The Caffeinated Symposium

Twenty Questions

2012-02-27T03:54:00.003+09:00

I got these from Dennis over at What a Horrible Night to Have a Curse.

Ability scores generation method? Grid method. Roll 3d6 six times for each ability score in six columns. You can choose one score per ability but once you do, you can no longer select any scores from that column. This usually creates heroic characters without too many super-high or super-low scores that satisfy the players and enable them to qualify for whatever class they want to play.
How are death and dying handled? As per the rules. -1 to -9 is dying (unconscious and losing 1 hp per round). -10 is dead. Some campaigns I choose negative Constitution.
What about raising the dead? As per the rules.
How are replacement PCs handled? You meet them in town, on the road, or rescue them in the dungeon. Whatever is faster and more expedient.
Initiative: individual, group, or something else? Depends on what is more expedient. Small skirmishes are usually individual. However, if the PCs are being attacked by 20 goblins, group initiative makes more sense.
Are there critical hits and fumbles? How do they work? As per the rules for critical hits. Critical fumbles either result in the character losing a turn or the enemy getting a free attack/attack of opportunity depending on the situation. Ranged critical fumbles into melee combat result in friendly fire.
Do I get any benefits for wearing a helmet? As per the variant rules (if any) for helmets. Otherwise, I assume they're part of the entire AC adjustment for any armor worn.
Can I hurt my friends if I fire into melee or do something similarly silly? As per the rules. If they say so, yes. If they don't, then only on a critical fumble.
Will we need to run from some encounters, or will we be able to kill everything? Use your best judgment. Sometimes discretion is the better part of valor. If you read my previous posts, yes, players have run from encounters.
Level-draining monsters: yes or no? As per the rules--the monster can drain a level? Yes. If the rules say it's temporary, fine. If they say permanent, it's permanent.
Are there going to be cases where a failed save results in PC death? Yep.
How strictly are encumbrance & resources tracked? I try to make the PCs keep these things tracked. I keep up on them to make sure they're being honest.
What's required when my PC gains a level? Training? Do I get new spells automatically? Can it happen in the middle of an adventure, or do I have to wait for down time? You gain the level next time you sleep a full 8 hours. No, you do not automatically gain new spells unless you are a cleric/favored soul/etc. that would.
What do I get experience for? Killing stuff. Good roleplaying. Clever ideas. Self-sacrifice. Teamwork and comraderie. Spending gold frivolously (1 XP per gp spent carousing/wenching/drinking/etc.).
How are traps located? Description, dice rolling, or some combination? As per the rules. Perception/Spot checks. However, if you ask questions I'll give you clues. Keep asking and no rolls are needed. Same with secret/concealed doors, hidden compartments, etc.
Are retainers encouraged and how does morale work? As per the rules of the system. Morale is based on "what would they do in real life?" Morale checks in 2nd edition were a pain to keep track of. If half your team drops in one round, you're going to probably try to escape.
How do I identify magic items? Spells to identify them. Detect magic spells while using Spellcraft skill to try to get hints or clues. Testing them. Trying to figure out command words. Research and comparing them to items in old tomes. Knowledge (arcana) rolls to recognize what sort of item it is by its appearance, design, sigils/runes, markings, etc.
Can I buy magic items? Oh, come on: how about just potions? As per the setting. Does the town have an alchemist? An apothecary? A powerful wizard? Do they have shops? Depends on when, where, and who.
Can I create magic items? When and how? As per the rules. If we're playing 3.5 or Pathfinder, you need the feats. If we're playing 2nd edition or earlier, you follow those rules. Either way, I'm going to come up with ingredients and other stuff you need to make it and you have to find it. (Example: for a wand of lightning bolt you need the heartwood of a tree that had been struck by lighting and survived).
What about splitting the party? If you don't mind sitting and waiting while I deal with the other half of the party, knock yourselves out. I wouldn't recommend it--it's more fun to not split up and stick together.

My Philosophy of Game Mastering

2012-02-03T03:59:00.004+09:00

First, a general announcement that I'll no longer be blogging about my game sessions. The reason for this is two-fold. 1) It takes a lot of time and doesn't really encourage much of a readership, and 2) it has started to really dominate my blog posts. The game is continuing and I'll keep posting about it from time-to-time.

Now, I'd like to talk about some things I've learned and put into practice in this latest game I'm running.

Setting Immersion
I like to run immersive settings. That's why one of my all-time-favorite settings is The Forgotten Realms. Most of my players really enjoy the aspects of travel, visiting new places and locations, and seeing the sights. I've gotten positive feedback on the detail I try to inject into my games. This becomes a problem, however, when one or another player decides that he wants more focus on the narrative and the travel and interaction with the world detracts from the mission.

Currently, the PCs have just arrived in Highmoon, where they hope that they'll find clues to the location of the Giant's Craw, where Shraevyn's Tomb is located. The journey from the village of Shadowdale to Highmoon in Deepingdale has taken almost 20 days of game time and three full sessions of real time (that's three weeks). A lot has happened during those three weeks, though. Three weeks ago, the PCs had spent most of the session discussing strategy, buying provisions, planning, and commissioning weapons and armor with the loot they'd taken from the drow tunnels beneath the Twisted Tower. Two weeks ago, they'd enjoyed the festival of Greengrass in Ashabenford, Mistledale, where Drog and Baravis romanced a few locals and Drog nearly won a wrestling contest. Then, they hired an elven scout to guide them along the Dark Road through the Vale of Lost Voices to Essembra, where they were met with the ghosts of elven warriors. Lots of roleplaying ensued and Baravis learned his father was a dead evil god and his brother (whom he didn't even know about) is imprisoned beneath Zhentil Keep. Last session, Luke (Baravis' player) mentioned how he loved one of the details I'd thrown in from Volo's Guide to the Dales--the Riverman inn at Blackfeather Bridge, Featherdale, had signs posted saying "No Magic." They met a scholar in Tegel's Mark that told the PCs Shraevyn's Tomb was in some place called the Giant's Craw (but he didn't know where that was). Baravis bought a chess set and he and Sven started to play together. They fought off osquips and a cockatrice, practiced some archery in Arrowmark, Tassledale, and Baravis made everyone in town nervous with his eldritch blast.

But for some, all of those events could have been compressed. I understand that perfectly. There's a story going on--the quest for the Sword of the Dales--and I'm derailing it by focusing so much on travel and experiencing the Realms. How to handle my own (and many of my players') desire for detail and depth when it conflicts with the more narrativistic desires of other players who want to keep the story going and are getting bored with all of this wenching, shopping, camping, etc.?

Not sure exactly what to do except truncate some of these more bucolic moments. I'm working on creating balanced sessions where there's a little bit of action, a little bit of story, and a little bit of world immersion all rolled together.

Player Agency
I love it. The players create their own adventures. They tell me what they're doing, I prep the next session. Sometimes, it requires them to do a lot of planning ahead. I prep travel ahead of time because I like to know where the PCs are going and what they're going to run into ahead of time. That way, I know what random encounters they're going to have and I can prep them ahead of time. I like to know what towns they're going to visit so I can read up on them in Volo's Guide and other supplements and present it to them as real and vibrantly as possible, full of people, customs, and flavor.

The players are in control of their destinies, not me. Baravis is a great example. Luke had originally designed him to become a sort of information and influence broker--he's the guy everyone owes a favor. However, after making friends with Drog, realizing Drog trusted him, and having his prayers answered, Baravis has had a life-changing experience.

I was hoping Vlad would work out similarly but unfortunately Vlad's player felt that he couldn't roleplay Vlad effectively if things changed much, so he discontinued playing Vlad and rolled up a new character. That's fine.

But I digress. Baravis' destiny was altered by the choices Baravis made. Now Luke has plans for Baravis and is looking at The Book of Exalted Deeds and The Power of Faerun. Baravis has changed but also has the potential to change the world. As a prophet or saint of Marthammor Duin, he could spread worship of the god beyond dwarves and to other races as a god of wanderers, trails, and friendship between dwarves and all races. He's already planning to help the Iron House retake the Mines of Tethyamar--something that never happened in Realms canon.

There's some talk of Drog attempting to unite the Dales as well.

Who knows where the game will take the PCs? Who knows where the players will take the game?

What to Prep and What Not To
Does this require lots of prepping? Yes, but that's because I'm meticulous and thorough. I prep encounters, NPCs, and places but I never prep the plot. I try to map out the routes PCs will take overland, yes. That's because otherwise, travel would be a lot less descriptive and require a lot more time rolling on random encounter tables. If I know where the PCs are going (or will likely go) I can, like designing a dungeon, roll for encounter chances at specific locations, so when the PCs hit that location, they hit the encounter. I also roll for weather ahead of time and keep the effects on hand so we don't get bogged down looking it up. If you consider the campaign map one big dungeon, you can work out what the chances are of running into an encounter in a given hex. Then, similarly to designing a room in a dungeon, you can design the wilderness encounter (or even town encounter!). Don't use it this week? Recycle it! You planned it, you may as well use it elsewhere. Scaling it isn't so hard, either.

Also, create lists of ready-made stock NPCs. This is really good for baddies. I have lots of stock Zhentarim agents, Zhentilar soldiers, Zhentarim wizards, and priests of Cyric, that I can simply scale or plug into a location. I used to use index cards for stock NPCs. Now, with Maptool, I just have a bunch of templates.

So Who Makes the Story?
We all do. I gave the PCs a potential conflict in which to involve themselves in Session 1. After they chose to follow up on it, I stepped back and just worked on the NPCs and places. Like I said, I do that with meticulous care. But the PCs don't just pass through a town once, honestly. And a lot of the details already exist in printed supplements that I own, so the most challenging thing is pulling off roleplaying the NPCs they encounter and effectively describing what they see, hear, taste, and smell. (Yeah, those last two get neglected a LOT, but I try to remember to get some description in those two as well.)

I'm the referee? Alright. It's my job to adjudicate fairly. Yes, I have metaplot going on, but I have no control over how the PCs may react. Luke may decide to go free his brother or he may not. Heck, the PCs could have gone to Thay with Vlad to find out more about his deity, Jergal. Certain things can and will happen in the world. The PCs can derail those events, change them, help them, accelerate them, whatever.

Powergaming Much?
No, not really. The PCs are actually behind in how much gear they should have considering their character levels (mostly 5th). Besides, at their level, they're exceptional people and DESERVE to be able to wade through a few extras with nary a scratch or two. Most people in any game I run are 1st-3rd level. If you hit 5th level, you're noteworthy. If you hit 10th, you're a legend. If you go beyond 15th, you become viewed with awe--you're going down in history and myth whether you survive or not.

Its the old medieval knight vs. T-Rex thing I like to joke about. A medieval knight on his valiant steed charges A TYRANNOSAURUS REX. What happens? Most likely, the T-Rex crushes him in its jaws and spits him out (he's wearing not-so-tasty metal) and eats his horse (assuming it doesn't bolt out of sheer terror). How much bigger is a dragon than a T-Rex? And dragons can fly and breathe fire/lightning/acid/whatever you want?

If a knight can kill a T-Rex, we're going to think that knight is absolutely amazing. Superhuman. Or possessed of an incredible luck that is unfathomable. The stuff of legends is in there.

Adventure Paths
I like these, but I don't really run them. Rather, I use them as a basis for running a campaign. The problem with adventure paths is that they require a bit of railroading to pull off.

Knowing the players and the PCs helps a DM plan future events, though. For example, if the PCs are of good alignment and the players generally want to be heroes, when they find the Chalice of the Rising Sun, they're going to bring it back to King Everlund so that the Kingdom of Varia can be rejuvenated. They COULD take it to the Desert of Desolation and turn it into a garden instead and just say King Everlund is out-of-luck. But if you doubt they'll actually do that, it is fair to plan for their eventual return to Varia.

The thing is, taking the Chalice to the Varia as they were tasked has to be THEIR choice. And if they chose not to do it, there have to be consequences. And the consequences have to be realistic. Perhaps the god of morning gets angry at their misuse of his artifact (or perhaps he doesn't care). Perhaps King Everlund sends his best knights after the party to get the Chalice back. Perhaps the Kingdom of Varia succumbs to famine, collapses into civil war, King Everlund is slain and Lord Darkmoor takes over, beginning a new dynasty that rules through terror and oppression. Perhaps all three. Shit happens.

My job is not to tell a story. My job is to collaborate with the players to tell the story. In the above example, all three options (and the "all-of-the-above" option) result in a story... just not the happiest ending. Actually, they may be a springboard for further stories and adventures. What if the PCs realize they made a mistake and now try to rectify it? What if they DIDN'T make a mistake (in their opinion), their new kingdom becomes totally awesome, but the people of Varia become angry, hateful, and under Lord Darkmoor seek to invade it? What if the campaign eventually comes to a close, the PCs retire, and the players roll up new PCs that want to free Varia from Darkmoor and give the Chalice back to Varia?

Adventure paths are restrictive and constrictive. They're "paths" after all, not adventure flowcharts with nigh-infinite options. They're linear by their very nature. What to do with an adventure path, then?

Mine them. Ruthlessly. Mercilessly. Rip them into their constituent components. Break them down into:

Locations
Villains
Allies
Encounters

Once that is done, step back. Heck, maybe you can do this with index cards and get a nice visual. How does it all fit together? Do the PCs really HAVE to go to Location 12 after Location 11? Can Encounter 5 happen anywhere or JUST at Location 5? What are the bad guys' plans and what choices can the PCs make to thwart those plans?

So far, in my game, the PCs have thwarted the plans of Colderan Morn and Eragyn the Dark. But Colderan and Eragyn are still busy doing stuff. They're going to pop up again. Indeed, I could have them pop up anywhere the PCs go. Or, I could have them staying home and building power and influence, getting ready to strike again. Yes, I ran a module or two. But frankly, it was the PCs who decided to follow those adventure opportunities, not me. Indeed, this quest for the Sword of the Dales that the PCs have undertaken is completely their own decision. Depending on what happens, there may be deviation from the established canon timeline for the Realms. That's cool! That's the impact they're having on the setting.

If I was railroading them, yes, we'd have probably done a lot more adventures. But it would have been far more linear. Using a more node-based campaign design, the GM/DM avoids writing a railroad and the game is more rewarding for the players. Indeed, it takes less work this way. If the setting already exists in published format, that's half the work already done for you! You can focus on bringing it to life for the players.

Softie DM/GM?
All this talk of player agency may make me sound like a softie, especially since I don't mind the PCs having an easy time of it fighting NPCs 2 or 3 levels beneath them at this juncture.

Nothing could be further from the truth. There were several points in the previous sessions where they all could have died but they pulled themselves out of those situations, alive and kicking, on their own. That's incredibly rewarding and memorable. They triumphed in the face of adversity several times. They're 5th-level now. They've earned it. They took big risks, learned lessons, fought smart. They deserve everything they've achieved, including their strength and prowess.

They've also learned that actions have consequences. They know that the four of them could probably take eight 2nd-level drow fighters. But they also know that they couldn't take twenty. They are keenly aware that the dice could go against them. Even though they fought off the osquip nest successfully only losing about 25% of party total hp (including horses), they still got nervous and more than once a player remarked "we may just have to try and run away."

And run they have. They certainly fled the drider with a quickness, even though they were all 4th level and may have been able to take it. Still, in doing so, at least one of them would have certainly died, possibly all of them.

I'm not a softie. But I don't see any point in going out of my way to try and kill them just for the sake of challenging them. When they escape with their skins intact, that's cause to celebrate for them. At the climax of the adventure module Doom of Daggerdale, the PCs took a risk and rode down a swift underground stream in order to escape the Zhentilar. When it deposited them in the River Tesh not far from the Eagle's Eyrie, they stood up and cheered in triumph. Moments like that are why I run and play in role-playing games.

Conclusion
I'd rather be the GM for Darths & Droids as opposed to the DM of the Rings. In the former, the players have absolute freedom of agency and their actions have consequences. In the latter, the DM railroads the players and frustrates them a great deal. Their frustration in turn frustrates him and nobody really has any fun, nobody really learns from their mistakes.

Note
My cousin DJ (Drog's player) reminded me of something:

Not to mention your reactions. The priceless jaw-dropping of our last action hero stunts. The Dice love us when we do a John Woo escape or fight. Minus the doves of course.

The dropping jaw was mine, of course. In desperate situations, DJ and Shaun threw their dice at the wall and prayed. However the dice landed was the result. Both times the results were highly successful (at least one natural 20). They've been pretty darn lucky.

That's why the game is so much fun. The players. Desperate times call for desperate measures and I'm the DM that will let you pick up a chair and throw it at an opponent or overturn a table. And these players will do such. Which I love. They're not afraid to pull stunts and I'm not afraid to let them try.

Hungover Heroes Guild, Part Twelve

2012-01-16T11:51:00.003+09:00

A dozen sessions and running strong! This latest session was mostly roleplaying. However, the PCs managed to finish the dungeon beneath the Twisted Tower of Ashaba, freeing nearly 40 dwarven slaves from the drow and chasing the overmage off. Their raid on the drow fortress resulted in a humongous haul. They emerged from the tunnels, gave a full report to Thurbal, and were given 20% of all loot as per the agreement, amounting to nearly 3,000 gp all told. Lord Mourngrym and Thurbal (captain of the Shadowdale guard) were so impressed that their payment was tripled, to 300 gp per person.

A lot of character development took place. Vlad discussed his secret god with Lhaeo, who dug up some information from old tomes and identified Vlad's benefactor as Jergal, an ancient deity of death and endings once worshiped in Netheril thousands of years ago before Bane, Bhaal, and Myrkul won most of his portfolio from him (allowing Jergal to retire to the position of seneschal of Myrkul's Bone Castle). With the death of Bane, Bhaal, and Myrkul during the Time of Troubles, Cyric usurped all of their portfolios and now Jergal is a very frustrated deity due to Cyric's chaotic and vengeful nature.

Sven discussed the death of his Harper parents with Storm Silverhand, resident of Shadowdale, one of the legendary Seven Sisters, Harper, and former Knight of Myth Drannor. Later, as the party traveled south toward Mistledale through the elven forest, Sven's felt a calling in his elven blood. He keenly felt the loss the forest has experienced since the Retreat of the elves from Cormanthor. This has made him a bit moody and introspective. We'll see how he deals with the mixing of human and elven blood in his veins as the adventures continue.

The PCs paid many of their commissions, bought horses, a wagon, an alchemist's lab for Vlad, and a chest with an amazing lock for their communal treasure, then set out along the Mistle Trail beneath the eaves of Cormanthor along the River Ashaba. After many days journey, they arrived at the town of Elven Crossing, where they spent the night, then arrived the next day in the town of Ashabenford. When we next meet, perhaps their journey will continue toward Deepingdale, where the sage Rhauntides and the Leaves of Learning (the Temple of Oghma) may harbor knowledge that will lead them to the home of the wizard Finott or the location of the Sword of the Dales.

Sessions like this are why I love the Realms. Through the PCs' explorations, I get to see the Forgotten Realms come to life. Having Vlad interact with Lhaeo, Elminster's apprentice, and discover his benefactor is an ancient Netherese deity was really cool, but so was all of the development Sven has been experiencing as well. I never would have thought that I'd get to portray one of Ed Greenwood's original PCs, Storm Silverhand--legendary Harper and Knight of Myth Drannor. There are a variety of paths the PCs could take to reach Deepingdale. I'm excited to see where they go and what happens to them along the way! Let the dice fall where they may!

Hungover Heroes Guild, Part Eight, Nine, Ten, and Eleven

2012-01-12T22:46:00.003+09:00

First, a quick recap of our characters (more details can be found here).

Baravis: Played by Luke. A tiefling from Sigil, currently a 3rd-level Favored Soul (of Marthammor Duin) and 2nd-level Warlock.

Sven Lackman: Played by Shaun. A half-elf Waterdhavian Urban Ranger 2/Rogue 3 who seeks vengeance against the Cult of the Dragon for the murder of his Harper parents.

Drog Fangblade: A Rashemar 5th-level barbarian on his dajemma.

Vlad: A Zhent 4th-level Dread Necromancer who is seeking for his hidden, secret god.

Our Story Thus Far: After solving the riddle of the Dream Fever in Dagger Falls, the PCs came to Shadowdale searching for answers to several more clues--Baravis for a way home, Vlad for the secret god he seeks, and everyone for the location of the Sword of the Dales. They commissioned several weapons and armors from the local businesses and took up a reconnaissance job with the Twisted Tower in hopes that it could help them solve the puzzle as to what sort of stampeding herds were trampling the farms north of the Old Skull hill. They were offered 100 gp each and 20% of all loot acquired beneath the Twisted Tower of Ashaba as payment for mapping the tunnels and clearing out all monsters. They descended beneath the tower, fought a few quaggoths, boogins (half-orc, half-quaggoth), and a half-orc.

Part Nine
After defeating a group of boogins, led by a half-orc, they discovered an emaciated dwarf who called himself Simon Stonebreaker. Simon had apparently escaped from a dark-elven slave pit deeper in the tunnels. He led the PCs to a large room with an exit. They gave him a weapon and sent him to the surface.

The pool of water in the room contained an aballin--aka a "living water," a magical ooze that tried to absorb and suffocate both Drog and Sven before Vlad, thinking quickly, threw an open vial of Drow poison into the creature. The diluted poison knocked Sven out, but also did the same to the aballin.

The PCs then began to crawl down a long, low, thin tunnel that extended for hundreds of feet. Baravis blasted a swarm of rats, but was forced to hide behind his shield when the cave badger that was chasing the rats attacked him. Sven managed to kill the badger and they continued.

Part Ten
They made their way to a huge cavern with many exits and determined to explore as much as they could after resting many hours. They were almost taken in by a huge illusory treasure hoard (Drog kept feeling uneasy and I let him make a second Will save to disbelieve, which he did). Excellent roleplaying ensued in which Drog convinced the other PCs to disbelieve the illusion as well. Continued scouting led the PCs into an ambush by Mongrelmen and a drow patrol, which they dispatched. They crossed a chasm, encountered a gelatinous cube, then fled back across and pelted the cube until it collapsed into a gooey mass. (This was quite funny, as only Luke knew what the cube was. When I revealed the cube to the PCs on MapTool, Luke freaked out, screaming "run!") But that wasn't all the running they did. They stumbled upon the lair of a drider, and spent several rounds fleeing that as well. Luke's spider walk enabled him to cross the chasm, but Sven and Drog managed to successfully jump across it like something from an action movie. They continued fleeing until they were certain the drider had given up pursuit. At the end of the session, they encountered Tirrendale Talltales, a dwarven cleric whose voicebox had been severely damaged by a drow slaver. He told the PCs that the dwarves had been sold to the drow by the Zhentarim and the drow overmage was turning them into a horde of gibberlings that he released into the tunnels. The gibberlings would then pour out of a cave in the northern face of the Old Skull, descend and rampage through the fields in dead of night to pour into the forests and hopefully begin to destabilize the area during planting season.

Part Eleven
Armed with new information, the PCs found the secret tunnel that led to the drow fortress. They fought their way past another guardpost of ambushing Mongrelmen and plundered their corpses. They equipped themselves with the most excellent drowcraft adamantine mesh armor, drowcraft enchanted short swords, drow poisons, and prepared to turn the drow's own weapons against them (this really upped the chances they'd survive the upcoming encounters--without doing this, I doubt they'd have been able to succeed so well). But first, they finished mapping the regular tunnels, slew a carrion crawler in a drow graveyard, dispatched four monstrous spiders in a vast lair, burned the webs, and amassed as much treasure as possible from the enormous room (which they knew wasn't everything, but time was pressing in).

They rested and returned to the secret passage. Baravis used his spider walk to cross the lake beyond the Mongrelmen outpost by sticking to the cavern walls. He commandeered a boat and soon the entire party was across. Baravis and Tirrendale (the dwarven cleric) found a set of secret doors, Sven discovered how to bypass the trap set there. Beyond lay a chasm full of lava and a raised stone drawbridge on the other side. Vlad blew the code they had found (on a scrap of paper in a Mongrelman's pocket) on the horn dangling on their side of the chasm. The drawbridge lowered and the PCs (with NPC Tirrendale) charged and overwhelmed the Mongrelmen beyond.

As they made their way into the drow fortress, they heard a female voice chanting eerily. (I played Kanno Yokko's "A Sai En" for the drow chanting.) Baravis lept to the ceiling and together with Drog, bellowed out a roaring challenge. Silence fell deeper in the fortress and the party charged around the corner (Baravis, with his satanic features was quite intimidating crawling on the ceiling and yelling curses in Infernal).

The following encounter could have killed the PCs. As it were, three things saved them. 1) The dice were on their side. They rolled well, their opponents failed most poison saves, while they passed almost all of theirs (save one). Only one critical hit struck them, nearly incapacitating Vlad. 2) They had Tirrendale to throw a couple of cure light wounds at them. 3) They had the drow adamantine armor and drow-poisoned weapons.

Four quaggoths and three drow fighters (2nd-level) charged them, while the drow priestess tried to hit Drog with hold person and the drow sorcerer slung Melf's acid arrow at them (missing every time). Drog muscled through the hold person. Sven's two-weapon fighting with drow-poisoned blades put many a quaggoth unconscious and swayed the battle in the party's favor decisively. Drog finally fell unconscious beneath a poisoned drow-blade but the tide had already turned. The unconscious quaggoths were dispatched, the drow fighters were slain, and the priestess cast meld into stone and the sorcerer simply vanished. The PCs and Tirrendale now stand in a vast cathedral-like cavern with an altar to Lolth on a dais. We'll find out what happens next on Friday.

Meditations on Disappointment: INDIANA JONES AND THE KINGDOM OF THE CRYSTAL SKULL

2012-01-03T22:21:00.008+09:00

I'm not going to review the film, that's already been done by Mr. Plinkett at Red Letter Media. He did a fantastic job discussing why the film fails to deliver, from its refusal to depict violence to the hair-brained script choices Lucas peer-pressured Spielberg into accepting. What I want to talk about is what I like about the movie.

See, there's actually a lot to like. I know this is hard to explain or understand, but somewhere in there is a really good movie that wanted to be made. However, what came out was a sort of fetal-alchohol-syndrome-cum-crack-baby-film, to use a really politically incorrect metaphor. Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull had all the potential in the world but upon delivery what came out was horribly disfigured due to prenatal abuse by its parents. Nevertheless, you can still see the elements of a fantastic Indiana Jones movie in there somewhere.

This movie isn't like the Star Wars prequels, which just sucked. No, in some ways, Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull is worse because it actually had potential to be as good as its predecessors. By explaining what was actually good about the movie will illustrate what I mean.

1) 1950s: It seems Mr. Plinkett agrees with me about this--setting the film in the 50s was a great idea. Indiana is older and wiser, not as physically up-to-snuff. In my opinion, he should have made up for his age by being a bit more cunning. Although Plinkett disagrees, I think that having served as a spy for the Allies during World War II makes sense--it isn't too far-fetched that this adventuring World War I veteran would have found a way to be useful to the war effort. Indeed, this could have given him interesting and useful contacts and connections that he hadn't had before.

I have always liked the idea of seeing an older Indy since I first watched Young Indiana Jones and the Mystery of the Blues where the framing story involves Harrison Ford as Indy recounting how he learned to play the blues in Chicago in 1920. It indicated that the character still had fight in him, despite being middle-aged. However, that Indy was a far cry from the henpecked Indy in Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. I wanted to see more of that Indy.

2) McCarthyism: This some people thought was a heavy-handed politically driven soapbox vehicle for anti-right-wing sophistry to be injected into the film. I disagree. Check out Red Scare or Red Menace?, an interesting look into the era of McCarthyism. The existence of KGB-funded communist movements and subversive groups has become a very real part of historical study from that era, especially since a lot of stuff was declassified in Russia within the past twenty years. Yeah, the anti-communism rally was a bit over-the-top, but having Indy get sacked from his school and tailed by the FBI is great for plot development.

3) Mutt: Indy having a son isn't a bad idea. Maybe having Shia LeBouf play his son was, but I still like how he handled Mutt. Having Mutt be something of a hellraiser is also appropriate--he takes after his father. A rough-and-tumble greaser with a switchblade fits the 1950s well. Having him duel with a Soviet fencing champion, though, is ridiculous. Having him swing from vines is worse. Mutt started out great but ended up lame.

4) Aliens: Roswell. War of the Worlds. Area 51. Invasion of the Body Snatchers. The Day the Earth Stood Still. Forbidden Planet. This Island Earth. The 1950s and 1960s saw the height of science-fiction writing and film pushed further than ever before. Whereas the 1930s saw lots of pulp fiction featuring heroes modeled on Haggard's Alan Quartermain, with adventurers like Robert E. Howard's El Borak, the 1950s pulp was often about little green men from Mars. Having the Soviets chasing the secret of Roswell and Area 51 is actually a perfect idea for an Indy movie. It replaces the supernatural of the Grail, the Ark, and the Thuggi with the mysteries of conspiracy and alien artifacts. Handled well, it could have been awesome. Handled well... . It wasn't. That's the sad thing. I think aliens was a fantastic idea. But the aliens were revealed too soon and there was little or no mystery behind the entire thing. Consider--having the Soviets after some sort of alien technology isn't much different from having the Nazis chasing the Spear of Destiny, the Ark of the Covenant, or the Holy Grail. Having a set of ruins in the middle of nowhere turn into a flying saucer and disappear is over-the-top. Suspension of disbelief dissolves and the audience ends up feeling cheated.

5) Soviets: Yes, they're more morally ambiguous than the Nazis. At least, they were under Khruschev. Not under Stalin. Stalin was evil. Having a hardline Stalinist secret faction trying to get at alien tech to overthrow Khruschev and start World War III isn't so deeply complex for audiences to sit around going "huh?" especially after all the stuff they had to sit through about the Thuggi in Temple of Doom. Soviets and the KGB are great badguys. However, Spielberg (and Lucas) didn't establish these Soviets as villainous by having all of their killing take place off camera. If we watched the U.S. soldiers get graphically massacred at Area 51 in the opening sequence, our sense of violation and outrage would have provided enough dislike for there to be a good payoff when the badguys finally get their comeuppance.

All five of these elements are a recipe for a great (and slightly different, like Temple of Doom) kind of Indy film. It is risky, yes, but done right, it could have been awesome. That's why Kingdom of the Crystal Skull is such a disappointment. There's a good movie in there somewhere. It's just buried beneath bad decisions, poor plotting, and weak characterization.

Hungover Heroes Guild, Part Eight

2012-01-01T00:43:00.003+09:00

A summary and cast of PCs can be found here, at the beginning of Session 6's AAR.

The PCs decided to take a reconnaissance job for the Twisted Tower. After negotiating the agreement with Thurbal, captain of the guard for the Tower of Ashaba, the PCs commissioned a few new sets of armor and weapons with some of their spoils from Daggerdale.

