Being in the Main the Mouth of Olde House Rules

Tuesday, August 1, 2017

Homunculi (for Diceless Dungeons)...

OK, no dissertation this week, just a little something for Diceless Dungeons; a sorcerous companion that can be magically fashioned, albeit with difficulty, from a forbidden tome that will only be found on adventures (a dragon's hoard perhaps)...

Click on the above link to get this creature (item?) in pdf form.  But also read on to consider the special role of the homunculus in a quasi-medieval world setting...  

Now, this ruleset doesn't go into too much detail about its implied setting, and this is by design (the referee should be free to create whatever they wish).  However, it does suggest something vaguely medieval; a place where magic is rare and, more importantly, widely feared and mistrusted.  That said, any magical writing is going to be exceedingly rare and probably forbidden, and while the homunculus so created offers obvious advantages, clever referees should avoid the tired assumption that magic (and at the very least, magic of this sort) can be practiced with impunity.  All power comes at a price.

That being said, going about in public with a miniature demon on one's shoulder is sure to attract the wrong sort of attention, and even the act of hunkering down for days at a time performing strange rituals will doubtless alert religious authorities!  None of this has anything to do with special rules and everything to do with proper role-playing, which we've always maintained was diceless to its very core.  So roll your minds and get busy playing!

Tuesday, July 25, 2017

My First Time (Toys Without Tots)...

Remember your first time?  The excitement?  The sweat?  No, not that first time.  The other first time.  I mean, when you first realized that you were a gamer

So, testimonial.  The story of my first time (minus the sweat)...

Back in the sixth grade, I used to catch the bus on a street corner just one block away from where I lived.  We'd been there for years, and I clearly remember walking to elementary school and passing my future bus stop every day.  Hell, I even remember doing the math and calculating how old I'd be in the year 2000, getting the numbers right, but utterly failing to anticipate home computers and the whole Y2K thing.  But yeah, I knew that I'd turn 33 in that future time and was pretty sure I wouldn't get that awesome flying car...

But back in 1978, I found something better.  I found role-playing.

Now, I was a sixth-grader and in the process of outliving my interest in toys.  Sort of.  The truth was, I was still interested in play, but I didn't know how to channel it.  I liked models and still appreciated my Shogun Warriors and Star Wars action figures.  In short, I still loved the stuff of childhood play, but didn't have clue one about what to do with any of that...

Check out these toys.  I mean, who could resist?
(Image courtesy of the talented painter: The Mighty Eroc)

Play without toys?  Adult play?  I craved some mythical next step...  

OK, so, back to the bus stop.  It sat on the driveway of a house on a corner lot.  And sometimes, usually on warm summer nights over the previous season, the garage door was open to reveal people playing something around an elaborate tabletop diorama.  I was intrigued.  And yes, it was a war-game.  But my curious inquiries led me to a friend and his older brother who was becoming interested in a new kind of war-game called D&D.  And so it began.  My first character was Elvor the Slayer, an elf in the old-school, meaning he could alternate between fighter and magic user between adventures.  He died in old-school fashion, but the genie (so to speak) was already out of the bottle and doing stuff. 

So I was a role-player now.  It was a Saturday afternoon in early Autumn.  We were still rubbing summer out of our eyes, and there was lots of pre-game chatter about Star Wars and the latest episode of Buck Rogers coming on that night.  And there was also an adventure; something about exploring the ruins of a crypt.  But what I really remember is rolling up my character and getting a 14 intelligence.  Exciting stuff.  And then there was the game.  It was like playing with really cool toys in my mind.  Only the best toys ever...

We fought some kobolds and got a quick (and rather brutal) lesson in why we needed to search for traps and carefully explain everything we were doing.  There was surprisingly little combat, but I staggered away with 2 HP and decided I was wearing my armor next time, although my one spell had helped us stay alive.  It was chaotic, crazy stuff.  And I was totally hooked.  My love of play had survived adolescence, and I found out who I was.

