Dragon Magazine's Banner Year...

1982; it was a banner year for AD&D, and a banner year for yours truly, both thanks to Dragon Magazine. Not only did its awesome Out on a Limb feature connect me to the wider roleplaying community (a thing beyond price), the magazine, an organ of TSR Hobbies, fostered D&D in new and exciting ways. Indeed, it marked the transition from a quaint, mostly wargaming phenomenon to the mainstream sensation it would soon become... 

With this in mind, and because I'm feeling nostalgic, here's a rundown of each monthly instalment from that year. I'm sure everyone knows where they can download these issues online (if not, ask someone), assuming you don't own the CDs. If so, read 'em again to appreciate my all-too-brief survey of each issue's historical importance:

Issue 57 (January, 1982): A slow start as far as long-term impacts; but I'd vote for Bloom's Play a Villain and Moore's Dungeons Aren't for Men Only opinion pieces (from Dragon's superlative Up on a Soapbox feature) as indicative of the hobby's maturation.

Issue 58 (February, 1982): It gets better. The Dwarven Point of view helped codify the dwarven race and its assorted deities, who persist into the latest edition.

Issue 59 (March, 1982): And here it got real. We see the first official mention of (magic-user) cantrips and the excellent Halfling Point of View feature, with more undeniable impacts to D&Ds emergent mythology. This issue nicely previewed AD&D's Unearthed Arcana.

Issue 60 (April, 1982): The Elven Point of View did for our pointy eared friends what the other demi-human features did for their kind. True springtime in D&D land...

Issue 61 (May, 1982): And the fun continued with The Gnomish Point of View, illusionist cantrips, and exotic weaponry. In short, a treasure trove of content, with Wormy's intensifying adventures rounding out what might easily be one of the year's standout offerings. 

Issue 62 (June, 1982): Ok, so the Larry Elmore cover signaled a seismic shift going forward, with The Half-Orcish Point of View rounding out the player races quite nicely.

Issue 63 (July, 1982): Readers were treated to a preview of the Barbarian class (more presaging Unearthed Arcana, a thing Gary hinted at with the sublety of a heart attack), while The Humanoid Point of View offered a useful perspective on D&D's best villains...

Issue 64 (August, 1982): Whew! Readers got a break from all that great content; but an excellent Assassin's Guild article by Elizabeth Cerritelli and Lynda Bisson highlighted the role of women, already growing in the hobby, as game content designers of note. 

Issue 65 (September, 1982): Another quiet issue; but Gygax offered a guest editorial speaking to the convention scene, signalling the growth of the hobby, and suggested some new character classes and a few ideas for customization, which admitted the changing expectations of a fanbase wanting more than mere wargaming figures. Good stuff.    

Issue 66 (October, 1982): This one debated giving clerics edged weapons, presaging future editions in this regard. Impact-wise, this was an important, if subdued, advance.

Issue 67 (November, 1982): Gygax's influence is strong here, with new magic user spells, Greyhawk creatures, and deities. This is Gary's issue through and through, and it really spoke to the growth of the pastime and its collective content. Given what would eventually happen, this was Gygax at the height of his powers - and control over the D&D game.

Issue 68 (December, 1982): Another quiet issue; but there's more interior color (already a growing trend), signalling a growing budget and general mainstreaming of the hobby. I'll admit to having mixed feelings here; but the scene had to grow, and history had spoken.

Of course, each issue was loaded with other important content. I'm just singling out what seems (to my admittedly biased eye) to be the most historically significant events from 1982's assembled pages. Everything Dragon related is historical at this point; but I'd like to think I saw firsthand a major shift in the hobby over the course of that year. A move towards greater cohesion, maturity, and incusiveness. For those who remember, it was a banner year...

Funneling the Fantasy Sausage...

There's an ascending (or rather, descending) structure to our fantasy campaigns*, which hopefully enforces the specialness of its magical elements while preserving a basic humanity, even when roleplaying elves. The rule of the day is mundane above, fantastic below, with ascending danger through descending levels. And all of this punctuated by the odd outsized evil that exists not to be fought, but to be avoided - because, realism...

So first, the SURFACE. This is faux medieval; think stock peasantry who've never seen anything more exotic than some dwarven merchants at the fair, and never more than a dozen coins of any denomination in one place. Barring some adjacent Mordor-styled land barred against intruders and home to nameless evil, it's primordial forests stocked with wolves and the scourge of humanity. Maybe orcs. We've talked about this. 

Next, we enter the DUNGEONS. All that normalcy on top? Gone. Here monsters dwell, an endless assortment of fantastical creatures. Basilisks? Check. Hellhounds? One among many terrifying foes. And these come neatly ordered by dungeon level. You know where the easiest monsters dwell - and where the best treasures await. The deeper the deadlier, all packaged in a bounded sandbox of infinite choice and a real sense of purpose.

Finally, we paunctuate this with UNBALANCED foes to spice things up. Think a minotaur on level one or a red dragon living on level three. Why would there be this strangely perfect sorting of monsters except to ensure game balance? Games require this abstraction; but life isn't fair, and these serve mainly to be avoided while the party seeks better odds and lives, hopefully to confront them eventually. It's abstraction meets realism...   

