From White Plume Mountain To Stonehell

I entered the RPG'ing hobby circa 1982, during the period James Maliszewski has dubbed the "Late Golden Age" or "Electrum Age," when TSR was beginning to transition D&D away from sandbox- and module-based play toward the more narratively driven campaign settings that characterize the "Silver Age" (1984-1989).  In some ways, I came onboard too late to really be aware of the game's 1970s "gonzo," swords-and-planets, sandboxy origins, even though I read ERB's Barsoom books obsessively in junior high school.  In terms of my taste in FRPG settings / adventures, I was more of a Tolkien-influenced high-fantasy guy, and felt, for example, that Gygax's Expedition to the Barrier Peaks was a strange anomaly in the D&D product line that came way out of left field.  (I now happily understand the error of my ways on that score.)

I also never even heard of a megadungeon in those days, even though I was entranced by that awesome cross-section of Stone Mountain in the Holmes rulebook:

So my early training in how to play D&D was influenced most by TSR's early 1980's emphasis on releasing adventure modules that were published as one-offs and/or originally geared for tournament play, such as B2 The Keep on the Borderlands, C1 The Hidden Shrine of Tomoachan, S1 Tomb of Horrors, and my all-around favorite in those days, S2 White Plume Mountain. Even when I started playing in and eventually running longer campaigns, those campaigns tended to be structured as chains of strung-together module-based adventures, with maybe a bit of town adventuring in between.  But again, not a megadungeon in sight.  (Though, to be fair, not much over-arching narrative either.)

This led (or at least contributed) to a style of play that (I now realize) was more acquisitive than exploratory.  Strangely -- especially given my extreme resistance to min-maxing and excessive game-ism nowadays -- my friends and I in those early days were all about the treasure, and the main (and possibly only) way we were interested in acquiring that treasure was by killing monsters.  That was it.  We wanted lots of monster encounters with lots of combat, then we wanted to find and loot big treasure hoards kept by the monsters we'd just slaughtered.  End of story.

Of course, slaughtering monsters and looting treasure hoards are excellent goals for D&D PCs to have, and I am not saying we shouldn't have been excited by those activities.  But I think some of the finer nuances of dungeon exploration were lost on us in the early years.  No, we entered White Plume Mountain, knew there were some badassed artifact weapons in there, and we made as much of a beeline as possible toward the locations with the boss monsters so we could get our greedy hands on Wave!  Relatively empty chamber with a bunch of mysterious floating globes?  Intricate murals on the wall depicting ancient battles?  Screw that, we want something to fight!

To be clear, this tendency of my junior high and high school years is absolutely NOT the fault of those excellent modules.  Even the relatively straightforward White Plume Mountain has a great number of interesting tricks up its sleeve (discs over lava pools, anyone?), to say nothing of even more open-ended modules such as D3 Vault of the Drow or Q1 Queen of the Demonweb Pits.  I have no idea what my group would have done with D3 in those early days -- probably started a minor civil war with the wrong Drow faction and gotten wiped out by Drow clerics long before finding the Fane of Lolth.

But thank goodness I have begun to learn the Old Ways!  I look at those early modules with such different eyes now, and -- thanks in large part to James M.'s Dwimmermount campaign reports, the wisdom of so many other OSR bloggers, and (most impactfully) Michael Curtis' AWESOME megadungeon, Stonehell -- I am (in my very late 30's) finally grokking what is so fulfilling about sandbox / megadungeon play.  The main thing is that it emphasizes exploration over (or at least in conjunction with) encounters.  Taking on a megadungeon the size of Stonehell does not allow a party to be as cavalier as my buddies and I were about traipsing into White Plume in the 1980s.  No, its sheer magnitude and its ever-evolving nature require much finer attention to detail, and encourage a certain degree of planning and preparation that one-off module-based play does not so strongly motivate.

For example, in recent sessions of my Arandish campaign, the PCs left Stonehell to rest and re-equip in a nearby town, only to find that when they returned to the megadungeon site a couple sessions later, the hobgoblin Occupational Army encamped atop the south ridge of the box canyon had increased its numbers and its patrol range.  Thus the PCs simply could not reenter the megadungeon the way they had gone before unless they wanted to fight their way past a legion of well-armed hobgoblins!