Now, to be clear, I'm a lot of things.  Most more important than gamer.  But my first time, happily devoid of awkward backseat acrobatics, was still a critical (and accurate) revelation... 

Tuesday, July 18, 2017

That Rule Ain't Old-School! (Not!)

Nothing too big, folks.  Yours truly is sleeping off a weekend at KantCon, where we play tested an upcoming adventure for Diceless Dungeons.  We had a great table with a fantastic group who creatively overcame terrible challenges and made me work for it, and Robyn joined the fun as an exiled noblewoman tasked with defending these reluctant heroes (they were all criminal, you see).  The Realm was saved and fun was had by all.

But now we're back, and I'm ready to tackle that old debate about what makes an OSR game, not by arguing its definition (I've already made it clear where I stand), but by discussing something I think doesn't make a good basis for one.  Namely, specific game play mechanics!  Now, I bring this up because a few weeks ago, someone argued against a certain game (as belonging to the OSR) because it employed dice pools.  I mean, c'mon people!  Dice pools are a modern idea, right?  New-school nonsense...

Wrong!  Dice pools go back to Tunnels & Trolls from 1975, making them old-school.

The court finds Ghostbusters
"Not Guilty" of being the first dice pool system to hit the 

streets (and the shelves).  It just wasn't...

Which brings up an important fact.  OD&D may have been the first commercially available game.  But rival systems began springing up almost immediately in its wake.  Moreover, the mechanical diversity of these early games was truly immense.  Kind of like the Cambrian explosion.  So here's a list of RPGs, each one released within five years of OD&D, and the innovations they wrought (and before their so-called time, might I add)...

Bunnies & Burrows (1976) - Likely the first skill-based RPG (a break from class)
Chivalry & Sorcery (1977) - Employed phobias (flaws) that would feature in later D&D
RuneQuest (1978) - An early percentile and roll under system.  Also, classless magic use
Superhero: 2044 (1977) - Divided points between ability scores instead of rolling dice
Traveller (1977) - Introduced life paths vs. class, but also employed target numbers
Tunnels & Trolls (1975) - Resolved combat by means of the aforementioned dice pools  
Villains and Vigilantes (1977) - Had pulled punches and other complex combat feats  

The fact is, there were many creative people ready to pounce on this new idea and build upon it with smart innovations.  And thus, we have dice pools almost from the start and shouldn't appropriate them for "modern" gaming exclusively, however intuitive that thought might seem.  Oh, and it does make the methodological OSR seem appealing...

Flaws seem pretty new-school,
but Chivalry & Sorcery had them (phobias) well
ahead of modern D&D.  Just sayin'...

I mean, if every mechanical approach was there right from the beginning, the only way to designate "old-school" in any meaningful way is to focus on specific systems (D&D) and the retro-cloning of the same.  Or old-school approaches to game design.

And I do accept that a methodological core exists.  But its boundaries aren't fixed.  The core has an outer periphery that overlaps the greater hobby; an overlap made up of hallmark approaches and assumptions that may or may not be shared by later systems, but that were still there from the start.  Approaches that have been abandoned by some new schools of thought.  I've already covered this.  But I'll say again that games that deliberately take up an old-school approach deserve a place in the OSR or in some adjacent category.  

But if there's nothing new under the sun, then what ideas are new-school?  I'd say three things at least, although I'm sure I'm also wrong about some of them:

(1) Consolidated mechanics (something D&D and its early peers weren't guilty of), 

(2) A tendency to automate social interactions and/or problem solving, and... 

(3) Breaking down the traditional division of labor between players and the referee and, in general, a greater tendency to approach the rules (and not the referee) as a final authority while making everyone co-equal partners within an emerging gameplay narrative.

At any rate, what's new is old, because innovation abounded in the early gaming scene, which saw a major creative explosion within its first ten years that isn't over by a long shot! 

Tuesday, July 11, 2017

The Methodological OSR?