At midday, they arrived at the Twisted Tower the following day and were escorted through the tower dungeons (where they made offerings at the shrine for Sylune, the Lady of Shadowdale and fallen hero). They were escorted through a few doors and given a key and a parchment with the password to the next door.

They crossed an underground stream via a stone bridge. Baravis used his new spider walk invocation to guide PCs across the bridge. At the next door, they spoke the magic word to unbar the door and the parchment fizzled to ash. They opened the door, avoided a descending ceiling trap, and were attacked by two shaggy humanoid creatures with bastard swords. They dispatched them with ease, then plunged deeper into the dark tunnels.

They unraveled an illusory dead-end, found a secret door, and eventually made their way into a twisted series of water-carved tunnels when they heard the sound of voices approaching. When they heard in orcish "We'll find the dwarven wretch, then it's mealtime for everyone!" Baravis cried in dwarven "Over here you coward!"

Around a bend, a half-orc and five shaggy creatures (that looked like a cross between orcs and those things they had fought earlier) came round the bend and a tremendous fight ensued. The PCs made short work of three of the shaggy beasts when the rest retreated. A running fight ensued during which Sven was cut down, but Baravis healed him. (Sven always gets put below 0 hp in battle, the poor guy!) The session ended after the fight and will resume next time in the twisted tunnels.

Hungover Heroes Guild, Part Seven

2011-12-29T07:06:00.008+09:00

A summary and cast of PCs can be found here, at the beginning of Session 6's AAR.

Our heroes thought they were safe at Eagles Eyrie, resting and preparing to set off southwards. However, a report from the dwarven lookouts from their concealed posts told of Zhentilar--not the standard town watch, but actual heavily armed and armored soldiers--approaching the Eyrie. They ran afoul of one of the dwarves' traps then withdrew.

A debate erupted in the Eyrie--should the dwarves leave their newly-liberated outpost to the Zhents or defend it to the death? A few blamed the PCs for leading the Zhents there, but Baravis' devilish charm convinced them that it wasn't their fault. The dwarves were convinced to depart and gathered up the bones of Elshar Kurl and Dorn the Grim. During their sojourn, the PCs learned the lore of the dwarves' flight from Eagles' Eyrie:

Sending their kinsfolk to the halls of their cousins in the Mines of Tethyamar, Elshar Kurl, the priest, and Dorn the Grim, the chieftain, remained behind to buy time for their clan, knowing that they would probably die. They kept up the appearance of an entire clan resisting Colderan forces and the rest of the clan escaped.

The two dwarves sought to destroy the upstart mage and his curse by forging a sword of cold iron. They made the blade of dark ironstar steel and chanted sorcery with every strike of the smith's hammer, but ultimately the blade failed them. Their bodies are only skeletons now, clothed in remnants of chain mail armor.

The bones were gathered up and were taken to be interred at Anathar's Dell in a temporary tomb until the Eyrie could be retaken. Baravis led the escape from the Eyrie. The dwarves set out south on the Tethyamar Trail, disguised as simple traveling tinkers. The PCs stuck to the countryside. After two days, they arrived at Castle Daggerdale, where they spent the night, where Sven fell ill with filth fever. The next two days were rough on the PCs as they struggled to keep away from Zhentilar patrols on the road and reach Anathar's Dell as Sven weakened. They made a litter that Drog dragged through the fields and meadows as they wandered south.

INTERLUDE
Eragyn, swathed in flowing black robes, stepped into the illuminated dome of Eagles' Eyrie. Constable Tren Noemfor followed sheepishly, clutching a few papers and trying to avoid the steely gaze of the priestess of Cyric.

A Zhentilar trooper stepped forward. "The forge has recently been in use, priestess. It is uncertain if our quarry was here, but someone was until very, very recently. The coals are still hot."

Eragyn grimaced and turned toward Constable Noemfor. "Their papers?"

"Copied and sent away, as you ordered." Eragyn stretched out a hand and he placed the parchment into her hands. She looked at them briefly.

"Sven Lackman of Waterdeep, passport. An identification paper from someplace called Sigil for a certain Baravis. And we know the one was a Zhent traitor named Vlad, from whose sentence you apparently allowed to escape." She thrust the papers at Noemfor. "Your superiors in Zhentil Keep will not be happy at your incompetence." She sneered. "You underestimated them. I will not make the same mistake. However, I know their weaknesses better than you."

She turned to a sergeant of the Zhentilar. "I want those adventurers found. Send a patrol down every road leading out of the Dale. Send scouting parties to every town and village from here to the Dagger River and beyond."

The sergeant swallowed thickly. "Beyond, priestess? Even the Dagger River vale isn't safe--Randal Morn's Freedom Riders are active and hold the allegiance of nearly every river settlement and the entirety of the Dale south of it!"

She shook her head. "I understand your concerns, but they must be found. I want them and I want Colderan. Find them both!" She turned back to Noemfor. "If they escape the Dale, it is no matter. Every agent and spy from here to Westgate will soon know of them and know of the bounty I've placed upon them. We'll have them soon enough." She smirked. "Or at least their ears."

BACK TO THE PCS
With the help of Baravis' Healing skill, Sven made a full recovery at Anathar's Dell. There, Baravis attempted to mend the breach between the Brightblade Clan and House Morn. An agent of the Freedom Riders met briefly with the PCs and took their concerns regarding an alliance between the two factions. He asked if the PCs knew anything about the whereabouts of the Sword of the Dales.

They departed, following the Tethyamar Trail to the crossroads with the Northride, where they spent the night with a patrol of Shadowdale guardsmen at the Shrine of Torm. Upon arriving in Shadowdale the next afternoon, they decided to investigate the mysterious trampling of fields in the northern village as well as question Lhaeo, Elminster's apprentice, regarding the whereabouts of the Sword of the Dales.

The PCs are at a crossroads--they can seek information on Finott, a wizard who disappeared before the Time of Troubles who was an expert on Shraevyn the Weapons-Mage (maker of the Sword of the Dales), or they can follow up on other adventuring opportunities in Shadowdale itself. We'll see what they decide to do this Friday.

The arms of Lord Mourngrym Amcathra
Lord of Shadowdale

Book Review--THE JEWEL IN THE SKULL by Michael Moorcock

2011-12-27T23:54:00.007+09:00

EDIT: I'd like to thank Taran of One Last Sketch for the link to this most excellent review of The History of the Runestaff. Check it out. It addresses some of the reasons why I was so disappointed by this book--mainly Moorcock wrote it as a potboiler in the space of three days. Basically, he wrote it to pay the bills while the bulk of his time was spent on more serious projects. Apparently the 1990s omnibus editions were corrected of inconsistencies and such, but still remain very disappointing.

Anyway, on with the review... .

I'd like to start out with a few quotes:

Théoden King of the Mark had reached the road from the Gate to the River, and he turned towards the City that was now less than a mile distant. He slackened his speed a little, seeking new foes, and his knights came about him, and Dernhelm was with them. Ahead nearer the walls Elfhelm's men were among the siege-engines, hewing, slaying, driving their foes into the fire-pits. Well nigh all the northern half of the Pelennor was overrun, and there camps were blazing, orcs were flying towards the River like herds before the hunters; and the Rohirrim went hither and thither at their will. But they had not yet overthrown the siege, nor won the Gate. Many foes stood before it, and on the further half of the plain were other hosts still unfought. Southward beyond the road lay the main force of the Haradrim, and there their horsemen were gathered about the standard of their chieftain. And he looked out, and in the growing light he saw the banner of the king, and that it was far ahead of the battle with few men about it. Then he was filled with a red wrath and shouted aloud, and displaying his standard, black serpent upon scarlet, he came against the white horse and the green with a great press of men; and the drawing of the scimitars of the Southrons was like a glimmer of stars.

Then Théoden was aware of him, and would not wait for his onset, but crying to Snowmane he charged headlong to greet him. Great was the clash of their meeting. But the white fury of the North-men burned the hotter, and more skilled was their knighthood with long spears and bitter. Fewer were they but they clove through the Southrons like a fire-bolt in a forest. Right through the press drove Théoden Thengel's son, and his spear was shivered as he threw down their chieftain. Out swept his sword, and he spurred to the standard, hewed staff and bearer; and the black serpent foundered. Then all that was left unslain of their cavalry turned and fled far away. --J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King

How about another quote?

And then, as the horde writhed and coiled upon itself, Amalric's lancers, having cut through a cordon of horsemen encountered in the outer valley, swept around the extremity of the western ridge and smote the host in a steel-tipped wedge, splitting it asunder. His attack carried all the dazing demoralization of a surprise on the rear. Thinking themselves flanked by a superior force and frenzied at the fear of being cut off from the desert, swarms of nomads broke and stampeded, working havoc in the ranks of their more steadfast comrades. These staggered and the horsemen rode through them. Up on the ridges the desert fighters wavered, and the hillmen fell on them with renewed fury, driving them down the slopes. --Robert E. Howard, "The Black Colossus"

And for comparison, this final quote:

From the remaining ranks of infantry, arrows flew thickly toward them and flame-lances sent searing fire. Count Brass' archers retaliated, and his flame-lancers also returned the attack. Arrows clattered on their armour. Several men fell. Others were struck down by the flame-lances. Through the chaos of fire and flying arrows, the infantry of Granbretan steadily advanced, in spite of depleted numbers. They paused when they came to the swampy ground, choked as it was with the bodies of their horses, and their officers furiously urged them on. --Michael Moorcock, The Jewel in the Skull

One can see a vast difference between the first two and the last quote, both in temperament and quality of prose. I would expect much more from the man who would later pen the essay "Epic Pooh," blasting Tolkien for the "sentimental, slightly distanced, often wistful, a trifle retrospective" prose that "contains little wit and much whimsy."

Tolkien's description of the Battle of Pelennor Fields and Howard's description of the battle at the Escarpment are both written extremely well. Tolkien's description eschews the sleepy quality that Moorcock describes as reminding him of A.A. Milne:

There is an element of conspiratorial persuasion in his tone that a suspicious child can detect early in life. Let's all be cosy, it seems to say (children's books are, after all, written by conservative adults anxious to maintain an unreal attitude to childhood); let's forget about our troubles and go to sleep. At which I would find myself stirring to a sitting position in my little bed and responding with uncivilized bad taste. --Michael Moorcock, "Epic Pooh"

True, Moorcock provides quotes to compare portions of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings to back up his argument. But Tolkien does not maintain a consistent voice throughout the novels. Indeed, he alters his voice depending on the circumstances and the Battle of Pelennor Fields reads more like Beowulf or The Iliad than Winnie-the-Pooh. Granted, Moorcock deals with these shifts and injects a good deal of politics into his assessment of Tolkien's supposed anti-industrialism and anti-democratic romanticism.

But this review isn't about "Epic Pooh." If you want to read a full rebuttal to Moorcock's essay, check out "Knocking Some Stuffing Out of Moorcock's 'Epic Pooh'" by Brian Murphy of the Silver Key. It's about The Jewel in the Skull and how I was profoundly disappointed by this book by the man who wrote "Epic Pooh."

Now, I've read Elric of Melniboné and remember enjoying it. However, I wasn't quite so profoundly moved or invigorated as I was by Tolkien's or Howard's prose. Indeed, the prose in The Jewel in the Skull is so weak that I had difficulty making it all the way through the book. I was profoundly disappointed by this work. Indeed, this book is weak in more than simply prose, but also in characterization and plot.

Firstly, let's discuss characterization. The main character, Dorian Hawkmoon, isn't introduced until fifty pages into the novel. This isn't bad in-and-of itself, however Moorcock fails to utilize it effectively by building a very compelling opening. Dorian could be easily played by Keanu Reeves as he's almost completely bereft of emotion for much of the middle of the novel. Granted, Moorcock was trying to use his strange emotionlessness as a vehicle, but he handles it so poorly that it fails completely. Our protagonist is absolutely unsympathetic and the reader is utterly incapable of identifying with him. Therefore, we don't really care if he lives, dies, wins, or loses.

The villains are cardboard cutouts, especially Baron Meliadus. The Dark Empire of Granbretan, which is uniting the continent of post-apocalyptic Europe, is evil... and engages in wanton slaughter and rapine of conquered territories... and that's about it. Oh, and it has an immortal god-emperor. Wow.

Moorcock establishes Baron Meliadus' villainy so clumsily that it comes off almost as a laughable parody of Robin Hood-type heels like the Sheriff of Nottingham. Of course he's going to try to abscond with the princess! Of course he's going to wound the aptly-named warrior-poet Bowgentle with villainous swordplay. Of course he's going to betray Count Brass' honorable hospitality. Of course he's going to swear vengeance and rant over every defeat like Skeletor, Cobra Commander, or Megatron.

Count Brass is likewise such an archetype of the honorable warrior-knight that he, also, becomes a laughable stereotype. Moorcock introduces him and develops his character but in so doing makes Count Brass so predictable and noble that he comes off as a flat caricature and not a character.

The plot is not much better, although it does have its moments. At least the opening sets the stage for the later conflict correctly enough. The Dark Empire wants the Kamarg--a portion of what used to be southern France--either with Count Brass' vassalage or through outright conquest. Count Brass, being honorable to a fault, refuses to become politically involved and thus cannot support Granbretan, although he feels that the unification of Europe under one banner and the ending of all the incessant warring (of which he's a renowned hero) would be a Good Thing, even if Granbretan is at the helm. This makes very little sense--he wants to see Europe unified, doesn't want to get involved, and yet is the ruler of a state that is a part of Europe and must eventually be incorporated into any unified whole. The entire time I'm reading, I feel that Count Brass is Lawful Stupid--noble and honorable at the expense of any real rationality. At least Ned Stark wasn't stupid--his honor and nobility got him a pretty rotten result, nevertheless.

Baron Meliadus, in comparison, behaves Retarded Evil. You'd think a Dark Empire ambassador would be much more subtle, but no, that would actually be interesting. Instead, Baron Meliadus tries to steal Count Brass' daughter and kill his best friends when Count Brass proves himself too stupid to live. He doesn't spend time scouting out the defenses or planting a spy network or finding ways to sabotage the forces of the Kamarg.

Enter Dorian Hawkmoon, a lord whose state was conquered by the Dark Empire of Granbretan and is now a prisoner. The defeat robbed him of his emotions and has left him a cold automaton who just doesn't give a damn. When Meliadus makes a deal with him ("sabotage the Kamarg and we'll give you your state back"), Dorian basically says, "meh."

Then comes the eponymous MacGuffin--a plot vehicle that is so weak and positively stupid that I nearly put the book in the trash. The black jewel implanted into Hawkwood's forehead is basically a magical camera that is connected to a machine in London that shows only what is in front of Dorian and provides no sound. The sorcerers of Granbretan assure Hawkwood that if he betrays them, the jewel will basically fry his brain. It's the tool they're going to use to blackmail him and ensure his loyalty. But it has immensely profound weaknesses. So, in the end, instead of Lawful Evil, the leaders of the Dark Empire of Granbretan has demonstrated how they, like their Baron Meliadus, are entirely Retarded Evil.

At least Count Brass and his friends aren't so stupid as to not see through Granbretan's ploy. They use their own technomagic to prevent the stone from frying Dorians brain, but it will only last a little while--the only place Dorian can go to get the jewel removed without killing him is somewhere out in Persia. But the armies of Granbretan are marching for the Kamarg. Now that Hawkmoon has met Count Brass' stereotypically hot daughter, he's starting to get his emotions back, but the presence of the jewel makes him feel hopeless enough that he refuses to allow himself to fall in love (although she has, predictably, fallen head-over-heels for him).

By this point, I want to bang my head against a wall.

The rest of the story consists of a couple of rather better chapters describing guerrilla raids on the Granbretan forces and a decent set-piece battle before descending into Hawkmoon's journey toward Persia, his gaining of a companion, and a very uninspired arrival in a Persian kingdom and his participation in a battle. I say "descend" because the rest of the book is just as uninspired as the beginning.

The problems with the plot are not the actual contents but in how they are handled by Moorcock. Coupled with his lackluster prose (which I will address below), Moorcock's storytelling is simply lacking. Other authors have written equally derivative works but did so with style and/or panache that Moorcock, as of 1967, did not seem to possess. Every opportunity he had to make the story more interesting he did not seize. As a result, the book reads like a dull attempt at parody. If parody it was, then Moorcock failed at this as well because there is no wit whatsoever in his writing. There are no moments where we realize that he's presenting these events to us tongue-in-cheek. It simply plays out dully, uninspired.

The prose simply serves to drive this point home:

Sparks scattered into the darkness of the hall as the two big men dueled, the broadswords rising and falling, swinging this way and that, every stroke parried with masterly skill. Sweat covered both faces as the swords swung; both chests heaved with the exertion as they fenced back and forth across the hall.

George Orwell said it best when comparing pulp boxing stories by British authors to those of American authors in "Boys' Weeklies:"

Notice how much more knowledgeable the American extracts sound. They are written for devotees of the prize-ring, the others are not.

An honest comparison of this to any combat scene by Robert E. Howard demonstrates this. The American writer wants the reader to experience the combat. I could also compare it to Zelazny's description of combat, which benefits heavily from his excessive knowledge of fencing. Moorcock's description is vague and frankly blasé. Obviously, Moorcock doesn't know anything about sword-fighting, but he doesn't even attempt to guess. Tolkien's description of combat is much more energetic for all his dreamy let's-all-go-to-sleep prose.

Moorcock also is guilty of the tell-not-show sin.

A conflict was beginning to develop in Hawkmoon's breast--perhaps a conflict between humanity and the lack of it, perhaps a conflict between conscience and the lack of conscience, if such conflicts were possible.

If such conflicts were possible? You tell us, you're the author! This is just clumsy writing, but it continues.

Whatever the exact nature of the conflict, there was no doubt that Hawkmoon's character was changing for a second time. It was not the character he had had on the battlefield at Köln, nor the strange apathetic mood into which he had fallen since the battle, but a new character altogether, as if Hawkmoon were being born again in a thoroughly different mold.

One of the advantages of writing a novel is the author can actually develop these changes through showing how the character behaves and actually describing a bit of their thought processes and feelings. George R.R. Martin does this very well with many of his characters, especially ones like Arya, Jon Snow, and Jaime Lannister. Moorcock is writing one of the very, very short SF novels that proliferated the discount bookracks of convenience stores (like my own antiquated DAW Books copy pictured below) and the like during the mid-twentieth century, so he has to deal with page limitations. However, I don't feel that is a legitimate excuse, especially since these problems are rife throughout the narrative and detract from the interest factor.

I could provide more examples of the disappointing writing, but I'll refrain. Suffice it to say, for the most part, The Jewel in the Skull reads like a rough draft or perhaps an extended summary of a story that could have really benefited from some greater detail and less derivative narration.

I don't know if I'm going to read any more of The History of the Runestaff, the four-volume series of which this novel was the first. Indeed, this makes me want to go back and reread Elric of Melniboné to see if it suffers from the same weaknesses in narration, characterization, and prose.

As I said, this book was a disappointment. I was very interested in reading it but when I finally did, it most certainly did not live up to expectations, especially considering the vocal criticisms its author leveled against other, noteworthy and accomplished, authors. There's a kernel of a good and exciting story here. However, in this volume at least, Moorcock doesn't deliver.

The Jewel in the Skull by Michael Moorcock Style: C
Substance: C-
Overall: C-

Hungerover Heroes Guild, Part Six

2011-12-25T10:14:00.008+09:00

CAST OF CHARACTERS
Baravis: Played by Luke. A tiefling warlock 1/favored soul 1 from Sigil, he knew something strange was up when a few guys bearing pendants with a black sun and white skull tried to kill or kidnap him. One day, walking through the streets of Sigil, he did something to annoy the Scratcher who basically portaled him to Faerûn. He wandered through the forests until he found Drog encamped by a path. Resigned to his fate, he seeks an answer to why the Cyricists (whose symbol he's identified as theirs) want him dead. He's become a follower of Marthammor Duin, the Dwarven god of wanderers, with whom he's made a pact.

Drog: Played by DJ. A Rashemar barbarian 2 who is on his dajemma--his coming-of-age journey into the lands outside of Rashemen. A stalwart warrior of honor who has a way with the ladies (who admire his rugged looks and massive muscles).

Sven Lackman: Played by Shaun. A half-elven rogue 1/urban ranger 1 from Waterdeep whose parents were Harpers murdered by the Cult of the Dragon. He has devoted himself to Hoar, god of vengeance and swift justice. Sven is being a bit retooled by Shaun (with DM consent). Sven is a bit reckless and impatient, but is developing into a powerful finesse fighter.

Vlad: Played by Alex. Vlad's parents were Zhents who died during the Banedeath, when the priests of Cyric murdered (or forcibly converted) all followers of Bane in Zhentil Keep. Left for dead, a nameless god approached Vlad and made an agreement with him--Vlad would become a dread necromancer (see Heroes of Horror) so long as he kept the Pact. Vlad seeks for the truth of this unknown deity while swearing vengeance against Cyric and all of his followers.

THE STORY THUS FAR
The PCs met in Shadowdale, where they heard rumors of a Dream Fever in Dagger Falls, chief town in Daggerdale. Forty or fifty years past, the Zhentarim (a.k.a. the Black Network) ousted the rightful rulers of Daggerdale and backed a usurper, Malyk. Then, twenty years past, Randal Morn and the Knights of Myth Drannor slew Malyk and retook the Dale. Zhentilar forces then invaded and captured all of the Dale north of the Dagger River. Randal Morn leads his Freedom Riders and only controls part of the Dale, while the Zhentarim controls Dagger Falls and the Zhentilar (the army of Zhentil Keep) extorts or raids villages between the Tesh and Dagger rivers.

They set off, encountering the Brightblade dwarven clan at Anathar's Dell and learning that two hundred years past, Colderan Morn, Lord of Daggerdale, exiled them from their home in Eagle's Eyrie, overlooking Dagger Falls. They encountered a patrol of Freedom Riders, who took them to Randal Morn. They were tried for being suspected Zhentarim (Vlad's accent gave him away as a Zhent), but Tunfer the Stout's zone of truth spell exonerated them. With Randal Morn's favor, they arrived at Dagger Falls and cleared out the Eagle's Eyrie.

They made contact with Loudon the Cooper, a supporter of Randal Morn, at the Red Rock tavern, but were captured later at the Teshford Arms inn resisting a summons by the Constable. Sven's attempted knifing of a mercenary in the Constable's employ and Vlad's spellslinging got them booted from town without their gear and Vlad slated for a caravan back to Zhentil Keep. But all was not lost--the Brightblade dwarves, on a pilgrimage to the Eyrie disguised as traveling tinkers, discovered the PCs had cleared it out and began to restore it in secret, giving the PCs a base of operations. They staged a daring rescue on Vlad's caravan, then snuck into town, headed for the ruined Temple of Lathander, having learned that all the troubles with the Dream Fever and the strange wood-woses (mysterious dwarf-sized night stalkers) had begun shortly after Eragyn the Dark, priestess of Cyric, had disappeared in the Temple crypts.

The PCs battled several wood-woses and a juvenile hook horror, befriended a nixie, and even met Colderan Morn himself--not 200-years dead as they had once suspected.

Session Six
The PCs made their way to Colderan's headquarters, centered around his crypt, and a great battle ensued. Colderan was ready for them--4 skeletons attacked as they entered the anteroom. Colderan created a wall of thorns and ordered his remaining wood-woses to gather his things and help him escape. The PCs managed to kill most of the wood-woses, but during the battle (which was fought in several rooms and corridors) Colderan escaped, trapping Sven in another wall of thorns and nearly killing him (negative hit points). Baravis stabilized him with a cure minor wounds orison, Drog hacked him out of the thorns, and the PCs discovered eight sleepers, several corpses, a strange net, a treasury, and Colderan's library and notes. After reading through his notes, the PCs destroyed the net of dreams (the cause of the fever) and the sleepers began to awake. Among them was Eragyn the Dark and a Zhent guardsman. Eragyn had been bound and gagged, but Baravis and Vlad disagreed on what to do with her. Vlad wanted to kill her outright--she was evil and served and evil god. Baravis wanted her to stand trial for her wickedness. They quarreled and Drog broke it up. Baravis tried to talk with her, but gave up all attempts at diplomacy when Vlad vocally advocated killing her outright. Eragyn saw the PCs as traitors, especially considering they were still wearing the Zhentilar tabards with the arms of the occupying forces.
They followed a passageway to a wall of masonry. A dwarf victim of the Dream Fever, Boront, found a secret door into a room full of confiscated contraband--including the confiscated masterwork studded leather Baravis had commissioned, Sven's masterwork dagger, and Drog's masterwork greatsword. Franter, the Zhent guard, exclaimed that the secret door led into one of the basements of the Constable's Tower! Baravis, hoping to make peace with the Constable (at least, for now) sent Franter up to the Constable. The plan backfired. Zhentilar troops opened the trapdoor with crossbows trained on the PCs. Eragyn was freed by the troops and the PCs fled through the secret door. They closed it, hoping the Zhentilar wouldn't locate the opening mechanisms. Just to be sure, Drog jammed a sword into the doorjam to block it.

The situation looked hopeless. The Zhentilar would be waiting at the temple entrance for the PCs. So, they decided to escape via the underground river.

Led by Boront (to whom Drog had given a longsword), the townsfolk fled through the tunnels and out of the temple, while Drog, Vlad, Baravis, and Sven (whom Baravis had healed with cure light wounds to demonstrate the power of a benevolent deity to Eragyn) managed to escape the tunnels via the stream. When I revealed (using Maptool) that the stream had spilled them out at the waterfall, the players cheered in triumph. Yet another seemingly hopeless situation turned into a victory by the PCs.

Colderan had escaped. Eragyn was attempting to seize control of Dagger Falls from Constable Tren Noemfor. However, the Dream Fever had been ended and the townspeople were safe from the depredations of the wood-woses. Colderan's plans to take over the town were foiled, as were any hopes of him allying with (or being backed by) the Zhentarim. The PCs had made some enemies, but as they rested the rest of the day in the Eagle's Eyrie, they knew that they had succeeded at something worthwhile. Now, they had to contact Loudon the Cooper for their reward, try to find Randal Morn to warn him of Colderan, his thrice-great grandfather, and return the holy relics of Lathander that they had discovered to the Temple of Lathander in Shadowdale. Baravis leveled up (now a 3rd-level character). However, Sven may have contracted filth fever from the swarm Colderan had summoned beneath him. The path ahead is murky yet filled with possibilities.

Arms of the Zhentilar
Army of Zhentil Keep

Hungover Heroes Guild, Part Five

2011-12-23T11:47:00.006+09:00

Well, the current adventure (in case you're wondering, I'm running, or trying to run, the Doom of Daggerdale adventure, which you can peruse in order to see just how far the PCs have deviated from the adventure) is drawing to a close. Our heroes have finally made it into the catacombs beneath the Temple of Lathander, seeking out the Priestess of Cyric, Eragyn, hoping to put an end to her and with her, the Dream Fever that's been plaguing the folk of the Dale.

We had to split this session into two short ones because of Alex's (Vlad's player) work schedule.

Session One
Having successfully rescued Vlad, the PCs and their dwarven allies flee into the forest as an Zhentilar patrol heads toward the scene of the combat. They'd seen the ambush from the parapets atop the River Gate in Dagger Falls and sent reinforcements to see if they could save the caravan. They arrived moments too late.

The PCs and their allies fled into the forest, but Baravis managed to sneak back to spy. He managed to hear that the patrol misidentified the tracks (their scout rolled a 1) and thought that goblins had attacked the caravan. Once they realized the caravan wagons had managed to escape, they returned to Dagger Falls. Sighing with relief, the PCs and dwarves walked two more miles downstream and fashioned a raft to cross the River Tesh. They returned to the Eagle's Eyrie by nightfall.

That evening, Baravis received a vision from Marthammor Duin, the dwarven god of wandering, living aboveground, and friendship with non-dwarves. Baravis pledged to aid and protect dwarves wherever they may be and to serve Marthammor Duin faithfully. He awoke with a level of Favored Soul (see Complete Divine) and immediately cast cure light wounds on any dwarves injured during the caravan fight. He then tended to his party members.

The dwarves were impressed by this. Kuldar, the chief of the dwarves, gave Baravis a copy of their holy texts to guide and shape his newfound faith. It was like roleplaying the birth of an apostle or saint of some sort. The Brightblade dwarves finished the chitin armor for Drog (DJ's Rashemar 2nd-level barbarian) as a gift for the PC's clearing of the Eyrie and returning it to the Brightblade clan. However, they feared for the safety and secrecy of their new outpost so they wished for no further risks, what with the Zhentarim so near in Dagger Falls.

After a few days of spying on Dagger Falls from the Eyrie, the PCs planned to infiltrate the town and sneak into the Temple at night. As they approached the Teshford Arms, they saw two off-duty Zhentilar ambushed and killed by the strange, short night creatures. When the creatures began to drag the bodies toward the woods, the PCs ambushed and killed them. They discovered that the creatures bled sap, and that sap was also coating the copper spearheads the creatures wielded. Baravis realized that it was a poison. Drog took two of the spears for future use. Vlad and Baravis donned the tabards and chain mail of the fallen Zhentilar and hid the bodies in the woods. Then, everyone snuck across the river. Drog and Sven took a long, circuitous route through outlying fields to avoid any Zhentilar in the town beyond the walls; they witnessed two more of those creatures sneaking into a house. Sven advised inaction: "We can't save them, we have to stick to the plan." They watched from the distance as the two creatures exited through the window of the cottage with a shimmering net or web. They then vanished into the night. Drog and Sven met up with Vlad and Baravis near the Forest Gate of the town. Using their disguises and Vlad's native Zhent accent, they convinced the two gate guards that they were their relief. Happy to go and drink, the Zhentilar left, allowing Baravis to open the portcullis enough for Drog and Sven to crawl under.

They snuck through the town, sticking close to the town wall, then saw the two night creatures climb into the ruins of the Temple of Lathander ahead of them. The PCs followed, sneaking past the guards stationed at the temple and going down into the darkness.

Session Two
They descended the stairs in the ruin, avoided fighting two osquips (territorial rodent-creatures) in the wine cellar and crept through the catacombs beneath the temple. There they discovered a secret door leading to a room containing the holy items of Lathander's temple--silver censers, golden candlesticks, and a holy symbol. They agreed to return these to the temple and prayed to Lathander before they took the objects.

They found a hole in one crypt that led to tunnels. They followed the twisting path until they encountered a young (medium-sized and not-so-powerful) hook horror. Despite its size, it still gave the PCs a good pounding, but luckily Baravis could heal. However, the noise of the fight drew some of the night-creature scouts. Soon, a battle ensued, and the PCs had slain five of the creatures, with Drog and Sven managing to avoid the effects of their poison blades. Baravis took the head of one as evidence in case they encountered the Constable on their way out.