My players seem to understand that mapping is essential in megadungeon exploration.  My junior-high friends and I usually mapped in our early AD&D module-playing days, but I don't think we had quite the same sense of urgency about it as my PCs do now.  Given the size of Stonehell and the shifting territorial boundaries of the various monster factions within, mapping in Stonehell is a crucial survival technique.  I like that.

What I like most about megadungeon play -- and again, KUDOS to Michael Curtis for teaching me this through the excellent example of Stonehell -- is that it encourages, even requires, the party to slow down, check out each nook and cranny, and really soak in the atmosphere of the place.  As a DM, I love that part of the process: immersing the players and myself alike in the feel of the game-world.  (And here I must also mention the influence of James Raggi, who is arguably the Grand Master of setting a unique atmosphere in a dungeon.)  For me nowadays, that is where the real fun and feeling of escape in RPG'ing comes from.  Which is not mutually exclusive of kicking a bunch of monsters' asses and looting treasure with great abandon, but it is an added dimension of RPG'ing that I never knew I was missing in those early days in the Electrum and Silver Ages of the hobby.

Wizards of the Demon Sword

Thanks to Netflix Instant streaming video, earlier this week I revisited an old B-movie favorite, Troma's Wizards of the Demon Sword (1991) starring Lyle Waggoner as the evil wizard Khoura!

Lyle Waggoner (of "Wonder Woman" fame) plays the main wizard in Wizards of the Demon Sword.

Wizards of the Demon Sword is a craptacular mishmash of a fantasy movie -- "mishmash" mainly in the sense that the film cannot seem to decide whether or not it wants to take itself seriously.  Is its writing and dialogue unintentionally clunky?  Or intentionally parodic?  I always assumed the former, which actually increases the pleasure for me.  (Read this accurate review to see what I mean in more detail.)

But in addition to Wizards' abundant "so bad they're good" qualities (e.g., the AWESOME and very funny "Seer of Roebuck," depicted at the end of this post), there really are a couple of key ideas in the film that make it compelling:

(1) An evil artifact -- actually a dagger, NOT a sword as the film's title implies -- that is the key to awakening a slumbering, all-powerful demon.  The dagger, called the Blade of Aktar, is entrusted to a good wizard, Ulric, who pledges the life of his firstborn daughter to guarantee the blade will never be used to awaken the demon.  You see, awakening said demon requires one to first kill Ulric's daughter Melina with the Blade of Aktar.  I thought that concept, of a magical artifact that requires the sacrifice of one specific person in order to function, was compelling in a Carcosa-esque kind of way.

(2) A swaggering, narcissistic warrior character who ultimately saves the day.  I admit, ever since Willow's Madmartigan (or, in a more serious and tragic vein, Tolkien's Boromir) I have been a sucker for the swordsman with a too-high opinion of himself, the fighting man who believes in his own legend / capabilities / importance much more emphatically than does anyone else around him.  Enter Wizards of the Demon Sword's Thane, a swaggering idiot with a bastard sword and tons of charm.  The best part of the movie is when Thane gets outwitted by an evil henchman played by Michael Berryman, is tied up to stakes in the ground, and is subsequently discovered by an equally egotistical warrior named Damon.  Damon agrees to release Thane if he will fight him; Thane agrees, and after sharing wine from Thane's wineskin, the two swordsmen fight and wrestle each other while exchanging lots of taunting one-liners.  Of course, after awhile, they stop the fight because they realize they really like each other; Damon reveals that he has heard of Thane before and always wanted to test his own skills against those of the legendary Thane.

  After protracted duelling and taunting, Damon and Thane become buddies.