So there's this ongoing discussion (and one fairly recently) about the OSR (Old-School Renaissance) and what it means or should mean, or whatever.  And sometimes, it devolves into horrifying exchanges by people who I can only assume labor under the delusion that gaming, however fun, is, well, important.  That is, important enough to brutally attack anyone over.  Watching mutual friends fight (not debate, that's another matter) over something as trivial as games where we pretend to be elves is sad at best.  Usually, it happens when someone insults someone else, and it quickly ceases being about the hobby and more about the fight, which is inevitable.  And sadly, I've gotten pulled in myself. 

This is troubling because I'd really like to see everyone on good terms.  And because our hobby should unite people.  That said, I'm feeling a bit self-destructive this week and think I'll weigh in.  This is just my opinion, and if yours differs, that's cool.  I'm not one for labeling those who disagree (or game) differently from me with distasteful epithets unless they map to dreadful behavior outside of gaming.  It's just food for thought and debate...

OK, so the Urban Dictionary defines old-school as:

"Anything that is from an earlier era and looked upon with high regard or respect."

Of course, that's painting in pretty broad strokes.  But in tabletop role-playing, it means the earliest state of the hobby and the games as they were played back in the day.  So yes, OD&D is old-school because it was the first commercially available role-playing game.  It's all a matter of timing, and if Shadowrun were (somehow) the first published system, we'd be calling that old-school.  That's not the way it happened, and we can't ignore our history.  But I point this out because it shows just how subjective "system-as-old-school" can be.

This matters a lot because the OSR began as a "D&D Preservation Society" committed to resurrecting older editions of that venerable game through retro-clones.  Later, this expanded to other early systems, be it RuneQuest, Traveler or whatever.  This is fine; moreover, I don't wish to denigrate any of these fine products (we've had quite a bit of fun with some of them, and that speaks for itself).  But there are some who want to say that these early games define the boundaries and parameters of the OSR, which I'm not so sure about.

Although we disagree with their
more fanatical voices, the gatekeepers do
have a point when taken in context...

To these gatekeepers, the OSR means retro-clones of early games, like White Box, or variations, be it Lamentations of the Flame Princess, White Star, or whatever.  And there's something to this, actually.  Back in the day, D&D was the common language, and each campaign, with their innumerable house-rules, was a regional dialect.  Sure, it's sometimes hard to hear through a thick southern drawl.  But once you get the hang of it, you realize everyone is still speaking English.  So yeah, this element really preserves something of the old-school environment and much of what I personally remember from 1978.     

Call it the methodological OSR.  And yeah, this rightly matters because, as at least one gatekeeper put it, you can't just stamp "OSR" and anything and pass it off.  Sure, I'll concede the point.  I mean, the OSR has to stand for something, am I right?

But then, are specific systems the only thing about the hobby that can be old-school?  What about the assumptions, approach to subject matter, and design philosophy of the early games.  Can't they also be considered old-school?  Especially since they can change (and obviously have).  I mean, 4th Edition D&D isn't an OSR game.  But why not?

Now, some have balked at these things as irrelevant.  For instance, the division of labor between the GM and the players was there from the start.  Technically, it's old-school.  But we're still doing this today and in contemporary games.  Even so, this fact is pretty much inevitable.  Homo erectus was an old-school human, but their genes live on in homo sapiens because it's an evolutionary process.  And I shouldn't have to point out that many newer systems (story games, in particular) are veering hard from this model.

Call it the philosophical OSR.  The idea that old-school can also be about the overall approach to design even in an otherwise original system.  And moreover, the idea that this can still inform a potential buyer and steer them towards systems they'll like...

If you lived in the 60s/70s, this
was the popular depiction of elves, and
Tolkien's original artwork readily
invoked these old-world conceptions...

Our hobby developed organically from Braunstein and Blackmoor.  These were games people actually played and developed from the ground up.  And this fact, alone, necessarily implies certain (perhaps inevitable) qualities, including the following...  