They eventually found a small pool in a cavern. Baravis threw the head into the pool, wanting to make certain there wasn't an evil creature there. The head flew out and Baravis was harshly reprimanded by the fairy spirit of the pool, a nixie named Mara. Casting purify food and drink on the pool as a penance, Baravis gained her good graces. Drog, familiar with the worship of nature spirits and things fairy, charmed the nixie with conversation. Indeed, DJ admitted his character wanted to sleep with Mara, but I told him he's lucky because she could have charmed him and he could have ended up living with her for a hundred years or until she got bored of him.

Anyway, Mara told them about the night-creatures (she called them wood-woses) and said they were the most unseelie of things. Ever since the evil priestess came down into the catacombs, things have been going bad, but the wood-woses avoid Mara's pool.

Judging that it was safe, the PCs decided to rest here. Around the end of the eighth hour, though, a wall of thorns blocked off both exits from Mara's cave. A booming voice demanded, "Who are you and why are you here?"

The PCs identified themselves and their quest. "I am Colderan Morn, Colderan the Razor, Mage-Lord of Daggerdale, Conjuror of the Dark Wood. You have entered my house and slain my servitors!"

"We only seek to help. Your people are suffering because of the Dream Fever and your servitors."

"It is unfortunate, but necessary. I will tell you this once, leave or perish." The PCs protested. The voice repeated, "You will leave my house or you will die here!"

Then... across the table from me, Shaun said it. And everybody just stared at him with dropped jaws. "F--- off!"

Whomever it was wasted no time, immediately casting summon swarm. A boiling surge of rats erupted beneath Sven's feet. Baravis pleaded (successfully) for the caster to stop (which he did, although the spell's duration is concentration +2 rounds). The swarm dispersed eventually, leaving Sven with 0 hp and possibly filth fever. When Baravis mentioned the Brightblade dwarves, the caster's voice grew accusatory.

"You are allied with the dwarves! Treacherous thieves and murderers! They slew my beloved Bellessaria! I will have no truck with their allies!" With that, the voice was gone.

The PCs used one of the vials of alchemist's fire to destroy one of the walls of thorns. They came to an abandoned circle of poisonous mushrooms (destroying 13 of which looked like wood-woses in fetal form), found a passage that descended toward a river, and eventually came to another wall of thorns that blocked further passage. The PCs hacked their way through the wall and came to a locked door with a guardian watchdog. Sven (who had been healed back up to half his hp) befriended the dog with wild empathy (he's now a 1st-level rogue, 1st-level urban ranger). Without thieves tools (they'd been confiscated in Part Four), they couldn't pick the lock, so Drog spent four rounds noisily chopping the door down. They entered a small antechamber with arrowslits and another door. Upon opening the second door, Baravis (who had gone ahead) found himself met with four skeletons.

And that's where we stopped. Play resumes tomorrow night where we will use Maptool on our laptops at the table instead of miniatures. Most play will use pen-and-paper, though. Maptool is simply to help us navigate through the logistics and movement aspects of gaming more quickly than miniatures, but I must admit, it takes a lot longer to set up and prepare adventures and campaigns (at least, at the level of detail I prefer). It has the potential to speed up games quite a bit, and allows for online gaming, but unfortunately, it takes a LOT of prep time.

What's Wrong with 4th Edition, Interlude

2011-12-14T16:23:00.002+09:00

This article came to my attention, recently, about modern RPGs on the console or computer being too easy.

Keynote section:

His comments echo a popular sentiment amongst core-gamers. That in an attempt to appeal to a wider audience, games are abandoning any semblance of challenge and, quite frequently, treating players like brain-dead automatons.

Wow. Pretty much backs up what I said in my last post, doesn't it? I mean, 4th edition... treating players like brain-dead automatons. This actually jives with criticisms regarding how 4th edition reads like the designers think the reader is an idiot.

What's Wrong with 4th Edition, Part 1

2011-12-13T11:12:00.008+09:00

Esper's Endorsement and My Response

This is a topic that I've avoided for quite some time. It's a topic that gets really, really under my skin. I'm not surprised how many "greybeards" who started with old-school gaming, nor how many young kids who grew up with Diablo and World of Warcraft love 4th edition Dungeons & Dragons. I've watched a dozen youtube videos and read two dozen blogs both praising 4th edition and telling the viewer/reader to "convert" (as if it were some religion) or vilifying the new system and calling it "tabletop WoW," "WoW-lite," or any other permutation of a "WoW" reference.

Now, I'm going to sit back and explain, calmly, rationally, why 4th Edition, despite how fun it may be for a player, game master, or whatever, is not a role-playing game. I'm not saying it's a bad one, what I'm saying is that Dungeons & Dragons 4th edition fails as a role-playing game on every level. Period.

Lots of people disagree. They claim it's fun. Fine. I'll address that near the end. Suffice it to say that I have heard all of the arguments, read the books, talked to friends who've played and both enjoyed and hated it. I've watched it played on YouTube and in real life. I have no interest in playing it whatsoever. I cannot emphasize more how much I find it to be un-fun. I cannot even make a character without becoming frustrated by the game. If I cannot get excited about my character, then I cannot play the game. This is literally a game that I find impossible for me to play. That is why I've never personally playtested it myself. I cannot explain it any better than that. Part of the game is rolling up a character--it is literally a stage of play, when you roll one up you are already playing--and if I cannot even complete that stage without wanting to douse the book in gasoline and light it on fire because it is not only un-fun, unexciting, and uninteresting, it is downright frustrating in a way I have not experienced since that goddamn vulture in Ninja Gaiden.

This is why I have to scratch my head and wonder if something is wrong with me or with all of the people that love 4th edition.

Now, I've heard all of the arguments as to why 4th edition is not only good, it's the best incarnation of D&D yet. Esper actually does a very decent review of it on YouTube and makes a solid case for adopting it. However, his discussion is full of very, very prominent flaws. Go ahead, watch his review before continuing reading.

First, Esper does NOT possess credentials. Having started with 3rd edition does not equate to having credentials by a longshot. He's been playing for 10 years, but I've played for nearly 20 and I know of people who have played since the 1970s and knew Gygax personally.

Second, he does not explain how 1st and 2nd edition AD&D are archaic from a design point-of-view. He just says it, no qualifications, no explanations, just an axiomatic statement that those systems are "out of date." This is extremely telling in that it inadvertently reveals a very prominent bias, making it apparent that he is not approaching it from a purely analytical standpoint. Simply put, he didn't think the game's mechanics before 3rd edition were up-to-date. I could assume he means "not like video-games enough" but that would be assuming (although his statement that he's "been a gamer" since he "picked up an NES controller" indicates that he equates tabletop role-playing with video games on some level). His lament that he felt things in 3.5 were "outdated" again begs the damn question, "What do you mean by 'outdated'?"

To truly understand why he converted to 4th edition we need reasons why he felt 3rd and 3.5 were so flawed and archaic. His complaint that "everybody uses the same stuff" in 3.5 is confusing when, basically, all of the classes in 4th edition are relatively all the same in their mechanics. His discussion of why demons and devils don't teleport out of combat makes sense, but there are spells to prevent that (I guess he forgot about dimensional anchor and similar spells). "NPCs, monsters, and character classes all use the same rules," is his lament. However, from a design standpoint, that is actually a strength because it simplifies things! Otherwise, you get things like White Wolf--where you basically need to throw open your Werewolf the Apocalypse book if you're running a coterie in Vampire the Masquerade and they get jumped by a garou (if you want to represent them accurately and not just use the stats in the back of the Vampire book). But this also ignores the point that we do have hordes of different rules, feats, spells, and more, despite the fact that he put all of the supplements that describe them on display as his favorite additions to the game!

By now, I'm confused. Did he house-rule D&D 3.5 so heavily that he forgot what the actual rules were? Okay, that's a bit harsh. Regardless, I see where he's coming from when it comes to a single spell-list, but I've played games like Rifts and Palladium Fantasy, so I see a definite advantage from a design point-of-view to streamline spells as a result of my experiences. "My cred" if you will. Which stretches back to "Classic D&D" and the Rules Cyclopedia in the late 1980s/early 1990s. If you lived in the Philly area, you were listening to Color Me Badd's "I Wanna Sex You Up" on Q-102.

Then, he talks about the PC's classes "filling the role in the game that they're supposed to fill." Again, I have an enormous problem with this. I've run VERY unconventional games in D&D. Entire campaigns were run in 2nd edition without clerics or fighters or thieves or mages. Seriously, my Dark Sun campaign sophomore year of college basically consisted of a bard, a gladiator, and a psionicist/defiler. That's it. No cleric. Although the gladiator was a bit of a tank, he wasn't as versatile. The bard was a poisoner, not a thief, so breaking and entering was limited. The defiler had to keep his arcane magic under wraps due to the fact that if anyone knew, they'd kill him, so he stuck mostly with psionics. Yeah. No fighter, thief, mage, cleric roles in that party at all. My current party has a warlock, a dread necromancer, a barbarian and a rogue. No cleric (yet). No standard arcane spellcaster with utility spells. And the party is doing fine. The idea that there are roles to fill is bunk. Hell, plenty of people have blogged about how you don't need a cleric. The idea that a character is supposed to fill a predetermined role is what frustrates me so much about 4th edition. I've played games without classes whatsoever, where you simply developed a concept and built it (like White Wolf or D20 Call of Cthulhu) and had a blast. It's myopic, narrow-minded, and unnecessary. Hell, lots of gamers absolutely hate the existence of classes and frankly quit D&D back in 1st or 2nd editions because they think classes are out-of-date! If that is the case, 4th edition is a step backwards, not forwards, because it shoehorns every character with no flexibility or customizability! 4th edition was outdated before it was even launched!

Esper's lament about how he was unhappy with losing a level is also extremely telling. I know a lot of old schoolers who ran during the Gygax days of White Box and Red Box D&D would sneer at Esper. "Tough luck, pal. It's a consequence. You died." 4th edition is about not having to pay the piper. There are no lasting consequences for a lot of effects. And that is a problem. But I'll get to that later. Anyway, yeah, saying that the level was gone and he couldn't get it back is so skewed. "Your level is gone. You can get it back, though... through adventuring until you get enough XP to get it back." Levels are fluid, in a way. But anyway, I digress.

The item creation costs are stupid. Yes. Spells that cost XP make a bit of sense (you're sacrificing a part of yourself). Small XP costs for item creation may make sense too. Not the exorbitant costs, though. I've had problems with item creation costing XP. I don't like it. It balances things out... a little. But I've allowed players to buy feats and powers with XP, powers and feats they wouldn't have gotten as quickly, or in as much abundance. But item creation? Yeah, you should GAIN XP for that--you did in 2nd edition! It simply shouldn't be so easy as blowing gp and XP, but should take time to gather components and rare objects that both enhance the flavor of the world and make the item itself more special.

Esper's complaint about non-spellcasting classes being boring is also bunk. Fighters can be amazingly powerful and versatile, and are damn good if you use wandering monster tables and random encountes. Rogues can forge documents like passports and royal writs and warrants that can get the party into places without combat. They're incredible skillmonkeys. My favorite rogue of all was a halfling archeologist that I created. Archeologist! Not a thief, but something more akin to a pint-sized Indiana Jones. He was basically what Indy said Marcus Brody was when he lied to the Nazis, "He's got a two-day head-start on you, which is more than he needs. Brody's got friends in every town and village from here to the Sudan. He speaks a dozen languages, knows every local custom. He'll blend in, disappear, you'll never see him again. With any luck, he's got the Grail already." Yeah. Only Brody was a joke. My halfling, however, was exactly that. High charisma, high dexterity, high intelligence. Yeah, he was shit in combat. But he wasn't built for combat. (This is one of the reasons I hated 4th edition--I couldn't build my halfling archeologist.) With enough finagling, you could built a barbarian from Mongolia or Northern Africa who raged and rode horses. A finesse fighter with a rapier like a Musketeer was entirely possible and at high levels a fighter specializing in longsword could go about saying, "I'm the greatest swordsman that ever lived" like Mad Martigan. Creativity made these classes interesting.

But wait a second, in Part Two of his review, Esper says, "Now, you build the class the way you want." Then he turns around and says each class has a role, and mocks those who think that's constraining. So, wait, you just contradicted yourself and attempted to dismiss that contradiction by logical fallacy--you make a funny voice and attempt to discredit anyone who disagrees by imitating them, and then say, "shut up." Sorry, man, that doesn't fly. And the roles he assigns to the classes? Who the hell did he ever play with? For me, the cleric was always the man BEHIND the leader (who was most often the fighter or paladin). He was the Archbishop Turpin to the paladin's Charlemagne, or to reference the amazing Flesh + Blood, the cleric is Ronald Lacey's "Cardinal" to Rutger Hauer's fighter, "Martin." (As an aside, Ronald Lacey's character is such a great example of how a cleric should be role-played in a party, I feel the movie should be required viewing by DMs and cleric players alike). By-the-way, the fact that the fighter fit on ONE PAGE is actually his strength and he's the most versatile and customizable class in the entire damn game (with the possible exception of the rogue). Seriously, Esper's laments that fighters were "boring and generic" in 3.5 just shows how little imagination he had. Yeah, if you wanted to optimize your fighter, they're all the same. If you didn't care about min/max-ing, you could make a truly unique fighter in a party of truly unique fighters and they'd all be pretty awesome, have different weapons, and fight in interesting ways. I hear more complaints about how the classes are generic in 4th edition (especially since min/max-ers can quite easily optimize their classes and it is just obviously stupid not to do so).

Yeah, that statement about half-dragon-half-minotaur-barbarian-fighter-ranger was just... so telling. So very telling. The more we watch, the more of Esper's tastes in gaming are revealed. In fact, the further I got into watching his video on 4th edition, the less I wanted to play it (if that is even possible) and the more I realized how much he misunderstood 3.5 and all previous editions of D&D.

Esper's statement that he has a solid understanding of the design of previous editions is questionable, because so far we've heard beefs he has with those designs, but not any reflection on what those editions were designed to accomplish. They weren't designed to do what Esper wants. But Esper's playing Dungeons & Dragons, a game that never had him as a target audience. Until 4th edition that is.

I won't say his criticisms are illegitimate. They are! However, Esper is not able to look beyond his own tastes and desires and understand what kind of play the game is designed to facilitate. Like I said, Esper was never the target audience of any edition prior to 4th. And I'll go on to explain why after a few more paragraphs.

Esper then goes on about how the old methods of marketing and open-source materials were gone in favor of loyalty programs and general, overall consolidation of media sources such as print. His tone makes this seem like a Good Thing, then he shows the evolution of Mario from NES to the Wii. That was a not-too-subtle metaphor for progress. And if there's anything I learned from postmodernism, its that positivism and the idea that "progress" (i.e. change brought about by technological developments) are definitely something that is up for questioning. I mean, technological progress enabled millions to die in two World Wars (that very fact spawned the postmodern movement and brought about the questioning of positivism by-the-by). Besides, these new marketing strategies sounded to me like Wizards of the Coast was trying to cash in on new trends in marketing and things like downloadable content. I don't blame them--they're a business and CEOs keep their jobs by pleasing stockholders (just like the CEO of United Fruit when he arranges to have economic hit-men crash the planes of South American presidents who won't sell-out their people). Okay, that's a bit of a logical fallacy for me to equate Wizards with economic hit-men, but you get what I'm trying to say (I hope). These changes are not necessarily Good and in fact, I'm highly suspect because I know that Wizards and Hasbro (by extension) are after MONEY. And as a capitalist, I believe it is my duty to invest my money in products that I believe have a specific standard of design and quality of production. As the first video comes to a close and Esper basically brings up natural selection, it has now become clear that he is being didactic--4th edition is new, therefore superior. The period in which D&D didn't change was it's stagnant era, when TSR was almost destroyed by bankruptcy. Esper has gotten on a soapbox and is basically calling anyone who doesn't "change with the times" a Luddite and is implying that its time for those people to die off. Maybe he doesn't realize he's saying that and doesn't mean it. But it is a not-too-subtle subtext to everything he is saying openly, whether he is conscious of it or not.

When Esper says Kobolds are bland in 3.5, he's obviously never DMed them right. They're like Viet Cong--they're trap-making machines who live underground! I've seen people run encounters with Kobolds that nearly killed 5th-level parties! Attacking by night, using missile weapons, employing false retreats to lure PCs into trapped areas (falling spiked logs, pit traps, etc) and kill-zones, Kobolds can be very ungeneric and... here's the killer... realistic. Let's be honest, if a bunch of 3-foot tall dog-people (2nd edition) or lizard-people (3rd and on) wanted you dead, they wouldn't fight you toe-to-toe, even if they were savage and primitive.

Everything Esper says about his first Kobold encounter sums up what he wants out of D&D--a miniature war game. He wants Necromunda with some roleplaying and grid square maps instead of measuring tape. "Movement was more tactical," he says. That sounds like a miniature wargame to me. This is regression alright, like a lot of 4th edition's critics claim. Gygax and Arneson created D&D because their players wanted to actually pretend they were the figures they were playing with in Chainmail, for crying out loud! And if Esper actually had any real cred and an understanding of the design based on purpose, he'd understand that! Indeed, I try to run 3.5 without miniatures because it slows the game down and I prefer to use my imagination and ability to describe a scene effectively. Everything Esper says about building encounters, calculating XP, statting monsters, etc., just drives the point home--the problems with the game that Esper had all focused on combat. And the visuals make it absolutely undeniable--everything during this opening sequence is a picture of people at miniature-grid tables and mats. I try not to use miniatures and mats as visual aids--I prefer my own descriptive abilities and the use of pictures and photographs to build a sense of atmosphere and environment, not tactical positioning and obstacle-placement.

Anyway, moving on...

Esper is entirely right about how 4th edition was designed as a whole new car as opposed to a remodeled old one (ignoring the fact that old cars are often worth a fortune in good condition). He is right when he says the system is more consistent. He is 100% right about everything he says is strong about 4th edition.

It is designed for a new generation of gamers. A generation of gamers that were weaned on Diablo, World of Warcraft, and other computer games. A generation of gamers that has been brought up being told that they're a precious snowflake, individual and unique. A generation of gamers to whom their schoolteachers have been told "you cannot say the student is wrong" and "you cannot mark their answers with red pens" because of their precious little feelings. A generation of gamers who goes online and makes gay and racist jokes while playing Call of Duty multiplayer. A generation of gamers who cannot associate their actions with the logical consequences that come about. A generation of gamers that got a trophy just for participating. A generation of gamers that are occupying Wall Street because they don't have a job and want a hand-out (not because they think banks and corporations need to be more socially responsible). A generation of gamers who are used to having the government, school, and computers take care of everything for them.

A generation of gamers that are and will be perpetually spoiled children.

I know that sounds harsh, but hear me out. Yes, I know it is hyperbolic, but generations have trends (anyone remember how solipsistic the "Me Generation" of the baby-boomers has been for the past 50-60 years?) and I'm talking in generalities. I'm allowed to. I'm a historian. So what if there are statistical outliers that don't match the norm? When everyone I read or watch who loves 4th edition gives reasons that all lie within one or two standard deviations of the mean, I'm allowed to start making blanket statements. Likewise, when I observe personal tendencies that all seem to conform to the average, I'm again allowed to speak in trends, groupings, and generalities.

Anyway, if you want encounters to be more interesting, don't use game mechanics. That simply reduces every opponent to combat tokens meant to be killed and little else. Yeah, I understand how the powers and stuff 4th edition gives to opponents makes them interesting to fight. What about other forms of interaction? The game is a system that encourages a certain style of play, and that style is to consider every encounter a fight.

Want to make those kobolds more interesting? How about all creatures (not just the PCs) go to negative hp? When the fighter deals that 4 hp kobold a hit for 6 damage, don't have it just die. It collapses, bleeding out. The kobold out of a threatened square with the next initiative then drags his dying friend out of danger by the arm. Next turn, he and another kobold hoist the body onto their shoulders and flee to a safer place where they can try to stabilize him or at least comfort him as he dies. He's their friend. They aren't just evil base-attack bonuses worth 1/2 CR, they're living creatures when you do that. Think realistically. Think the magic words "suspension of disbelief." (I'll probably go deeper into the whole "suspension of disbelief" in my next post on 4th edition.) And read what Justin Alexander has to say about how it is not difficult to design better encounters in 3.5 D&D so long as you approach the text without all your erroneous preconceptions about design purposes.

Anyway, to continue, a lot of this comes from the schizophrenic nature of D&D. It's always been a role-playing game built around a combat engine, an engine derived ultimately from Chainmail back in the 1970s. It isn't a role-playing game with a combat-resolution system as a part of its greater problem-resolution system, like, say, White Wolf. The D20 system addressed this, but the inclusion of miniatures and tactical rules, like attacks of opportunity, actually reinforced the combat elements, as did the removal of the ecology and society segments of every entry in the Monster Manual. More and more classes, toys, and feats all helped to create a combat-heavy bent to 3rd edition and 3.5. The idiosyncrasies this brought about play a huge role in Esper's dissatisfaction with 3.5. They also play a huge role in why the OSR was established.

Esper wants D&D to be primarily a combat engine, with all role-playing elements taking place outside of the actual pages of the rulebooks. Don't deny it, watch Part Two of his review. Every aspect of the game he raves about (except for the online and computer stuff) has to do with combat. Monsters have stat-blocks that describe all his abilities, attacks, and powers? Combat. Races have one good ability that you can use once per encounter? Combat. At surface level, this appears to be what the OSR is about. So why don't they convert to 4th edition? Why do they continually stick with an "outdated" system?

Consequences.

Esper seems to be a bit more mature than a lot of the people I'm going to take aim at, but I'm going to do it nonetheless. Most 4th edition players I've met are geeks, nerds, and dorks. Alright, fine, most gamers period are geeks, nerds, and dorks, but I'm talking about a specific kind--the kind that has a lot of deep-seated insecurities. They were bullied as kids. They sought solace in their hobbies and interests and developed a superiority complex and as a result they act like little Napoleons when they talk about comic books, argue over whether Kirk or Picard was a better captain, or play D&D. I saw this kind at Captain Blue Hen in Newark, DE one day while I was shopping for trade paperbacks of Sandman. They were recording a podcast and were trashing Joe Satriani for calling himself the "Silver Surfer."

"How dare he? Who is Joe Satriani to call himself that?"

I wanted to call them sad, pathetic little virgins, but they've probably got girlfriends (geek girls exist now) or wives (they're old enough to be married). Joe Satriani surfs, he has a silver guitar (upon which he surfs the frets), and he's one of the best guitar players alive. Frankly, more people will benefit from his musical talents than will ever read the damn comic. Grow the f--- up.

It's called a Napoleon complex. I saw it all over the gaming community in Newark, DE, when I was in graduate school. Their self-esteems are so fragile, they have to haze newcomer gamers. They play nigh-unkillable characters. When they die, they whine when they lose a level upon resurrection. They don't like to face the consequences of failure because it subconsciously reminds them of when they couldn't do a single sit-up in gym class or couldn't get a date to the prom.

I've had characters die. I rolled up new ones. If I was purposely f---ed over by the GM, I left the game. If it was just how the dice went, nobody was to blame. If it had been a product of incautious behavior or overlooking an important detail, the fault was mine. Hell, once I had a samurai who was defeated by a treacherous PC in such a way that he felt he had dishonored his ancestors and his lords. He committed seppuku. I basically killed my character because it was what my character would have done. And I rolled up a new one. It's how the game is played.

Actions have consequences. The players of my Forgotten Realms campaign are fully aware of that. Sometimes, they make bad decisions. Hey, if Star Wars was being roleplayed by the kind of gamers who complain about setbacks (like losing a level for having been killed and resurrected), what do you think they'd say when Luke's player got Luke's hand chopped off by Vader and lost the lightsaber duel against a more powerful opponent in The Empire Strikes Back?

Consequences make a game believable. Otherwise, it's just a mentally masturbatory game where you live out your fantasies of revenge and empowerment in a make-believe world. It ceases to tell any kind of entertaining or meaningful story. Some people can't get through John Updike's novels because all of his main characters are assholes. If that is the case, why do I want to watch a bunch of nerds and geeks who are angry about getting bullied turning around and bullying others?

MovieBob covered this pretty damn well in regards to video games, but the "Hard Truth" applies to D&D. Check around 8:35 and listen to what he has to say about Six Days in Fallujah.

Basically, 4th edition isn't challenging. "Balance" is so darn important because every single damn encounter is resolved through fighting (at least, that's what the system lends itself to and how the game is designed to be played). (As an aside, Justin Alexander's essays on "Fetishizing Balance" and balance types discuss how people approach balance wrongly in 3rd edition.) Yeah, you can run it differently, but the point is, because Ron Edwards is right and SYSTEM DOES MATTER, the system has an effect on the player's approach to the game and if it is designed for combat to resolve encounters then playing it any other way is going to bring about just as much house-ruling, inconsistency, and idiosyncrasy as every single previous edition.

The OSR method of playing is incredibly unbalanced and lethal because you're supposed to be smart, think outside the box, and find ways to avoid, kill, trap, or negotiate with the monster in order to get the treasure. Killing creatures earned next-to-negligible XP. Treasure earned lots of it. How to play OS D&D? Think outside the box, dammit! Solve problems! Exercise your damn imagination!

D&D 4th edition isn't designed for that. Since balance is so overly fetishized, it's designed to be the sort of "fun" that comes from "pwning n00bz" not overcoming actual challenges through brains. "Oh, but there's tactics!" Yeah, sure, fine. If I want to play a tactical game with miniatures I'll play Warhammer. I want to solve problems and how to separate the ancient red dragon from his hoard as a third level mage is a damn difficult challenge, but it's worth a whole hell of a lot of XP. If self-esteem, real, true, actual self-esteem is built through accomplishment, then it becomes apparent that OS D&D actually does more to build self-esteem than 4th edition does.

Esper's claim that from a design-standpoint 3rd edition and 3.5 is bad was basically refuted even before it was written by Justin Alexander in "Calibrating Your Expectations." Here's a quote:

I’ve been working and playing with the new edition of Dungeons & Dragons longer than most. Ryan Dancey sent me a playtest copy of the new Player’s Handbook back in 1999, almost a full year before it was released at GenCon 2000. I had been an outspoken critic of AD&D for several years at that point and, more recently, been involved in a number of heated debates with Ryan over the OGL and D20 Trademark License.

By the time I was done reviewing the playtest document and sending my comments back to Ryan, I had basically done a 180-degree turn-around on both. Wizards of the Coast had assembled three incredibly talented game designers – Jonathan Tweet, Monte Cook, and Skip Williams – to rework the system, and they had succeeded brilliantly. They stayed true to the roots of the game and captured the best parts of it, while shedding decades of detritus and poor design. There were still a few quibbles here and there, but they had taken advantage of the largest and most expensive design cycle for an RPG ever conceived and used it to deliver an incredibly robust, flexible, and powerful system.

One of the most impressive things about 3^rd Edition is the casual realism of the system. You can plug real world values into it, process them through the system, and get back a result with remarkable fidelity to what would happen in the real world.

Some people will consider this to be a remarkable claim. It doesn’t take much experience with the roleplaying hobby before you're familiar with dozens of vehement diatribes on the lack of realism in D&D and the resulting shortcomings in the system. Whole laundry lists of complaints (aimed at hit points, the encumbrance system, falling damage, or attacks of opportunity, for example) have been generated. In fact, such claims are so prolific that making the opposite claim (as I have done) is practically a heresy of sorts.

But, in my experience, these complaints largely originate either from people carrying over their criticisms of previous editions (where many of the criticisms were true) or from people failing to actually look at the facts and run the numbers.

So what I want to do, rather than just making my claim, is to take a look at a few rules, actually run the numbers, and demonstrate how effective D&D really is at modeling the real world.

And run the numbers he does. Justin Alexander demonstrates conclusively (in my opinion) that D&D 3rd edition and 3.5 is a highly adept simulation of reality that works extremely well without excessively clunky mechanics that wreck suspension of disbelief (before you say anything about realism and clunkiness of system, go take a look at Riddle of Steel). Johnathan Tweet, Skip Williams, and my God, Monte Cook designed 3.5. Seriously. Monty F---ing Cook.

For nearly every complaint Esper had, I gave a discussion and occasionally posted a link to an essay (by Justin Alexander) on that exact topic which demonstrated that Esper wasn't approaching the game's design in a manner that maximized its actual potentials.

Justin Alexander's observations on the very design decisions of 4th edition are incredibly revealing into the very purpose of the engine's design. Another quote:

Unfortunately, since Mearls started working at WotC, there are plenty of indications that he's swallowed the Kool-Aid. Which leads to the other big strike 4th Edition has against it, in my opinion...

DESIGN ETHOS AT WIZARDS

The current design ethos which seems to be holding sway at WotC is radically out-of-step with my own tastes in game design and gameplay.

Take, for example, an article Mearls wrote on the rust monster as part of the "Design & Development" column at WotC's website. Here we have a rust monster given an ability which corrodes, warps, and cracks metallic equipment and weapons. 10 minutes later, though, the metallic equipment and weapons are A-OK. They just repair themselves without any explanation.

This design is an example of the "per encounter" and "no long-term consequences, because long-term consequences aren't fun" schools of thought which the WotC design department seem to be mired in at the moment. But the result is a cartoony game system: My characters no longer live in a world I can believe in. They live in a cartoony reality where actions don't have long-term consequences and the grid-lines of the holodeck are clearly visible.

Another example from Mearls would be his blog post about skills from late last year, to which I have already written a response. I'm not saying that this skill system is one we're likely to see in 4th Edition, but I am saying that it shows that Mearls' design sense has radically altered since he designed Iron Heroes and The Book of Iron Might.

Let's take a look at a recent quote from David Noonan: "Powers unique to the new monster are often better than spell-like abilities. At first glance, this principle seems counterintuitive. Isn’t it easier and more elegant to give a monster a tried-and-true power from the Player’s Handbook? On the surface, sure. But watch how it works at the table. The DM sees the spell-like entry, grabs a Player’s Handbook, flips through it to find the relevant spell, reads the relevant spell, decides whether to use it, then resumes the action. See where I’m going with this? That’s a far more cumbersome process than reading a specific monster ability that’s already in the stat block. Heck, the physical placement of one more open rulebook is a hassle for a lot of DMs."

This quote is interesting to me, because it shows the type of wrong-headed logic skew that I see prevalent in a lot of the WotC design decisions of late. Basically the thought process here goes something like this:

Step 1: A spell-like ability looks easy to use, since it's a tried-and-true power from the PHB. But, in practice, the DM actually has to open up the PHB to see how the spell works. So instead of having all the information at their fingertips, they have to open up another book. And if the creature has multiple spell-like abilities, you've actually got to look at multiple page references in the PHB to figure out what the creature's range of abilities is.

So far, so good. This is all absolutely true.

Step 2: It would be easier if we put all the relevant information in the monster's stat block, so that it's right at the DM's fingertips.

Right again. Some people might complain about "wasted space", but I would love the utility of it. I have a similar reaction whenever I see "undead traits" in the stat block. You mean I have to flip back-and-forth through my copy of the MM to keep on top of this creature? It took me many months of DMing 3rd Edition before my undead stopped losing random abilities from that "undead traits" entry.

