and he was told that there had been
a student riot the night before, which had been harshly put down by the chief
of police. The tavern owners were demanding compensation or the head of the
police chief. The chancellor of the university was demanding the release of the
arrested students. And so it went on. More and more players were given civilian
roles, including the Baron of Braunstein and the chief banker. Wesely also did
something deliberately provocative. He gave roles that would naturally involve
the highest level of cooperation to people whom he knew did not get on well,
and he made sure that the players who were the most friendly with each other
received roles that had mutually exclusive agendas.
Wesely fully expected that the
civilian interaction would continue up until a point and then the players would
go back to “pushing lead around the table”. He also had in mind an intricate
scoring system for the nine or so roles for which he had planned. He decided to
run the game entirely from another room where he had a map of the battlefield.
The idea was that each player would come into the room and communicate their
next move to him. This turned out to be a very naïve and impractical method for
trying to run the game. To make matters worse, he had been expecting and had
arranged roles for about nine people. Cracks began to show when twenty-two
people arrived at the house. He began improvising roles to meet the player
demand, and the mayhem began.
The players ignored the request
to take turns to give their instructions to the referee. They began coming in
to the room where Wesely was sitting, out of turn. A colonel of the Jaegers and
the captain of the university fencing team arrived and informed Wesely that
they wished to fight a duel. They demanded a rule system which would enable
them to do so. Wesely improvised a fighting system allowing the student to roll
2d6 and the soldier 3d6. Unsurprisingly the student fencing champion was
carried out on a slab.
When Wesely went back into the
main room he was amazed to find that all the players were fully, and vocally
interacting with each other in ways he had never contemplated, without giving
their instructions through him as the referee. The university chancellor was
busy sabotaging the old cannon that stood at the entrance to the university.
Wesely had completely lost control of the game, and he saw it as a disaster. At
about two o’clock in the morning Wesely called the players together and
apologised for the fact that the game had become completely out of hand and
that he, as referee, had failed in that he had no idea who had won the game. The
reaction of the players surprised him deeply. They were not upset or angry.
They all claimed to have enjoyed the game. Wesely didn’t realise it but he had
stumbled upon an entirely new form of game, a game where victory or defeat was
not the object nor was it essential to enjoyment. The old adage was indeed true
in this type of game, it was not whether you won or lost, but how you played
the game that mattered.
Wesely had run the Braunstein
game during the holidays because he was then attending graduate school. After
the game he went back to school. When he returned home he was met with requests
as to when the next Braunstein game would be played. When he returned to school
he began planning Braunstein 2. He decided that this time he would not lose
control. None of the players would take even the smallest step without going
through him. He created a list of actions available to the players which they
were going to have to stick to. This game would not result in chaos, he told
himself, and he would, at the end of the game, be able to work out who had won.
Four people played the game. It was dreadful. He made some slight changes and
tried Braunstein 3 with some friends. It too was terrible. Wesely went away and
analysed the games he had run. He came to a fairly startling revelation. “The
key thing was to let them do what they wanted to do. Never mind who wins.”
By 1969 much of Wesely’s time was
taken up by graduate school. Arneson had become a student and history major at
the University of Minnesota, majoring in the subject that was his passion,
Napoleonic History. As a student he had begun to run regular games from his
home. He was an active participant in roleplaying exercises in his history
classes and became the bane of certain lecturers by insisting on altering
historical events, during roleplay, in an effort to add interesting and
sometimes bizarre alterations of history. He was coming to the realisation that
he enjoyed acting, and story telling. These two attributes were never more
vividly demonstrated than during the next game run by David Wesely.
On a holiday break Wesely decided
to run another Braunstein-type game for his friends. This one was set in a
mythical latin American dictatorship on the brink of revolution, and would be
called “Banana Republic”. All the players would be participants in a struggle
for control and had the freedom to influence what the ultimate outcome would
be. Once again, certain players would not have any military units under their
control. They would represent only a single individual. One such player was
Dave Arneson. He had been given the role of a provocateur whose job it was to
distribute pro-revolutionary pamphlets. Wesely had worked out a balanced
scoring system to enable each player to earn points. Arneson’s character would
receive points for every leaflet he handed out. When Arneson arrived for the
game, he was already ahead of it. He had dressed up. He carried a real
briefcase containing real pamphlets. What is more he had created a replica set
of C.I.A credentials, indicating that his character was actually an undercover
agent. Then he set to work. He acted, he cajoled, he spoke in character,
flashing his Agency credentials whenever he got into a tight spot. He became
the star of the game, eventually convincing the Minister of the Treasury to pay
him a million dollars, and arranging for a helicopter to airlift him out of the
city just before the first shots rang out. When he was reminded that he
received points only for every leaflet he distributed Arneson announced that he
was opening his briefcase out of the window of the chopper and letting the
downdraft of the rotors do the rest.