(1) The rules were just a guide for the referee to build their own campaign.

(2) Greater emphasis was placed on personal decision-making and problem solving, and conscious effort was made not to automate these processes with spot checks (or whatever) whenever possible.  These were games of strategy, after all.

(3) The referee had the final say because their job was to create a believable world, and this meant putting many things beyond the players.  And if the players hoped to change things, they had to do it through their characters and the choices they made by proxy.

(4) Things were approached from the perspective(s) of those living at the time.  Believe me, four decades of role-playing has given rise to many abiding conventions; among them, the idea that dwarves are miniature Vikings with a Scottish accent.  But back then, dwarves were more often based on the stuff of 19th century fairy tales.  You know, impish little people with colorful cloaks.  Look at the elf on page 32 of OD&D's Men & Magic booklet or the various depictions in TSR's Swords & Spells.  It was all tasseled hats and curly-toed shoes because back then, that's the antiquated lens we saw demi-humans through.

(5) And finally, production was amateur and primitive because that's all one could do.  But it nonetheless paid big dividends.  It felt accessible, like a peer-to-peer exercise.

But what if you grew up in the 70s and want to design games in that mold?  Games that might have been published back then.  Original mechanics derived from bona fide wargaming approaches of the time.  Games that emphasize decision-making and problem solving over the mechanical resolution of things that ought to be left to the players.  Games that approach their subject matter from the head of a 70s-occupant.  Oh, and rulebooks that deliberately emulate "amateur" design and production to top off the illusion.  Games that do #1-5, above, because they represent an intentional (and legitimate) design strategy...   

Would this be old-school?  Maybe.  Maybe not.  But if so, it belongs in the OSR!

Now obviously, quite a few modern games embrace at least some of the above and do so deliberately.  And, not surprisingly, many appeal to fans of the OSR.  So let's turn the hat over, shall we, because if you're a game publisher who does this by design, you'd be out of your ever-lovin' mind not to reach out to the OSR community.  After all, its devotees are more likely to appreciate your approach.  Oh, and buy and play your games!  That said, if you're designing specifically to appeal to these sensibilities, you belong to a wing of the OSR, even if it's just its philosophical wing.  But then, our foundational principles matter.

So is the OSR a methodological or philosophical thing?  In the end, I'd argue that it's both!

Wednesday, July 5, 2017

A Barons of Braunstein Update!

Today we've released an updated and expanded Barons of Braunstein, adding two new appendices to round out the game, especially in the realms of combat and historical magic, because each of these was central to the medieval mindset... 

So first off, the new and improved Appendix II (Tactical Combat) offers alternate rules for greater lethality reminiscent of what we attempted in Opherian Scrolls, but also a table of situational modifiers tied to specific weapons when wielded in certain ways.  Now combat is faster and more deadly.  But only when the characters (and their enemies) can position themselves for maximum advantage and stay alert.  Thus, individual weapons matter more and without sacrificing the game's trademark simplicity and ease of play.

Next, Appendix III: Diving Spirits, introduces period-specific divination, whether reading entrails or casting runes.  And even Christian characters might receive visions in the mystic tradition.  Now this is a historical game, so every effort has been made to ensure that this can be interpreted as mere coincidence (much as it doubtless was in the real world) or taken as the real thing.  And if true sorcery and witchcraft are allowed, the new appendix goes into greater detail about culture-specific spirits and the limits of their knowledge when questioned, whether talking to the dead, foul demons, or immortal faerie spirits.

The expansion adds simple rules
to make combat faster, more lethal, and better
tied to the weapon(s) used...  

So there's history.  And magic.  And now there's historical magic; and here, the judge is encouraged to hit the books and build the sort of chronicle they want in the best game setting imaginable.  Real history in the real world of flesh-and-blood toil and intrigue. 