And lo, the funnel. Start with a (relatively) normal surface with (rare) demihumans and a faraway land of darkness. Add an extensive underworld stocked with incredible foes, sorted by level - but punctuated by overpowered enemies to remind everyone how arbitrary this arrangement can seem, and that not everything is meant to be fought. Magical characters are special and combat encounters balanced - except when they're not, so stay sharp!

*Your mileage may vary; but this is our take, and we welcome your thoughts...

Our Top Three Old-School Dragons...

With the possible exception of wizards, dragons alone are truly emblematic of fantasy, whether of the gaming variety or the stories inspiring such diversions. Movies are a part of this, bringing these incredible creatures to life and, not suprisingly, inspired the earliest hobby as well. Now the point's debatable; but it just might be that pre-CGI dragons were cinema's old-school equivilents, but which ones were best? After some nostalgic consideration, Robyn and I debated our favorites and agreed on the following fire-breathing greats:

 #3 Smaug (The Hobbit, 1977). An animated classic, this nonetheless captured the feel of its reptilian foe with an almost mammilian look and some of the best voice acting (thank you, Richard Boone) Bilbo's fire-breathing dragon would ever receive. The 2013 Hobbit was a hot mess, and I'll admit to some unkind "appraisals" of reviewers who described its version as delicious, although Cumberbach did a fine enough job. Hand-drawn animation was definitely a force multiplier in this earlier time, bestowing a realism beyond many...

#2 Sokura's Dragon (The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad, 1958). This one came wedded to a charming story where evil wizards were still defined by their minions as much, if not more, than innate spellcasting power. Ray Harryhausen was a master craftsman, creating gorgeous models and exploting the limits of stop motion to imbue his monsters with soul, something fans of the process will doubtless understand. His dragon was a flightless fire breather, and its final battle with the cyclops is reason enough to give this reptilian high praise... 

#1 Vermithrax Pejorative (Dragonslayer, 1981). This (sometimes overlooked) masterpiece succeeds despite, and not because, of its fantasy elements, although the star of the show, born of excellent pre-CGI practical effects, remains its dragon. Benefitting from a combination of superior world building and one the best entrances ever, Vermithrax looks and somehow feels more real than later, computer-generated fare. Watching it soar in its final contest above the darkened clouds reveals the scale of its immense power like no other...

Your mileage may vary, and that's a good thing. There's no wrong answer, and it's always fun to see the imaginary brought to visual life. Modern CGI gets it done; but there's something about primitive, hands-on special effects, whether hand-drawn animation or meticulous stop-motion foes to remind us why the older hobby felt so right. It was equally homebrew (read: accessibly hands on), inviting everyone to join in. Now Harryhausen's creations were clearly more beautiful than OD&D's clumsy production; but really, both did the same thing.   

We've Been Sick, and So Can You...

So the Norovirus (AKA stomach flu) ran roughshod through our family, graciously extending the dubious privilege of projectile vomiting and diarrhea. Fun. Luckily it came in waves, leaving me much improved when Robyn had her time and needed my help. It really makes you appreciate being well; and once I could think of anything more than a merciful death, gaming sprung to mind as it often does. Namely, how to introduce illness to a game, and how do we keep it simple? Sickness is terrible, but so's combat. Here goes... 

The AD&D Dungeon Master's Guide had a table for illness (pages 13-14), suggesting the referee check monthly. My younger self thought this was canon, but quickly realized rolling on a dizzying array of tables each game month wasn't my style. Now I'm sure some hard-liners might actually do this (good for them); but these days, I'm sure most only hit 'em up when convenient and/or mine the charts for ideas. This alone makes it well worth the price; but we miss some good opportunities unless we can simplify for practical convenience. 

So first, the WHEN. Instead of rolling once (per character) per (game) month, just define specific locations where infection might occur. Perhaps a filthy pool in a dungeon, not every one, but specific pools even when the possibility exists elsewhere. Now assign a nominal probability (say, 1-2 in 1d6) standing in its fetid waters, raising this further if open wounds are so exposed. Ditto for comparable surface areas. This is realistic and convenient, delivering rational consequences that drive future actions by the player characters.

Next, the WHAT. Instead of more random charts, just define exactly what illness awaits the unfortunate victims and their relevant impacts. The pool in room #12 has a 1-2 in 1d6 chance of giving you the shits - or worse, with consequences beyond comic relief. At a minimum, I suggest that sickness precludes all adventuring activities, with saving dice required to prevent unconsciousness and 1d6-ish damage (perhaps more from fainting and bashing your head, which I've done). Of course, normal/non-magical healing should be impossible...

Until the sickness has run its course, which leads to HOW LONG. 1d6 game days for the nastiness to germinate, followed by 1d6+1 days suffering seems reasonable; and while some afflictions last longer in the real world, this is complaint proof. Diarrhea and vomiting should cause dehydration and possibly additional damage, although in a simpler game serve largely to justify limits on strenuous activity. Divine and/or magical healing restores hits, and cures immediately reverse the illness. Otherwise, afflictions must run their course.   

Of course, house rules are encouraged; and if you like the deep and crunchy, homebrew charts can be as detailed as your medical imagination allows. But for those opposed to random calculations ad nauseum, intriguing possibilities still await without feeling arbitrary or artificially imposed. Your players will know to avoid wading in stagnant pools and learn to cover any open wounds, adding realistic threats and underscoring the power of consequence in a world otherwise given to whimsy. Sage advice in this and any fantastical world.