Step 3: So they shouldn't have spell-like abilities. Every creature should have a completely unique mechanic designed just for it.

... what the hell? How did you go skewing suddenly off to the side like that?

The problem is that Noonan is fallaciously conflating two types of utility:

(1) Spell-like abilities make it easier to use the rules because, as your familiarity with the rules for various spells grow, you will gain greater and greater mastery over a larger and larger swath of the ruleset.

(2) Putting all the information you need to run a creature in the creature's stat block makes it easier to use the creature because all the information you need is immediately accessible (without needing to look in multiple places, which also ties up books you may need to be using to reference other information).

There's no need to jettison utility #1 in order to achieve utility #2. The correct solution is to use spell-like abilities and list the
information you need regarding the spell-like ability in the creature's stat block.

(Which is not to say that a creature should never have a unique ability. There is no spell to model a hydra's many-heads, for example. The point here isn't to stifle creativity. The point is to avoid reinventing the wheel every time you want to build a car.)

We actually saw a similar logic-skew in Mearls' treatment of the rust monster:

Step 1: Rust monsters feature a save-or-die attack (and often you don't even get a save). The only difference is that it targets equipment instead of characters. Save-or-die effects aren't fun, because they simplify the tactical complexity of the game down to a crap shoot.

This is absolutely correct.

Step 2: The rust monster should still be able to attack, corrode, and destroy equipment (because that's its schtick and it's a memorable one) but it shouldn't be a save-or-die effect.

Yup.

Step 3: So we should keep the save-or-die attack, but make the armor miraculously un-rust and de-corrode after 10 minutes.

... and there they go again, skewing off towards the cliff's edge.

(The correct answer here, by the way, is: "The rust monster will use the existing mechanics for attacking items. Because we want the rust monster's ability to be frightening and unusual, we will allow it to bypass hardness. The damage will also be inflicted on metallic items used to attack the rust monster. Magic items are affected, but may make a saving throw to avoid the damage.")

I know that's an enormous quote of text, but it essentially isolates two major problems of design and the illogic behind the design of 4th edition--problems that Esper and other gamers actually see as strengths. Make no mistake, they do! Esper's complaint about losing a level is indicative of the whole approach the 4th edition design team took regarding the rust monster.

The game is purposely designed to allow the players to fight through a dungeon as close to consequence-free as possible. And fight is the key word here. All utility and non-combat abilities (especially spells) are relegated to long, time-consuming (in game) tasks or actions (like rituals). Basically, this renders utility spells, like knock, entirely useless. Most of the time knock is used is because you come to a locked or stuck door and need to open it quickly before your pursuers catch up to you. But since there are healing surges and "running away" and "losing a fight" isn't "fun" then why would you need knock for that purpose? Hell, why have knock in the game at all when the rogue can just keep trying to pick the lock ad infinitum?

As Esper describes the fact that monsters use different rules (in his second segment), what he's talking about is how the monster behaves in combat and what powers the monster has. This is because 4th edition has basically reduced all monsters to combat-obstacles to be killed, period.

Again, a quote from Justin Alexander:

This is yet another logic skew at work. They correctly identified a problem ("when combat and non-combat abilities are mixed together in the stat block, it's difficult to quickly find the combat abilities on-the-fly") and simultaneously came up with two solutions:

1. We will have a new stat block that separates the combat information from the non-combat information. This will make it much easier to use the stat block during combat, and if it adds a little extra time outside of combat (when time pressure isn't so severe) that's OK. (You can see the logic behind this solution discussed, quite correctly, by James Wyatt in another column.)

2. We will get rid of all the non-combat abilities a monster has, since they'll never have a chance to use them given their expected
lifespan of 5 rounds.

Now, ignoring all the obvious problems in the second design philosophy, why do you even need to implement such a "solution" when you've already got solution #1 in place?

(In case the design problems in the second "solution" aren't obvious, here's another quote from David Noonan: "Unless the shaedling queen is sitting on a pile of eggs, it doesn’t matter how the shaedlings reproduce. The players will never ask, and the characters will never need to know." What Noonan is ignoring there is that the reason the PCs might be encountering the shaedling queen in the first place is the pile of eggs.

If D&D were simply a skirmish game, Noonan would be right: You'd set up your miniatures and fight. And the reasons behind the fight would never become important. But D&D isn't a skirmish game -- it's a roleplaying game. And it's often the abilities that a creature has outside of combat which create the scenario. And not just the scenario which leads to combat with that particular creature, but scenarios which can lead to many different and interesting combats. Noonan, for example, dismisses the importance of detect thoughts allowing a demon to magically penetrate the minds of its minions. But it's that very ability which may explain why the demon has all of these minions for the PCs to fight; which explains why the demon is able to blackmail the city councillor that the PCs are trying to help; and which allows the demon to turn the PCs' closest friend into a traitor.

And, even more broadly, the assumption that detect thoughts will never be used when the PCs are around assumes that the PCs will never do anything with an NPC except try to hack their heads off.

One is forced to wonder how much the design team is playing D&D and how much the design team is playing the D&D Miniatures game.

This was before 4th edition was even released, and his predictions were correct. 4th edition is basically a miniatures game. It's Chainmail morphed into D&D (minus lasting consequences) all over again. So much for "progress." Like I said above, 4th edition is outdated and Esper is apparently unaware of his inadvertent hypocrisy.

The entire thing is all about the players having a superficial and ultimately empty experience that is "fun" but not "challenging." Once you figure out how the mechanics work and get enough tactical experience down, you can literally use a few simple math formulae to calculate the results of any given encounter simply using the given stats of the PCs and the mean stats for the opponents (which isn't hard, especially for minions). Most of my friends who quit playing 4th edition quit because they would spend 5 minutes calculating the results of a 1-hour combat session and their predictions were so accurate that the game became utterly predictable and boring.

Add-to-that the lack of consequences and what you have is something I am not interested in playing. Ever. I won't even try it. The very system irks me. I've not played with enough good GMs in my life to feel any sort of certainty or trust that whomever runs a 4th edition game and invites me will be willing to let me try to negotiate with the kobolds instead of kill them. I have the feeling that I'm going to echo lindybeige's complaints about the system when the DM says "you can't do that" to me whenever I try to do something that the game doesn't give me an express power.

Why would anyone want to play a game like that? Well, like I said, nobody in generations X or Y can seem to take failure. It hurts their precious little egos. So when they fail in real life, they blame Wall Street instead of getting back on the damn horse. Compare Esper's attitude regarding his character's death to this old grognard's tale I saw on rpg.net a few years ago:

I played a Magic User in Greyhawk .. THE Greyhawk... for a while. Up to 6th or 7th level when I retired him because I was tired of him and went back to my 8th level fighter.

My favorite adventure was as a 1st level MU. I had heard about an entrance to the 3rd level of Greyhawk and went down. Alone. With 3 HP and a Charm Person spell. Just me. A 1st level MU. In Greyhawk Castle. With Gary Gygax reffing.

I hit 2nd level at the end of the night with enough XP to be one shy of 3rd. I ran, I snuck, I threw lanterns (fire, oil, and a handle in one convenient package!), I ran, and I ran some more. It was still one of the best single evenings of gaming I've ever had.

So, I have heaps and heaps of "no fucking sympathy" for people who complain it's boring to play a low level MU.

Someone else posted that one of the designers of 4th edition had played with Gygax as a preteen and was always complaining that his magic-user died, but the kid never learned how to play smart like the others--he wanted to zap and zap and zap away.

Behold. The "Me Generation."

On that same forum, one of the posters wrote: "Though I might argue that the amount of information that a new player has to understand by looking at a 4E character sheet is certainly more to digest than a OD&D character sheet. ... 4E also presumes... or at least encourages through example... a certain style and approach to play. OD&D had so few rules to "anchor" it that it meant that new players could make the game their own. "

The response? "Mechanically yes, but OD&D demanded a lot more out of it's players. Modern D&D demands less. ... [Presuming/encouraging a specific style] is a huge bone in 4es favor.
Again placing more demands on the player. Game design is about crafting a players experience."

I'll reiterate and link again: SYSTEM MATTERS. The worst thing about the whole system of consequences being removed and character death being so remote a possibility is that there's no real challenge (unless the DM basically goes out of his way to try to kill the PCs with extremely unbalanced encounters). Therefore, there's no real psychological reward. Oh, it's fun. But there's no real sense of player agency. By removing challenge and consequences and reducing everything to a series of combat encounters in a linear dungeon, the ability for the players to actually participate in the creation of a story (like the players are doing in my Forgotten Realms game) is diminished. I have half a mind to think that 4th edition is so friendly to DMs because it allows them to railroad the players so effectively and convince them that they're having a grand old time while he's doing it. There's no way in 4th edition the PCs are going to chase the brown bear off using bells, whistles, banging metal, and other things that generally drive bears off in real life. They're going to have to kill it because that's how the game works, that's how it is designed, that is how it is supposed to be played. If the DM allows for anything else, he is literally and most assuredly doing it wrong because he is not using the game for the purpose for which it was designed.

Again, I'll link Ron Edward's article: System Does Matter. And the above paragraph is proof. If you think a good DM and veteran role-players (as opposed to "roll"-players) in your group redeems your game, I'm sorry, you are wrong because your style of play is actually misusing the system, making it do something it wasn't designed to do. Therefore, any arguments that the "fun" and "role-playing" aspects of 4th edition are all dependent on the group composition and DM are hereby demolished.

QUOD ERAT DEMONSTRANDUM.

As lindybeige says in his review of 4th edition (linked above), 4th edition "is not a role-playing game at all. It is sort of a weird miniatures skirmish game, and an incredibly slow one at that." Yeah. I'll take 3.5 or OS D&D over 4th edition for the fantasy role-playing and Warhammer Fantasy Battle if I want to spend a fortune playing miniature skirmish games.

Next part, I will discuss the mechanics of the game a little and how it totally destroys suspension of disbelief, which in turn discourages immersion and role-playing.

The Hungover Heroes Guild, Part Four

2011-12-12T03:48:00.010+09:00

The Flag of Zhentil Keep

Sometimes, a DM has to be a jerk in order to make the world believable and more importantly to adjudicate fairly. This is difficult, especially when the DM likes the characters and the players and doesn't want to ruin the fun.

Case in point, Session Four of my Forgotten Realms game.

In Session Three, the PCs cleared out the Eagle's Eyrie, an old Dwarven outpost that had been built into a rocky crag just south of Dagger Falls across the River Tesh. It once overlooked the trade routes east to the Moonsea and south through the Dales from the ancient Dwarf realm of Tethyamar. During the session, they'd fought two goblins, managed to scare off a brown bear by banging metal items together, gotten scratched by eagles, bitten by a swarm of bats, and assaulted by fire beetles. Baravis (Luke's character), the tiefling warlock, said a few prayers to Marthammor Duin, the dwarven god of wanderers and exiles, asking him that the Brightblade Clan could have their home back.

Baravis seems to have developed a real liking for the dwarven people.

Well, as the new session picked up they were drinking at the Teshford Arms across the ford from Dagger Falls when two mercenaries and an orcish messenger entered and demanded the PCs come with them to see the Constable, Tren Noemfor. Now, remember, Dagger Falls is fully under the control of the Black Network and is crawling with Zhentilar soldiers. Well, Baravis is already drunk (and hence only capable of healing 1 hp per day since he's not resting--dealing with alcohol inhibits healing because it is strenuous on your liver and other organs) and it's only 10 or 11 in the morning (his penalties due to Lathander's annoyance still apply each morning).

Well, Vlad tries to outwit the orc with questions like, "Are we the adventurers you're looking for? What are their names?" The orc only knows that he's to summon PCs matching their description into the Constable's Tower. The mercs try intimidation checks, but Baravis isn't impressed (although the others are). Baravis tries to intimidate the mercs, and is mildly successful on one. "I just wanna finish my drink."

The one merc picks up Sven's wine glass and dumps it on the floor. So, Baravis eldritch blasts the wine bottle.

Roll initiative.

POW, the one merc decks Baravis, who only has a few hp. The subdual damage is enough to knock him out. Vlad cast's cause fear on the orc, who flees, calling for the nearest Zhentilar patrol walking their beat.

In the intervening rounds, Sven's managed to stab the one mercenary, Vlad cast ray of enfeeblement, and Drog got in a fistfight with the other. Finally, the Zhentilar burst in with clubs. The owner of the inn is screaming in fury at the mess everyone is making of her bar. One-by-one, the PCs are beaten into unconsciousness by the seven Zhentilar soldiers (who, by-the-way, have the coat of arms to the left emblazoned on their surcoats and tabards). The Zhentilar kick the comatose bodies for additional subdual damage before dragging the PCs to the Constable's Tower.

They wake up in the dungeons. They're left there. Baravis tries to eldritch blast his manacles but he can't do enough damage to get around their Hardness. And besides, the racket is met with a threat to cut his hands off. They're left to dangle in chains for three days with no food or water.

Then, Baravis does the one thing that creates a glimmer of hope. He prays to Marthammor Duin.

They suffer from exhaustion and are down to 1 hp when Tren Noemfor comes to a decision. Baravis, Sven, and Drog are stripped of everything, escorted across the ford and told they're not to come back to town or they're dead men.

Now, let's recap. They're down to 1 hp, they have NO weapons, armor, gold... nothing but the clothes on their backs. Anything of worth is gone, including Sven's masterwork dagger from his family and Drog's masterwork greatsword from his grandfather. Gone. They are an inch away from a total-party-kill.

Back in the Constable's Tower, Tren Noemfor grills Vlad on why he left Zhentil Keep, what he was doing with a party of misfits like that, and what he knows about the Dream Fever and the disappearance of the priestess of Cyric beneath the ruined Temple of Lathander. This is conducted in the tower's torture chamber but Vlad satisfies Tren's curiosity so he doesn't need to be tortured. Tren says that Vlad's friends have been executed (he wanted to see Vlad's reaction) and returned Vlad's passport and belongings and put him under house arrest in the Teshford Arms inn until he is to be "escorted" home to Zhentil Keep by the next caravan. Red Morgan, the caravan chief, is given papers authorizing a formal "inquiry" of Vlad once he's reached Zhentil Keep--i.e. he's going to be tortured and if found guilty, tossed in prison or sent to work in the mines.

Well, things are looking grim. I'm actually worried. One bad encounter roll and they're toast. A goblin or kobold could kill them.

Sven and Baravis aid Drog in his Survival check (even with penalties, they find enough food and water to keep alive) and they hole up in the ruins of the lookout tower at Eagle's Eyrie (they wanted to go inside, but the bear had returned to the cavern entrance). Meanwhile, Vlad tried to go to Dulwar Leatherworker's shop but was prevented. So, he told the innkeeper to pass along a message that he needed permission to visit the leatherworker's shop and get some things he'd ordered. Bad idea.

Sven snuck to the Leatherworker's that night and discovered that the Zhentilar had gotten the message and decided to rough Dulwar up and take the masterwork studded leather armor Baravis had commissioned and paid for as well as Baravis' regular leather suit that was being repaired. Told Fulgath was just as likely to give him back his crossbow as turn him in, Sven asked Dulwar to pass a message along to Loudon the Cooper that they were holed up at Eagle's Eyrie.

Making his way back to the Eyrie, Sven dodged the brown bear by climbing a tree and discovered why it had fled it's lair--DWARVES! Marthammor Duin had heard Baravis' prayer. The message he'd asked Loudon to send to them last session paid off when the dwarves arrived to reoccupy the Eyrie. Loudon smuggled some weak weapons and a set of padded armor to the PCs, who were being bed-rest healed by a dwarven physician, and told them that Vlad was leaving in 2 days with a caravan bound for Zhentil Keep. The dwarves rewarded the PCs by taking the carapaces of the four fire beetles and fashioning a chitin breastplate worth a whole heck of a lot of gp! Baravis was named a Friend of Dwarves (he gains the honorary title "Dwarf-friend" that he can tack onto the end of his name) for his growing faith in Marthammor Duin and his services to the Brightblade Clan.

Together, they planned to raid the caravan and rescue Vlad. In the dead of night, sneaking across the river to set up an ambush, Baravis spied two short figures trying to sneak into a Dagger Falls cottage window. He eldritch blasted one, killing it. The other fled into the gloom. Baravis and the dwarves examined it, but it wasn't a dwarf. It's body was short and muscular like a dwarf, but it had brown skin, thick thatchlike hair and beard, tangled with vines, and a supple yet strong, reedlike form. All-in-all kind of treelike. When they threw the corpse into the river, it floated downstream.

Later that day, the ambush went off. The three wagons got away, but the dwarves and PCs managed to rescue Vlad and kill a powerful Zhentilar officer-woman who wielded a battleaxe and nearly killed Drog. Loot was gained, but not much. All but Vlad earned a new level (with Sven multiclassing into Urban Ranger, Drog into Ranger, and Baravis considering Cleric of Marthammor Duin and pledging himself to the dwarven god).

Lots of experience was handed out. Yes, the PCs got into a lot of trouble and lost a lot of their loot. Precious items were diced away to Zhentilar soldiers throughout the town and they may never see their heirlooms again. But they still turned what appeared as a hopeless situation into something much more positive by being smart, having faith and being in the right place at the right time. They didn't just give up. On top of that, even though it wasn't smart to do, when Baravis was knocked out by the merc, they didn't just sit back and take it, they fought together. Yeah, it was kind of dumb for Sven to draw his dagger and for Vlad to cast spells--if they hadn't resisted they'd have been taken quietly, and if they'd just brawled, they'd probably have been handed back their gear and frog-marched into the dungeon beneath Lathander's temple or kicked out of town temporarily. That wasn't too bright on their part to draw daggers and sling spells when their lives weren't in immediate danger.

But like I said, they didn't give up. It would have been easy to do so. Nope, they immediately started coming up with plans to get their stuff back and save Vlad. Triumph in the face of adversity. They earned a lot of XP for their role-playing, for not giving up despite their dire situation, for faith, for turning a hopeless situation into a victory, and for showing party solidarity in standing up for Baravis (despite his drunken foolishness in blasting the bottle and starting a fight) and saving Vlad. Great session.

The Flag of Daggerdale

The Hungover Heroes Guild, Part Three

2011-12-08T16:30:00.005+09:00

Did I mention how much I love the Forgotten Realms? Yeah, I have. So far the Hungover Heroes (as we've dubbed them) and I are having a great time exploring this vivid, living, breathing setting as it was in the Year of the Banner, 1368 Dale Reckoning.

Alex couldn't make it tonight, so we had Vlad just hold the horses reins or sleep at the inn whenever anything was happening.

We picked up where we'd left off, a few miles north on the Tethyamar Trail from where Drog had critical-hit the ogre to death. The party continued on the next morning until they saw a curl of smoke off a side-trail in the distance. They took a short detour to investigate and discovered a burned village surrounding an equally burned motte-and-bailey fort. This was all that remained of the village of Black Switch. In the bailey, a large pile of corpses (men, women, and children) had been burned, heads had been mounted on pikes all along the stockade and a sign tacked to the gate proclaimed that all who harbored or supported Randal Morn would face a similar fate. Drog discovered a gold wedding ring in the ashes and kept it, but felt uncomfortable holding an item whose previous owner had suffered such a terrible fate (yet he hadn't wanted it to just sit in the ashes).

Early that afternoon, the party arrived at the village of Tethyamarside, fully occupied by Zhents. Seeking to pawn some of their loot, Baravis, Drog, and Sven visited the local peddler and curio shop. The elderly Daggerdalesman behind the counter was typical of his folk--he didn't trust strangers and asked Baravis to remove his hood. Baravis did so.

Now, understand, Baravis is a tiefling so he has grayish skin and devilish horns. I had to roll a Will save to see if the old man would be scared or merely shocked by Baravis' appearance.

I rolled a 1. Critical failure.

Horrified, the man fled through the back room and raced out of the building's rear entrance, screaming for his wife, "Marta, it's Bane! Bane, I tell you!" Baravis quickly grabbed the nearest valuable (he's Chaotic Good--it seemed like a good idea) hid a gold plate and golden earrings under his cloak and walked calmly out of the store before anyone else arrived. The three made their way back to the inn, but not before Sven noticed something--they were being tailed by someone.

Back at the inn, they intimidated the innkeeper (when bribing wouldn't work) into telling anyone who asked that they had never left the inn (they left the bribe--the unfortunate wedding ring). When the snitch went and told the guard, a small cadre of Zhentilar braced the innkeeper, who successfully bluffed them into thinking the PCs had never left the inn. After greasing the Zhentilars' palms with some silver (well worth it considering the ring), the innkeeper was left alone. Much laughter was had about Old Man McGraw (as we dubbed him) and how the town would be saying that Old Man McGraw was crazy for years. "He says he was robbed by Bane hisself, he does! An evil, dead god! Stole a gold plate, he swears!" The guards who had braced the innkeeper could barely believe it themselves. "Have you seen... Have... Oh, for Cyric's sake, have you seen Bane? Yes, Bane. Old Man McGraw is raving that Bane robbed his store. We're looking for someone who looks like the dead god of strife and tyranny. ... Man, I need a drink. I joined the army for this?" Much laughter was had.

The next morning, the party decided it would be wise to simply leave, so they got on their horses and got out of this small village as soon as they were able. Within an hour they were within sight of Dagger Falls, but decided to follow a small path that led up to a rocky crag to the southwest to see if they could get a good view of Dagger Falls. After making their way up the steep rock face via a crumbling trail, they were attacked by two goblins who had tamed some eagles as pets. After dispatching them, they investigated a cave, managed to drive off the bear that had taken over its entrance with a dented helm and a hammer (banging them together) they disabled some traps and found a secret entrance deep within the cave. This led them into a large vaulted chamber where they were assaulted by a swarm of bats (annoyed by being disturbed) and four fire beetles. By the end of all this combat, Sven, Drog, and Baravis were looking the worse for wear but decided to press on, discovering a forge, altars to Moradin, the bones of dwarves, and a message in Dwarven left by Colderan, the Mage-Lord, seeking vengeance and cursing the dwarves for the murder of his wife Belissaria. Colderan Morn, as they recalled, had been the Lord of Daggerdale two-hundred years before and was Randal Morn's ancestor. He had cast the Brightblade dwarves out, the same dwarves they had met in Anathar's Dell. So this must be Eagles Eyrie!

Leaving for Dagger Falls, they met up with Louden the Cooper, their contact. When shown the secret coins that Randal used to identify his supporters, Louden asked them many questions to ensure they weren't spies for the Zhentarim. Satisfied, he explained a little bit about the Dream Fever and the short, dark figures stalking the town at night. "It's been going on since that Priestess of Cyric went beneath the Temple of Lathander's ruins."

Baravis commissioned a pricy masterwork suit of studded leather armor, all blacked out to help with Hide checks. When Dulwar the tanner was asked about Colderan the Mage-Lord, the tanner simply said that Colderan's tomb is unknown.

The party entered the town of Dagger Falls, settled at the Teshford Arms (after selling loot to the pricegouging Fulgarth, the only caravan supply store and trader in town) and decided to rest up and heal before going down beneath the Temple ruins. And there we stopped.

Sorcerer Variant

2011-12-06T12:26:00.005+09:00

Aside from the monk, the sorcerer is the most problematic of the character classes in 3rd edition Dungeons & Dragons. (The Ranger is a close third). Why? They simply do not make sense. Let me explain.

Let's look at the 3.5 Player's Handbook to see what they say about how sorcerers cast their spells:

Sorcerers create magic the way a poet creates poems, with inborn talent honed by practice. They have no books, no mentors, no theories--just raw power that they direct at will. Some sorcerers claim that the blood of dragons courses through their veins....

The typical sorcerer adventures in order to improve his abilities. Only by testing his limits can he surpass them. A sorcerer's power is inborn--part of his soul. Developing this power is a quest in itself for many sorcerers, regardless of how they wish to use their power....

Sorcerers cast spells through innate power rather than through careful training and study. Their magic is intuitive rather than logical. Sorcerers know fewer spells than wizards do and acquire powerful spells more slowly than wizards, but they can cast spells more often and have no need to select and prepare their spells ahead of time. Sorcerers do not specialize in certain schools of magic the way wizards sometimes do. --PHB, pgs 51-52.

In essence, the sorcerer is born with an innate gift at manipulating magical energy and basically trains himself (or herself) to use it. Makes sense. And since spellcasting is a complex and formulaic process, the sorcerer is probably going to have access to much more raw and unrefined ways to use magic.

At first blush, you'd expect them to work something like the wielders of the One Power in the D20 Wheel of Time game. They can channel weaves of the One Power, which are tied to the four different elements and a fifth element of spirit. There are lots of weaves, but none of them are very detail-oriented or complex. In other words, complicated effects like for Leomund's tiny hut or contingency are non-existent. A channeler of the One Power can, perhaps, open a lock or make something float, throw fireballs or call lightning, or even effect the weather, but they can't do anything extremely specific, highly detailed, or complicated. They can't produce the effect of Evard's black tentacles, they can't change their physical forms, they can't summon demons or create undead, they can't inscribe glyphs that cause sleep, and they can't pass through wood or stone walls.

But they can still do some pretty heavy damage at early levels.

Now, this is what frustrates me about the sorcerer. For someone who uses innate powers, what the heck is he doing casting spells? Oh, he doesn't have to prepare them like a wizard, fine, and heck he can even forget about materials, but he still has the verbal and somatic components. In effect, he's a wizard who just doesn't forget the spells. Which makes no sense. To top it off, for all his inborn abilities, a sorcerer can pick a dozen-and-one spells that have no real relation to one another. There is no concept of a sorcerer who is primarily a fire-wielder while another has an affinity for sound and illusion while a third figured out how to manipulate space-time and open planar gateways. That's like having the inborn ability to dribble a basketball, hit a home run, and slapshot a puck, but not be able to play soccer, baseball, or basketball because one lacks the required skills. Either his abilities are inborn or he learns spells he doesn't forget. Which is it?

This is called fence sitting.

Well, Pathfinder fixed some of that by creating bloodlines. But they didn't fix it far enough. The sorcerer still has access to the same spells as a wizard, but now gets a whole plethora of bonus abilities for having a bloodline.

So I took matters into my own hands. For two weeks I went through all of the spells in the PHB until I had divvied them up among all of the bloodlines that Pathfinder offered. But it wasn't really enough. So I opened the Spell Compendium and went through it, padding out each bloodline until I was satisfied.

So, now each bloodline has its own powers but a very limited spell-pool from which the sorcerer can learn spells. In addition, the sorcerer only gets a familiar if he picks the single bloodline that offers one. However, the sorcerer has access to spells from outside the PHB and each bloodline has special powers and spells that are specific to that bloodline. I kept the bloodline powers the same as Pathfinder's, by-and-large. The only thing I changed was the specific spells the sorcerer has access to. I think this has balanced out the sorcerer pretty well and makes the class make much more sense.

For example, for the Draconic bloodlines, the sorcerer has to pick a dragon color and he gets some abilities and spells that are specific to that color. Why should someone with red dragon blood cast cold or acid spells? The red-dragon-bloodline focuses on fire spells. In addition, he gets a bunch of spells universal to all draconic bloodlines (regardless of color) that help him hide and protect treasure, armor himself, and fly.

On the other hand, someone with the Fey bloodline gets mostly spells that enchant opponents, hide themselves, or create illusions. The Infernal bloodline acquires spells that seduce and dominate others, get others to do their dirty work, and trap souls. Celestial bloodlines get spells that inspire bravery, banish evil creatures, create light, ward and protect.

Here's a sample to illustrate what I mean. You can use either the Pathfinder rules, Monte Cook's variant sorcerer, or the 3.5 standard sorcerer, just so long as you use the bloodline specifically for spells and special abilities:

Arcane Spell-List

The Arcane bloodline focuses on the raw manipulation of magical power to solve problems, defend yourself from harm, create and remove barriers, build and repair constructs, manipulate words and symbols, use telekinesis, and discern the innate workings of magical objects and spells.

0-level (Cantrips): Amanuensis*, Arcane Mark, Detect Magic, Launch Bolt*, Launch Item*, Mage Hand, Mending, Open/Close, Prestidigitation, Read Magic, Repair Minor Damage*

1^st-level: Alarm, Animate Rope, Familiar Pocket*, Dispel Ward*, Erase, Hold Portal, Identify, Instant Search*, Mage Hand (Greater)*, Mage Armor, Magic Missile, Magic Weapon, Nystul’s Magic Aura, Protection from Chaos/Evil/Good/Law, Repair Light Damage*, Sleep, Spell Flower*, Tenser’s Floating Disk, Unseen Servant, Weapon Shift*

2^nd-level: Arcane Lock, Augment Familiar*, Blast of Force*, Cloak Pool*, Continual Flame, Create Magic Tatoo*, Force Ladder*, Invisibility, Knock, Levitate, Magic Mouth, Quick Potion*, Repair Moderate Damage*, Resist Energy, See Invisibility, Rope Trick, Slapping Hand*, Sonic Weapon*, Speak to Allies*, Tasha’s Hideous Laughter, Web, Wraithstrike*
*This spell is found in the 3.5 Spell Compendium.

Let's take a look at a different bloodline, the Aberrant:

Aberrant Spell-List
The Aberrant bloodline is alien. Spells focus primarily on warping and bending space-time reality in uncanny and strange ways, seeing the unseen, physical mutation, contact and communication beyond this dimension, sanity, thought-waves, and altering intelligence or knowledge.

0-level (Cantrips): Acid Splash, Arcane Mark, Prestidigitation, Read Magic, Stick*

1^st-level: Animate Rope, Babau Slime*, Benign Transposition*, Cause Fear, Comprehend Languages, Cutting Hand*, Enlarge Person, Grease, Horrible Taste*, Jump, Reduce Person, Slide

2^nd-level: Alter Self, Baleful Transposition*, Bear’s Endurance, Belker Claws*, Bristle*, Bull’s Strength, Chant of Eyes*, Detect Thoughts, Discolor Pool*, Discern Shapechanger*, Dissonant Chant*, Extend Tentacles*, Fearsome Grapple*, Fox’s Cunning, Fuse Arms*, Inky Cloud*, Malevolent Miasma*, Melf’s Acid Arrow, Slide (Greater)*, Ray of Stupidity*, Razorfangs*, Rope Trick, See Invisibility, Scare, Spider Climb, Touch of Idiocy, Web

That should illustrate my point pretty well. We can see where some of this is going--the bloodlines definitely have access to very different spells. This can make for interesting roleplaying, especially if there are two different sorcerers or a sorcerer and a wizard in a party. I mean, we all know sorcerers are essentially 3rd edition's boomstick.
Wait, before you go off saying that I just nerfed the sorcerer, remember he gets all of the special features from his bloodline that Pathfinder offers. For example, the Arcane gets a familiar, at third level casts metamagic spells at one slot cheaper, and keeps getting interesting stuff. The Aberrant gets a free acid attack that he can use at any time he wants, but gradually develops more and more physical traits that help with combat. I didn't nerf the sorcerer, I streamlined it and made its magical abilities make sense.