Now, we'd thought about adding a bestiary because, after all, these were considered scholarly truth back in the day.  But every time we tried, it ended up feeling like a fantasy game, and we've already published three pure fantasy-themed RPGs.  So a passing mention of magic and witchcraft?  Sure.  It's always possible that all the magic, faith, and appeals were little more than coincidence.  But even full-on sorcery is limited and understated, putting real history front and center.  And if you really want monsters, the gameplay mechanic is roughly compatible with Blood of Pangea, and we could totally see taking its monsters for a Game of Thrones-styled setting with ease!  In fact, some are already doing so...

After playtesting and putting it all together, Barons now feels complete, although we do plan on releasing a special hardcover edition complete with additional resources for discerning collectors wanting something special for their bookshelves (and their tables).

This is an update, so if you've already bought it, this is a FREE expansion to your OBS library.  But if you're new to all this, it's a great way to spend your $2.49.  Barons of Braunstein is Licensed by David Wesely, creator of the original Braunstein game and one of the founding fathers of the role-playing hobby.  So if history's your bag, check it out here...

Tuesday, June 27, 2017

Victims of Torture (Gaming Edition)...

Ok, so death happens in games.  That's a given.  But maybe there are fates worse than death, at least while it's happening.  And maybe instead of death, your character is tortured, whether at the hands of their enemies or even the long arm of the law...  

Torture.  The very word conjures up horrific images of racks, thumbscrews, and the iron maiden (not the band, we're good with that).  Humans are very good at hurting one another, that's for sure.  But as bad as we are, most fantasy worlds are inhabited by creatures that personify evil itself.  Think orcs and giants driven by cruelty and the love of violence.  Short of that, there's plenty of human villains who delight in the suffering of others, especially when they hold a grudge and a hated nemesis falls into their hands.

But it wasn't just the bad guys.  In a medieval society, torture was a tool of local law enforcement, and those caught stealing or instigating a barroom brawl might end up in the stocks (if they're lucky) or maybe receive lashes (not so lucky) in the town square. 

Which is to say, unlucky characters just might find themselves tortured... 

Torture could break the body,
badly, but also the spirit and will to fight...

So first off, let's be clear that many tortures were really executions designed to prolong the suffering, although ultimately ending in death.  Here, the goal was to kill, and the best a victim could hope for was to die quickly or somehow be rescued.  And we'd be remiss in our duties if we didn't list a few here (not a complete one for sure, but a decent survey):

RAT TORTURES (gasp!) involved tying the victim flat on their back and placing an iron basket full of live rats on their chest.  Delightful, but we're not done.  Next, the basket was heated, causing the confused and panicked vermin to tunnel through the softest, most yielding surface (i.e., the victim).  Not a good way to die.  And it's easy to imagine sadistic GMs having a captured character subjected to this.  Maybe 1-2 damage per round until dead or rescued?  The thought of playing this out might seem unnecessarily cruel, but if the possibility of imminent rescue exists, why not pull out all the stops?

And there's the additional challenge that if the victim is recovered, they'll be injured and probably too weak to  walk (or maybe reduced to 10'-20' per round with help).  For the victim, troubles don't end with mere rescue.  And assisting an almost helpless friend through an enemy fortress teeming with alerted guards can be a challenging experience.  All of this is gaming fodder on steroids.  And the stuff of Game of Thrones and actual history...

SAW TORTURES were just awful.  Really.  The victim was hung upside down and sawed from the groin downward in hopes that blood going to their head would keep them from losing consciousness.  Ouch.  And while a daring rescue was theoretically possible, once the saw hits the pelvis, the victim is off their feet for weeks and, barring  magic, slowed (again, 10'-20' per round) and permanently out of the adventuring business more likely than not.  Just for fun, let's say 1d6 per round, with the pelvis breached after 1d6 minutes of work, which means it's definitely not for the squeamish or the faint of heart.  Or anyone, really...

The lash was a terrible punishment,
but one that could be survived, albeit with scarring...