In my current RPG-focused mindframe, I couldn't help but wonder: how would this apply to a D&D campaign?  My own PCs are beginning to develop reputations in Southern Minoch, and so we enter a phase of the campaign where NPCs may come looking for them -- some to pay respect or bestow admiration, others to challenge the party's presumed greatness.  And what of this notion that some NPC originally coming to pick a fight might end up as a buddy, a henchman, or a loyal follower?  This sure puts a different spin on the typical narrative I see in my campaigns, wherein a new NPC or PC is hired out of a merc bar or is rescued from a dungeon.  Or worse, simply appears out of nowhere as in the first 30 seconds of this video (from The Gamers):

Does anybody else use interesting or unique ways to introduce new PCs or NPCs to the party?

While you think about that, also consider checking out Wizards of the Demon Sword -- it ain't no Dragonslayer (which gets my vote for best Fantasy Film of All Time), but it sure is a hoot, and who knows, it may spark all kinds of great RPG'ing ideas for you, too!

The Seer of Roebuck says: "Watch Wizards of the Demon Sword, and beware my ridiculous wig!"

A Few Words About What Kind of DM I Am

I just read a really terrific post on player vs. DM expectations over at B/X Blackrazor.  Given that I am swiftly approaching the beginning of a collaboration with a new set of players, JB's thoughts about the role of the DM really struck home; I agree wholeheartedly with the sentiments he expresses in that post. 

Here is a key excerpt about the role of the DM:

The DM's role, sometimes forgotten, is one of facilitator. What the DM does is facilitate this world/story/reality creation. Adventures are designed, settings are written, NPCs and obstacles placed...and then there is acting as adjudicator and referee for the players as they explore the game world. This exploration, in collaboration with everyone at the table, is what CREATES the shared environment. NOT the DM alone.

When a DM "puts on airs" and thinks he or she is wholly responsible for world creation they are deluding themselves. Pure and simple. If you want to author a world, write a book, don't play an RPG. If your players abandon your game, all the background and backstory in the world means nothing.

AND (this is the important part) if you DO allow players free reign in your carefully designed game (in other words, if you're a good and competent DM that doesn't force your players down your own linear story arcs, etc.), they are going to muck it all up. They will go "off book." They will want to push the game and exploration into areas you haven't detailed or thought of. They will not "do what you want them to."

 

I hope that my blogging for the past four months about the Lands of Ara campaign setting (which will continue into the future) has not misled anyone into thinking I am one of those "deluded," hyper-narrativist DMs.  I am definitely NOT "authoring a world" on my own here; all the information I have posted on this blog about the Lands of Ara is completely open to change once Arandish Campaign 2010 game play starts in a week and a half.  Hell, even most of the stuff I know about Ara to this point was contributed by past players, was discovered over years of game play, and was NOT invented whole-cloth by any single person, myself or otherwise.  The Lands of Ara is a collective, collaborative, ongoing creation, and I cannot wait to see what these new players will bring to the table and the game world.  Via our collective efforts and, above all, shared fun, Ara is about to experience another growth spurt.

Thanks to JB for a provocative post.

Pilfering from modules and elsewhere

As James Raggi IV has written, “I challenge the role-playing blogosphere to name the primary influences in your personal game, so we get a flavor not of what set of rules you decide to use, but what kind of game people can expect to play with you! Minimum five. No maximum. Plus include what people might assume influences you that you actually reject.”

Agreed.  I accept the challenge; my five top influences:

1.  D&D Modules, especially S1: Tomb of Horrors and B2: The Keep on the Borderlands.  The Keep is part of my earliest RPG’ing DNA: it is the first module I ever played or refereed.  I still use it obliquely to this day: along with certain other module maps (including S2: White Plume Mountain and “Trollstone Caverns” from the T&T Rules manual) I often appropriate the maps from The Keep on the Borderlands to use in a stock-it-myself fashion—especially the maps inside the book of the keep itself and the area around the Caves of Chaos.  Gygax’s Tomb of Horrors I utterly love and, should a group of characters ever become powerful enough, mark my words, I will send them there.  I have only ever run Tomb of Horrors once—and not to its full conclusion—yet I always await my chance, not because I am a “party killer” type but because I think this module is the ultimate test of a role-playing group’s inventiveness, skill, and gaming intelligence.  I therefore assume that Acererak’s Tomb exists in every campaign setting I ever run, that through the Demi-Lich’s malevolent power, the Tomb is theoretically present in multiple campaign dimensions simultaneously.  It is always out there waiting in the Swamp until some party is brave enough and prepared enough to go find it.

