Old School Enabled (While Disabled)...

Yours truly is disabled. Not by birth, but by war. I had to rebuild my self image from the ground up after decades of able-bodied existence, which wasn't easy. And it was around this time I began to notice disabled characters in tabletop, complete with miniatures and the online notoriety that goes with them. At the time I shrugged. Magic can clear that nonsense up pronto, right? It turns out that I was wrong. Some are born to disability, while others acquire it elsewhere. Regardless, reconcilation is a necessary thing. 

Despite the reasonable distance we hope exists between ourselves and our favorite characters, these pen-and-paper personalities are avatars. A living extension of that part of out innermost selves wishing to become heroes fantastically equipped for adventures in narrative cause and effect. We fashion these characters in our own image and hope to live up to our best selves. Now it's easy, and probably honest enough, to admit we'd magicically eradicate our disabilities given an accomodating universe...

But that was never the point. Ever. Not for the young (especially not for them), and not for the older (and oftentimes newly disabled) either. Those born to disability enter adolescence, already a hard enough time to be different, in constant awareness of the fact and seeking to understand where they fit in the world. Supernatural aid can mend their characters; but it almost certainly won't help them formulate a positive self image as a disabled person, which is arguably what superior roleplaying (you pick the system) should fascilitate.

And what are we telling these kids? You can be elves. Or wizards. But not disabled because disability is a bridge too far? And because disability is a stain to be washed clean in any respectable universe as though it's bad enough in real life? This (misguided) assumption fails to grasp the many benefits of roleplaying. The same goes for acquired disabilities later on, because aren't these players seeking a similar reconciliation? It's better to accomodate their wishes in its name because play's always been somewhat therapeutic...

And because we're all drawn to roleplay as a means of exploring ourselves and finding our  place by way of imaginary worlds, complete with disabled characters who risk everything, heroically, and master the considerable odds against them. If this can't help people reconcile with who they are, nothing will. And maybe they recognize their inherent worth as persons, resourceful and with awesome ideas to contribute. Nothing is more old school than that, and who knows? The friendships made at the gaming table might be good for everyone.

The Seven Seals of Sword & Sorcery...

So Gregorius 21778 released Rescue From the Temple of the Revealing Flame, an adventure for our Blood of Pangea game. This one's a nice mixture of classic Howard and Lieber's darker brand; but while fantasy (writ large) remains a welcoming landscape, the sovereignty of sword & sorcery is less flexible. High fantasy can incorporate its elements; but not the other way around beyond the purely incidental owing to its defining attributes, the Seven Seals (or traits) of the genre given below as follows:

1) Men (and women) using physical strength and cleverness to survive...

2) Hedonism; gold, sex, and other earthly pleasures, as a motivator...

3) Sorcery disdained (if not outright denounced) as questionable at best...

4) Living day by day, and coin by coin, with no thought for tomorrow*...

5) Barbarians more virtuous than the so-called civilized people around them...

6) Banditry (and/or piracy) practiced with a concern for the innocent...

7) A prehistoric setting inspired by real-world civilizations, suitably exotic**...

Basically, no demi-humans or friendly magic as an impersonal force; sensual pleasures as the primary motivator; an amoral world of amoral heroes who nonetheless hold to a primitive code of honor, all in an exotic setting drawn from our ancient world. As fantastic genres go, sword & sorcery remains the most humanistic of them all. Tolkien delivered a hopeful missive of men made perfect, while pulp provided the unvarnished truth, even if it came with primal, often prehistoric, terrors. It's a genre that works best when properly understood...  

*With notable exceptions; still, Conan wore his crown on a troubled brow.

**Leiber and Moorcock imagined other worlds altogether, but with a historic bent.

Minions: Charmed, I'm Sure...

Ok, so first, the commercial. Chronicles II: The Black Dog Caliphate is now available for Barons of Braunstein. This one's set in medieval Cairo, more specifically, in the desert following the imaginary Small Nile. If this resonates, check it out. End of commercial; but it raises important questions about historical magic. The supernatural defies all boundries, meaning there's no way to get it wrong beyond ill-concieved mechanics...