Points or no points, everyone
agreed. Arneson had “won”. Of course he had not won, but he had stuck his neck
out as a roleplayer, and showed his fellow players just how much fun it could
be.
Banana Republic was the last game
of its type that Wesely designed and refereed. Thereafter it was Arneson who
took up the mantle. He ran his own versions of the Banana Republic/Braunstein
game. One of the youngest of the players who had by then gravitated to
Arneson’s group in 1969 was Mike Carr. Carr was from St. Paul and still a
schoolboy, but was fascinated by strategy wargames when he met Arneson. In 1966
he had seen the movie “The Blue Max”, about fighter pilots during World War I,
and it had piqued his interest in that era of warfare. The first historical
wargame that he played was Avalon Hill’s “U-Boat”. Carr had also begun putting
together a boardgame to simulate the aerial combat so dramatically depicted in
The Blue Max, which he called “Fight in the Sky”.
In Arneson’s Banana Republic game
Carr was given the role of Chief of the Airforce in the small South American
dictatorship in which the game was set. The lofty position meant he had under
his command a single helicopter.
After his own version of Banana
Republic Arneson ran another game, with the anglicised title “Brownstone”. This
time the setting was a Wild Western Town during the gold rush, with players
representing, the railway barons, the disaffected sheriff, the native Indians
and many others. Carr himself was given the role of a retired gunslinger who
had found the good book and started a small church in the town of Brownstone.
Carr enjoyed both Braunstein games run by Arneson, and marvelled at the
student’s remarkable ability to add colour and drama in the way he used his
imagination to referee the games.
Carr also played World War II
simulations run by Arneson. For these they used a set of rules called “Modern
War in Miniature” by Michael F. Korns. This book was published in 1966. It
proposed rules for running World War II era battles. It was interesting because
it proposed the use of a referee, in the same mould as recommended by Totten,
but also included rules for single soldier combat. In these rules players each
controlled a single combatant, and gave instructions to the referee as to what
that combatant was doing from one moment to the next.
What impressed Carr the most
about Arneson was his capacity to deal with intimidating volumes of
information. This was nowhere more evident than in the Napoleonic campaign that
Arneson ran, and in which Carr got to play an active role. Over twenty players
took part in the campaign. Each controlled a major political interest in Europe
during the time of Napoleon. Each player was charged with the full gamut of
diplomacy and political grand strategy for their faction. All play resolved
through the referee Arneson who received messages from each player and effected
their orders on maps and detailed notes that he kept. When the interactions
invariably resulted in military engagements, on land or at sea, they were run
as wargames on Arneson’s table at home, using a variety of rules systems, some
borrowed, and some invented. It was a massive and daunting undertaking.
Arneson’s intellectual abilities and vast knowledge of Napoleonic history were
the only things that made it possible.
Carr was the leader of the
Barbary Pirates and also took a role as a commander of a portion of the French
navy. He loved the game, which went on for years, and marvelled at the
referee’s ability to keep control of the participants, their own commands and
their interpretations of the historical events that underpinned the military
engagements of the age.
During the 1960’s David Wesely
had wandered untrod paths in a dark metaphorical forest, and come to a
undiscovered clearing. He had enjoyed its strange beauty for a while but found
it unsettling, and walked back to the parts of the wood he knew better. Wesely
was called up to active military duty in 1970, and began a long and successful
career as a military man, eventually attaining the rank of Major. But when he
left the strange part of the wood, he had left Dave Arneson there. Arneson had
stayed, fascinated by its beauty and its potential to birth something new. In
the years to come Wesely would occasionally return and check in on his friend.
On several occasions in the early 1970’s Wesely would play in games run by
Arneson, but the undiscovered part of the woods had become Dave’s kingdom and
the game they played would be something new.
In Dave Arneson there had emerged
a creative spark which gave him the dual talents of acting and story telling.
But he was soon to meet and ignite a firebrand.
Friday, 9 March 2012
D&D Next and the thorny issue of Class
I have beenspending some time over the last month or so, particpating in the debate on the WOTC sites as to what should be in the next version of D&D. I have also been scouring the web for details (scant as they are) regarding the limited playtest that was conducted at The D&D Expereince.