The Hungover Heroes Guild, Part Two

2011-12-04T15:05:00.004+09:00

Because we're probably not going to play next week, the Hungover Heroes Guild met tonight for a second time this week. This was, by far, one of the BEST roleplaying sessions I've had in years.

Play began with us picking up the PCs as they were entering Anathar's Dell, a small community in Daggerdale, Forgotten Realms. Piqued by rumors of dwarves (or dwarf-like creatures) prowling in the night in Daggerdale villages, the PCs began to ask questions of the populace at Anathar's Hall, the local watering-hole and open-air pavilion-cum-tavern with nearby one-room cottages for rent for visitors.

They picked up some local lore, discovering several new things. The town was built by the wizard Anathar who was slain by a dragon many years ago. The farmers made common cause with the dwarves of the area and built a community here. The dwarves are of the Brightblade clan and swear by their ancestors that they would never dishonor their blood by stalking the streets of the dale villages to the north. They met a Cormyrean knight-errant sworn to join Randal Morn and fight against the Zhentarim (the Black Network of Zhentil Keep) and free Daggerdale from their control. They also encountered a Sembian merchant speaking to two huntsman who may have been members of the Harpers (they wore the black badges with the silver harp).

The next morning, the PCs set off for Dagger Falls, but were slowed by torrential rain. As they camped that evening, they were approached by a patrol of Freedom Riders, followers of Randal Morn (the true and rightful lord of Daggerdale, who seeks to free his Dale from Zhentarim oppression). When Vladimir spoke, the patrol, led by Captain Reiner Trall, took the four companions' weapons and arrested them for being suspected spies. As Captain Trall explained to Vladimir, "We folk of Daggerdale have never known anyone from Zhentil Keep who was not a Zhentilar soldier or a Zhentarim agent." (Note: Zhentilar = the army, Zhentarim = the Black Network, the secret society that rules Zhentil Keep and seeks to control all of the trade in Faerûn.)

They were force-marched across the Serpentsbridge over the rapids of the River Ashaba, where Vladimir was a bit nervous that they were simply going to hang him. But they continued on into the Dagger Hills and came upon the ruins of Castle Daggerdale, where they spent the night.

The next morning, Randal Morn arrived. Together with Tunfer the Stout, priest of Tyr, officiating, Randal Morn heard the trial of Vladimir. He pronounced Vladimir not guilty for want of proof, but since there was no proof Vladimir was innocent, he insisted that Vlad remain at Castle Daggerdale as a guest until riders returned from Anathar's Dell with evidence (if no evidence was to come, he was going to have Vladimir escorted to the borders of the Dale). It seemed the party's ambition to solve the mystery of the Dream Fever in Dagger Falls was going to fall apart, for they refused to leave their companion's side (which earned them the respect of Lord Morn). However, Tunfer offered to cast zone of truth on Vladimir, who repeated his tale and gave his testimony. After a brief cross-examination, Lord Morn pronounced Vladimir innocent.

When the PCs told him they wanted to solve the puzzle of the Dream Fever, Morn outfitted them with light horses and feed (the horses had belonged to riders who had been killed during raids on Zhentilar patrols and Zhentarim caravans). They set out for Dagger Falls the next morning, the day after the Spring Equinox, to warming weather on new mounts and headed north.

They quickly learned how skittish horses can be if they aren't trained for war and battle. The horses would not even walk past the black bear they encountered that was rooting through brambles for wild berries. Vladimir summoned a skeleton warrior that chased the young bear away, allowing them to continue.

Near dusk, though, they saw an ogre trudge up from behind a hill. The horses shied away and the ogre charged. Volleys of eldritch blast from Baravis' hands weakened the creatures as it closed on the party. It charged for Drog, who had dismounted and prepared for battle. The horses bolted, carrying Vladimir, Sven, Baravis' and Drog's horse away from the ogre, but they still attempted to strike it from a distance (with range penalties and -4 penalties for shooting from horseback).

The ogre charged Drog, swung his greatclub, and missed--the hit could have easily killed Drog had it connected, but as it was, it splashed into the mud of the road and left a deep indentation. Drog raged and smote the ogre so strongly that the monster was clobbered (can only take one standard action per turn). It staggered backward, withdrawing from battle. Drog stepped forward and swung again--20, critical threat! DJ rolled again--ANOTHER 20! Kill threat! DJ rolled a third time... and hit! His sword flashed in an arc slicing through the arteries in the ogres' neck and it toppled to the ground.

Drog's horse was recovered, the body was looted for what few useful goods it had (mostly haunches of venison, large rocks, and a wagon wheel were on the ogre) and camp was made an hour's ride north of the battle site. There, the party settled down to eat the venison and XP was divvied up.

Only one combat this session, but it was exhilarating and a nice way to end a session of great in-character roleplaying.

The Hungover Heroes Guild, Part One

2011-12-03T03:07:00.005+09:00

So I scrapped by World of Darkness campaign. I had some good ideas for it, but I really do not like the changes that White Wolf made with their new edition of the games about six or seven years ago. Setting material is fine for the most part--what I dislike is the mechanics of the game. After playing Old World of Darkness, the New World of Darkness rules set is actually counter-intuitive. They sacked Perception, for example--this became pretty confusing for me whenever I asked someone to make a Perception + something roll and I had to figure out what other ability would fit for such a roll.

Instead, I went back to an old standby and a favorite system of mine--D&D 3.5 in the world of the Forgotten Realms.

Of course, the party is completely insane:

Luke is playing a tiefling Warlock (see Complete Arcane, I think) from Sigil in the Planes (Fated faction) who is trying to get back home so he can "pick up his friend."
DJ is playing a Rashemar barbarian on his dajemma. No, he doesn't have a miniature giant mutant space hamster but he is about three shots from being an alcoholic.
Alex is a Dread Necromancer (see Heroes of Horror) from Zhentil Keep who sold his soul to a forgotten god in order to see the Zhentarim destroyed and a just government put in its place.
Finally, Shaun is playing a half-elven Waterdhavian rogue with a glib tongue.

We played for about four, four-and-a-half hours last night. Baravis was banished from Sigil by the Scratcher and appeared in a circle of menhirs (like Stonehenge) in the middle of the forest of Cormanthor during the late winter. Arriving at a road, he encountered Drog (DJ's character) and after sharing a drink and some roasted rabbits, the two proceeded to Shadowdale where they encountered Sven (the half-elf) and Vladimir (the Zhent).

Thanks to Alex's acting chops, all Moonsea people now have a Russian accent.

Anyway, most of the session was devoted to in-character carousing and insane antics.

I took a page from old school D&D and some of Justin Alexander's ideas and decided that I'd award 1 XP for each gp spent carousing. This means spending gold frivolously on gambling, girls, food, expensive lodging, and booze specifically, NOT on magic weapons, traveling gear, spell components, or anything like that.

After breaking up some of Jhaele Silvermane's crockery (thanks to Luke's eldritch blast) and almost getting thrown out of the Old Skull Inn by Lord Mourngrym's guards, they calmed down and found their ways to their beds for the evening.

The next morning, nursing hangovers, the party ate a hearty breakfast and haggled with the renowned Lewellyn the Loquacious over rumors. Once both parties were satisfied and Lewellyn had played a nice dirge to soothe Baravis' frustrations at not being able to return to Sigil, they decided to set out for Dagger Falls, Daggerdale, and investigate rumors of dwarves stalking the town at night and a horrible plague called Dream Fever. They also heard tell of forgotten things stirring in crypts beneath the ruins of the Temple of Lathander in Dagger Falls. All this pointed to adventure and, for Baravis, perhaps a way home. So they equipped themselves (Vlad bought a donkey as a pack animal) at Weregund the Trader's and made ready to set off.

They inquired of a junior priest of Lathander at his Temple in Shadowdale of anything they might need to know about the temple ruins in Dagger Falls. As they left, Baravis let slip a farewell in his native tongue (Infernal) that Lathander found offensive, so now during the hours of daylit morning Luke's character has a -1 to EVERYTHING. Should he find any relics of interest at the Temple of Lathander's ruins or in its crypts and bring them to the Temple in Shadowdale, perhaps Lathander will smile upon him and remove his harsh judgment.

Baravis' eldritch blast nearly snagged the party quail as they walked and swigged wine. After passing (and frustrating) a patrol of Shadowdale men-at-arms ("What is with adventurers?"), they spent the night at a Shrine to Torm at the crossroads of the Northride and the Tethyamar Trail. The next day was spent with the party following the dirt track north and as night fell, they sought refuge in Anathar's Dell, a small hamlet surrounded by a stockade and home to a clan of dwarves as well as Daggerdalesmen. With the discovery that 2 gp covered food, services (such as stabling for Vlad's mule), room and linens, and most importantly, booze, the party happily piled into the inn for more drunken carousing and antics.

And that's all that happened. 100% in-character roleplaying. No combat. An old-schooler's nightmare if I ever ran one. They spent most of their time blowing through silver buying bottles of alcohol. I've got to dig up some rules on alcoholism and drunkenness in game.

Wow

2011-12-01T02:52:00.002+09:00

Thanksgiving week was chaotic and busy. I had a tremendous amount of work to do throughout November, including a paper on my philosophy of education (which ended up overshooting the required 15-pages by about 17 for a total of 32), a test in Statistics (which I aced), homework for Statistics, and readings for my philosophy of education class and response papers (2 pages each). And to top it off, I've been preparing a D&D 3.5 game that will start in the Dalelands of the Forgotten Realms... and no one is playing a Cleric or a standard mage character.

I'll get around to posting a good portion of my paper here in a day or two. Until then, to those of you who are interested, please keep an eye out and don't think I'm dead.

Book Review -- HARRY POTTER SERIES by J.K. Rowling

2011-10-23T05:17:00.011+09:00

It took about three months' worth of reading, between classes and settling in after my return from Korea, to finish the Harry Potter novels by J.K. Rowling. Unfortunately, I never got around to buying the British versions when I was in Korea, and especially regret not having done so. While in Korea, I sat in a bookstore for a few minutes doing side-by-side comparisons of the two texts and finding that Scholastic had heavily edited the American versions (more about this later).

J.K. Rowling's story of rags-to-riches is quite well known. Published on June 30, 1997, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone had sold up to 300,000 copies in the UK by March, 1999. It was an instant success as a children's novel and was rapidly acquired by Scholastic Corporation, who strong-armed Rowling into changing the name to Sorcerer's Stone because they thought American children wouldn't want to read a book with the word "philosopher" in the title (more on this later). We all know how the tale grew to become a phenomenon complete with films and accompanying books about Harry Potter's world. Rowling has become an incredibly rich billionaire.

The story is incredibly well-known so there's no reason to discuss it. Essentially, Rowling's story is not at all original but that is not a criticism. It's long been mused that between Shakespeare, the Bible, and Homer, every possible story has already been told. However, Harry Potter achieves an incredible resonance with it's readers. Rowling was able to take Thomas Hughes' Tom Brown's Schooldays, an 1857 novel about a private boarding school in England, add such fantasy elements as magic and antiquity, and marry it to the Campbellian heroic journey.

Her brilliance in such a combination cannot be understated. Tom Brown's Schooldays had been extremely successful and spawned an entire genre of schoolboy stories during the 19th and early 20th centuries. Its great appeal was due to the interest of poor boys who couldn't afford to attend boarding schools and their curiosity of what such a life is like. It also appealed to former such academy students reminiscing about their times there. Such a setting made it easy for Rowling to incorporate the elements of a typical bildungsroman. To increase the appeal and make the story much more dynamic than the typical school novel, Rowling added the idea that the school in her story (Hogwarts) specifically existed to educate children and adolescents who displayed innate magical talents and prepare them to live in a hidden society of wizards and witches. The Campbellian monomyth provided a tremendous cultural resonance to her stories.

The influence of the monomyth cannot be understated. Written well, a story that incorporates the monomyth can evoke a powerful emotional response in the reader. Written poorly, such a story devolves into formula and cliche, much like Terry Brooks' The Sword of Shannara.

Rowling's prose evolves as her protagonist and audience age. In the first two books, her writing style isn't very impressive. Indeed, if she had stopped at Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, I'd not have any qualms agreeing with Harold Bloom's assessment of the books (more on that later). At several points, she felt the need to recap previous events, concepts, and setting material in the form of tedious info-dumps as the series progressed. This is jarring to her narrative rhythm and honestly unnecessary. To her credit, Rowling reduces these to a few stray sentences in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix and virtually does away with them altogether in The Half-Blood Prince and The Deathly Hallows. She never achieves a poetic or moving style of prose but I feel that had she attempted as much, her work would have been tastelessly turgid instead of straightforward and event-driven.

The characterization of Harry Potter and his friends is incredible. Rowling's characters feel like real people (with a few exceptions). The character dynamics between Hermione, Ron, and Harry are incredible. Many of the characters are spectacularly well-developed and fully realized on the page. Through their dialogue they take life and express their personalities. Very few of the major characters feel flat (and those that do are mostly villains, which does, admittedly, weaken her narrative, but I digress...) and their interactions are excellently enjoyable. It is difficult not to feel amusement and affection for Fred and George Weasley, for example.

Equally well-realized is the wizarding world, complete with its own lore, legends, entertainment, music, and culture. Rowling's world grows as the books progress and she reveals more and more of the land of enchantment which comes to be just as imaginative and dynamic as Carol's Wonderland or Baum's Oz and despite Bloom's criticisms (see below), much more self-sustaining. What irked me, however, was the complete independence the wizarding world experienced from the Muggle world in contrast to how events in the wizarding world would effect the Muggle world (Sirius Black's escape and the return of Voldemort, for example). Also, I found the helplessness of the Muggle world in the face of wizardly conflicts a plot hole (especially since the wizards went into hiding in the 17th century because of Muggle persecutions against magic-users). Rowling does a lot of wand-waving (heh, heh) to separate the Muggle and wizard worlds so much, often resorting (quite literally) to "a wizard did it" to deal with any potential for the isolation of the wizarding world being breached by the Muggle one.

Harold Bloom's infamous criticisms of Rowling's achievement are well known and discussed throughout the blogosphere. Just google "Harry Potter and Harold Bloom" and you'll be hit with a plethora of blog entries and magazine articles on Bloom's scathing criticism.

Bloom's primary points of contention?

The books are bereft of imaginative vision.
Rowling's setting and the action therein have nothing to do with reality, which he sees as completely contradictory to the "realism" of Tom Brown's Schooldays.
Rowling's dichotomy of wizard vs. Muggle is offensive, especially when the Muggles are abusive, dull, and close-minded.
Sex and sexuality is all but nonexistent.

However, Bloom's conclusion is quite revealing.

And yet I feel a discomfort with the Harry Potter mania, and I hope that my discontent is not merely a highbrow snobbery, or a nostalgia for a more literate fantasy to beguile (shall we say) intelligent children of all ages. Can more than 35 million book buyers, and their offspring, be wrong? yes, they have been, and will continue to be for as long as they persevere with Potter.

A vast concourse of inadequate works, for adults and for children, crams the dustbins of the ages. At a time when public judgment is no better and no worse than what is proclaimed by the ideological cheerleaders who have so destroyed humanistic study, anything goes.

The review was published in July, 2000, in The Wall Street Journal, almost at the same time as Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire hit American bookstores and Harry had to deal with death and sexuality for the first time. Indeed, Bloom should have waited until the series was complete before he leveled his infamous criticisms against it. It does read as highbrow snobbery, as he frequently compares the novels to The Wind in the Willows and The Wizard of Oz as exemplars of imaginative children's literature.

Rowling's writing style and imagination matures as her protagonist--something that Bloom misses. Bloom characterizes himself as a guardian of the great books of the past. Indeed, I agree that the Western canon needs defending in this post-modern era and that many of the books Bloom holds in highest esteem deserve to be read and appreciated, I still feel that his attack on Rowling is endemic of the ivory-tower isolation of the academics from the masses and is a result of intellectual elitism.

The evidence is written all across the last novel. Harry Potter is faced with the realities of Dumbledore, his late guide and adviser, as a human with human failings and frailties of the heart. Harry is faced with making extremely difficult choices that result in the survival or demise of friends, teachers, and students. There is moral ambiguity in his decisions and although he inevitably triumphs, Rowling wisely glosses over the reconstruction and gives us a small glimpse into the lives of the characters and their children decades hence. The brevity of the epilogue leaves the aftermath vague and ambiguous, leading the reader to ask, "Was it worth it? Did everything go back to normal? How could it after such tragic events?" (The weakness of omitting the aftermath means we never see how many of the characters cope with loss and tragedy. It is impossible that the characters have all been able to return to their normal lives and I would have very much like to have seen how George Weasley dealt with his very tragic loss).

Similarly, the wizard attitude toward Muggles is never described as correct throughout her novels. With the exception of the Dursleys, Muggles are rarely encountered in the novels but it is evident that the Dursleys are not to be considered the model on which one should judge. The visceral reaction of the reader to the wizards' and witches' patronizing and (oftentimes inadvertent) bigotry toward Muggles (indeed, even the name sounds pejorative) should evoke a certain distaste in the reader. This is never a situation that Rowling addresses and is, necessarily, left up to the reader to wrestle. Though I do not believe Rowling did this purposely, that she did it is still a strength and not a narrative weakness. Indeed, she even intensifies this question through the revelations of Albus Dumbledore's friendship with Grindelwald.

The greatest weakness is the unsympathetic character of Voldemort. Although Rowling describes the difficulties and rejections he experienced as a child, Tom Riddle's development into an irredeemable villain is rather one-note. His inability to love is not only his greatest weakness as a villain, it's also his greatest weakness as a character. Voldemort is less human than Darth Vader, who despite being more machine than man still rescued his son from death. Despite being a common trope in fantasy, the monolithic villain that is so evil as to be inhuman and incapable of love or compassion is not nearly as interesting as a villain that has purposely rejected, submerged, and killed those emotions deliberately due to some pain or suffering in his past. Voldemort is not a tragic villain, he's simply a villain. Similarly, nearly every Slytherin character is petty, scheming, and hateful (I was very disappointed that no Slytherin characters besides Slughorn opted to fight Voldemort and the Death Eaters during the Battle of Hogwarts).

Another weakness in the narrative is the over-morality of the good guys. They never resort to use of the Killing Curse and never deliberately kill any of their opponents. Since such an action will result in breaking a person's soul apart, it is considered highly reprehensible. However, since the wizard community of Britain finds itself in a civil war, the prolific use of the Killing Curse by the forces of evil results in a growing disparity between them and the forces of good as the latter's numbers are reduced through attrition. Ultimately, Voldemort's hate and villainy are self-defeating and Harry triumphs without actually killing Voldemort. While there are many other examples of Harry struggling with pain and suffering, there is never a point where he is forced to kill in order to survive. He never experiences the pain and suffering that Simon experiences in Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn as he is forced to fight and kill in order to save the people and ideals that he loves. Though in the setting the good characters are spared such existential suffering and dilemmas that typical war veterans have to wrestle with due to their exemplary conduct (not descending to the use of the Killing Curse), it doesn't make for a complex, compelling, and interesting narrative.

In the end, the books are still for children. Rowling skirts such issues as good guys killing or sex and sexuality in order to keep the books "suitable" for her audience. I don't begrudge her decision. She includes a great many other complex issues and ideas in her books that young readers must consider. By the later volumes, she refuses to "write down" to her audience. Through excellent characterization and a well-paced narrative progression, she keeps her readers' attention.

Rowling has definitely accomplished something. Are these books classics of literature? Bloom says no. I say yes. The Harry Potter series is not simply a flash-in-the-pan. Discerning readers who find the Twilight series to be utter garbage still consider the Harry Potter Series to be a fantastic work of epic fiction and adventure. I've read many works of literature, like Bloom, but unlike Bloom I believe that Rowling overcomes her shortcomings as a writer and the weaknesses of many of her narrative choices to write an increasingly complex and dynamic story. No, it is not the equal of Don Quixote, Hamlet, or even The Lord of the Rings. It's rife with flaws, plot holes, inconsistencies, and characterization issues (specifically among the villains of the story). Yet Rowling's achievement is still worthwhile and I'd argue that it is just as worth reading as The Wizard of Oz.

As a final note, I'd like to discuss Scholastic Corporation's editing choices in "translating" the British dialect to standard American idiom. This is quite galling and struck me as very disparaging toward American children. Granted, many of the terms would be a bit confusing, but instead of a translation, incorporating a short glossary at the back might have been a bit more respectful to the intelligences of the readers. Similarly, the opinion that American children would find a novel with "philosopher" in its title unappealing (as opposed to British children, who had no such problems) displays the innately low opinion that Scholastic Corporation has of American schoolchildren. Considering that Scholastic is a corporation that produces schoolbooks (indeed, its very name is, in this case, ironic), this begs a great many questions about American education and the people and companies we allow to teach our children.

The Harry Potter Series by J.K. Rowling
Style A
Substance B
Overall B+

Forthcoming

2011-10-18T23:45:00.002+09:00

I've been rather busy with work on my article, coursework for my M.Ed., and ongoing search for PhD programs in Ancient History/Classical History and MA programs in Asian Studies. This should explain the dearth of posts for the past two or three months. I've also been reading the monumental Harry Potter series and will be writing up a very large review of the entire series within a week or two.

What my poor readers have to look forward to:

A review of the entire Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling.
A review of John Keegan's The Face of Battle, about which I've been procrastinating for half a year.
A review of Francis Fukuyama's End of History and the Last Man, which may or may not come anytime soon, since it's so vast and there's so much to discuss.
A review of Michael Moorcock's The Jewel in the Skull, which I've put down and will endeavor to finish after the Harry Potter series (for reasons that will invariably be explained in the review).

I've also picked up a copy of Thomas F. Madden's Empires of Trust, which I might actually review for submission to a peer-reviewed journal.

World of Darkness Chronicle, Part the First

2011-10-08T09:35:00.003+09:00

So, my cousin DJ and two friends, Luke and Shaun, started my (New) World of Darkness chronicle, set in 1920's Philadelphia, entitled Night Train to Nowhere, on Thursday night.

The characters are:

Lance Davenport: If H.P. Lovecraft were an English professor. Lance is Shaun's character. He writes articles for Weird Tales and other pulp rags under a pseudonym. He's had strange dreams ever since he was a kid that has led him to be fascinated in the strange and unexplainable.

Mick Callahan: Irish-American World War I vet. He got separated from his unit in the Ardennes and ended up sharing a shell-hole with a German soldier. As a fog rolled in, Mick fled as what appeared to be a vampire killed the young German. After the war, he returned home to watch helplessly as a vampire took his wife, never to be seen again.

Seamus Flannagan: Irish-American muscle who boxes illegally to pay the bills. Seamus was orphaned as a kid when his father, a detective with the Philadelphia police, was murdered with a strange cuneiform symbol carved into his head. Seamus is seeking answers to his father's murder and why it was hushed up.

The tale opened with Seamus and Lance shopping in Mick's antique shop. Father Edward Massey, a friend of Mick's, entered and asked if the characters had seen the local Catholic high school librarian, Brother Lucas Shrift. As Seamus had been in the orphanage with Shrift, he was interested immediately. Shrift had disappeared before, for five years before returning with no memory of his journey or why he had left. Father Massey feared Shrift's new disappearance was related.

The characters began by calling around for information. Seamus attempted to see the Archbishop and ask about Lucas Shrift but was stymied by a strange, sinister priest at the Basilica of Sts. Peter and Paul.

The trio then searched Shrift's house for clues, finding plenty. A window had been forced and the lock broken. Lance found a strange journal written partly in a strange script, the rest in Latin. Hidden in a hollowed book, Mick discovered a key, which Lance identified as belonging to some sort of safe deposit box.

After spending a day at work, the three reunited. Lance had called his close friend and reporter for the Inquirer, Hunter Jerusalem, who said he would try to get a story about Shrift's disappearance into the local papers. Mick, acting on a hunch, contacted a friend of his, Detective Dashiell, to learn about a robbery of the Museum two years ago, in which a strange Mesopotamian idol and cylinder seal were stolen. Seamus canvassed the docks asking about a ship whose captain Shrift was supposed to have met.

That evening, the characters made their way down to the docks to El Diablo Roso, a rum-runner out of Cuba. The ship's crew had itchy trigger fingers and the characters almost turned away in failure when a hulking first mate with a Cockney accent challenged Seamus to a round of bare-knuckle fisticuffs. The session ended with a narrow victory for Seamus and the first-mate agreeing to talk with the characters.

All-in-all, I think it went rather well. We only had about 3 1/2 hours to play, and it looks like we're going to be running once per month, so I'm awarding experience per every 1 1/2 to 2 hours of playing time.

Update

2011-10-06T06:39:00.002+09:00

I'm sorry I've not been posting so often. My personal life is getting very busy and I've severely neglected the blog. I hope to start getting back into it again this month. I've a lot going on--class is keeping me busy but I'm also submitting an article to the Journal of Near East Studies and applying to PhD programs in Ancient History and MA programs in Asian Studies. To top that off, I've started an essay on the neglect of history education in schools and universities as well as planning to start another article for publication submission on Mycenaean kingship during the Bronze Age.

So, yes, I'm quite busy. But I'll hopefully have some details for readers about the World of Darkness game I'm going to start running tomorrow.

D&D Spellcasting: Pushing Beyond Your Limits

2011-09-21T14:37:00.008+09:00

It's been a while since I last posted, so I figured I'd put up a little something I've been thinking about when it comes to gaming.

What if magic-users in the D20 system could somehow push beyond their limitations? What would be the risks involved?

Well, the D20 Wheel of Time book from the early days of 3rd edition has a system for Aes Sedai channelers of the One Power to do just that. So... why not adapt some of those rules for sorcerers and wizards in 3.5 D&D or Pathfinder? I've house-ruled the ability for wizards to overprepare and sorcerers to overcast their spells and fiddled with the rules for doing so until they fit how I wanted to use them.

First, there are two things a caster can do. They can attempt to cast or prepare more spells than available slots, or they can attempt to cast spells that are, as of yet, beyond their ability to know, or have been enhanced with metamagic feats beyond the magic-user's capacity to cast or prepare.

Once the caster has decided to do one of those things, he or she must make a Concentration Check. Finding the Difficulty Class isn't hard.

To cast/prepare a spell with no slots left: DC = 15 + (spell level x 5)

To cast/prepare a spell higher than highest possible slot: DC = 15 + (5[spell level - highest possible slot level]).

It looks more complicated than it is. Check out the chart below.

Concentration Check DC	Overpreparing/Overcasting Attempt	Fortitude Save DC
15	Cast/prepare a 0-level spell with no slots left	15
20	Cast/prepare a 1^st level spell with no slots left	25
25	Cast/prepare a 2^nd level spell with no slots left	35
20	Cast/prepare a spell 1 level higher than highest possible slot	15 + spell level
25	Cast/prepare a spell 2 levels higher than highest possible slot	25 + spell level
30	Cast/prepare a spell 3 levels higher than highest possible slot	35 + spell level

So, let's say Fazzle Bandazzle the Great (Sor 5) wants to cast a fireball, but he has no slots left. His Concentration check DC is 15 plus five times the spell's level, so he has to beat a DC 30. Now, if Nort the Mysterious (Wiz 3) wants to prepare a lightning bolt, but he's not high enough in level, he can still try to force the spell into his head with a Concentration check equal to 15 plus five times the difference between his highest possible level spell (2nd) and the spell he wants to cast (3rd), so his check DC is 20.

These attempts are not without their risks! If either of them fail, the attempt doesn't work and they have to make a Fortitude save. The formula for this is simple, too.

Failure to cast/prepare a spell with no slots left: DC = 15 + (spell level x 10)

Failure to cast/prepare a spell higher than highest possible slot: DC = 15 + (10[spell level - highest possible slot level]).

If the Fortitude Save fails, consult the table below for some nasty side-effects. For one, the strain of stretching one's mind too far can be painful and strenuous. In addition, there could be a magical back-lash, physically harming the caster who failed to either prepare or cast the spell properly.

Fortitude Save DC missed by	Result
1-5	The caster suffers a severe headache and overwhelming fatigue. As a result, he or she suffers a -1 penalty to all skill and ability checks, attack rolls, and saves. He or she recovers when able to rest for at least six hours.
6-10	The caster suffers headache and fatigue resulting in a -2 penalty on all rolls. He or she also takes 1d6 points of damage and cannot attempt to prepare or cast more spells than his or her level permits until he or she gets six hours of rest.
11-15	The caster suffers headache and fatigue resulting in a -3 penalty on all rolls. He or she also takes 2d6 points of damage and cannot prepare or cast spells at all for 24 hours.
16-20	The caster suffers headache and fatigue resulting in a -4 penalty on all rolls. He or she also takes 3d6 points of damage and cannot prepare or cast any spells at all for 48 hours.
21-25	The caster suffers headache and fatigue resulting in a -5 penalty on all rolls. He or she also takes 4d6 points of damage and cannot prepare or cast any spells at all for two weeks.
25+	The caster is burned out entirely—completely unable to prepare or cast spells ever again. In addition, he or she suffers headache and fatigue resulting in a -6 penalty on all rolls and takes 4d6 points of damage.

Some DMs may opt to change some of the side-effects, for example, adding temporary or permanent damage to the character's Intelligence. The character may also acquire some sort of curse or insanity. The DM is encouraged to be creative with some of the penalties for failure. Doing this sort of thing has to be risky.

Fantasy: 1977 to 2011. Wrapping It All Up

2011-07-30T15:51:00.000+09:00

This project grew out of a response to Tom Simon's review of fantasy in 1977 and his lamentations regarding the trends that 1977's publications foreshadowed. I broke down Simon's issues with mainstream fantasy thusly:

To distill from the above, it seems an over-arching adherence to Tolkien as the defining figure of the genre seems to be crippling it. In addition, attempts to break away from his influence often falter with both editors and audiences. Dabbling in the mythologies and philosophies of non-Western cultures can be interesting, but it must also be coherent--when its not you get confused and pointless sagas that go nowhere like Hancock's Circle of Light.

Each series Simon reviewed displayed problems that he had with the growth of these trends:

Terry Brooks' The Sword of Shannara represents imitation of Tolkien's work, debasing it into a set formula, without any of the thematic impact, narrative content, or unique characterization. This application the formula tends to be inept and riddled with plot holes and inconsistencies.

Stephen R. Donaldson's The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever represents how doing something different (and indeed, philosophical) with the genre will lack the mass-audience appeal of more imitative work and how a work is hindered by the demands of publishers for a follow-up trilogy.

Niel Hancock's The Circle of Light illustrates meandering plots without any meaningful pay-offs or resolutions. It also demonstrates how many later authors would clumsily employ different philosophies and religions as narrative gimmicks.