But since Braunstein has an optional fantasy component; and especially since this has to channel historical conceptions, it's worth noting that modern gaming magic bears little resemblance to how it was imagined, especially under medieval Chistendom. But it's also clear that OD&D, cheerfully unencumbered by decades of convention, hewed closer to historical and folkloric traditions, which often included minions...

And spirits. Historical magicians called and commanded spirits. And they had minions, which overlapped these in places. Barons of Braunstein goes this route; but while OD&D wisely avoided having its magic users summon evil spirits, it nonetheless channeled its mythological inspirations - and the media equally inspired by it - leaning into minions as a substitute for demons. This is seen in earlier mainstream fantasy films predating the hobby...

The Seventh Voyage of Sindbad had Sokurah. And Sokurah had a genie. And a dragon. And skeletal servitors. Jack the Giant Killer had Pendragon, who in turn had a cadre of giants,  hobgoblins, and witches at his command. The latter wasn't Harryhausen. Jim Danforth lent his stop motion talents, noting that both wizards were played by Torin Thatcher, with their assembled servitors figuring prominently as the source of their powers.    

So what did OD&D offer? The Charm spell, which, unlike later editions, affected a greater variety of targets, including gnolls and nixies, without regard to level if its (very broad) criteria was otherwise satisfied - with but a single saving throw ever. Even novice magicians might amass a cadre of powerful slaves, with Charm Monster (starting at 7th level) bedazzling any adversary, with multiple 1-3rd level animals, also with but a single saving throw...

This speaks to how powerful OD&D's magic was, but also to the numerous influences behind its magic system. Arneson famously watched monster movies, and Gygax surely enjoyed Harryhausen, where Sokurah called forth minions. Vance likewise inspired OD&D; but if you want traditional (historical and folkloric) magic, servitors are a must. Of course, the game became squeamish later on; but the early rules had more powerful charms.

So what's the point of this? After writing a historical adventure with magical options, the importance of servitors is obvious. The Tempest's Prospero summoned spirits, and minions reflect a historical conception of magic. No self-respecting wizard is without their tower of mesmerized monsters to challenge intruders; and in OD&D, that fantastic medieval wargame, charms are not only a nice alternative, but perhaps the mightiest of all high sorceries...

D&D's Monstrous Makeovers...

As we entertain D&D's 50th anniversary, we should consider that while mechanics evolve over time, it's content, an implied fantasy world, that makes our pastime about living another, arguably more interesting, life. Otherwise, it's all math. And a big part of this are the many monstrous adversaries awaiting a party. Some are mythological, perhaps accounting for the vagueness of their early in-game descriptions. Others were original creations, and these baddies underwent substantial changes through decades of gameplay...

Bugbears (from Greyhawk) are described as great hairy goblin-giants, which is probably more than enough to do the trick. But the rulebook's one illustration depicts a literally pumpkin-headed monster, which invites many questions. Can you smash their soft melon heads or make tasty holiday pies from their brains? Sensing a need to reconcile this to something less (for want of a word) weird, later depictions made them the round-headed goblins we know. It never mentioned heads, so this derived from the artwork.

Another is the gnoll (Monsters & Treasure), a gnome/troll hybrid minus regeneration in a gentle nod to Dunsany. The illustration is certainly interesting, and it might have made fascinating alternate history had it remained so. But by AD&D, it became explicitly clear, per the Monster Manual, that these most closely resembled hyenas. And this wasn't a gentle slope either, nor an attempt to reconcile the earlier artwork. It was a radical transformation, becoming big where once small, and without a trace of trollish ancestry...

There are others, of course. Half a century of gaming leaves its mark on a ruleset; but content, especially monsters (and especially the originals not tied to any recognized mythology) may undergo radical transformations. Rules are important; but it's content that makes a game more than mere math. And you can see within its pages where OD&D's assorted authors leaned heavily on established mythology and where they fashioned new and exciting creations to be shaped by generations of artists and clever players.