Of course, other tortures were meant to extract intelligence, although the victim was often put to death once the desired information was obtained.  Standouts here include:

THUMB SCREWS were vices tightened around the thumbs (or other appendages) and gradually tightened until the subject spilled the beans.  Deliver 1-2 damage per turn of the vice (once per round as the interrogator plies their trade), with saving dice (vs. poison or maybe a wisdom/willpower save, where applicable) each round after the third to avoid saying too much.  And assuming the character is eventually released or somehow rescued, fine manipulation is out of the question for 2d6 days (+1 per turn of the screw).

Finally, and perhaps most relevantly, other tortures were designed to keep the victim alive and deter future indiscretions.  This was often the case with law enforcement or in the military, especially, and most infamously, the navy.  And the big winner here is:

FLOGGING (feared by all) was administered by having the victim's hands tied to a post, baring their back, and then having at it with a whip!  Typically, it was something like 20 lashes.  Enough to get the point across, but not enough to kill, although it probably did feel quite a bit like death.  Assume here 1 damage per blow, and if the victim gets to zero hit points, they fall unconscious.  Barring magic, a flailed victim cannot easily walk without some assistance, per the above, or perform any feats (fighting, stealth, or spell casting) for 2d6 weeks, pretty much putting them out of commission.  Oh, and they cannot heal more than 1 point per full day of rest.  Period.  Gives a person time to think, doesn't it?     

Now imagine a band of marauding orcs attacking a party, triumphing, and robbing them blind.  But instead of killing them, they string up one unlucky character, administering the lash before departing with their possessions.  Now this really is the stuff of nightmares...

Of course, all of this is just a survey.  There were many methods of torture.  Too many, unfortunately.  But the important takeaway here is that (1) torture happened, (2) it had lasting physical impacts, and (3) it was clearly traumatic.  And if your game seems right for this, torture is an alternative to death, albeit a terrible one, and a source of gameplay challenge!

Tuesday, June 20, 2017

On the Origin of the (Demi-Human) Species...

Face it, most of us in fantasy games (sci-fi is another matter) imagine humanity, and the various non-human races, as products of a special creation by their gods.  Mankind has many competing deities, so it's easier to see them as them arising through natural processes and being fought over.  But demi-humans, perhaps by virtue of their more homogenous pantheons, almost have to be specifically created beings.  But do they really?

This week, we explore the idea of demi-humans as the products of evolution :    

DWARVES arose well before humanity (but after the elves) from a species of cave-dwelling hominids (subterrapithecus) selected for survival underground.  Their tool-making abilities were put to use expanding the natural caves they called home and shaping them into what they would become.  Given their mining prowess and racial love of precious metals, they've excavated far from their place of origin, digging deep and going north.


ELVES evolved before dwarves or men from an arboreal (and probably nocturnal) primate species (silvanopithecus) in steamy jungles.  Their need to evade enemies and navigate the treacherous canopies selected them for greater speed, keener senses, and their superior empathy for the natural world.  This allowed them to master magic and the ability to employ signs, symbols, and certain material components in the endless pursuit of it.          

GOBLINS/ORCS, like dwarves, are subterranean and probably evolved from a cannibalistic variety of cave-dwelling ape (the foul horridipithecus), although some speculate that their subsequent evolution was shaped by evil magic.  This fact probably accounts for the many humanoid species inhabiting the underworld and their aversion to light.       

HALFLINGS are a variant human species that are reproductively non-compatible, although in Pits & Perils, hill dwarves (i.e., halflings) are a completely dwarven strain.  

Of course, the GM can flesh this out as their campaign requires, perhaps going so far as to introduce remnant populations of prehistoric demi-humans.  But what about the supposed gods?  Perhaps they, too, were the products of evolution who ascended over time and sought mortal worshippers for whatever reason.  Worship has its benefits, after all, among them the fact that the soul, untethered at death, can reach the afterlife with surety.  The possibilities are endless, and the GM can decide how to map the trajectory of their own setting's history...

Tuesday, June 13, 2017

The Sad End of a D&D Era (in Art)...