Finally, by analyzing The Silmarillion, Simon appeals to authors to blaze new trails and not get caught up in world-building to such a catastrophic level where the writer cannot escape it and becomes imaginatively bankrupt.

My own analysis of the 1980s and 1990s in fantasy seemed to uphold Simon's conclusions. I isolated a number of tropes Tolkien had established in fantasy, many of which were drawn from typical medieval and renaissance romances. To reiterate, they include:

The pastoral, bucolic countryman drawn into events beyond his initial ken.
The reluctant king in disguise or exile (or perhaps his kingdom is fallen).
The wise, sagelike wizard guide.
Dark lords, evil gods, or some other source of world-threatening power.
Ancient races (elves, dwarves, etc.) that predate humans and live a fey-like existence quite removed from the mundane realities of humankind.
Epic battles and wars.
A journey into darkness.
Evil lands or kingdoms.
The chivalric ideal.
Orcs, goblins, or some other sort of twisted creature that follows the dark lord/god.
Gigantic, formidable monsters.
Demonic, ghostly, or otherwise terrifying agents of the dark lord.
Copious worldbuilding, history, backstory, languages, and myth.
Infodump chapters where the peasant/country bumpkin hero is described the history and backstory.

The successful authors, primarily Robert Jordan, Terry Brooks, Terry Goodkind and David Eddings, exhibit many of the flaws that Simon identified in his examination of 1977's releases. That many of these authors were released by Del Rey or Tor Books should not go unnoticed. The growing influence of the publisher on the author (especially the cynical del Reys themselves) had a profound effect on the proliferation of doorstops and simplistic narratives. Some overly-slavish imitations, such as Dennis McKiernan's The Iron Tower Trilogy never garnered the audience of the more successful authors. Nevertheless, many authors who started strong, such as Raymond E. Feist, Glen Cook, and L.E. Modesitt, Jr., with imaginative worlds and interesting thematic elements, failed to maintain their uniqueness and strength in the long run. Feist, in particular, reached a high-water mark with A Darkness at Sethanon, but subsequent novels became more derivative and self-referential, with more repetitive conflicts ("bigger and badder" do not always equal better) and less-and-less payoff. Other authors, such as Tad Williams, Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman, and C.S. Friedman, wrote unique, focused, imaginative series of finite length that didn't approach the mass-market appeal of other works.

It wasn't until George R.R. Martin and Steven Erikson debuted that mainstream fantasy received a much-needed shot-in-the-arm. Yet in the first decade of the 21st century, following Martin (in particular) came a bevvy of authors without the skill at crafting a coherent narrative that wrote in stark contrast to Tolkien. Indeed, they often seemed to blame Tolkien for the mire in which fantasy found itself. These writers were R. Scott Bakker, Joe Abercrombie, Stan Nicholls, and Richard Morgan. Many of them drew influence from pre-1977 writer Michael Moorcock and likewise fueled their writing with fumes of stark dislike for "Tolkien's politics."

This new generation of authors exhibited two distinctive and new traits.

Similar to Martin (and Tad Williams before), they sought to depict medieval warfare as brutal, bloody, savage, and destructive. They also described the effect of war on the populace--famine, rapine, pillaging, disease, and other features of the medieval chevauchée.
They also featured a lot of narrative elements subversive to Tolkien, such as morally ambiguous heroes, political intrigue, sympathetic villains, and a distinction between good and evil that is blurry at best (and often nonexistent). They were often driven by a polemic desire to protest Tolkien's politics and overthrow his influence over modern fantasy.

Unfortunately, these writers seem to focus mostly on these elements and not on cohesive plotting, believable characters, or effective dialogue. In effect, these elements are not included in order to advance the story or develop the characters. They are included for the express purpose of rebelling against Tolkien. This is the greatest irony of all: they are basically doing the same thing as Terry Brooks' The Sword of Shannara, but in the opposite direction and displaying all of the narrative and characterizing problems that Tom Simon identifies in his analysis of Sword. The authors do not realize that they, in truth, are just as derivative of Tolkien as his imitators. As a result, they fail to achieve any real literary merit, relegating themselves to cheap, adolescent grindhouse versions of fantasy.

Those authors who do employ these political and graphic elements successfully make these elements vehicles for plot and character development as any writer (fantasy or not) should. Therefore, I must insist that the weaknesses and errors that Simon identified (and to which I have added) are not unique to fantasy. Those who are successful at incorporating those two new traits (politics and graphic violence/sex) have done so in a manner that makes these elements meaningful to both the plot and the characters, therefore making them meaningful to the audience beyond providing "edginess," "topical relevance," and "realism." Those successful are Martin, Bakker, and Williams in particular--they were not revolting against Tolkien or attempting to push some sort of agenda but instead presenting worlds, characters, and situations designed to provoke questions for the reader to answer. If one were to remove the sex and violence from Martin or Bakker, the narrative would become weaker. If one were to remove it from Abercrombie, Morgan, or Nicholls, would it instead become apparent that the narrative was already weak?

Conclusion
So, is fantasy in as dire straits and as deep a mire in 2011 as it was in 1977?

Yes and no.

Yes because the issues which crept into fantasy haven't really disappeared. They've just changed their styles. The core problems are still present.

Reduction of Tolkien's narrative into a formula without any of the thematic impact, narrative content, or unique characterization, the application of which tends to be inept and riddled with plot holes and inconsistencies.

Lack the mass-audience appeal of less imitative work.

Demands of publishers for larger publications and follow-up material have contributed to doorstop fantasy series.

Meandering plots without any meaningful pay-offs or resolutions.

Clumsy and often dishonest application of different philosophies and religions as narrative gimmicks.

A tendency to get caught up in world-building to such a catastrophic level where the writer cannot escape it and becomes imaginatively bankrupt.

Add to this my own observations from the 2000s:

Hyperbolic and overly didactic political polemicism, especially anti-Tolkien polemicism, that is inherently and ironically trapped in Tolkien's legacy as much as Brooks' The Sword of Shannara. Spoon-fed lessons are a major factor, here.

A reliance upon gratuitous sex and graphic violence (often combined) in order to further divorce one's writing from Tolkien and earlier writings without these elements contributing to character or plot development.

What does this boil down to? Basically, bad writing. Fantasy publication since 1977 (and likely, publication in general) provides ample evidence that Sturgeon's Law is in full effect. The problem is that readers aren't reading the good stuff and are becoming convinced the bad stuff is actually good. This is why such writers as Robert Jordan are dangerous to young readers and aspiring authors alike.

I may be tempted to make the argument that all of modern literature is exhibiting these issues. There are more people writing and getting published than ever before and their material is becoming more uniform and less varied and prolific. However, I won't make such a broad and sweeping claim because I don't have much access to the dregs of the past and am keenly aware of the proliferation of penny-dreadfuls in the Victorian era.

What is unique to fantasy is that the genre seems to be tragically hidebound to certain styles and both audience and publishers are woefully ignorant of the finer points of style, taste, and literary substance. The fact is that most fantasy readers are ignorant of literature outside of the genre. Such knowledge might have a profound impact on their taste. Indeed, most readers would likely prefer to read through all 15,000 pages of The Wheel of Time than The Count of Monte Cristo, Les Misérables, Moby-Dick, and The Grapes of Wrath (totaling around 3,000 pages--less than one fifth the length). This, I find, both sad and disappointing.

In the end, the blame must be laid at two sets of feet--the publishers and the readers. The publishers are at fault because instead of being motivated to publish literature they are instead motivated by profit in only the most cynical manner (as exemplified by the del Reys). The readers are at fault by being so hidebound and ignorant of literature that they are bereft of any and all taste, motivated by a desire to either see Middle-earth last forever or be violently overthrown.

There is hope for fantasy provided good writers enter the genre. That is why I continually referred to Tad Williams, George R.R. Martin, Steven Erikson, and R. Scott Bakker as symbols of hope for mainstream epic fantasy. Williams unfortunately flew beneath the mainstream radar. Bakker's narrative is carried by extremely abstract philosophical, ethical, and psychological content (which makes sense, the man was a Ph.D. student in philosophy before he turned to writing and it shows in his work). This renders The Second Apocalypse a bit out-of-reach intellectually for most readers that cannot get past the surface elements of his novels.

Yet these writers are still going. And they're likely to inspire further writers to take on the genre and use it as a playground for their imaginations. Lets just hope that these future writers are far more literary and capable of good writing.

Fantasy: 1999 to 2011. Disillusionment and Nihilism.

2011-07-29T14:52:00.000+09:00

My final segment of my brief history of post-1977 mainstream epic fantasy closes with the past decade of development in the genre and a bit of musing regarding the direction it's taking. To recap, I first began this as a response to Tom Simon's discussion regarding trends that arose in 1977 which came to plague mainstream fantasy. When I examined the 1980s, I noticed that the most popular writers were derivative of Tolkien and/or medieval romance. While analyzing the 1990s I found that those writers continued but were joined by didactic polemicists and gimmicky weak narratives; doorstop fantasies that meandered with little or no payoff were actually the biggest bestsellers.

I am still questing to see if Simon is correct in his assessment that mainstream fantasy has become so mired in formula and convention, bereft of little true creativity or writing skill.

This segment is particularly difficult to write because it was during this time that I finished college, went to graduate school, and then left for Korea. My tastes in reading were necessarily shifted by my studies, gravitating strongly toward more canon literary works, historical inquiries, and books of philosophy. Therefore, I drifted from fantasy for about seven or eight years, only returning to the genre lately and finding it very different from when I left it back around 2001.

During this time, most of what I read was drawn from Gygax's & Arneson's Appendix N from the 1st Edition AD&D Dungeon Master's Guide. I was more than pleased by the Del Rey releases of Robert E. Howard's short stories in trade paperback format (including his Kull, Bran Mak Morn, Solomon Kane, and Conan yarns). I started reading Moorcock's Elric books, Zelazny's Amber novels, Vance's Dying Earth, and Leiber's Fafhrd & the Grey Mouser tales. I also dove into more SF with Kurt Vonnegut, Dan Simmons, Frederick Pohl, and H.G. Wells. I periodically pulled a few works from the shelves of the fantasy section, such as John Marco's The Eyes of God but overall, I wasn't really inspired to continue. Oh, I certainly enjoyed what I read. Yet there was something missing.

In the following, I cannot speak from firsthand experience reading these authors. I must admit a distinct bias which will, no doubt, color my assessment. I'm drawing much of my information from reviews found on blogs and amazon.com reviews. The uniting trend I've recognized, however, is that all of the negative reviews had very specific criticisms of writing and narrative style, weak characterization, and an overattachment to gore, violence, sex, and rape; all of the positive reviews were very vague, used adjectives like "enjoyable" and "exciting," and tended to compare the work to other authors the audience "may have liked."

Stan Nicholls
Nicholl's first Orc novels, Bodyguard of Lightning and Legion of Thunder were released amidst a small fanfare touting his subversive decision to write a novel from the perspective of the "bad guy cannon fodder" of fantasy. This wasn't a bad decision. However, Nicholls certainly had issues with taste. A lot of the criticism of Nicholls' novels focus on how he fails to actually detail and describe a different race; ultimately, they are humans with different skin--stereotypical noble barbarians. The over-fetishization of violence, rape, dismemberment, and gore do not make up for the lack of character depth and believable worldbuilding.

Joe Abercrombie
Abercrombie debuted with The Blade Itself in 2006, the first novel in his The First Law trilogy (followed by Before They Are Hanged in '07 and Last Argument of Kings in '08). According to one amazon.com reviewer, the trilogy is "Conan the Barbarian meets the anti-Lord of the Rings...and its not a compliment." While dialogue may be a strength, Abercrombie seems to lack the panache for character and plot development. His hard-boiled prose is apparently quite fitting and has garnered a great deal of complements on the internet, although the proliferation of modern swears and parlance in his character dialogue has been labeled as "distracting." Nobody gets what they deserve and almost none of the characters can be characterized as "good." This is not a problem, so much, except that all of the characters are basically evil. They might be sympathetic to some, but many who have not rejected the moral ambiguities of Martin's novels have rejected the amorality of Abercrombie's.

However, it appears that the most negative reaction to Abercrombie has come from his 2011 release, The Heroes, in which the eponymous characters are anything but. As one reviewer opined, The Heroes descends into being "a 500 page vignette on the folly and nihilism of war, brutally told."

Richard Morgan
With 2008's The Steel Remains and the forthcoming The Cold Commands (Oct. 2011), Richard Morgan has thrown down his own gauntlet against the perceived weaknesses of Tolkienesque fantasy.

A slow moving novel that attempts to challenge contemporary fantasy tropes with in-your-face assaults on the hero archetype. But given the lack of plot progression, the book seems to be a pretense for forcing readers of basic fantasy to digest homo-erotica as a statement, not in pursuit of a larger plot point. Yeah, we get it, good literature is hard to read - and in western culture gay sex scenes are challenging to many readers. But challenging literature is not necessarily good literature, and that's a logical fallacy Richard Morgan embraces in this novel. --amazon.com review for The Steel Remains by Oria S. Bjorklund

Another reviewer states that "if graphic rape is your thing, this book is for you." Brian from The Silver Key had a decent amount to say about Morgan's debut fantasy novel. The overall trend in the negative criticism of his work is that the writing style is weak and at times overly technical, eliminating suspension of disbelief. Like Abercrombie and Nicholls, the emphasis is on being "edgy" and "dark, gritty, and violent." One positive reviewer said of Morgan's writing that "this isn't Disney." What the hell that is supposed to mean, I'm not sure (maybe the reviewer seems to think that Tolkienesque fantasy is Disney, I don't know).

Morgan (as one will read below) is highly critical of Tolkien. Just read "The Real Fantastic Stuff."

China Miéville
Although technically a writer of the New Weird, a movement that seeks to move fantasy back to its SF and horror roots of the early 20th century, China Miéville is yet another anti-Tolkien author who is deeply critical of what he sees as Tolkien's politics in The Lord of the Rings. Miéville is a socialist and a Marxist and infuses his work with such themes as class struggle and industrialization, often setting his writing in parallel worlds full of magic and more modern/postmodern thematic elements.

I can't really comment much on China Miéville because I actually want to read him. Out of the current list, Miéville has the most awards and honors heaped upon his novels, suggesting that there is really some substance to his work. I'm purposely avoiding reviews of him in order to make up my own mind. But since he's one of the most active and heavily recognized writers in the SF/fantasy genre he deserves mention.

REMINDER: I've read none of these authors. I have seen how they've spawned a degree of backlash amongst a more conservative readership. Just read my "Realism and Nihilism in Contemporary Fantasy" and check out all of the blogs and articles I link throughout the post. Therefore, yes, I do carry a bias. If I ever attempt to read these authors, I will comment on them much more directly and where necessary redact any statements that might be erroneous.

R. Scott Bakker
Some might argue that they have read nothing more nihilistic, violent, or graphically sexual than R. Scott Bakker's The Prince of Nothing and The Aspect-Emperor. I would disagree. The only nihilism there is what the reader imposes upon the text and Bakker's work most certainly transcends genre. Yes, his work is graphically violent and sexually explicit. Yet Bakker draws from not only literary influences within the SF, fantasy, and horror genres but from Freud, Plato, Gnosticism, Nietzsche, Jung, and countless other writers and sources of philosophy, religion, and psychology. He combines everything into a grandiose thought-experiment whose thematic narrative is not didactic or polemic but instead allows the reader to draw their own conclusions.

To be fair, Bakker's story is only one-half to two-thirds finished (he has five books thus far in his Second Apocalypse saga with two or three novels forthcoming). Thus far, Bakker is very deeply interested in the concept of damnation and the power of collective consciousness upon the Outside (and/or the hereafter), psychological determinism and whether or not we can truly control our conscious selves or are ruled by a subconscious, and the nature of knowledge and truth. Bakker reveals how his characters may believe they are acting out of a sense of justice or honor and strive for what they believe to be good but in reality are acting on subconscious motivations shaped by their upbringing, culture, religion, experience, and a myriad of other external stimuli. These revelations have thought-provoking implications for the reader and strike at the very heart of the human experience. This, in my opinion, catapults him far above many of his contemporaries into the realm of true literature.

Current Trends in Mainstream Fantasy?
What we see are two developing trends. The first is an increase in "adult" themes, such as sex and sexuality, violence and gore, and the gritty realities of medieval life and warfare (rape, pillaging, the chevauchée, religious and noble hypocrisy, class dominance, female repression, tyranny, widespread poverty and disease, etc.). These things are remarkably absent in not only Tolkien but also Eddings, Jordan (with the exception of sex/female repression), Brooks, Feist, etc. This growth of "hardcore" themes gives the new books an "edgy" feel.

The other trend is wholly political. Many of these writers are approaching fantasy from different postmodern perspectives (gender perspectives/feminism, Marxism/class struggle, industrialization, liberalism, atheism/alternative religions, etc.). We saw the dawn of many of these in the 1990s--for example, Philip Pullman published His Dark Materials during that time, which was keenly critical of the Catholic Church in specific and religion in general.

I've discussed a great deal about these trends in "Realism and Nihilism in Contemporary Fantasy." However, for the sake of argument, I'll repeat a few of my ideas below.

To me, it appears that mainstream fantasy has gone where comic books went in the early 1990s. With the relaxation of the Comic Book Code, grittier, more violent and sexually charged comics found release. In some regards, this was a good thing. Alan Moore's The Watchmen and From Hell, Neil Gaiman's Sandman, and Frank Miller's Sin City, 300, and The Dark Knight Returns all dealt with mature themes and challenged the readers' preconceptions regarding the literary role comics could play. (All of this had been made possible by Art Spiegelman's Maus in the 1970s). However, the drawback was a descent into worship of amoral anti-heroes (cf. Rob Liefeld's Bloodwulf mini-series and Supreme), often featuring copious amounts of gore and sex. The end result was comics became less "adult" and more "adolescent."

I see a similar trend in fantasy. The growth of more "edgy," "realistic," and "hardcore" narratives is equally puerile, mostly due to the lack of authorial skill in characterization and narrative structure. Authors have found fantasy childish and are attempting to force it into maturity through writing more "adult" stories without the skills in telling a coherent story with well-defined characters.

C.S. Lewis responded (well, I think) to the concept of "adult" themes in literature:

Critics who treat adult as a term of approval, instead of as a merely descriptive term, cannot be adults themselves. To be concerned about being grown up, to admire the grown up because it is grown up, to blush at the suspicion of being childish; these things are the marks of childhood and adolescence…. When I was ten, I read fairy tales in secret and would have been ashamed if I had been found doing so. Now that I am fifty, I read them openly. When I became a man, I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up. --from "On Three Ways of Writing for Children," On Stories

Indeed, this speaks directly to just how adolescent and undeveloped a proliferation of gratuitous sex, violence, and gore in both comic books and fantasy fiction is.

"Battles and bloodshed occur and occur often, but do not take the story to a higher level each time. There is no build-up. Main characters die, but only because [the author] wants to play with the reader, that is, rather than eliminating them in the natural flow of things or to add an element of drama." --amazon.com review of The Blade Itself by Han Jie

This is a common criticism I see repeated in many reviews for Morgan, Abercrombie, and Nicholls. The violence and sex in many of these books exist simply for the element of subversion and shock.

The second trend I've noticed is primarily political in nature. Miéville, and Morgan, specifically, have openly criticized Tolkien's writing. Abercrombie admitted to finding the following more compelling than Tolkien's original material:

Endless scenes of torture, treachery and bloodshed drenched in scatology and profanity concluded with a resolution worthy of M. Night Shyamalan at his worst, one that did its best to hurt, disappoint, and dishearten any lover of myths and their timeless truths. Think of a Lord of the Rings where, after stringing you along for thousands of pages, all of the hobbits end up dying of cancer contracted by their proximity to the Ring, Aragorn is revealed to be a buffoonish puppet-king of no honor and false might, and Gandalf no sooner celebrates the defeat of Sauron than he executes a long-held plot to become the new Dark Lord of Middle-earth, and you have some idea of what to expect should you descend into Abercrombie’s jaded literary sewer. --Leo Grin, "The Bankrupt Nihilism of Our Fallen Fantasists."

Granted, I may be coming down a bit hard on Abercrombie but the trend is there and is being applauded by more than the likes of Michael Moorcock.

I'm not really interested in reading much of this newer stuff. If I wanted to, I'd read a history book about actual events. I don't read fantasy for the historical realism, I read it for the story. If the story is lacking, then it follows that no matter how subversive, postmodern, or politically topical the novel may be, I will find myself disinterested at best and angry/insulted at worst. Many of these authors aren't interested in challenging their audience and asking provocative questions--instead they take a moral stance and spoon-feed all of the meaning to the reader. Much of that meaning is highly agenda-driven and deliberately destructive of previous fantasy. Many authors have stated a heavy dislike for Tolkien.

it would be a foolish writer in the fantasy field who failed to acknowledge the man’s overwhelming significance in the canon. And it would be a poor and superficial reader of Tolkien who failed to acknowledge that in amongst all the overwrought prose, the nauseous paeans to class-bound rural England, and the endless bloody elven singing that infests The Lord of the Rings, you can sometimes discern the traces of a bleak underlying human landscape which is completely at odds with the epic fantasy narrative for which the book is better known. --Richard Morgan, "The Real Fantastic Stuff"

Morgan goes on to say in his Comments section:

The Gorbag passage I quoted is, I think, an example of Tolkien’s Authorial Talent shouldering his Priggish Metaphysical Concerns out of the driving seat for a while (you can see a similar dynamic in Milton’s handling of Satan), but, as I lamented in the article, it doesn’t last long, AT gets booted into the back seat again and PMC is back in charge. I think you can see similar examples of that struggle littered throughout the book, but the result is always the same. This is the retreat from the lessons of the twentieth century that I was talking about in the essay and it’s how we end up with a book written by a man who’s witnessed the slaughter of the Somme, in which massive frontal assault against suicidal odds is still seen as a Noble Thing. That’s the failure I’m talking about.
Here are a few things, off the top of my head, that might (IMHO) have thickened the mix to more adult proportions:
Denethor retains most of his disagreeable characteristics but is a handy motherfucker with a battle axe and repels with great gusto a couple of assaults on the gates of Minas Tirith, while still raging at Gandalf for interfering.
Theoden rides to Minas Tirith not because it’s The Right Thing to Do, but because he reckons there’s a chance he can lay his hands on Gondor’s levers of power in the aftermath (and Gandalf sells him that idea to get him into the saddle)
Faramir dies, Boromir lives (with his guilt unassuaged or not, I can see excellent dramatic potential either way)
The hardiest fighters at the siege of Minas Tirith are a company of renegade orcs who’ve changed sides and have the most to lose if the city falls since they’ll be tortured to death as traitors
The most terrifying asset in Sauron’s forces is a mercenary army of elves out of Mirkwood. Disgusted by the failings of men, they have thrown in their lot with the enemy on condition they will not be deployed to fight their own kind. The Nazgul hate them and don’t trust them, and those feelings are mutual. At Helm’s Deep the mercenaries come face to face with brother elves and Sauron’s broken promise……
An orc family provide Frodo and Sam with shelter as they cross the wastes – the family are starving and miserable, and just want the war over and their husband and father back from the front.
And so on…….

Such criticism of Tolkien completely misses Tolkien's point. Including these elements would have catastrophically undone the entire purpose of The Lord of the Rings. The narrative would have been too divided, cheapened, and unraveled. Those like Abercrombie and Morgan might see this as a Good Thing, but I don't. Why?

Literary Taste. George R.R. Martin and R. Scott Bakker can do these things in their narrative because these elements have a place in their storytelling. In The Lord of the Rings, such developments would have simply weakened the story, pacing, characterization, narrative flow, etc. Tolkien wasn't incapable of writing those elements into a story, as his Children of Húrin demonstrates. For this particular story, however, Tolkien didn't want to include those elements and his novel is better off because of it.

Literary taste demands the reader ask the question, "What purpose do these elements serve? Do they advance the story or characters? Do they increase the dramatic tension of the tale?" If the answer to the last two questions is "no," then the answer to the first will likely be unsatisfying. The purpose will be to "be edgy/hardcore/adult/realistic" and therefore be intrinsically flawed. All elements in any work of literature should be subservient to the overall narrative. If they are not, then the author is doing something wrong.

So how about the authors who have included these themes and done it right?

THE SUCCESSES
Frankly, it is my opinion that George R.R. Martin, R. Scott Bakker, and Tad Williams incorporate many of these "adult" and political themes far more successfully than many of their contemporaries. I've discussed Williams' work at length so there shouldn't be much more to say about him. Williams is not concerned with "updating" or "dethroning" Tolkien. His work is not a criticism of Tolkien or of anything at all. Despite all of the subversive elements he included in his tale, he still maintains a mythical and fantastic flavor of the sort that Tolkien achieved. Similarly, George R.R. Martin's novels do not seek to overthrow The Lord of the Rings. Martin is a great lover of Tolkien and once opined that when he dies instead of heaven he'd prefer to go to Middle-earth. R. Scott Bakker has openly admitted that the Mines of Moria inspired Cil-Aujas and the confrontation with Smaug influenced his climax to The White-Luck Warrior.

These authors have not written their works to criticize Tolkien. They're written their books to tell their own stories and wrestle with their own issues. Tolkien serves them simply as a source of inspiration as to what fantasy can accomplish. Martin, Williams, and Bakker do not descend to the adolescent levels that many of the other authors do. Bakker comes close but his voice is so matter-of-fact that he dodges both the "prude" and "pornography" bullets that many authors fail to do. Indeed, since sex is a part of life and the human experience, it forms an integral part of his characters' psyches and is therefore quite important in the development of his narrative and his exploration of the conscious and subconscious drives that direct people's behaviors. I am under the impression that Bakker is not writing to an audience that will be thrilled or shocked by sex and violence but assumes that his readers are mature enough to take his descriptions in stride. Indeed, it would be impossible to delve to such a primeval, Freudian level into his characters' psyches if he didn't write these things.

NOTE: I don't include Erickson and Esslemont as successes in this regard because they're pursuing a far different sort of tale--something drawn more from Gygax's & Arneson's Appendix N than from Tolkien. Yes, many of these political, sexual, and violent themes emerge in their works. Nevertheless, these themes are much more subdued in their Malazan novels. There isn't as much subversion in the Malazan world so much as an exploration of the infinite possibilities of the imagination through fantasy.

In other words, for Martin, Bakker, and Williams, sex and violence occur in the story in order to advance the plot. One of the major criticisms I've repeatedly come across regarding Abercrombie, Morgan, and Nicholls is the violence and sex in their books does nothing to advance the story or develop the characters.

To write something realistically in order to give definition and meaning to a story is one thing. To write realistically for the purpose of being realistic or "edgy" is another.

"Nobody writes realistic realism, and if they did, no one would read it. The writers that think they write it just give their own ideas about things they think they see. The sort of man who could write realism is the fellow who never reads or writes anything." --Robert E. Howard

Too often, writers are writing in order to be edgy.

So, what does this mean for fantasy? What about the trends that Tom Simon discussed in his essay?

I'll round that off with my final conclusion in a forthcoming post.

Retrospective: Tad Williams' MEMORY, SORROW, AND THORN

2011-07-16T17:25:00.006+09:00

I'm taking a break from my series on the late history of fantasy and its so-called degradation to discuss one of the seminal fantasy works from the late 20th century--Tad Williams' Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn. This isn't a review so much as an analysis and explanation as to why I believe the series is such a powerful piece of literature and why, unlike Robert Jordan, Terry Goodkind, David Eddings, Terry Brooks, et. al., Tad Williams is a true successor to Tolkien.

Other authors and blogs have spent copious gigabytes describing why Tolkien is (or isn't) a major landmark writer in fantasy and how his works are integral to the literary canon of the 20th century. Tad Williams, by-and-large, gets ignored by the fantasy-reading public and the elitist English professor alike and this is a damn big shame. So, instead of reviewing Williams' novels or only describing how they fit into the overall historical schema of mainstream epic fantasy's evolution, I'm going to do some analysis and explain what Williams got right. Thus, it seems fair to warn the reader that THERE ARE SPOILERS AHEAD! You've been warned, dear reader.

The Beginning
In 1988, DAW Books published The Dragonbone Chair, a novel nearly 700-pages in length with an entirely uninspired-looking map (more highly detailed maps would be found throughout the text itself), an appendix that glossed people, places, and things in Osten Ard, and a translation guide for phrases in different languages. Most readers never got past the first 200 pages of exposition in the novel, arguing that "nothing happens" (which puzzles me, because much of books 6 through 9 of The Wheel of Time feature gratuitous amounts of nothing happening until the last 150 pages and people love Robert Jordan).

So, am I just insane or is there something here the average reader missed?

Well, the first 200 pages of The Dragonbone Chair are exposition. Williams is carefully, subtly establishing a typical medieval setting, its political situation, its characters and their feuds, loyalties, goals, and relationships. He's also instilling the reader with a sense of status quo--the world works like such, magic and faeries are just stories and reality is just mundane. Then, when the reader is about a quarter of the way through the book, all of the readers assumptions are destroyed, the status quo is irrevocably overturned, and all hell seems to break loose. This happens so rapidly as to shock the reader. After 200 pages, the reader's become subtly invested in the world, the characters, and come to feel that he/she can predict where things are going when Williams turns the tables and tells us to take nothing for granted.

The Cliche
Williams draws from medieval romance, just as David Eddings had done. However, Williams does it in a way that preserves the sense of wonder and mystery about his setting in a very Tolkienesque manner. In other words, Williams not only mimics Tolkien's style but also his atmosphere. Osten Ard is a layered setting--there's the mundane world of humans but underneath it lies the innate magic and mystery of the setting and its more subtle inhabitants. Now, Osten Ard does not feel like Middle-earth but more like the magical medieval England that never was, the one that knew King Arthur, Lancelot, and the Knights of the Round Table.

Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn centers around an epic quest in search of powerful McGuffins (in the form of three legendary swords) that the characters hope will save them from the Storm King. Knighthood (and boys who daydream of becoming knights) plays a powerful role--righteous behavior, faith, and bravery are cherished by many of the noble characters in the series; the heroes ultimately strive for something greater than themselves, even though most of the time they're concerned with mere survival. The good guys are guided by Nisses' Du Svardenvyrd (the Weird of the Swords), a book of prophecy. One particular character happens to be descended from kings and rightfully deserves the crown, although he doesn't necessarily know it (or even want the crown). A rebellious princess seeks to escape the prison of palace life and ends up embroiled in events beyond her knowledge and maturity to handle. The faerie races feature heavily in this book, although somewhat subtly, as Williams seems to understand that familiarity breeds contempt. Much of the series is bildungsroman, focused on Simon's growth from a young boy into a hero. Finally, many of the countries and religions in Osten Ard have real-world analogues that should make them more familiar to the reader (Erkynland = England, Nabban = Byzantium/Rome, Hernystir = Wales/Ireland/Scotland, Rimmersgard = Scandinavia, the Thirthings = Magyars/Huns, Perdruin = Venice/Genoa, Aedonite Church = Catholic Christendom).