Every time a new version of the game comes out the issues around class benefits often boil down to the question "Are classes necessary?" On the assumption that classes will be deemed to be necessary (and this is a fair assumption considering the desire to draw in older gamers back to the hobby), WOTC will need to work our what the essence of each class is. They want to give each class an ability or two that defines the class, and which will not be available to other classes either directly or indirectly (such as through a feat or skill choice combination). This is particularly true if they implement the proposed system that makes skills a modular optionl rule set, and allows basic play using Ability scores only.
My view is that for some classes this is easy, while for others its really difficult. What do you think are the defining characteristics for the classes set out below? You can be general or specific and please say if you think a particular class, lacks any defining ability, because then it probably shouldn't be a class at all. I have put my views in blue, do feel free to add you own in a different colour.
Cleric - Healing, Turning Undead, Limited weapon choice
Fighter - Most weapons and armour, better chance to hit and more damage
Rogue - Backstab, More access to better skills
Wizard - Pre-pared spells every day from a spell book
Sorcerer - Spells without a spell book, Spells change the sorcerer over the levels
Warlock - Pact with powerful entity grants power (could probably be a sub-class of sorcerer)
Bard - Enchantment spells and Jack of all trades
Barbarian - Rage and damage reduction, penalty for armour
Ranger - Favoured enemy, woodskills (Always worried me that the ranger kinds doesn't inhabit it own space outised of "Like Aragorn")
Paladin - Good aligned, warrior, lay on hands
Druid - Cleric with nature spells, turns into animal
Assassin - Sneaky skills allow more dangerous crits
Monk - Weaponless combat, high saves, no armour
Avenger - No really defining feature
Psion - Uses mind power instead of magic
Warlord - Fighter with organisational abilities
Sunday, 22 January 2012
The Journey of D&D - My Experience
With yet another version of D&D in the wind, Chatty, at Critical Hits is doing a regular piece on his experience of the various versions, and how that expereince differed, and asking others to provide theirs. This was the response I posted at Critical Hits. I plan to post another for each of the versions of the game that I have played.
AD&D (or 1st Edition)
For me it was like this:
Age Range when played : 12-18
Nostalgia Factor: Very High
Rules Mastery: Moderate
Living in South Africa, in the early eighties meant isolation (with no web and economic sanctions). I got word of this game called Dungeons and Dragons through movies and in particular reading the novel written from the screenplay of the movie E.T. (Anyone remember the D&D references in that? I’m not sure they were very clear in the opening scene of the film itself).
Then a kid from the States made the mistake of coming to high school and made the further dreadful mistake of mentioning to me that he had played D&D back home. For the whole of 1983 I hounded him, armed with a note book, and tried to wring every piece of information about the game out of him. In retrospect, he was very obliging, and showed no more than the slightest signs of irritation. The game sounded so fascinating, that it captivated me, before I read any of the books. By the second half of ’83 I had drawn about 50 dungeon maps on graph paper and had created my own version of D&D, which was essentially the Lord of the Rings, represented in the form of a table (actually about 60 tables). Merely trying to explain my tables to anyone was a labour that required extreme effort on the part of the unlucky listener. Needless to say, I never got to play my game, and by the end of the year I had become frustrated and slighly despondent.
This ended abruptly when I came across the AD&D PHB on the bottom shelf of the hobbies section in a local book store. It seems the gods had smiled on me, and I instantly began behaving irrationally and begging a family member to buy it for me, offering all manner of bizarre repayment terms, while beseaching her to buy it before anyone else entered the shop. Even the cashier tried to discourage me, by saying she had no idea of what the book was, and didn’t I want to buy somthing else. I knew what was, and I wasn’t going to let it go.
When I went back to boarding school at the beginning of 1984, the world was different. I had spent the Christmas break reading the book form cover to cover. What I loved most about it was how arcane it seemed. As I read I felt I was being let in to some hugely important secret. Now converting people was easy. I merely had to show them the book and they would become absorbed. A group of about six of us had already begun planning our first game when we came across the DMG in a local toy store. We all clubbed in and bought it and our first dungeon crawl started a few days later.
Sam, a friend of mine agreed to be DM. He had a map on graph paper and great imagination. He also understood how to create tension, and how to deliver a story. I played a Half-Elven assassin. Several amazing things happened in the game, including a 3/3 split between the party members which he ran in two separate groups. He then contrived to have the two groups meet up at precisly the place in the underground caverns where the adventure became an underground river trip, and where there was only one boat. Suddenly we were facing a PvP fight in our very first game. It was simply amazing to me that these things could happen in this wonderful game. My side lost and I, the only survivor, was taken captive. What speaks most for that game, and for Sam’s natural talent at DMing, was that the two players whose characters had been killed came to every subsequent game session, just to watch. Unfortunately the rowing boat was later attacked, and capsized, and being tied up hand and foot, I went into the water and drowned. There were no dice rolled. Sam just said “Well, your feet and hands are soundly tied, naturally you are going to go rown”. He then described the feeling of sinking steadily deeper into this dark subterranean river, as the light above got fainter and fainter. I accepted this, because it just made sense.