In my 39 years of gaming, I've seen a lot of artwork.  And as far as D&D is concerned, I've identified discrete periods that define the illuminations of the game:

THE CORE RULES (1974): To call the art in the original D&D rulebooks amateur is an understatement.  Sub-amateur better fits the bill.  The pictures alternated between clever doodles and stuff that was clearly lifted from Marvel Comics.  But there was a primal charm as well; one that conjured images of enthusiastic amateurs making their own fun.  Fun, incidentally, that transcends the physical appearance of the finished product.

Although the artwork depicted fantasy, it wasn't necessarily a fantasy that mapped well to the game's subject matter, and it never defined the experience in my mind.

One of my favorite images from
the original rulebooks.  It really nails the intro...

THE SUPPLEMENTS (1975-76): Starting here, the artwork got better.  The illustrations depicted specific monsters, like beholders and umber hulks, as well as adventuring parties plugging away in the dungeons.  The amateur aesthetic was still there, but these were talented amateurs, including the likes of David Sutherland (!), who, by now, were heavily involved in a hobby that was developing its own culture and conventions.

This, to me, in D&D's true artistic history.  The artwork was wedded to the game's subject matter while preserving a sense of enthusiastic amateurs doing their own thing.    

THE HARDCOVERS (1977-79): At long last, the work laid out in the supplements was gathered into a coherent whole.  The expanded ability modifiers (Greyhawk), assassins and monks (Blackmoor), and druids, demons, and additional magic items (Eldritch Wizardry) coalesced into a complete and unified system that would define the state of the hobby for the next decade.  The production values were excellent, and if you'd been using the original booklets and photocopies of Dragon Magazine articles, the new hardcovers were mana from Heaven.  Artwork-wise, Dave Trampier joined Sutherland, among others, to offer up a balance of professional delivery with an amateur ethos.  And it really worked...  

By the supplements and early AD&D,
the artwork began to capture its subject matter and
did so with an amateur flair that underlies
everything that makes our hobby feel accessible...

Imagine getting really into D&D in 1980 and seeing the same artwork you remembered from the booklets your first DM (a guy I'll never forget) had in '78.  Ancient history, man...

MAINSTREAMING (1980-1988): Here at last, we see the Great Schism: D&D and AD&D and all the legal horseshit that followed.  But it sure did yield some great art:

THE B/X SET (1981): Jeff Dee and Bill Willingham (by then, TSR staff artists) introduced artwork that was increasingly professional while preserving an amateur ethos, and Erol Otus delivered his trippy art for added flavor.  There were others, but these stand out...

THE BECMI SET (1983-85): Larry Elmore's art came to predominate by now, with Jeff Easley and (much later) Roger Raupp adding their own flourishes.  Fewer artists meant less variation and, overall, the rulebooks were increasingly slick and well-produced.  The visual link to the game's distant past was severed at last.  A precursor to the next edition...

Elmore is (rightly) held in high regard, but I've always thought his stuff looked too much like He-Man with too many nods to 1980s fashion.  Sorry about that!

Wait, is this from He-Man?  While
obviously talented, Larry Elmore's art never
really clicked with me.  Perhaps it was
D&D's growing outreach to younger players and
it's departure from its amateur past...   

As the decade wore on, Elmore, Easley, and others came to predominate in the AD&D lexicon and finalized the game's transition into a fully professional context.  Fortunately, these artists had already been a fixture in the pages of Dragon Magazine, so it felt like a natural evolution.  I was never into Snarfquest, but it really was a gradual transition...

SECOND EDITION (1988): I remember rushing out to buy the Second Edition Player's Handbook and how my smile faded as I flipped through its pages.  Yes, there was some great stuff here.  Non-weapon proficiencies, in particular, were an excellent idea that followed intuitively from AD&D's weapon proficiency system.  But the artwork, although attractive and professional enough, felt bland.  Lifeless.  I already missed the earlier rulebooks, although I still had (and would continue to use) them, happily incorporating the new rules while rejecting what I didn't like.  But it was the end of an era and weirdly heartbreaking.