2.  James Bond films.  Epic, intricate plots with lots of secret doors, hidden rooms and huge underground/underwater lairs populated by megalomaniacal arch-villains and their minions and flunkies.  Hmm, sounds a lot like a D&D dungeon. . .   I watched the hell out of these movies when I was a kid and I still love them, up though the Brosnan era anyway.  The kind of larger-than-life quality of the Bond films is appealing to me as a referee.

3.  Tolkien, especially Moria and everything in The Hobbit.  Okay, there may also be a tiny bit of Minas Tirith’s DNA in Ara’s Free City of Kaladar (along with a healthy dose of the bazaar on Deva from Robert Asprin’s Myth Adventures series).  But I really think The Hobbit has been one of the most influential books on how I view heroic fantasy and how I referee.  When I picture a hobgoblin, it is The Hobbit’s hobgoblins I see.  Its motley (if well-pedigreed) group of self-righteous, thieving dwarves single-handedly taking on a killer dragon is a scenario ripe for D&D appropriation, not to mention The Battle of Five Armies, which no doubt led to my penchant for huge, epic land battles at the climax of my campaigns.  Of the three books of the Lord of the Rings trilogy, The Fellowship of the Ring has always been my favorite, and the Mines of Moria are pretty much the scariest and most inspiring fantasy adventure locale I have ever read about.

4.  Ray Harryhausen films:  While I LOVE the films of John Carpenter, I don’t know if they have had much direct influence on my game, except possibly The Fog.  But Harryhausen’s wonderful stop-motion animation work in such films as Jason and the Argonauts, The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad, and Clash of the Titans absolutely inspired how I think about and visualize epic fantasy and my FRPG campaigns.  Not only do I love these Greek-myth-inspired tales for Harryhausen’s awesome animated creatures, but for their stories as well: there is as much battling of wits as physical combat, many puzzles to solve and lots of poetic justice.  Hurrah!

5.  Edgar Rice Burroughs’ Barsoom Books, esp. The Gods of Mars.  Tars Tarkas rules!  I was very young when I read these books (seventh grade) so I cannot claim to remember much in the way of specific plot details, but these stories almost completely define “science fantasy” for me, a beautiful blending of sci-fi and fantasy elements.  Roger Zelazny’s Chronicles of Amber were a later influence for me along this line. 

And three influences I Hate to admit to:

1.  Star Wars.  It is entirely probable that my obsession with swamps ties back to Yoda’s creepy swamp planet, Dagobah.  Not to mention Mos Eisley Cantina, the standard against which all subsequent “wretched hives of scum and villainy” would be judged, and surely a prototype for the seedy, black-market, backwoods towns that abound in my campaign world(s). 

2.  The Fiend Folio: I love the Brits, and while I admit this may qualify as a weakness in the case of the Fiend Folio, I have always rather enjoyed this tome and particularly some of its illustrations—see the full-pager on p. 60, or the depiction of the skeleton warrior on p. 79, or the githyanki (a personal favorite monster) on the cover.  Granted, many of the monsters within are useless, and I would not actually use a great many of the monsters listed in the Folio myself, but nevertheless I really love and do use a select few, especially the firetoad, the hook horror, the needleman, the elemental princes of evil, the Githyanki, and the iron cobra.

3.  Monty Python and the Quest for the Holy Grail.  Here I particularly refer to the Black Knight fight scene, for the extreme volume and distance of the blood spurts once the Black Knight starts getting dismembered.  Combat results in my campaigns are always quite bloody and graphic, especially when a party foe is killed; blood and internal organs spurt intensely and far.  As one former player put it, my campaigns seem to take place in “high-pressure worlds” where everybody’s blood and internal organs are under a lot of pressure, so as to shoot out really far once pierced in combat.