These things are all very-well established tropes that have cropped up throughout heroic epic fantasy since Tolkien. At first blush, Simon will remind readers of Garion from Eddings' The Belgariad, Pug from Feist's Magician, and Taran from Lloyd Alexander's The Chronicles of Prydain. The Storm King ruling from his far northern kingdom will no doubt remind readers of the demonic, supernaturally powerful dark lords found in fantasy from Tolkien on (including Jordan, Alexander, Eddings, Brooks, and others). What Williams establishes is a status quo not only of setting, but also of technique and material.

But where the other authors simply sought to retell the same old tale, Williams had the talent to do things that were unique and different. He doesn't just imitate the story elements of Tolkien, Mallory, and Chaucer. He seeks to incorporate an atmosphere, sense of wonder, and thematic substance.

Literature and Substance

Heroism, Combat, and Death
George R.R. Martin was initially inspired by Tad Williams' Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn to write a mature, intelligent fantasy. It's a shame that Williams doesn't get quite as much credit as he deserves and Martin has definitely eclipsed Williams' popularity. It would be unwise, however, to compare A Song of Ice and Fire with Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn. Williams and Martin are attempting to do very different things with their respective series, and Martin's work is not yet finished. Williams explores themes that Tolkien never had. Tolkien's archaically poetic voice matched his equally archaic subject-matter. The Lord of the Rings features a lot of elements subversive to heroic quest literature but Williams challenges themes that Tolkien overlooked.

Williams' voice is deep and mature. The characters are dynamic, driven, and evolving. Simon grows and changes, but he does not do so in a vacuum. Unlike Tolkien, whose characters saw many things and did many deeds, but ultimately (except for Frodo), remained the same as before, Williams' characters are unmistakably changed by their experiences. And with good reason--they experienced something so horrifically terrible, it would be ridiculous for them to simply go on as if it had never happened.

Now, this is not being entirely fair to Tolkien--his characters do change. But after their adventure, the greatest shift that occurs is the world becomes a bit more mundane (the Elves leave, the King returns, and Hobbitism continues as it always has, with that brief interruption from Sharkey). In comparison, however, the changes in Tolkien's world are much more superficial. In Williams' work, the entire world is ripped apart in the struggle over King John's throne. Alliances are made and broken, and when the dust settles, no one's demesne is as it was before. Characters have either been forced to become great heroes or have been broken and/or killed. I am reminded of Catherine Barkley's axiom in Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms, in which she says that the world breaks everyone, and if it cannot break them it kills them. Williams offers a third alternative--those that aren't broken or killed become heroes.

But being a hero isn't a happy thing. Simon's first taste of warfare is bloody, horrific, and ultimately unromantic. Despite all of the romantic elements that dwell on the surface of Williams' epic, there are deep challenges that flow deep below. Simon's knighthood is rewarded with a troop of men that he leads to their deaths beneath his new banner. He watches friends and comrades die and kill around him, and is shocked to numbness by the smells, sounds, and sights of the battle. His senses are assaulted and he, in a primitive echo (or perhaps, foreshadow) of the great Sir Camaris (Williams' Lancelot), is a demon in battle who weeps for the men he smites.

Being a hero means loss. Being a hero means overcoming the agony and pain of one's circumstances. Like a Homeric epic, Williams' heroes display ἀρετή (arete), but when they are alone, the pain wells up and they lament for themselves and for those around them. Thus, one of the most noteworthy characteristics of Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn is the role of war, death, and combat. Characters die. Combat is lethal. Wounds can result in disfigurement and death. In many epic fantasies, the main characters seem to be immune to the dangers of combat (unless the author has literary reasons for killing one or two off). Williams is never afraid to have an encounter result in half the party being slain--a far more realistic depiction of combat than what is common in mainstream epic fantasy.

Symbolism
Another element that runs strongly throughout Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn is symbolism. Williams' keenly infuses a great deal of meaning into the three eponymous swords that give the series its title. The names of the swords: Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn, are reflective of the thematic weight they bear.

Minneyar (Memory) was forged from the keel of a Rimmersman's ship when they settled in Osten Ard from across the sea. It was made of metal not found in Osten Ard and bound by the Dwarrows with the Words of Making. It wasn't of Osten Ard at all, and it's alienness made it powerful. It was carried to the Sithi stronghold of Asu'a, and was there when the faeries were slaughtered beneath the cold-wrought iron of the heathen Rimmersmen.

Thorn was made from the meteoric iron found in the meteorite that destroyed the Temple of Yuvenis the night after Usires Aedon was hung from the Execution Tree. Again, Dwarrows forged the blade with the Words of Making. Again, it was not of of Osten Ard, but of alien origin.

Jingizu (Sorrow) was forged by the Sithi prince Ineluki, when their city of Asu'a was being destroyed by the Rimmersmen. It was a blend of iron (poison to the Sithi) and their mystical witchwood, and was bound together by the Words of Making. It was named for Ineluki's lamentations as he wept at the loss of Asu'a and the destruction of his beautiful people.

These three blades each carry a legacy and each forms a major theme in the book. Memory symbolizes the cruelty of man and the memory of the faerie. It also symbolizes the memories of the characters and the harms that have been done. Disguised by Prester John, it is also given additional meaning--memory in the face of a lie. Prester John may have been the greatest king in Osten Ard, but he was also a liar, and the memory of his lie pursued him to his death. Simon ends up bringing Memory to Ineluki at the climax of the story.

Sorrow is obvious. The book is filled with loss. The Sithi lost their kingdom, and they broke with their bretheren, the Norns. They came fleeing from the dreamlike world of the Garden to Osten Ard and brought the evil they sought to escape with them. Theirs is a tragic tale. And Ineluki's search for vengeance and the emptiness of his very soul as he continues in Undeath (or Unbeing) is filled with sorrow and fury. The themes of Sorrow and Memory are closely tied together here. Sorrow is borne by King Elias, who laments the loss of his wife, and was willing to throw his very kingdom away in a mad gamble to get her back through black sorcery.

Thorn is redemption. Christ's head was pierced by thorns, and his hands by thorns of iron. Thorn is a great, black iron sword wielded by Sir Camaris. Sir Camaris, like Lancelot, is the greatest knight in Aedondom. He explains how battle is the vocation of the knight because it is the way God decides the fate of nations on the earth. It has a will and a mind of its own. It can only be wielded when the cause is righteous. The connection between thorn and Usires Aedon is vital to its identity. Simon carries Thorn for a time, although he is not it's master. Camaris spends much of his time in guilt and internal turmoil, begging forgiveness for God for his sins, both on the battlefield, and off. He inevitably is there at the climax, carrying Thorn when he meets Elias and Simon before Ineluki.

Faith & Redemption, Forgiveness, and Dark Lords
In the presense of all three, Simon stands at the crux. Instead of throwing a ring into a fire or blasting Ineluki with magical fire, he forgives him. He extends sympathy. He refuses to hate. The climax of the book stands alone amongst epic fantasy.

In this respect, Williams' differs sharply with his colleagues in the epic fantasy business. Tolkien's Dark Lord Sauron is destoryed when his Ring is destroyed--he was truly dead, but continued to exist through the Ring. His motivation was to continue the work of his master, Morgoth the Enemy, but for some reason, his objectives were vague beyond the cryptic "cover the world in darkness" routine. Brona, the Warlock Lord of The Sword of Shannara used sorcery to remain a powerful wraithlike creature, bound to the material world through lies of magic, lies which were broken when touched by the Sword of Shannara. Terry Brooks' evils in Shannara all have equally vague objectives, which in the end boil down to "cover the world in darkness". Takhasis, the Queen of Darkness in Dragonlance, was defeated through heroic bravery and by the supposed innate nature of evil to consume itself.

Williams' provides his evil characters with much more depth. In the end, this makes them less vague and distant, less unfathomable. At the same time, it makes them much more sinister and inhuman. They have traded in all of their other drives, desires, and emotions for the few negative feelings that now sustain them. The Norn Queen longs for the lost past, and seeks to Unmake reality, because she has grown so egocentric over the long march of millenia that she cannot imagine the world continuing without her. Ineluki, the Storm King, however, thirsts for vengeance. His life ended in sorrow, which is why he named his sword Jingizu (Sithi for "Sorrow"). Yet in death, he found no release, and, sustained by black sorcery and hatred, he perservered. Unlike the other undead monolithic evils of epic fantasy, the Storm King was sustained by mostly his own emotions--by hatred and the desire for vengeance. He wanted to inflict the same sorrow upon the humans that they had caused him.

The defeat of these epic beings does not necessarily involve the wielding of great talismans against them. Indeed, for most of the books, the characters have no idea how they will use the Three Swords that seem to be their only hope to defeating the Storm King. Nevertheless, the weapon that defeats Ineluki is forgiveness and sympathy. Simon tells Ineluki "I will not hate you." The most powerful talisman that can possibly be held against evil is the human heart.

This ties in with the final point I'd like to make. The role of Christianity in Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn. Williams presents a start contrast to his contemporaries in epic fantasy again by placing the Church in a much more positive role than other epic fantasy. But he plays it subtly. The Aedonite Church is rife with corruption, just like the true historical church. However, it is a source of faith for many of the characters, and those characters who are the strongest in their faith place their faith in God--the Church is simply their vehicle, and not the object, of their affections. The "holy father" of the church is a man of great wisdom, faith, and justice. In many ways, the Aedonite Church represents the Catholic Church as it should have been, but unfortunately for history, wasn't.

The most telling scene is where Pryrates, King Elias' advisor and a powerful sorcerer, attacks the Lector (the analogue for the Pope). Father Dinivan stands between Pryrates and the Lector's rooms, armed only with his wooden tree (their version of the Crucifix). And the faith that Dinivan displays balks Pryrates--momentarily. Although Dinivan is defeated, he severely wounds Pryrates. Although the action between the Lector and Pryrates is not described, the sorcerer reports to King Elias that the lector was a very powerful man, while wincing as if remembering the wounds that he received--wounds that most certainly would not have been physical, but spiritual.

Magic, Spiritualism, and Faerie
I could continue to elucidate a variety of points that make Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn an incredibly unique tale. Williams takes a vast number of epic fantasy and chivalric romance tropes and imposes them upon a framework which warps them into a shape that is entirely new and challenging.

It is worth mentioning, however, a number of excellent adaptations that he's made in his books.

Magic and sorcery are magical and sorcerous again. Pryrates has much more in common with Tsotha-Lanti or Xaltotun from Robert E. Howard's stories than he does with Gandalf, Rastlin, or Allanon. Magic is incredibly subtle and unnatural. It twists the fabric of reality. When the Dwarrorws explain how the Words of Making work, they are emphatic that they are powerful and grave to use, because they force things to take shape that, by all intents and purposes, shouldn't be. Like reversing gravity, or cancelling it's effect whatsoever.

This ties in with the nature of the Sithi. They are, like the faeries from White Wolf's Changeling: the Dreaming, from another world, although it's spoken of as a geographical location. Williams' is purposely vague, because the reader is supposed to fill in the blanks. They could be from space, or they could be from a dreamlike realm beyond the wall of sleep. Their magic is songlike, a mixture of words and tones that creates and effect. It also makes their form of sorcery very liturgical and ritualistic, but not in the manner that most sorcery is imagined.

In addition, the battles between the Norns and the Sithi are the best description of a fight between faerie peoples that I have ever read. How the Sithi and Norn songs counter one-another, and how their hand-to-hand combat is dancelike and lethal, almost like snakes striking at one another, is incredible.

There are still more and more themes and threads that I could discuss about Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn. The series is, perhaps, the best piece of epic fantasy that I've ever read. Like Frank Herbert's Dune, it seems like a straightforward struggle between Good and Evil, but also like Herbert's work, Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn deals with themes and concepts that strike far beyond the boundries of the conventional epic fantasy. Williams challenges the pre-established notions of what an epic fantasy is by re-inventing almost all of its major characteristics. Nothing remains untouched. Nevertheless, when the book is finished, you've still experienced all of the things that make epic fantasy great.

I'd like to also note that Williams turns a lot of established cliches and tropes on their ears while preserving the mythopoeic feel that should permeate epic fantasy. He's done more than simply imitate Tolkien. He took the trappings of Tolkien, Chaucer, and Mallory and done something meaningful with them. In the end, he ties things up and closes the book. In the twenty years since Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn was concluded, Williams has not returned to Osten Ard. That story was told and finished. By allowing it to end, he has preserved the substance and meaning of his tale without diluting it with a never-ending cycle of publications.

In some ways, Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn should provide a sort of model regarding how to write heroic epic fantasy without falling into the traps that Tom Simon elucidated. I find it quite telling that George R.R. Martin, though inspired by Tad Williams, does not imitate his style or substance, instead reaching for and developing his own in A Song of Ice and Fire. This is why Williams' contribution to fantasy is so important. While Eddings, Brooks, Jordan, and Goodkind were churning out epics that used Tolkien and his sources as a model to imitate, Williams took that model and not only told a story but sought to explore a variety of themes that speak to the human condition. Although he was largely overlooked by the mainstream fantasy-reading public, the authors that mattered noticed him and set about to break fantasy out of the cliche-ridden repetitiveness, meandering and pointless plotting, and vapid attempts at philosophy that had infected it.

Fantasy: 1990 - 2000. The Age of the Doorstops and Gimmicks

2011-07-14T19:44:00.001+09:00

Two days ago, I read and responded to Tom Simon's review of several 1977 fantasy publications that established many of the traits that would, in his opinion, damage much of the fantasy to emerge in the next thirty-five years. Yesterday, I determined to trace major developments in mainstream epic fantasy through the 1980s in this previous post.

I will probably make a lot of references to those posts, so it would be helpful to read them before continuing through this installment of my essay. The main question I am asking is simply this:

Is Tom Simon correct that mainstream epic fantasy has been so locked into a ditch where all of these huge flaws are part-and-parcel of much of fantasy, especially its strongest-selling sagas? Have incoherent philosophical moralizing, uninspired attachment to a Tolkienesque formula, and an editorial/audience reluctance to pursue non-Tolkienesque fantasy truly harmed mainstream epic fantasy over the longe durée?

Yesterday, I determined that, yes, mainstream epic fantasy was very much damaged by these developments--especially the attachment to trope and formula. David Eddings played an enormous role in codifying and formulating these fantasy elements, far beyond the impact of Terry Brooks. Despite Eddings' awareness and inspiration of pre-Tolkien mythological and romantic cycles (many of which were the same as Tolkien's sources), his work lacked the poetry, thematic strength, and musing upon the human condition that Tolkien had done. Indeed, Eddings' work reduced mainstream epic fantasy to a tight, strict formula. A prolific writer, Eddings would dominate 1980s fantasy, publishing nearly one (sometimes two) novels a year.

In tandem with the formalization of epic fantasy came what Tom Simon calls "Procrustes the Publisher." As paperback prices began to rise, publishers began to demand more page-counts to justify price-hikes. However, page-counts do not necessarily equal quality and word-bloat became a necessary evil in the production of mainstream fantasy.

Then in 1988, Tad Williams published The Dragonbone Chair. On the surface, it looked like a knockoff of David Eddings, and a continuation of the formalization of epic fantasy. It would not become apparent until much later in the 1990s that mainstream fantasy would be divided into several camps. Old novels, once overlooked, would regain new life. Other authors would continue to slog in their worlds long after their original spark of inspiration had died.

Let's turn, now, to 1990, yet another watershed year in fantasy fiction much like 1982 and 1984 were.

1990
In this year numerous epic fantasy publications were to have a major impact on the growth of fantasy, some much greater than others. First, and perhaps most importantly, Robert Jordan released The Eye of the World through Tor Books. Terry Brooks broke ground with The Scions of Shannara. Tad Williams continued his epic saga with The Stone of Farewell. TSR, the makers of Dungeons & Dragons, released R.A. Salvatore's Homeland. And Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman kicked off a seven-novel cycle with Dragon Wing.

Tad Williams
Williams really deserves an entire post to himself, which I intend to get to sometime this month (or next). Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn is literature of the highest quality and I owe it to his series that I give it a much more thorough treatment than I can give it here. For the sake of argument, I'll sum up my reasons why Williams is one of the greatest fantasy writers of the 1990s:

Incredible use of thematic symbolism. The eponymous swords are not simply McGuffins, but their names should clue the reader in--they've incredible thematic and symbolic value that any English professor would be daft to miss.
The employment of trope elements drawn from chivalric romance (especially Arthurian romance) and their elegant, artistic, and poignant subversion that, nevertheless, preserves the sense of epicness and romanticism.
The villains, especially the Storm King, have deep, personal, and believable motivation beyond simply "covering all the lands in darkness."
The ending. For some it may be a letdown but it makes sense and is, indeed, the best ending possible--given the motivations of the villains and the reasons behind their actions, the protagonist's decisions at the climax of the series have far, far more literary and thematic weight than anything since Gollum fell into the Cracks of Doom.

Robert Jordan
I've waxed wroth regarding Robert Jordan's novels elsewhere. Quite wroth, in fact. In my opinion, Robert Jordan's The Wheel of Time was one of the worst things to happen to fantasy literature in the twentieth century. Jordan took the Tolkienesque/Eddings formula fantasy, padded it out to a thousand pages a volume, combined it with aspects of Eastern philosophy (admittedly much more coherent than Hancock's Circle of Light, but still erratic and somewhat inconsistent) as a religious/philosophical/supernatural gimmick, and initiated a saga that he would continue to milk ad infinitum, so much so that he would not even survive long enough to complete what has come to be a 15-volume whopper that meanders through character-relationships, political intrigue, laughably caricatured villains and their oh-so villainous plots, and a sequence of unsatisfying, anti-climactic endings.

And yet, people love Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time. Why? Well, a New York Times article in 1996 explains that "Robert Jordan has come to dominate the world that Tolkien began to reveal." I'm tempted to ask "what world, exactly, would that be?" and also "how, exactly, does he dominate it?" My answers are not good. The world he dominates is that of the mainstream fantasy fan that longs for Tolkien ad nauseum and he dominates it through excessive description, soap opera character interactions, cliffhangers, and a paint-by-numbers adherence to The Formula (at least in the initial novels). When he finally starts to emerge from the repetitive fantasy formula Eddings codified, his books are so full of character and plot issues and so bloated as to be unsalvageable.

Terry Brooks
After the train-wreck that was The Wishsong of Shannara in 1985, Brooks took a hiatus from the Shannara world. Five years later, Del Rey published his first volume in his Heritage of Shannara series. At first glance, the new series would be, much like The Wishsong, a repeat of The Sword of Shannara, making it a copy of a copy of Tolkien yet again.

However, Brooks actually dodges that bullet, especially in The Druid of Shannara (1991) and The Elfqueen of Shannara (1992), before tying everything up in 1993's The Talismans of Shannara. Although not the soulless brick that were The Sword and The Wishsong, Brooks' new tetralogy didn't really break new ground and still suffered from the characterization issues that plagued the earlier novels. By this point, the Shannara setting had its own set of cliches and formulae to which Brooks would slavishly adhere. Nevertheless, The Heritage of Shannara seemed to be a step in the right direction and an excellent place to retire the setting.

If only Brooks had.

R.A. Salvatore
Salvatore's first publications by TSR, The Icewind Dale Trilogy (1988-1990) were predictable knock-offs plagued by more formulaic plotting, poor characterization, crippling reliance on D&D setting mechanics, uninspired villains with shallow motivation, and worst-of-all, a laughably feeble attempt at heroic prose. The term "hack" comes to mind.

A few months after thankfully closing The Icewind Dale Trilogy with The Halfling's Gem, TSR released Salvatore's Homeland--the first chapter in The Dark Elf Trilogy. Although not an incredible work of literature, the novel was highly unique in that its protagonist was a Dark Elf who was wracked by a morality that ran contrary to that of his subterranean society and culture, leading to his exile and search for acceptance on the surface. Its ruminations on racism, matriarchy, morality/ethics, isolation, and solitude weren't especially deep but it remains perhaps Salvatore's best series to date and a fan-favorite. It's certainly stronger, better-written, and of more substance than anything that came after.

Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman
The Deathgate Cycle is, perhaps, the best thing that ever came off of Weis' & Hickman's typewriters. The nature of magic and the sundering of the world into a number of different elemental realms reachable only through magic gates were excellent gimmicks and highly imaginative. Combined with these ideas, Weis & Hickman wove a striking tale of trust and betrayal, racism, stereotyping, unforeseen consequences, and mistrust. The solitary protagonist would, through the course of his journey, find all of his prejudices and beliefs challenged, as would some of his racial opponents. The philosophical underpinnings of magic actually make a lot of sense and speak more to quantum physics than to esoteric spirituality. In addition, names of characters and places carry symbolic meaning and Weis & Hickman use language to reinforce these symbols. Seven novels in all, The Deathgate Cycle is an incredibly original, bold, and challenging piece of fantasy literature. Unfortunately, as I mentioned previously, Weis & Hickman seem relegated to the D&D ghetto and thus seem to be often avoided by much of the mainstream fantasy audience. Regardless, The Deathgate Cycle not only dodges many of the bullets Simon laments in his five-part review of 1977's fantasy breakouts, it goes above-and-beyond by featuring real dramatic tension and dilemma within the psyches of the characters and reaches for more substantive thematic and literary levels than many of the other fantasy novels of the time.

1991-1996
New writers began to emerge in a flood during this period and mainstream fantasy sales began to soar as more authors achieved publication. However, perhaps Sturgeon's Law was in full effect during this period. Tad Williams finally completed his trilogy, Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn during this period. Terry Brooks published a prequel to The Sword of Shannara that completely undid all of the progress he had achieved with his Heritage series, and it became apparent that he intended to pound his world to death with sequels and tie-ins that sought to unite the current modern world with his decaying fantasy edifice. Raymond E. Feist would start publication on The Serpentwar Saga, which lacked the vigor, depth, and heroism of The Riftwar Saga but made up for it with a depressingly heady dose of directionless nihilism, marking a distinct shift in the tone and substance of his work. David Eddings would (with acknowledgements to his wife, Leigh) publish a sequel to his Belgariad and produce a series of novels that would follow-up on The Elenium with just as much adherence to the formulae that made him a paint-by-numbers success in the first place. Robert Jordan's projections for The Wheel of Time would expand from a trilogy to a sexology but by 1996's A Crown of Swords (volume seven) it would become apparent that the end was nowhere in sight.

A few new authors emerged onto the scene and a few more returned with new projects. Mickey Zucker Reichert fanned her fascination with Norse mythology in The Renshai Trilogy. C.S. Friedman debuted in fantasy with the science-fiction-infused Coldfire Trilogy. L.E. Modesitt, Jr. also fused fantasy with science-fiction in his Saga of Recluse. Terry Goodkind's Wizard's First Rule would set Ayn Rand's objectivism in a fantasy setting.

Mickey Zucker Reichert
1991's Last of the Renshai, while not a bad novel, per se, was rather uninspired and didn't justify its thickness. Though subsequent novels in the trilogy would shift focus onto the character of Colbey Calistinsson, it was not the most imaginative fusion of high fantasy with Norse myth. Colbey is a male Mary Sue character who cannot be defeated and is capable of mastering any challenge that opposes him. The real dramatic tension is generated by the tightrope Colbey must walk, as his strict moral and ethical code is unwavering and might even lead him to inadvertently cause Ragnarok. An interesting read, Reichert's novels nevertheless fail to deliver much more than a bunch of stories about a slightly morally conflicted character who is essentially unbeatable. What would strengthen her work would have been a more mythic narrative style, akin to Tolkien's prose. Perhaps it is better that she writes in a modern voice instead of falling into the same trap as R.A. Salvatore and his trusty thesaurus.

C.S. Friedman
Friedman's background as a science-fiction writer gives her a way with gimmicks and informs her approach to the fantasy genre. What if humans landed on a planet that responded to their subconscious, making their fears real? What if this could manifest itself as magic and be controlled? What sort of institutions, programs, and individual actions could be taken to create stability and order on such a world? What kind of impact would this have on the native ecosystem of such a world and upon the planet itself?

Tackling these questions sets Friedman head-and-shoulders above other, more popular fantasy writers. Far more heavily influenced by Isaac Asimov than by J.R.R. Tolkien, Friedman ignored many of the formulaic fantasy conventions that had become canonized by the late 1980s. Thus, her work remained fresh, innovative, and unsurprisingly overlooked by all but a few. Incorporation of a believable antihero who chose evil for the good of the world introduces moral quandary and rumination on the human condition beyond simply examining how societies and institutions would be shaped in the presence of a magical that seemed to resist the rational.

L.E. Modesitt, Jr.
Similar to Friedman, Modesitt was heavily influenced by science-fiction and enamored of many philosophical questions regarding how societies and individuals deal with worlds where chaos and order are in constant combat with one another. Ethical questions, ecology, time travel, immortality, music, war, the physical and mental price of power, and other themes make frequent appearances throughout his Saga of Recluse. A prolific writer, Modesitt would hammer out nearly a book a year (sometimes two) set in this saga. However, he would also succumb to the same self-codification and self-imposed formalism that Brooks and Eddings would. Many of his books would feature the rags-to-riches/poverty-to-power model, weakening his later narratives despite his unique thought-experimentation on a wide variety of literary themes. Narrative weaknesses do plague The Saga of Recluse--the series itself jumps back-and-forth in time, making an exact chronology difficult to follow and the novels themselves often shift perspective.

Terry Goodkind
Robert Jordan's strongest competitor for the Doorstop Award, Goodkind's first novel, Wizard's First Rule, is objectivism in a fantasy setting with a strict adherence to Eddings' "visit every place on the map" structural formula. Yet again, like Jordan, Goodkind is compared with J.R.R. Tolkien's. Marion Zimmer Bradley commented on the back cover, "I really think it's going to sweep the country as Tolkien's work did in the sixties."

Similar to Robert Jordan, Terry Goodkind cannot even begin to pretend to being a good writer. His prose is dull and uninspired, his narrative employs nearly every single cliche in the most soulless manner, he recycles his plots and conflicts in every single subsequent novel with only minor variations, and he spoonfeeds the reader with his Randian Objectivism with no real room for alternate perspectives or philosophies. Goodkind's fetishization of rape and other forms of sexual torture go from shocking to boring and repetitive. The characters are flat and never really advance or grow. Essentially, Goodkind is the fantasy version of Ayn Rand: his entire fantasy series is the soapbox from which he preaches his own ethical system.

1997-1999
With the emergence of Jordan and Goodkind as dominant doorstop producers in the fantasy genre and the advent of their fanatic fanbase, it might indeed seem that fantasy is mired in an overly derivative period in which incoherent philosophical themes are jammed into narratives that often serve only as pulpits for the authors' moralizing. Very rarely did the novels really speak to the human condition. Authors began to delve into endless repetition of their own works, creating infinitely self-referential cycles instead of branching off and breaking new ground. There is no real thematic resonance in any of the prose--Tolkien and his sources might be imitated to varying degrees of substantial value but their voice is either ignored or imitated so poorly as to be excruciating.

However, during the latter half of the 90s, more authors began to emerge, many of whom displayed a more nihilistic bent. The reliance of gimmicks began to increase. For example, Dave Wolverton (writing under the pseudonym of David Farland) would write his Runelords series centered on an equally unique gimmick--the use of branded runes to "donate" traits to certain lords and warriors to make them superhuman. The donors would lose their ability to use that trait. For example, by donating your strength, you become bedridden; intelligence, an idiot; sight, blind; hearing, deaf. Mostly the donors were volunteers and their families were treated well. Nevertheless, it does grate upon our modern sensitivities to see people enslaved in such a bizarre manner and viscerally robbed of their own natural abilities for the glorification and enhancement of one person.

During the latter half of the 90s, though, two authors would release stupendous works that would shake up the fantasy scene beyond recognition.

George R.R. Martin
The other "man with two R's" would largely abandon the mythopoeic style of Tolkien, along with many of its trappings, retaining only a few tropes and drawing far greater inspiration from history. A Game of Thrones is not a happy tale. And the series it inaugurated doesn't become more lighthearted. Martin's story is one of politics and consequences--especially unforeseen consequences. Martin's characters are deep, believable, often not very likeable, but very human and his work is very much a meditation on aspects of the human condition. Martin uses fantasy as a backdrop and vehicle to tell his story. The fantasy world is rich and well-detailed, full of diverse cultures beyond the chivalric pseudo-Europe of Westeros.

What separates A Game of Thrones from works of other fantasy authors, such as Jordan, Goodkind, Brooks, Eddings, etc., is that Martin's story is most decidedly not a Tolkienesque quest (although quests do feature in it). It is the story of a very human civil war, although he does include a looming supernatural threat. Martin's narrative forces it's readers to ask damn hard questions regarding benevolent despotism, whether (and how) power corrupts, the impact parents have on their children, why civilizations become corrupt, decay and decline, and ultimately fall, and honorable conduct. Goodkind beats us over the head with his message. Jordan's characters sit around drinking tea and commenting how "men only think with the hair on their chests" or "women make no sense." Eddings and Brooks ask no questions at all but simply have their characters fight evil with magic McGuffins.

Steven Erikson
Erikson succeeds where R.A. Salvatore, Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman, and other TSR/Wizards of the Coast writers fail--he takes a world he played role-playing games in and turns it into an incredible saga of war, empire, power, religious and cultural conflict, and race. Weis & Hickman succeeded with their tight focus on the Majere brothers in The Dragonlance Legends, but Erikson's 1999 publication, Gardens of the Moon, began a series of such immense scope it defies description. I've only read the first two novels of his series but I cannot deny his incredible talent. Similar to Martin, Erikson also asks incredibly difficult questions about religion, race, benevolent despotism and tyranny, and the decline of civilizations. Unlike Martin, Erikson's world is simply unimaginably HUGE and full of infinite possibilities. He eschews the traditional fantasy races for unique ones sprung from his and Ian Esslemont's imagination. Like Feist's Riftwar Saga, Gardens of the Moon incorporates a number of fantasy themes and ideas from not only the role-playing world (and its foundations in pre-1977 SF). Yet Erikson pulls inspiration from a host of other places as well, such as history (like Martin), the psychology of the rank-and-file soldier (like Glen Cook), and even throws in dark, dead gods.

The 1990s in Fantasy a Mess?
So, we return to Tom Simon's original statement which I've framed as a question: "Has mainstream epic fantasy been so locked into a ditch where all of these huge flaws are part-and-parcel of much of fantasy, especially its strongest-selling sagas?"

So far, yes (but there's hope). Let's take a look at the most salient characteristics of the major 1990s writers.

By 2000, Feist, Brooks, Eddings, Jordan, and Goodkind are pounding out popular sagas that are all recycled plot elements, slavishly devoted to the Tolkien/Eddings trope formula, and largely bereft of literary substance.
Jordan and Goodkind further dilute their own work with grotesquely turgid prose. This cripples Jordan's narrative so badly that it essentially goes nowhere.
Attempts at philosophical exploration are handled clumsily, either descending into droning sophistry and moralizing or incoherent gimmickry.
These are the most popular authors, propped up by a fanbase that was birthed by Tolkien fandom in the 1970s with a thirst for the same story ad infinitum.