At this point, D&D had ascended into the sky, where its blessing would fall in the form of innumerable sourcebooks that would, eventually, drive TSR into the ground.  Make no mistake, I had some great times with this edition (including a lost-world campaign), but in 39 years of gaming, it always goes back to what I now call the hobby's true Golden Age...

Tuesday, June 6, 2017

No, the DM Is NOT Your Peer...

Some (more than a few?) gamers are profoundly uncomfortable with the greater agency and judgemental authority referees are given, especially in old-school games.  Or, as my brother observed way back in 1979: "But the DM could say anything and the whole thing just breaks down and becomes unfair over time".  It was a fair point, but I countered with the fact that lots people obviously were playing these games, and that unfair DMs will find themselves without players pretty quickly if they abuse their authority...

He was forced to concede my first point and eventually, my second too.  

And the fact is, old-school gamers willingly submit to the DMs authority because it provides them with a specific gameplay experience.  But the DM (GM/referee) also lives by a code of fairness (and reasonableness) that their players will hold them to! 

To underscore the trepidation of some, consider a review of our Barons of Braunstein, which said: "[B]ut I think the "low definition, high trust" nature of the rules could make this game a bit rocky with players that like crunchy rules or tricky character builds."  Of course, the whole simple versus complex divide is a matter of preference.  But the concept of trust in a GM to fairly execute their authority underlies the essential old-school experience... 

Players want the experience of becoming a hero in a world of sword and sorcery, and the only way to do this is to put much (most) of the setting beyond their direct control. I mean, how often can we control the weather or world events?  Sure, we can control our personal choices and decisions.  But not who moves in next door (usually), or what family is in the car next to us, or who we'll meet in a gas station on vacation.  And there would be nothing particularly heroic about our circumstances if we did have power over these things.

The DM/GM isn't a coequal peer
and, for optimal results, they shouldn't be...

So players change things through their choices and get to earn their victories and take pride in their accomplishments - just like we do in the real world!  That's what they get out of it and what they should seek going in.  Now, this is strictly my personal opinion, but if you really just want to write stories and the ending to those stories, become a writer instead...

Narrative control over certain aspects of a character's performance?  Sure.  Clever resource management is a challenge and constitutes the sort of strategy we need to execute in our own lives.  Spend LUCK (or MIGHT) improving rolls?  You bet.  But you still won't know what's hiding behind that door unless you have a spell or, better still, a plan.

But what about the DM/GM/referee?  What do they get?  Well, they get to build a world and exercise unparalleled narrative control as the guy (or gal) who does know what's hiding in the shadows (or behind that door) and/or the necromancer's secret plan to rule the world.  
  
An unearned place of privilege?  Maybe.  Except they don't get to become a hero and hear their name spoken in awe.  And they pretty much have to be responsible for everything else and make the hard decisions when others don't.  It's a labor of love and involves its own form of personal sacrifice.  I love it.  But I remember plenty of times I was frustrated that everyone else wanted me to run when I just wanted to make a character and dive in.

And implicit in this arrangement is the understanding that both sides have to agree to certain terms to make things work.  Players agree to play well, make good decisions, and earn their success.  They also agree to submit to any agreed-upon rules and the judgement of the referee when justly rendered.  That said, the DM/GM/referee agrees to fashion challenging adventures and be fair, impartial, and reasonable in their dealings with their players, and that means being open to negotiation in the interest of mutual fun.  It's a win/win thing...

Of course, while the DM/GM (or whatever) isn't your peer, they or should at least be your friend.  And it does no good to forget that in a hobby ostensibly played for fun

Some modern games (and groups) treat the rulebook as the final, ultimate arbiter and reduce the GM to a peer with authority mainly over the monsters and NPCs and do so with the best of intentions.  But for greater challenge and dynamism, old-school values are unbeatable