WotC: In the Name of the Game...

There's been a lot of talk about WotC and the OGL. I won't go into that since it's being debated by enough already. But what does stand out to Robyn and I is an attempt (nothing new, by the way) to hoard, indeed own, the native creativity of its customers. Tabletop roleplay isn't a new car or a can of Diet Coke. It's a set of written rules to a game where the action takes place inside the participant's heads and can be easily homebrewed by the creative types who play them. I'm guessing Wizards wishes it wasn't...

The concept of the game is the game. Once exposed to the division of labor between the players and referee, the idea of classes or skills, hit points, armor and equipment, and advancement tied to in-game success, you have what you need to either reconstruct a game or create something entirely new. Add monsters and treasure and you're on your way to something all the better for a sense of ownership. Most of us like buying and houseruling the work of others; but even this drinks from the same bottomless well of inspiration...

You can monetize this to a point; but I get the impression that WotC, perhaps like TSR before it, failed to recognize what they're selling - and the limits of monetization.

You can't stop houseruling; you can't stop the creation of original systems, and you almost certainly can't market a subscription service selling not only what its customers could do themselves, but what they inevitably will be doing just by approaching the hobby for what it is and what makes it so appealing. The genie's out of the bottle, and barring the collapse of civilization and its collective experience, our gaming hobby will thrive. Fantasy roleplay grows sideways into endless new directions, carried not by companies, but by its players...

Rusted: The Early D&D I Briefly Had...

Ok, so I never lost a winning lottery ticket. That's good, because kicking myself in the ass over potentially squandered millions is nothing I'm keen on experiencing. I don't take certain things well, and I'm guessing this would definitely qualify. But there was that one summer, sometime in the mid-70s, before Star Wars and after Planet of the Apes, when I held a piece of early D&D in my hands, only to lose it because kids lose stuff all the time...

What I lost was a bulette, an owlbear, and a rust monster. Apparently I lost an umber hulk, although I never saw the family resemblance. These iconic baddies first appeared in a collection of so-called prehistoric monster toys from Hong Kong (every cheap childhood toy was tengentally connected to the place); and I'm sure I found these gems in the impulse aisle of the neighborhood Win Dixie, cheap and easy for an indulgent mom.

They captivated me from the start such that I remember them all. Every one. I was a dinosaur fanatic from early on, so it was clear they mapped to no known species. But then, I also appreciated Japanese kaiju, and I'm sure that was part of it. First among equals though was the bulette, which I also imagined to be a shark monster, and a certain insect-like creature destined by fate to become a rust monster, bane of magical weapons everywhere.

I had fun with these. I really did. In fact (fun fact), I even invented a very early version of Monsters Destroy All Cities where gigantic kaiju settled their differences by rolling a single d6 each. The higher result was victorious, with ties getting a second round until someone fell, defeated in imaginary battle. I think my longest fight lasted 30 seconds or so. Is it any wonder I was destined to discover tabletop simulations? Certain things are fated...

These delightful toys kicked around my junk pile for a few years, even after I discovered a life-changing thing called Dungeons & Dragons. But their significance to a hobby still young in 1978 was lost on me, although in retrospect, those pseudo-dinosaurs were influeing early gameplay while I was fighting 30-second battles in my dining-room. Such convergences are rare and obviously coincidental; but I don't mind losing the toys if it got me a passion.    

High Art and Hawk the Slayer...

Those who know me personally know that I have a crippling Hawk the Slayer fetish I'm unabashadly, perhaps embarassignly proud of. I know it's a true B-lister complete with a late-70s Love Boat soundtrack and questionable effects and writing choices. I've heard many aspiring Siskels (or Eberts, whatever) call the film rubbish. They might be technically correct, and who am I to judge? Me, I think it captures gaming better than anything... 

There's nostalgia, of course; but it's more, for despite our pretensions, we aren't making anything close to high art. We're a motley bunch of like-minded folks gathering to have fun over our battlemats, fueled by Mountain Dew and Monty Python. Our rulebooks might be professional affairs; but the stories we tell with them come from amateur screenwriters, acted by amateur thespians (or comedians), and played out in the theater of the mind.

The miniatures may be cool, and our internal presentations epic; but it's really just Hawk the Slayer in its absurd glory. I mean no offense here. It's my personal belief that Hawk nails everything earnest and fun about our hobby. From cool villains chewing up the scenery to epic-level heroes with infinity crossbows, this cheesy masterpiece, the one some call rubbish, nonetheless captured the unbridled fun of tabletop gaming like nothing since. 

But what about the serious films? The Dragonslayers and whatnot. I love 'em all, especially Vermithrax Pejorative. But these are closer to serious novels which just happen to have dragons and working magic. The emphasis here is on proper character development; and even when the heroes possess miraculous powers, they aren't defined by them (a mistake of inferior fantasy, by the way). No, when it comes to replicating a game, Hawk rules.

There's always the one lobbing puns like grenades while their friend passes notes to an indulgent (or long-suffering) GM proposing well, antics. Serious treatments aren't equipped to handle gaming's shenanigans, and too-serious GMs who discourage this might pull it off, although I rather suspect they throw in the towel once their players catapault dead orcs into a hungry dragon's lair to distract it. Hawk played at serious; but it felt like this...

Here's an unpopular opinion, but Hawk the Slayer did D&D better than the D&D movies, however good, perhaps because it was under no obligation to smuggle in its various Easter Eggs - and of course, any official D&D release absolutely should have them. But no slick, professional game survives contact with fun-seeking hobbyists, each with an amateur's blood coursing through their veins. They channel the soul of the hobby - so all hail Hawk!

The Idea That Stole Christmas...

As the holiday season returns, I'm visited by the ghosts of Christmas past. I never had Ralphie's sentimental event (although the movie is must-watch in my house), and I traded the gifts of childhood for the pleasures of adult life such that I remember very few of my toys, Shogun Warriors aside. I mean; c'mon, Shogun Warriors, am I right? But I do remember the Christmas of 1980. Not the usual socks from Grandma, but the following...

An electronic Space Invaders game shaped like the Space Shuttle. This was popular and frequently borrowed, but it sort of slipped away once I got an Atari console in '82.

Barlowe's Guide to Extraterrestrials. I still have a copy (not the original, sadly), which inspired a whole lifetime of reading and made me a devoted Robert Silverberg fan.

Holmes Basic D&D with Keep on the Borderlands. If you're reading this blog you know what that is, and doubtless understand how irresistable this early effort was to yours truly.

I list these in ascending order of importance. The toy was lost. The book stayed around long enough for me to pursue its various inspirations (credit where it's due); but Holmes was a definitional experience for me, and not because it was a cool toy. I could lose it in a house fire and the idea of it would remain. I could easily homebrew its fantastical details from memory, filling in the inevitable blanks with my own creative additions for less than free...

And that's because the concept of the game is the game. Once introduced to the roles of game master and player; or ability scores; or whatever else is central to the gameplay experience, you have everything you'll ever need. Make no mistake, there's no shortage of great games worth your time and money. But the enduring value of tabletop play is that it's an idea of infinite possibilities from the moment it's shared - after that, it's yours forever.