Modesitt and Friedman may have been a ray of hope, since their sources of inspiration are found more in the pre-1977 SF milieu of Isaac Asimov, Poul Anderson, Roger Zelazny, and Harlan Ellison. Indeed, the nature of their inquiry is much less fantasy and far more "speculative" and "science-fiction" oriented, hearkening back to the 60s and 70s. Indeed, Weis & Hickman's Deathgate Cycle tiptoes very close to the SF boundary as well. These authors incorporated gimmicks not to turn their settings into vast, immobile McGuffins but as vehicles for their speculative explorations. Unfortunately, these authors and their works had a very limited appeal or impact during the 1990s when compared to Jordan, Brooks, Eddings, and Goodkind.

Although Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn had a very limited appeal, it did have the very important impact of inspiring George R. R. Martin to turn his own hand to fantasy. Martin employed the trappings of fantasy but drew far more from historical reality to fuel his narrative. Erickson (and later Esslemont) would bring their impossibly vast and realized world of the Malazan Empire into print with a vengeance.

In my next post in this series, I'll write more about Martin, Erikson, and Williams. I'll give a spoiler, however, upfront just so my readers know where I stand: the best, most literary, and challenging authors in 20th century fantasy, specifically epic fantasy, are J.R.R. Tolkien, Tad Williams, Steven Erikson, George R.R. Martin, and R. Scott Bakker. Bakker, Williams, Erikson, and Martin, in my opinion, are the true inheritors of Tolkien's mantle. But I'll explain why later.

Fantasy: 1977-1989

2011-07-13T09:58:00.001+09:00

Last post I asked several questions regarding Tom Simon's five-part essay on the impact of 1977's epic fantasy publications on the genre as a whole. I will hesitate to dive right into a discussion of whether current epic fantasy is locked into the sludge-pit that Tom Simon laments (yes, I'm being hyperbolic, but that is on purpose). First, I want to discuss the decade following the release of The Sword of Shannara and The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever from the perspective of the fantasy that was being produced at the time. And to do that, I have to discuss the impact Tolkien had on post-1977 fantasy.

Tolkien invented a few tropes. He also took some from Germano-Norse myth, Finnish myth, and medieval cycles (the Matter of Britain), whether consciously or unconsciously, and canonized them as part of the late-twentieth century epic fantasy genre. Some of these are:

The pastoral, bucolic countryman drawn into events beyond his initial ken.
The reluctant king in disguise or exile (or perhaps his kingdom is fallen).
The wise, sagelike wizard guide.
Dark lords, evil gods, or some other source of world-threatening power.
Ancient races (elves, dwarves, etc.) that predate humans and live a fey-like existence quite removed from the mundane realities of humankind.
Epic battles and wars.
A journey into darkness.
Evil lands or kingdoms.
The chivalric ideal.
Orcs, goblins, or some other sort of twisted creature that follows the dark lord/god.
Gigantic, formidable monsters.
Demonic, ghostly, or otherwise terrifying agents of the dark lord.
Copious worldbuilding, history, backstory, languages, and myth.
Infodump chapters where the peasant/country bumpkin hero is described the history and backstory.

All of these are present in works derivative of Tolkien. Indeed, many might suggest that they're unavoidable in the modern fantasy genre. Perhaps this is true. But let's take a look at the development of fantasy throughout the 1980s and pinpoint where and how Tolkien is imitated and how this continued to effect fantasy's development.

1982
Let me jump forward from 1977 to 1982. It was not only a watershed year for fantasy and science-fiction in cinema, but also in print. The epic fantasy genre saw the fifth installment of Stephen R. Donaldson's Thomas Covenant books, The One Tree. Terry Brooks published his followup to The Sword of Shannara, entitled The Elfstones of Shannara. Raymond E. Feist's Magician and David Eddings' The Belgariad also hit shelves that year.

Stephen R. Donaldson
In my previous post, I respond to Tom Simon's exhaustive write-up on Donaldson's work, so I'll refrain from repeating what's already been said.

Terry Brooks
As for The Elfstones of Shannara, it's been a very long time since I read the novel and cannot really comment much on the prose, the characterizations, or the plot inconsistencies. I do have the impression, however, that it was, in some ways, superior to The Sword of Shannara. The plot was not quite nearly so derivative as it's predecessor, much more tightly focused on the Westland and the Elves' struggle against the chaotic demons. I also recall it being much more focused on the main character's internal struggles and their outward manifestation via his difficulties with wielding the Elfstones. There isn't much more I can say. It seems to have been a step in the correct direction, but likely suffered from many of the same issues that its predecessor did. I recall the ending to be quite unsatisfying, especially the resolution and the return to status quo as having been weak.

Brooks' 1985 follow-up, The Wishsong of Shannara, was a return to form--a novel that recycled much of the plot of The Sword of Shannara with a few new characters (the Weapon Master, Cogline) and a great many reincarnations (Nazgul = Skull Bearers = Mord Wraiths, Jair = Flick, Morgan Leah = Menion Leah = Strider/Aragorn, Kimber Boh = Shirl Ravenlock = Arwen, etc.). The work is painfully self-referential and self-derivative, wholly lacking in originality to such a degree as to be some sort of postmodern pastiche or lampoon of itself.

David Eddings
David Eddings inaugurated an epic fantasy cycle for which he would (along with his wife) produce novels until his death. Pawn of Prophecy, another del Rey publication, was very much a Tolkienesque fantasy with a great many of the aforementioned tropes. Herb, from Places to Go, People to Be, found that Tolkien's influence was much more limited on Eddings than on Brooks. In his review of The Belgariad, he states:

You've read it a dozen times. It was old even before Eddings wrote it and has become downright cliche since he did. Yet he was able to fashion a very good novel with only a handful of flaws, mostly of language and slight omission, especially in the last book.

What then makes Eddings in my mind the epitome of the 80s fantasy quest to save the world and an huge influence on those who took up D&D at the time it was published. In my mind there are two main influences he brought to bear on fantasy RPGs: a literary realism and a knowledge of pre-Tolkein influences which imparted a fairly formalized structure.

..Eddings admires Tolkien but has knowledge of the same sources that Tolkien drew on and was influenced by them as well. ... The result was a kind of formalism that later fantasy literature would imitate. This shows most directly in two ways. First, each and every country on his map is visited. In fact, he uses this fact to structure the books into segments that, with two exceptions, carry the name of someplace on the map. The second is the usage of character archetypes. Instead of the fighter, magic-user, cleric, etc that D&D players know he used types more familiar to mainstream and medieval literature: "the wise man", "the knight protector", "the princess", and "the questing knight".

He goes on to describe the character archetypes throughout The Belgariad, implying that they draw far more from the likes of Chaucer and the Matter of Britain than from Tolkien. Herb states, "Eddings proved that quest fantasy that didn't slavishly imitate Tolkien could be successful without being weird or edgy like Donaldson's Chronicles of Thomas Covenant." Herb is mostly focused on Eddings as an influence on role-playing games but from a fantasy aspect, he has a point. Perhaps The Belgariad wasn't purely Tolkienesque imitation, but it certainly didn't deviate from the established norms and cliches in any inspired manner. I do not think it very coincidental that he found a publication outlet with the del Reys. Although Eddings draws from pre-Tolkien sources, the end result is so similar that it might as well be imitation. It also should not be lost on the reader that, like so many other fantasy authors, Eddings continued to work in the world of The Belgariad right up until his passing.

Raymond E. Feist
Similarly, Raymond E. Feist's Magician (so large it was divided into two volumes in the United States) birthed a sequence of novels from which the author has yet to move (with the exception of Faerie Tale). The initial Riftwar Saga takes only a few cues from Tolkien. Indeed, Feist appears to only have approached Tolkien indirectly through role-playing games, since his novels tell only the backstory of the Midkemia of his gaming table (I will discuss the impact of gaming on fantasy in more detail later). Many of the Tolkienesque tropes listed above are either not present or subtly subverted. As a result, The Riftwar Saga only held a limited appeal for fantasists who preferred the quest perilous. Feist's own inspirations are much more obviously drawn from the pre-1977 sword & sorcery genre. Echoes of Moorcock and Zelazny can be heard throughout the series, with only a passing nod to Tolkien in the elven-language-derived terms "Moredhel" (i.e. Dark Elves) and "Valheru" (i.e. mighty lords), the dwarven Mac Mordain Cadall (Moria), and Elvandar (Lorien). Feist combined a variety of inspirational elements from more than simply Tolkien, combined them with a completely unique story of a war between two massive kingdoms from different worlds, linked only by the magic of rifts through space-time. There's gimmick there, the sort that fueled mid-twentieth-century science-fiction but it's propped up by a definite sense of adventure and discovery. There's real drama and tension throughout the novels. Feist makes political intrigue a major factor in his novels, as well as having characters that grow and change. Humans are human--capable both of good and evil, flawed and conflicted at times, at other times determined. The Riftwar Saga demonstrated a keen, fertile imagination determined to tell a damn good story.

Feist's work has gradually degenerated in quality (most critical reactions to his works from The Serpentwar Saga on have been rather dismal), but that does not diminish the uniqueness of his The Riftwar Saga. Unfortunately, he never seemed to acquire the notoriety and acclaim that Brooks, Eddings, or even Donaldson have. He's rarely blogged about on the most noteworthy fantasy literature blogs, even in retrospect.

1984
Two years after Eddings and Feist debuted, three other series appeared on fantasy bookshelves: Glen Cook's The Black Company, Dennis McKiernan's The Dark Tide, and Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman's Dragons of Autumn Twilight were the first novels in their respective series. Cook's novel was quite unlike anything else post-Tolkien and displayed precious few of the tropes that are listed above. Meanwhile, Weis & Hickman had fused the Tolkienesque heroic quest with the mechanics and stylistic trappings of post-Gygaxian "Silver Age" role-playing.

Glen Cook
Regarding The Black Company, I've written my own review and analysis here. Thus, I'll turn to Dennis L. McKiernan and Weis & Hickman.

Dennis L. McKiernan
The inaugural volume of The Iron Tower Trilogy, McKiernan's The Dark Tide is even more than The Sword of Shannara a copy of The Lord of the Rings "with the serial numbers filed off." Brian Murphy wrote a post for Black Gate Magazine, describing his "guilty pleasure" in reading what really amounts to little more than Tolkien pastiche.

Murphy's own words are more effective than mine:

One problem is that they [McKiernan and Brooks] borrow surface elements wholesale from Tolkien and repeat them ad nauseum until Elves and Hobbits (or Warrows, or whatever you want to call the little people they inevitably employ) become clichéd and galling. The deeper problem is that they’re imitations of style, not substance, and don’t engage in any of Tolkien’s underlying ideas. The result is a pretty vapid product. They strip LOTR of its literary qualities and reduce it to “mixed band of unlikely heroes on a quest to save the world” without any anchors to the human condition, mythology, or applicability to real world events.

... Even if today it now reads like a soap-opera version of LOTR with little of the poetry, and none of the depth or mythic grandeur. But with a bit more swordplay.

Not much more remains to be said. In McKiernan's defense, The Iron Tower was originally meant to be a tale of the fall of Arnor, set a few thousand years prior to The Lord of the Rings. When the Tolkien estate denied McKiernan the rights to publish a prequel, he simply redrew the map at the front of the book, changed all the characters' names, and retooled it into an "original" fantasy work.

This doesn't really help McKiernan's case, though. As Simon discussed with his segment on The Silmarillion, there's ample opportunity to explore the mythopoeic world of Middle-earth. His favorable review of The Children of Húrin and emphasis on the darker aspects of the human soul prove that great literature can be written from the annals of Middle-earth without being overly self-derivative and still preserve the mythopoeic flavor of Tolkien's prose and setting. Whether it is Tolkien pastiche or prequel, The Iron Tower trilogy does none of that.

Weis & Hickman
Dragons of Autumn Twilight, Dragons of Winter Night, and Dragons of Spring Dawning, all published within a few months of each other in 1984, are derived from a series of gaming modules designed for Dungeons & Dragons. The aim of the modules were unprecedented in the gaming world: to take a party of characters and insert them into a Tolkienesque quest of epic proportions, each one featuring one type of dragon found in the D&D Monster Manual. The characters are derived from the standard D&D adventuring party, with a few unique features and races (such as the kender, the setting's answer to the halfling) thrown in. The resulting Dragonlance Chronicles were a fast, fun read, but also an extremely puzzling one. Page limitations resulted in several modules being glossed over and left out since they didn't advance the main plot very much. Those that did advance plot but still weren't featured in the narrative appear piecemeal through flashbacks or as after-action-reports info-dumped by characters at council meetings. As with Brooks, the resonance and substance of Tolkien's work was largely absent from The Dragonlance Chronicles. It was so busy trying to marry the railroad D&D module with the perilous quest that it never really moved beyond being just another epic fantasy.

The Dragonlance Chronicles were incredibly popular, but their impact was highly limited. They're also an incredibly curious artifact, since they invite an entirely new discussion of the impact of D&D on mainstream fantasy and vice-versa (see James Maleszewski's post on Grognardia regarding the impact of the "Hickman Revolution" on D&D). To say that the plethora of novels published by TSR (and continued by Wizards of the Coast) do not have any relationship with mainstream fantasy would be erroneous, but it isn't for this post to posit on the exact extent of that relationship. Suffice it to say that The Dragonlance Chronicles are a thematic copycat of The Lord of the Rings, despite the massive amount of non-Tolkienesque D&D elements thrown in. The adherence to a cycle of gaming modules (and extremely railroady modules at that) weakened the series, but didn't break it. It did, nevertheless, demonstrate a lot of the difficulties Tom Simon isolates in Brooks' work, such as weak characters (some are incredibly well-defined while others, such as Riverwind and Goldmoon, are cardboard plot-pieces or token members of a necessary character-class) with inconsistent or pathetically shallow behavior and an illogical plot structure (mostly due to the necessity of adhering to the modules). Certain characters die meaningful deaths (Sturm Brightblade) while others die utterly pointless deaths that serve little advancement to the plot (Flint Fireforge).

The next year, Weis & Hickman returned with The Dragonlance Legends. While still locked in a D&D gaming world with all the necessary mechanics, Weis & Hickman actually managed to tell a story, complete with meaningful characters, a unique and engaging plot, and moral/ethical dilemmas. Despite a confused and somewhat unsatisfying ending, the series was leaps-and-bounds superior to The Dragonlance Chronicles, both in prose style and in narrative content. This would be again followed-up in 1988 with The Darksword Trilogy, an epic fantasy series unattached to any D&D mechanic. Weis & Hickman played around with some of the fantastic tropes, including an incomplete prophecy that is largely misunderstood, as well as a conflict between science/technology and magic.

1986-1989
Little else occurred during this period except for the continuation of many of the epic series mentioned above. In 1986, David Eddings would begin publication of his sequel to The Belgariad, entitled The Malloreon, which was, by-and-large, a continuation of the previous trilogy, except the characters were older and a new shadowy power must be defeated. In 1989, Del Rey would start releasing Eddings' The Elenium, which was slightly more original and politically motivated but still focused on the destruction of a dark god, relegating the series to a rehashing of The Belgariad and The Malloreon, except with a knight errant as the protagonist instead of the "boy-who-would-be-king." Eddings would become one of the most prolific writers of epic fantasy during the 1980s and also perhaps the most high-profile and influential in solidifying the derivative nature of the epic fantasy genre.

Genre-crossing British author Storm Constantine would begin a dark series known as The Wraeththu Chronicles in 1987. However, her publisher, Immanion Press, was far too weak in the United States for her work to have much of an impact on this side of the Atlantic. Alongside her, Mickey Zucker Reichert would take a page from Donaldson's book, transporting an American soldier in the Vietnam War to a fantasy world where the Norse Gods are real. Although fun, The Bifrost Guardians novels were not noteworthy or influential and were relegated to a single, abridged omnibus volume by the mid-1990s.

Then, in 1988, what appeared to be an ultimately derivative American series was released by Tad Williams. The Dragonbone Chair, on the surface, appeared to be little more than the Matter of Britain combined with The Lord of the Rings. It's full impact on the fantasy genre wouldn't be felt, however, until it was completed (at which point I'll comment further in the next post). But Williams' vision of "adult fantasy" being both challenging and literary as well as complete and self-contained would run up against the giants of Eddings' and Brooks' continuations as well as the new juggernauts, Terry Goodkind and Robert Jordan.

Where do we go from here?
From all this happening in the 1980s, what should we conclude?

Perhaps it is too early to posit. Nevertheless, it seems, on the surface, that Tom Simon was correct. Post-Tolkien fantasy seems to be dominated by the epic quest tale that is heavily derivative of Tolkien himself (or his influences). Authors like Donaldson, Cook, and Feist seem to be hovering just under the radar. Brooks' work becomes a pastiche of itself with The Wishsong of Shannara simply rehashing The Sword of Shannara. McKiernan simply wrote a prequel to The Lord of the Rings using paint-by-numbers without any of the drama, poetry, or substance of Tolkien's writing.

One thing has become abundantly clear--authors are not producing stand-alone works but sagas. Many of these authors would effectively beat their worlds to death. Feist and Brooks are still writing novels that center around their respective settings. Cook wrote a number of books set in his Black Company universe before (thankfully) turning to other subjects. Unfortunately, it seems that the subversive and unique nature of his novels diminished and became more lackluster and derivative as he wrote on.

In addition, these books are becoming doorstops. Tom Simon describes, in his essay Procrustes the Publisher, how page-counts grew as paperback prices started to increase during the late 1970s/early 1980s. Publishers were demanding more fluff. The terse, rapid style of the pre-Tolkien novelist (Zelazny, Moorcock, LeGuin, etc.) was gone--in its place, long descriptions of characters and actions were becoming more common. This would eventually lead to the word-bloat that would plague fantasy during the 1990s (which I'll discuss later).

So far, however, we've a number of examples of writers succeeding where McKiernan and Brooks failed. Eddings was capable of creating halfway decent characters by drawing from medieval romance (as opposed to Tolkien), but the end result was still the same cliched epic quest. I, myself, never got past The Pawn of Prophecy because I could predict where the whole of The Belgariad was going from halfway through the novel, robbing it of any dramatic tension. In addition, as I quoted from Herb above, Eddings (with the help of Brooks) helped to formalize fantasy (such as "each and every country on the map is visited" and "the usage of character archetypes"). This formalization can be useful in structuring novels but in the end turns into a sort of literary crutch that eradicates any distinctiveness individual fantasy books might demonstrate.

Weis & Hickman's first foray was ultimately derivative and uninspired, but that was entirely due to the source material having been railroad gaming modules that were themselves derivative of Tolkien (but stripped of the mythopoeic luster and a heavy reliance on the game's engine). Their later works were stronger and more substantive, displaying a desire to explore the possibilities of fantasy and challenge some of its thematic assumptions. However, Weis & Hickman were largely damned to the "D&D dungeon" for most fantasy fans uninterested in gaming, and like Cook and Feist, ultimately flew under the radar with The Dragonlance Legends and The Darksword Trilogy.

Thus far, the most noteworthy fantasy of the 1980s is, yes, derivative. Everything that was strong but more original was noticed by only a few and had a limited impact on the genre. Subversive stuff was almost completely ignored until later, when popular authors of later decades would reference them. The popular stuff emphasized description and tropes as if they were the secret formula to a great fantasy epic.

What would emerge in the 1990s would appear to submerge fantasy in a morass of doorstop-sized volumes loaded with fluff, dominated by quest-oriented trope tidally-locked to the above-mentioned bullet-points, bereft of the substance and poetry of Tolkien's narrative despite thematic imitation. In combination, fantasy would rely on gimmicks of worldbuilding as a source of originality, but these would, by-and-large, be superficial elements, as the overall stories would progress along the same lines as before. Meanwhile, the likes of Eddings, Brooks, and Feist would continue to hammer out less-and-less inspired novels (with a few exceptional gems here-and-there).

Nevertheless, there was hope in the form of the aforementioned Tad Williams' nascent Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn. But I'll discuss this in a later post.

The State of Fantasy in 1977

2011-07-12T00:52:00.000+09:00

Four years ago, Tom Simon's site, Bondwine, featured a five-part essay on the state of fantasy in 1977, with special focus on the impact of Tolkien, incorporating the del Reys, a couple newly-released fantasists, and Tolkien's own posthumously-published The Silmarillion. His essay is keenly astute and tightly focused on 1977 and the works that were released in the nascent days of epic fantasy. As one author wrote in an article for Black Gate Magazine's blog, "The man with two R's didn't invent the field, but he dominates it to the extent that we all write in his shadow."

It is a fascinating read. Simon eloquently and effectively dismantles The Sword of Shannara on its own merits (or lack thereof) and not on its "slavish imitation of Tolkien." His analysis on The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever is impressively penetrating. It reminds me of John Fultz's own series of posts on Discovering the Unbeliever. Although I've not read Niel Hancock's The Circle of Light, Simon's thorough analysis of its story and shortcomings don't really inspire me to pick it up. Tom Simon finishes with a heavy commentary on why The Silmarillion fails as fantasy fiction.

I've written down my own thoughts on Terry Brooks' The Sword of Shannara. By-and-large, Tom Simon's thoughts dovetail with my own, especially concerning Lester and Judy-Lynn del Rey. Although I've not really expounded on the impact of the del Rey's on fantasy as a literary genre, I'm very much inclined to agree with Simon that it's been quite negative, overall. Their attitude toward readers was that of a sneering penny-dreadful salesman and little else. Although some of the editing choices they had on Donaldson's work were positive, their motivations were puerile and avaricious, having nothing to do with the conventions of taste and substance.

Simon's analysis of The Silmarillion is incredibly insightful. He analyzes the causes for its failure and why it was eclipsed by The Lord of the Rings. Yet Simon's major flaw is that he overlooks Tolkien's purpose in writing it. I think Simon was acutely aware that The Silmarillion was written as a compilation and synopsis of Tolkien's entire mythos (that is, what parts of it he had finished). As a fantasy novel it fails. As a history book (or perhaps religious account) of a world-that-never-was, The Silmarillion is not nearly so flawed (although it is far from perfect). If one approaches it as though it is such a text, it becomes much more coherent. Simon's approach, though, reflects that the audience was neither looking nor prepared for the kind of work The Silmarillion was.

In the end, Simon doesn't really support the thesis that epic fantasy was a slavish imitation of Tolkien in 1977. He points out one work by Tolkien that was a disappointment to his fans (because they didn't know how to approach it), one highly subversive and challenging fantasy that most certainly is not an imitation (The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant), one puzzling and ultimately unsatisfying work that seems to draw more from The Chronicles of Narnia, Winnie-the-Pooh stories, and The Wind in the Willows (The Circle of Light), and one single highly derivative work that cribs Tolkien (The Sword of Shannara).

Does this weaken Simon's argument? Well, what exactly is Simon's argument in the first place?

But in fact all these things were new under the sun in 1977. To anyone whose reading tastes were formed, even in part, by the avalanche of Tolkien imitators of the last thirty years, the fantasy genre of 1976 must be as alien as a lunar landscape. In those days Sword & Sorcery was king, and king of a very small domain. Except in children’s books, fantasy was the weak sister of science fiction, a kind of playground where authors like Sprague de Camp and Poul Anderson went to relax after a serious day’s work of Inventing the Future.

Well, it's apparent that Simon certainly believes that between 1976 and 1978 a very large shift had taken place in the fantasy genre. That the del Reys had something to do with it is undeniable. They pumped out Donaldson and Brooks.

When Simon speaks of The Silmarillion, The Sword of Shannara, The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever, and The Circle of Light, he says:

I believe that nearly all the genes, so to speak, of the epic fantasy sub-genre are to be found there, and also the chief reasons for the parlous and shabby condition of the field today.

A-ha! For Simon, what is wrong with epic fantasy today is not simply slavish Tolkien-imitation. It is something much more complex and deep. But what are those chief reasons for the shabby condition of the genre?

Simon says that The Sword of Shannara is "a train-wreck of a book," and gives numerous reasons why, but he doesn't isolate the individual "genes" that are consistently ruining the genre, aside from the reader's inference that it is simply imitation combined with "trying to write the worst book one can get away with." Writing a novel where the writer cribs from another, seminal, author isn't enough, as Simon points out a whole slew of plot and characterization issues where simply being The Lord of the Rings "with the serial numbers filed off" is not enough to make a good story with identifiable characters.

Simon's analysis of Thomas Covenant really seems to support the idea that its lack of success in comparison to Shannara and the del Reys' opinion that Shannara was actually superior (an opinion Simon doesn't seem to share) reflect a problem with both editors and readers of epic fantasy. They want Tolkien and they can't really comprehend the complexity of Donaldson's initial trilogy.

When Simon says Hancock's The Circle of Light's release, accompanied by fanfare recommending it to Tolkien fans was "a portent of worse things to come," I'm not exactly what he's talking about, except perhaps the fanfare. Without giving away spoilers, I'll simply say that the climax and resolution of the story is Deus ex machina that renders every single event in the novels as absolutely and utterly pointless. This, coupled with New Age pseudo-Buddhist/pseudo-Christian/synergistic moralizing turns the entire book into a philosophical/metaphysical upchuck. In this regard, Simon seems to be indicating that there is a lack of coherency amongst many fantasy authors in incorporating coherent philosophical systems into their narrative and then moralizing about them.

In regards to The Silmarillion, I think Simon's words speak for themselves:

I do not mean that a lesser writer should try to fill the gaps in The Silmarillion: God forbid. What I mean is that it, rather than the much-abused Lord of the Rings, should provide a standard and a signpost, pointing the way forward for epic fantasy. The Road goes ever on, but few have cared to follow it so far. If we truly honour the work of Tolkien’s heart, we should be out there, blazing trails beyond the last milestone, seeking our way to vistas yet unattained.

In other words, Tolkien had a lot of other stories he wanted to tell, many of them briefly glossed-over in his Silmarillion. He wasn't locked, like L. Frank Baum was to Oz or Piers Anthony is to Xanth, to Hobbits, Mordor, magic rings, and the Shire. He had a very vast world he wished to explore, with thousands of years of history and stories that had yet to be told. He simply let it pile up and pile up, works unfinished.

So, what are we to take from this? What are those chief reasons epic fantasy is in such muddy waters?

To distill from the above, it seems an over-arching adherence to Tolkien as the defining figure of the genre seems to be crippling it. In addition, attempts to break away from his influence often falter with both editors and audiences. Dabbling in the mythologies and philosophies of non-Western cultures can be interesting, but it must also be coherent--when its not you get confused and pointless sagas that go nowhere like Hancock's Circle of Light. Although I skipped over it, writing down to children seems to be a major turn-off (they're often quite capable of reading stuff that doesn't insult their intelligence--indeed, I read The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings while other kids were reading Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing).

But is this really the case? Is epic fantasy so locked into a ditch where all of these huge flaws are part-and-parcel of much of fantasy, especially its strongest-selling sagas? Or is Simon writing back to not only 1977, but also 1987 and 1997? Has he missed the past 15 years, with Stephen Erickson, George R. R. Martin, R. Scott Bakker, and Tad Williams?

This I will leave for a follow-up post: is the genre of epic fantasy in such a perilous and shabby condition today as it was in 1977? And if it is, how did it get there in the intervening decades?

Update of the Weekend and Gaming News

2011-07-09T05:16:00.003+09:00

Between getting my car on the road and trying to arrange school and moving out of my temporary lodgings with my parents, I've had little time or energy to sit down and blog. This is unfortunate, because I've been sitting for over a month on an overdue analysis of John Keegan's The Face of Battle, as well as a loooong discussion of Francis Fukuyama's The End of History and the Last Man. In addition, I finished Battle Royale and owe a review of that monumental slaughterfest.

I'm re-reading Gardens of the Moon, this time much more critically. I've also picked up a copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. They had copies of the British original version (Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone) in the stores in Korea, but I neglected to pick one up. Now I regret that. I recall comparing the American and British texts in a Kyobo Books and was astounded by how heavily the American version was edited. I'm actually quite disappointed by that--I find the British dialect to be quite charming and a much better fit.

In gaming news, I'm trying to put together a Conan game, but not very confident that it will work out. My cousin seems to only know how to play illiterate barbarians capable of saying little more than "Thock smash!" so I'm not certain he'll last long in a city where wits are just as important as sword-skills in order to survive. My brother is mentally exhausted from his job and doesn't even want to think about rolling up a character. Finally, everybody's schedules are so mixed and muddled that I'm already frustrated and disappointed with how things are developing. I imagine I won't be able to game for a while yet. I will make an attempt at getting things started this weekend, but my hopes are quite low.

Dammit, I want to run something, and I don't much care if I have to wait. But I want to run something.

I've made some headway into my own house-rules for Conan sorcery. I've adapted ley-lines and nexuses from Kevin Siembieda's Palladium system.

LEY LINES

Near (2 miles)

+20% range and duration of spells, wards, and circles

At/on Ley Line (or 2 miles from Nexus)

+50% range, duration, damage of spells, wards, circles

Sorcerer can draw 1 PP per round

Within 200 ft. of Nexus Point

Doubles range, duration, damage of spells, wards, circles

+2 Will save vs. horror or magic

Can draw 2 PP per round

Increased Energy Periods

Midday/midnight—Can draw extra 2 PP (4 PP at Nexus) for one minute

Vernal (spring)/Autumnal (fall) Equinox—Day (Vernal) or Night (Autumnal) 4 PP per round. Amount doubles to 8 PP at sunrise, noon, sunset, midnight of these days (1 minute each)

Summer/Winter Solstice—Can draw 4 PP per turn. At dawn 30 PP, sunset 15 PP (each lasts 5 minutes).

Lunar Eclipse—3 PP per round for 90 minutes

Partial Solar Eclipse—6 PP per round (2d4 minutes) and 50 PP at its zenith (1 minute)

I think these rules will work pretty well. I also added a feat for circle magic, especially as a sort of metamagic tool that can be used in combination with certain spells. I've house-ruled summoning to be more difficult--the summoner must engage in a "war of souls" (i.e. a battle of wills) with whatever he summons. Thus, summoned demons will have to be subdued. The use of special circles will grant bonuses to the summoner's rolls against any summoned entity. Not sure if I should limit the number of circles a sorcerer can know or not. I decided that I don't have to limit them. However, I should perhaps give them a DC check against Spellcraft to see if they can correctly draw the circle from memory.

I've never liked how D&D handled summoning monsters. It should be much more difficult and much more specific than how it is described in the spell lists. To that end, I vastly prefer how Conan's system handles it.

Again with the Not Abandoned

2011-07-02T00:14:00.001+09:00

I returned to the United States a week ago and still am in the middle of a major adjustment period. When I get everything in my new American life up and running, I'll start posting again.