I too then became a spectator and watched the rest of the game. As you can probably tell it was one of the most memorable I have ever played in. Possibly the most memorable.
I played AD&D until 1989 and throughout that period was DM and played games run by several different DMs. What struck me the most was that the game experience in those days varied from average, to mind-blowing based entirely on the skill and personality of the DM. While the later systems ushered in more logic and certainty to the rules system, I feel they also started to muzzle some of the DM’s on the upper end of that spectrum. I have enjoyed all the versions since, but have never seen DM’s, like Sam, who, given creative freedom and a sense that they were truly not wedded to the rules system, could really create magic.
AD&D (or 1st Edition)
For me it was like this:
Age Range when played : 12-18
Nostalgia Factor: Very High
Rules Mastery: Moderate
Living in South Africa, in the early eighties meant isolation (with no web and economic sanctions). I got word of this game called Dungeons and Dragons through movies and in particular reading the novel written from the screenplay of the movie E.T. (Anyone remember the D&D references in that? I’m not sure they were very clear in the opening scene of the film itself).
Then a kid from the States made the mistake of coming to high school and made the further dreadful mistake of mentioning to me that he had played D&D back home. For the whole of 1983 I hounded him, armed with a note book, and tried to wring every piece of information about the game out of him. In retrospect, he was very obliging, and showed no more than the slightest signs of irritation. The game sounded so fascinating, that it captivated me, before I read any of the books. By the second half of ’83 I had drawn about 50 dungeon maps on graph paper and had created my own version of D&D, which was essentially the Lord of the Rings, represented in the form of a table (actually about 60 tables). Merely trying to explain my tables to anyone was a labour that required extreme effort on the part of the unlucky listener. Needless to say, I never got to play my game, and by the end of the year I had become frustrated and slighly despondent.
This ended abruptly when I came across the AD&D PHB on the bottom shelf of the hobbies section in a local book store. It seems the gods had smiled on me, and I instantly began behaving irrationally and begging a family member to buy it for me, offering all manner of bizarre repayment terms, while beseaching her to buy it before anyone else entered the shop. Even the cashier tried to discourage me, by saying she had no idea of what the book was, and didn’t I want to buy somthing else. I knew what was, and I wasn’t going to let it go.
When I went back to boarding school at the beginning of 1984, the world was different. I had spent the Christmas break reading the book form cover to cover. What I loved most about it was how arcane it seemed. As I read I felt I was being let in to some hugely important secret. Now converting people was easy. I merely had to show them the book and they would become absorbed. A group of about six of us had already begun planning our first game when we came across the DMG in a local toy store. We all clubbed in and bought it and our first dungeon crawl started a few days later.
Sam, a friend of mine agreed to be DM. He had a map on graph paper and great imagination. He also understood how to create tension, and how to deliver a story. I played a Half-Elven assassin. Several amazing things happened in the game, including a 3/3 split between the party members which he ran in two separate groups. He then contrived to have the two groups meet up at precisly the place in the underground caverns where the adventure became an underground river trip, and where there was only one boat. Suddenly we were facing a PvP fight in our very first game. It was simply amazing to me that these things could happen in this wonderful game. My side lost and I, the only survivor, was taken captive. What speaks most for that game, and for Sam’s natural talent at DMing, was that the two players whose characters had been killed came to every subsequent game session, just to watch. Unfortunately the rowing boat was later attacked, and capsized, and being tied up hand and foot, I went into the water and drowned. There were no dice rolled. Sam just said “Well, your feet and hands are soundly tied, naturally you are going to go rown”. He then described the feeling of sinking steadily deeper into this dark subterranean river, as the light above got fainter and fainter. I accepted this, because it just made sense.
I too then became a spectator and watched the rest of the game. As you can probably tell it was one of the most memorable I have ever played in. Possibly the most memorable.
I played AD&D until 1989 and throughout that period was DM and played games run by several different DMs. What struck me the most was that the game experience in those days varied from average, to mind-blowing based entirely on the skill and personality of the DM. While the later systems ushered in more logic and certainty to the rules system, I feel they also started to muzzle some of the DM’s on the upper end of that spectrum. I have enjoyed all the versions since, but have never seen DM’s, like Sam, who, given creative freedom and a sense that they were truly not wedded to the rules system, could really create magic.
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